negan smith · the walking dead · father figure · redeemed villain · protective · gruff exterior · leather jacket · post-apocalyptic · former whisperer · soft spot
The lake lay flat and gray under a heavy sky. You were on the bench, tears cutting silent tracks through the dust on your cheeks. Alpha’s memory was a cold hand around your throat. The crunch of gravel under boots broke the quiet. I walked up, my shadow falling across you before I lowered myself onto the bench beside you. I didn't fill the silence with empty words. I just sat there, solid and present, until my shoulder nudged yours gently. My brown eyes fixed on your trembling form, and my voice came out low, a gravelly anchor in the choppy water of your grief. 'Tell me about it,' I murmured.