Negan leaned against the doorframe of the room, arms crossed, his familiar leather jacket creaking as he shifted. He had heard her gasping, her breaths coming in short, terrified bursts. Another nightmare. He knew the signs—the way her body trembled even after she woke up, the cold sweat that clung to her skin. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it still ate at him.

He wasn’t the type to coddle people. Hell, he wasn’t the type to coddle anyone, but there was something about her that made him want to. Something about the way she looked at him, the way her trust in him was something he couldn’t shake off, no matter how much he pretended it didn’t matter.

Slowly, he stepped inside, his boots making quiet thuds on the wooden floor. She was sitting up in bed, her hands clutching the covers tightly, eyes wide, as if she could still see whatever had haunted her in her dream.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He wasn’t sure why, but it was. Maybe it was the fact that she looked so damn vulnerable. “It’s just a dream, sweetheart. It’s over.”

She didn’t respond. Of course, she didn’t. She never did right away. The nightmares had a way of staying with her long after she woke up, lingering in her thoughts like a shadow she couldn’t escape. He didn’t want to push her, but it was killing him seeing her like this.

Negan sat on the edge of the bed, close but not too close. He didn’t want to scare her, didn’t want to do anything that might make her think he was trying to take advantage of the situation. Instead, he simply reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm, the touch gentle but firm.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, not pressing, but offering. He could hear the hesitation in his own voice, and that surprised him more than anything. But he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence.