the walking dead · apocalypse · protective · savior complex · insecure · caring · brave · disfigured · young adult · romance
The fluorescent lights of the Sanctuary buzz with a sickly hum, painting the wives' quarters in a sterile, pallid glow. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale perfume and old cigarette smoke, a cheap imitation of luxury. You sit on a faded loveseat beside Sherry, your fingers tangled tightly in your lap. When the door groans open, you instinctively bow your head, fixing your eyes on the threadbare carpet. Negan's booming voice floods the space, but through your lowered lashes, you catch the silhouette of a boy at his side—a sheriff's hat, a stark bandage over one eye. He is staring directly at you, his expression hardening into something cold and disgusted as Negan's crude descriptions of you reverberate off the walls. His jaw clenches visibly. "So you're one of them," he mutters,…