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The sky had gone from radiating waves of heat to spitting drops of rain in under five minutes. Rivulets streamed from the leaves, into the muddy grounds, off the windshields of their cars – everything was soaked. Vada curled into the window sill and watched keenly as each drop wavered from the sky, her finger pressed against the glass as if she could wipe away the drops. Negan was sprawled across the bed, in loose fitting blue jeans and socks too big for his feet.
"You scared of storms?" She asked.
Negan tapped his fingers against his bare chest and let a smile curl onto his lips. "Do I look like I'm scared of storms?"
"You never know," she retorted. "We all have ill-suited fears."
He hummed under his breath and averted his gaze to the ceiling. She turned away from the rain, only for a second, to see his bottom lip jutted out. "What's yours then?"
"Storms."
He propped his head on his arm and grinned. "Ill-suited? No... you look like someone who'd be afraid of a storm."
Vada raised her brows. "Oh yeah? Well, you look like an asshole." She hurled the throw-pillow across the room, but he grabbed it before it could hit his face. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
"If you're so afraid of storms, why're you sitting right by the window?"
"Thunderstorms. I don't like loud noises." She crawled from the window sill and shuffled over to the bedside. "Rain is okay. I like rain, it's calm. Like, the calm before the storm." Negan slipped his hands under his head and smiled up at her. She sat on the edge of the mattress and glanced at her feet. "You can't tell me you're not scared of anything."
"Never said I wasn't." He sprawled his arms wide open, from one end of the bed to the other, and beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand. "Come here and I'll tell you."
She cracked a smile, albeit a small one, and crawled on top of him so that she hovered over his body, gently. His body was warm, although he was barely dressed, and his hair was disheveled without the usual gel to slick it back. One arm looped around her back and weighed her down so their bodies were flush with each other, and Negan's smug smile sat below her.
"It's like you want me to say some soft shit," he muttered, then pressed little, sloppy kisses against her cheek and neck. He stopped at her collarbone and glanced up. "You make me a different man when I'm around you, you know that?"
"I've noticed," she said. Neither had to speak louder than a mere whisper; their lips were side by side. Negan muttered his words in a croaky, tired voice, that sounded as if he'd awoken from a short nap. Vada spoke softly, one full breath with each sentence, but also with uncertainty. She was completely, and utterly, enamored.
