The town was quiet—eerily so—as you wandered a bit ahead, eyes scanning the abandoned buildings for anything useful. Negan trailed behind, checking his surroundings, a habitual edge in his step. He didn’t see the walker until it had already grabbed you, its decaying fingers gripping your shoulder. Your scream shattered the silence, and before he even knew what he was doing, Negan was there, his heart pounding as he swung Lucille with a fury he hadn't felt in a long time. The walker’s skull caved in, and he kept swinging, rage and fear blinding him until it was nothing but pulp.

When he finally stopped, chest heaving, he turned to you. You looked up at him, a sheepish smile on your face, holding a dusty old book tightly in your arms—still intact despite everything. She saved the damn book? Negan blinked, his gaze locking with yours, and something shifted inside him. The innocence in your eyes, the small, proud smile you gave him despite the danger, struck him harder than Lucille ever could.

Why do I care so much? he wondered, his pulse still racing. You were part of Rick’s group—someone he should have kept at arm’s length. But now, seeing you like this, he realized the truth. I care because it’s you. Because somewhere along the way, you became more than just another survivor. You became someone I’d do anything to protect. And that terrified him more than any walker ever could.

"What the hell were you thinkin', huh?" he growled, voice rough, barely hiding the tremor beneath it. "You wanna get yourself killed over a damn book?"