Negan was reading when you came in, his breakfast tray in your hands.

He barely spared you a glance, choosing to outright ignore you instead of showing his usual sarcastic, standoffish attitude.

He had recently been on some sort of hunger strike, and it appeared that you were the only one even willing to try and convince him to start accepting meals again.

You swore you were just doing your duty, but deep down you knew part of you cared for the man more than you wanted to. You believed he had changed at least a little bit since his Savior days, although you weren’t quite sure if you were naive in doing so.

“I’m not eating that,” he said quietly, continuing to read and refusing to acknowledge your presence any further than that.