#watchoutwriting

He dressed differently now, more casual sometimes with the early morning pajamas. Today, however, he was dressed with a white button up and slacks, familiar, but matched with a long brown coat that had the same vibe as a trench coat but not the same material. And on the tip of his nose sat a pair of glasses, that you'd seen on the Doctor, yes, but rarely.

"Oh, so we have pet names now, dear?" You teased, watching as the tips of his ears began to burn a bright red.

It was natural, whatever banter you'd acquired. It was rather flirty, sure, but natural. You didn't want to think about what that meant too much.

"Dear?" He shriveled up his nose, "-What are we, an old married couple? I'd at least like to be dearest."

You snorted, walking towards the kitchen -which was right across the entry way, where he slipped off his shoes and placed his coat on the hanger. You were surprised by his organization in this light, especially since seeing some of the TARDIS's rooms.

"Okay, John dearest," you spoke, nose upturned as if you were pompous, "-may I ask how your day went? Were the kids okay today?"

He was a librarian at the local school, and sometimes on Saturdays he'd have extra readings for town square -he was quite the hit. With the voices he'd put on and the enthusiasm of the stories he told, the kids were enraptured. They weren't the only one.

"Of course," he grinned, "-haven't I told you, Thursday class kids are the best! Always desperate to learn that lot."

"Right," you carefully mixed the food upon the stove top, it wasn't on anymore but it was still warm enough to heat it up, "-that's the one with Charlotte in it, yeah?"

"Oh, yes, lovely Charlotte," he smiled, "-she'll go places I tell you. Today, she was negotiating an escape plan during recess, had a route down to the times."

You laughed, before siphoning off two servings and continuing, "And the meeting afterward?"

His demeanor dropped, as he pouted with a groan, "Boring, you know I hate to sit still for too long. Plus, George was just spewing nonsense statistics the whole time -didn't grasp onto much."

"Naturally," you hummed, taking a seat across from him as you placed his plate in front of you. You were usually the one to cook, not for... John's lack of trying, but more for the whole apartment's safety.

"What about you?" He countered, eyes attentive on you, it was unusual for you -the Doctor was usually everywhere all at once but John was often just an observer, "How was yours?"

The attention was odd, sometimes, but you'd grown to like it -despite how flustered it could make you. Depending on the day, and if his hair was messy and collar fussed. Luckily, he seemed well-composed today -a perfect picture of John, not the Doctor.

"Boring," you answered, not finding anything of note in your day. It was quiet mostly here, and you couldn't often chance going out without knowing where the Doctor was or if the threat was even still active.

"Oh, come off it," he dragged, his tone playful, "-you can do better than that. Go on, tell me. Anything new?"

You shook your head with a smile, "Not much, I'm just in the early stages now jotting ideas down in whatever form I can. There's not... It's all drafts."

You stayed home, under the illusion of being a writer -waiting for their big break. You did write though, detailing your adventures with well... him. It helped you sometimes when you missed him, and worst case scenario, it reminded you of what you were doing this all for. Because John's familiar soft smile and gleaming eyes were something you knew you could get yourself lost in.

You wished you could keep this version of him somewhere within you (locked away tight, yours), but you could never wish the lack of the Doctor in the world. Or even with you for that matter.

"I imagine it's lovely," he spoke, tone soft and the blush on his cheeks rising high, "-anything you make will be."

And there it was. The suspicious, fond gaze you'd caught from him now. It was happening more often, between the shared hours of the day you and John were domestic -connected personally, even. And you knew it felt that way, with him coming home, and sharing the space so intricately.

Just looking around the kitchen, you could see John just about in every crevice. An apron there (that said kiss the cook), some themed salt and pepper shakers (they were shaped like little animals), and the book he kept by the counter -he often sat there as you cooked, and you well enjoyed the company.

And everywhere else, you'd find him too. Little trinkets on bookshelves he just "couldn't live without", a few snowglobes from different cities (you found he was invested in traveling), and notepads just about everywhere. He always had something new to remember afterall.

"Well, thank you," you hummed, cursing yourself for the flush that went up your own cheeks. This isn't him, and he's not even himself.

How is that fair.

"But," you continued, playfully, "-I doubt you're an unbiased critic."

He made a big dramatic gesture with his hands to himself before speaking in a high-pitched tone, "Me? What? Never."

"John," you hummed, "-you're really not a good liar."

"Not to you," He smiled, his eyes carrying a whimsical shine that made your stomach swirl with familiarity, "You see right through me. I'll have you know, some of my classes think I'm a trainer of wild lions over the summer."

"You remember you teach children, right? They're fairly gullible."

"Pish-posh," he tsked, scooping some of the food into his mouth with a grace you found mostly unknown to the Doctor -other than tactful speeches and addressing an enemy, "-children are rather smart, just don't know how to use it yet."

"Yes, right," you countered, "-and this is an unbiased look, coming from a children's teacher, then?"

He rolled his eyes, a playfulness giving him away on his face, "Alright, you win. I'm shelving this argument for now."

"Just shelving it?"

"Yes," he confirmed, smiling up at you from his plate, and you felt your heart do a little twist in its place, "-anyway, I meant to ask you something."

You pursed your eyebrows at the sudden topic change, but pressed further on, "Yes?"

"Well, there's a-" he fidgetted with his fork, eyes now looking anywhere but you, "-a work thing Saturday. A big party, music and food. It's a celebration for getting halfway through the year, I suppose. Anyway, I just... well-"

"John?" You interrupted, clear, and concise but a touch concerned -had he seen something? Was it time?

"I'd like for you to come," he spit out, quicker than what was previously said but you still caught it (a symptom of the Doctor’s long-winded rants you supposed), "-with me. If you're not... busy."

"John," you hummed, with a grin, "-as if I'm ever too busy for you."

John smiled, the kind of smile the Doctor got when you were 'bloody brilliant' or so he'd put it. It made you feel special, all of your limbs felt like they were fizzing. The difference was now... you hadn't done anything. He looked at you like the stars were merely rocks, just because you'd said you'd go to a work party with him.

The Doctor wouldn't have done that. And that fact made your stomach twist in guilt, this wasn't really him. John wasn't really a person, just a shell of who he was meant to be and you were the only person so close to him.

And here you were, feeling things that you shouldn't with a man who only had you within this world.

Sure, he was giving you signals. Signals that made your head spin because you had always wanted them from that face, but it wasn't him. It's not fair.

"Brilliant," he grinned in response, before taking the two of your plates away with the same enthusiasm. He wouldn't wash them, he never did directly after dinner. Always said he didn't want to waste a moment.

And maybe you didn't want to either.

The next few days were busy for you, more than usual, you'd been trying to trace who had been after him for the past year. It had been a year. You were getting nowhere, mostly because he hadn't told you anything -'he' being the Doctor.

So, you weren't exactly ready when Saturday crawled up on you. John had practically been bouncing off the walls, fidgeting with his tie. He hadn't looked at you once as he navigated the space, grabbing things he'd strewn about -he looked so natural here. Fit here, with you.

It'd been familiar. You missed him.

Every day you did.

The Doctor jumping around the space, eager to tell you about the hills that stars grew on, or the alien race that communicated through smell.

"Isn't it brilliant?" He'd always be grinning so bright it could blind you, and he'd twirl around the controls for good measure. Eyes looking to you for your reaction, beautiful green twinkling with wonder you thought you'd lost when you were six. You had lost when you were six, but he... he brought it back.

"Y/N?" he spoke, well not him... but him, "Everything alright?"

John was in your space, a few steps away -maybe afraid to bridge the gap, he extended a hand. You'd realized then you were crying, the tears silent against your cheeks -you didn't even realize...

"If you're not-" he started, his fingers clenching in the air between the two of you like he'd wanted to touch you but wasn't sure, "If you don't want to go, we can stay."

We, he'd always said something like that -a package deal. Maybe you could live in your delusions for a bit, you could be selfish once.

With a breath, you closed the gap -connecting your hands and intertwining your fingers with his. His hand moved naturally... like it was meant for this... like his hand was meant to be in yours. It was intimate, something about you not being in direct danger and still holding him close.

You were safe, in your apartment; the two of you dressed dashingly, all for a party you were now bound to be late to.

"Wish I could," clearing your throat of the tears, you swung your hand and his between the two of you with the smallest of smiles, "-but my date is pretty handsome, couldn't bare to let him down."

John chuckled, you could still see the smear of concern in the pull of his brows but he could never really help it with you, "Handsome, really? This date seems very lucky then. From where I'm looking-"

You snorted, shaking your head and letting go of his hand -heading towards the apartment door, "We're going to be late, John."

"You started it," he pouted, before spinning around in a circle -eyes darting, "-wait, where's my coat?"

"John, darling," you hummed, pointing to the coat that was draped right across the back of the couch.

"Right, yes," he responded, grabbing it before freezing in place like your words had just now processed, "-did you say... darling?"

"Good observation."

"That's new, isn't it?" he asked, eyes intent on you for a moment -like you were a mystery he couldn't solve, "-I like it."

"Oh hush you," you snickered, not lingering on the slip any longer than you wanted to, "-we are so late."

John grinned bright and you saw him then -adventurous and wonderful, as he approached you -almost giddy, "I wouldn't have it any other way, darling."

The party was fuller than you'd expected, really. It wasn't just in some breakroom with dollar streamers and cupcakes with the kind of icing that stained your mouth. There were lights, music, and it was catered. With a mouthwatering buffet, mind you.

"John," you hush whispered, "-you didn't tell me it was fancy."

"How was I supposed to know?" he whispered back, defensive, "-This is my first one too!"

At that moment, two men walked up -each in a more dashing suit than the other, groomed to the nines. You truly doubted these guys were teachers, but based on the man that stood by your side... maybe it was true.

"Oh my," the taller one, who if you had to guess was the gym teacher spoke, eyes caught on you, "-John, is this the infamous Y/N?"

The other man straightened, eyes landing on yours, "No way!"

"Infamous?" You turned to John with a questioning brow, now this was interesting.

"It's not-"

"I'm Joseph," the taller one extended his hand to shake, before motioning to the man beside him, "-and this is my husband, Elliot."

"Not that I need to tell you," you smiled towards John, "-but I'm Y/N. It's wonderful to meet you."

"Gosh," Joseph began with a teasing smile toward John, who seemed like a branch in the wind, "-I feel like I know you already. John here's told me so much-"

"Alright," John erupted, the tips of his ears burning bright red -avoiding his eyes to yours, "-that's enough."

You added with a smile, playful, "Dearest, I'm not so sure. I'm quite interested in-"

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the quirk on his lips, "Yeah, yeah. You've had your fun. Now dance with me."

"What?"

"You promised me a dance, silly," he reiterated, pulling you away from the two to a space with less people -the music soft and echoing across the space, "-don't you remember?"

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the pull, "I certainly did not."

"Okay, well, then..." he paused, thinking and still holding your hand between the two of you -loosely, "-I'm asking you now. Will you dance with me?"

You stared at him, his face dancing in the lighting of the space and that strand of his hair falling in front of his eyes like it always did -god, you'd gotten used to him. There was an urge to brush it away, to hold his face -his precious, precious face.

Instead, you squeezed his hand, "Of course."

He smiled, and pulled you to the floor -eyes intent and focused, the music was slow, melodic. You assumed it was requested, based on the nature of the tones, didn't feel quite party to you.

"John," you confessed, "-I really don't know how to dance to this."

He laughed to himself, before gently guiding you the rest of the way to floor, "Don't worry, follow my lead."

John moved your hand to his shoulder, placed his hand on your back, and intertwined your free hands together without a second thought. It felt personal, really to be a breath away from him -for his hands to holding you close. Not in a hug, where you couldn't see his eyes.

But now you could.

"See, watch," he hummed, moving to step in a square -you knew this part, "-you're a natural!"

"You're just saying that," you echoed with a smile, unused to the flattery so close. So tantalizingly close that you could feel the breath of it on your lips. This had never happened.

"Y/N," he spoke, hushed, just for you to hear, "-did you ever think... you could... we could, really-"

"Yes?" you asked, eyes caught in his as you desperately tried to not step on his toes.

"Well, if you-" he began, before frowning, "-if you wanted we could maybe-"

A scream interrupted his sentence, loud and brash, and something within you snapped. You tried to get eyes on the obstruction, but the crowds running just dragged your eyes elsewhere. '... you'll know.'

"We know he's here," a voice slithered, yes slithered, through the crowd -the tone, unnatural, "-give him to us. NOW."

"When the time comes, you'll know."

Your eyes darted to John's who were frantically looking to you, almost checking you over, "John, we have to go."

He seemed speechless, "O-Okay."

You'd kept the watch on you, you could hardly leave it out of your sight -so the cold tingle against your side was quite comforting now. The clothes you were wearing didn't have much pocket space, but it had... something, after all.

Where to, you stared out at the intricate hallways, where to?

"WHERE IS HE?!"

There was a door down the way, space looked small, but it would have to work. You didn't have many options.

Pulling him into the space (a janitor's closet by the looks of it), you shut the door behind you two -making sure it wasn't an automatic lock. The darkness was all encompassing before you found the switch as you brushed your fingers along the wall.

"When you said out, I assumed you meant, well-" he spoke, tone shaky and it was moments like this where the difference was stark, "-out."

"John," you spoke, directly looking into his eyes, "-do you trust me?"

"What, yes-" he sputtered out, eyes lost and it would've been cute had you not been in the situation you were.

"Good," you spoke, before sticking your hand into his coat's pocket -the side he never used, and fished out what you were looking for. The sleek metal in your hand was unusual sure, but not... unwelcome, really.

John stared at it, eyes wide and breaths hollowing, "What... is that? I've never even seen that before! Was that in there the whole-"

"John, this is hard to explain," you exhaled, digging into your own pocket to pull out the watch -it was warm in your hands, "-but you are not John Smith."

"What?!"

"This," you pulled his hand over the watch in yours, you could almost feel it react, "-is you."

"Y/N," he echoed, "-I think you hit your head. You're acting-"

"Crazy," you finished, "-I know."

You could almost see the spandrels of gold connecting with his fingertips, twisting through the air to meet his skin. They were small though, delicate, easily cleared if he wanted them to be.

"Your name is the Doctor, you are an alien-"

"An alien?!"

"-the last one of your kind, Timelord," you continued, gently turning the watch to be in his hand, "-and the world needs you."

"This is-" he began, backing away -trying to push the watch back into your hands, "-ridiculous. My name is John Smith, I'm a librarian at Dexington Primary School. I have been for a year-"

"John-" you began -desperate.

"I got my degree, I met you on campus-" his tone was still fond somehow, "-you spilled your coffee on me, and wanted me to apologize-"

"John-" you interrupted, you couldn't hear this. Not now. Not when you were about to lose him.

"And I should've been mad. I should've been, but your smile was brilliant and I couldn't even think straight-"

"John, please." You echoed, tone gentle, soft.

"I thought you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen," he looked up at you, eyes red and watery, "...How can that not be real?"

"Oh John," you hummed, tears of your own gathering -your hand coming to rest on his cheek, idly tracing the skin there, "-my darling John. It was."

John leaned into your palm, tears floating down his cheeks, and you wiped them away.

"This," you whispered, a bit breathless from the tears of your own and pointed between the two of you, "-was real. I know that."

"Then, why-" he began, eyes fluttering all over your face.

"You're-" you sighed, shakily and hesitant to let him go, "-you're not you, John. Not really."

"I want to be-" he started, reflecting his hand on your face -wiping at your tears, "-I just want to be your John. Why can't I?"

"Because you're the Doctor," you hummed, your heart breaking in your chest, "-and I can't take that away from the world."

He seemed to understand then, looking down at the watch with purpose -trying to see it for it was, you thought. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were heavy with a feeling you'd seen before in them, in the Doctor's eyes.

"I..." he whispered, looking back up into your eyes, "-I love you. Truly, I- I do. You have to know that, before I... Before I go."

"My John," you were crying now, the twist in your chest strong - an ache, a yearning, "-I love you too."

Without a second thought, you pushed forward, placing your other hand on his face -connecting your lips to his. You could be selfish twice, you decided, as you held his precious, precious face between your fingers.

It was bittersweet, the salt of your tears soiling your lips, but you really honestly couldn't change a thing. You wouldn't.

It was an ending you wouldn't forget.

With a breath, you pulled apart but let your fingers stay for a moment -eyes dancing around his face, to remember this. To remember John.

Because this... wasn't the Doctor, no matter how hard you wished it to be. It would be gone so very soon.

"You were lovely," you hummed, brushing his hair back and letting your fingers linger on his skin, "-I'll miss you."

With that, you stepped back.

"I'll miss you too."

He stared at you, green eyes so open, so vulnerable, he was hesitant -toying around with the watch in his fingers. You exhaled, shakily, and nodded.

John smiled, a brief one that you tried to commit to your brain, so fond... so loving. He didn't need to say anything else, so he flicked open the watch, and golden light burst into the room. It was so bright, you had to hide your eyes in the crook of your arm -the warmth biting up against your skin. It felt like a harsher version of the sun, searing across your skin, but it wasn't necessarily hurting.

And then, it stopped.

You looked up from behind your arm, and-

"Bloody hell," he spoke, gruff to himself, as he seemed to try to get something out of his ear, "-that was a rough one."

The joy you felt in your heart was immeasurable, but you still felt quite... broken open, splayed out like a puddle on the floor, and he was not.

He wiped at his eyes, noticing the tears -most likely, "What was I even-"

His eyes caught onto you, the eyes that you had missed -the extra heaviness, the extra wonder, and the infinite knowledge in that brain of his.

He lit up into a smile so bright that warmed you, "Y/N! Thank the stars, you look terrific."

The Doctor leaned forward, brushing a hand through your hair -it was longer now, "How long has it been?"

You paused, "About a year."

"Oh," he hummed, eyes everywhere but your face -thoughts quick and unraveling, "-that was a bit of miscalculation on my part... My bad. I didn’t think-"

His eyes finally landed on you, and he faltered. Moving quickly toward you, his hands unwittingly went to your face, wiping at the tears that had fled there. Your face was no doubt a wreck, sniffling nose and eyes scrubbed red.

"Have you been-" the Doctor paused, speaking softer, "Have you been crying?"

"I..." you began, but couldn't finish it.

"I was crying, too," he continued, "-well, not me but... me. What, so we were crying together that's-"

He fell silent, looking at you again -almost analyzing. There was a gleam, a shine of understanding, and you knew.

"You loved him," he concluded. The silence echoing loud after the words, bouncing around your head like a pinball machine, "-didn't you?"

You couldn't do this now, you really couldn't do this now, "Doctor, now is not the time."

Before he could say another word, you dug the screwdriver out of your pocket -it was shoved there when you... it didn't matter. Not now.

He narrowed his eyes at you, saying something you recognized to be 'we'll talk later', before accepting the tool with a grin, "Right then, duty calls, doesn't it?"

"As always," you quipped. He rewarded you with a grin that send your stomach into knots, one you'd missed so dearly.

The aliens who had come to him were fairly easy to handle, they were a bit too overconfident in their planning. The Doctor had simply slipped right in, and they hadn't been prepared for it. Hardly worth a year.

They underestimated him, you could tell. He was pouting about it. Had been for the last 10 minutes.

"What, they really thought I would fall for that?" He muttered to himself, as you both roamed the area -checking up on the masses, keeping an eye out for any injury that needed to be urgently dealt with.

And then you saw them, the men: Joseph and Elliot. They sat huddled together, comforting each other with what looked like some other teachers -their eyes widened in relief at the sight of the two of you, you assumed.

"Y/N, John!" Joseph exclaimed, the pull of his eyebrows lessening, "Thank god, you two are alright, are you hurt anywhere?"

He briefly scanned the two of you, seeming to come up with nothing, "-good."

"Joseph, right?" The Doctor asked, you knew he retained partial memories, so it made sense, "-Is everyone okay over here?"

"Yeah," Joseph answered, eyes flickering down the line, "-George sprained an ankle, but that seems to be the worst thing so far."

He was confused, you could tell by this new dynamic and the shift in... John. Your weren't sure how to even start in an explanation though, and the Doctor didn't seem too worried so you just waved it off.

"You're..." Elliot began, observing, "... different, John. You sure you okay?"

The Doctor chuckled, "I'm quite alright, never been better really. I'm just... not quite John."

"If I hadn't seen snake people about 10 minutes ago," Joseph responded, "-I'd say that's weird... but now? Do you just... You're not John?"

"No, well yes," the Doctor scrambled, "-John is like a piece of me. Just a part of my whole self, really. I... felt all the things John felt, saw what he saw. It just wasn't fully me."

They nodded, and he took it as means to continue.

"The rest of me was locked away, kind of," he spoke, face trying to track what he'd say, "-does that make sense?"

"The most I've heard today," Joseph quipped, "-which is not very much."

"Well," he grinned -wide and bright, the knowledge of worlds blooming behind his eyes, "-that's all I can ask, really."

"Are you two okay?" You asked, eyeing the two with a sensitive eye.

"Yes," they smiled at you, both of them had such kind eyes, "-we came up unscathed, luckily."

You sighed in relief, "Okay, good."

"Right then," he hummed, eyeing you with an eye you found familiar, questioning concern, "-off we pop, keep in touch, will you?"

"Don't you know it... uh-"

"The Doctor," you clarified, "-world-saving alien."

"Doctor, okay," he laughed -despite looking quite in shock, it was almost just adding to the pile rather than well... being a new type of weird, "-try and stay safe, will you? I may not... know you, but I know John. I rather cared for that bloke."

"We will," you answered, your smile a little bittersweet -you couldn't think about it too much now. Later.

The plan originally had been to go to the Tardis, but this outfit had been one of your best -you wouldn't let it be lost deep in the hallways. You'd already lost at least 3 hoodies in there -limited edition ones, too. And the Doctor was like a lost puppy, so he'd be sure to follow behind.

John had been the same in that sense, showing you things, gravitating towards the same room, and practically pouting for entertainment when you sat still for too long.

The trip up the stairwell was unusually silent, you'd felt odd in the presence of the Doctor and well... silence. It felt like he was always talking, and if by some chance he wasn't, he was everywhere. Big motions filling up a space, he'd almost always have a spotlight shining on him -attention on him anywhere he went.

It was the curse of the companion to fall in love with the wonder, one you knew well.

But this part of the Doctor was rarely there, this part was the kind where he'd stay silent for days -thinking about something in particular. An anniversary of an event, he wouldn't say what; the only way you could tell was he wouldn't be jumping to go elsewhere. He'd stay right there.

You felt that same part here, following you to the apartment that you... that you used to share. Kind of. You weren't quite sure where his memories were, what he remembered about the year (or even the past few hours for that matter).

The door swung open, and the silence only intensified. Large and unmoveable, you were sure how to even approach it. Or if he even wanted you too.

"It's... blurry," he spoke, dusting his fingers along a snowglobe (one of his, technically) -you held back the twinge in your heart. John was everywhere in here.

"What is?" You questioned, absentmindedly playing the ends of one of the coats that hung there -it wasn't yours, but you thought you might keep it.

"The line between me and him," he answered, eyes scattering to different things littering across the space.

Looking at it, it looked very domestic.

The pairs of shoes by the door, the mugs paired by the stove -ready for tea, the pair of pillows decorating the couch -you'd both chosen one. It felt so... stuck together, you could barely breathe.

"There's things I know I..."

"Doctor," you shook your head, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat -you were grieving... over someone right in front of you, "-you don't have to do this..."

He pursed his lips at you, furrowing his brow, "Do what?"

"This," you motioned to him, holding the snowglobe -close to his chest, "-I know John isn't you. You don't have to... I know."

"Y/N," he began, now placing the trinket back on the shelf, "-what are you talking about?"

"Doctor, it's embarrassing enough as it is."

"What is-" He questioned, roaming closer, "Y/N, you're making no sense."

"Stop," you rolled your eyes, walking further into the room, and of course he only followed you. What were you going to do with all this?

"Look at me," he held your biceps, guiding your eyes to his, "-does it look like I'm lying to you?"

You squinted at his, trying to closely analyze his face -you knew it, his tells, his existence was painted in the skull of your brain. Both Timelord and human now, you supposed.

"No," you decided -still not quite over the lump of emotion in your throat, would you ever be?

"Right then," he cleared his throat awkwardly and let go of your arms, "-good."

This was something starkly different, the Doctor fluttering away from affection so easily -stepping out of the space and not being aware anymore. John... He felt like he was looking at you, always looking at you. Maybe because he had nothing else to look at, but you liked to think it was because he wanted to. You hoped he did.

"Stop-" the Doctor interjected, the silence of the room breaking like glass -harsh and loud, "Stop thinking so loud."

You rolled your eyes, not wishing to deal with this side of him now -not when you felt like you were digging a grave for someone standing right in front of you. It was odd, the twisted feeling of watching what you knew to be the Doctor around the room. (The only real difference being the godforsaken bowtie. He'd stolen it at the party, the janitor -an older man with a kind smile, had easily given it away.)

He belonged here, you knew that. Hell, even before the last year, the Doctor would pop in for visits -movie nights, just to try something human he'd heard about, or his impatience on waiting for you. He had a spot then, sat on one of your wider windowsills -staring down at the streets below, or the lit up city, you weren't sure. The man just couldn't sit in a regular chair.

John hadn't done that. Sure, he'd made himself cozy in every space possible that he could, including the kitchen cabinets once (hell of a day), but never... never the windowsill. He hadn't wondered about what was outside, his whole world was right...

"Here," you hummed to yourself, tracing the tips of books on the shelves.

You saw that now, John had no need for adventure, no spark to see something new. He'd been content. Happy with just you.

The Doctor couldn't be like that, you knew that. He never could.

You weren't sure you'd ask him to.

"I wish I could," the Doctor spoke, a chuckle lost in the whisper of his words.

"What?"

He seemed to pause, thinking about his next words -the Doctor thinking never really meant anything good. But, you still found you waited.

"Your John," he finished, "-I wish I could be him."

You froze in your place, your breath hitching in your lungs -so, he had remembered, "We really don't have to-"

He seemed to continue, as if your words hadn't even been spoke, "You have to understand, Y/N, John is a part of me. Sure, without the extra bits, but still me. Me in my most basic form, human."

You didn't know what to say.

"Well," the Doctor corrected, "-human...ish. Not really an exact science, just kind of takes the regeneration energy and-"

"Doctor," you exhaled, tired, "-what is this all about?"

"You don't," he began, face furrowed into one of curious concern, "-You don't know?"

"Know what?"

He seemed to falter to a pause, like he was planning his next move. Or thinking of his next words again. You wondered what he had to be so careful about -you misinterpreting?

In a blink, he was in front of you -digging around through his pocket before he found what he was looking for -the watch, "Did I ever tell you how this works? The Chameleon Arch?"

"You mean the watch?" you questioned.

"I'll take that as a no, then," he started, fingers mindlessly tracing the Gallifreyan on the front, "-the technical part of it is called a Chameleon Arch, Gallifreyan tech. Original duty is to change an individual's species. Technically, it changes your biology -a very painful process, really, I'd know."

"Right," you flinched, remembering the brief moment he'd experienced it before, "-I... remember."

He frowned at you, seeming to not remember that you had seen that, "It's connected to the Tardis, gives me the backstory, but... it's never been an exact science."

You paused, looking at the Doctor with eyes of curiousity -he seemed to have a point to this ramble. He never had a point to his rambles.

"It takes bits and pieces from me," he hummed, demostrating with the air in front of his hands, "-the person it creates isn't entirely from the Tardis, not really."

"What do you mean?"

"Like a motivation," he hummed, debating on whether or not finish it -eyes looking your direction but not at you, "-or a hobby, or a..."

The Doctor froze in his place, eyes focused on his hands in front of him -slowly, his eyes rose up to meet yours, "A... feeling."

You were confused for a moment, watching him. He'd frozen in place, yet his eyes stayed trained on yours. You couldn't quite grasp it, what he was trying to convey to you. Until...

Until you truly looked at him.

There was something erry about him, something on his face that felt off, but at the same time, ever so natural. So right, yet so wrong.

And then it hit you, there it was. The suspicious, fond gaze.

"Doctor," you spoke, disbelieving.

"Y/N, you have to know," he continued, despite your plea, "-you really truly have to-"

"Doctor, please," you hadn't wanted to go through this again -the hope of loving the Doctor could only hurt you, "-you aren't thinking straight. Th-That's John, not you-"

He was confused, twisting memories together, you couldn't... you couldn't chance it.

"Y/N," he was getting closer to you now, voice steady and distinct, "-it started with me."

You froze in place, blinking as if he'd vanish right in front of your eyes. It was almost like a hallucination for a second, because he (the Doctor, not John) could not mean what you thought he meant.

"It took the bit of me that was..." he corrected, watching you as if you could break with slightest of touches, "-is in love with you."

"You do?" you began, sputtering -you weren't sure what to say, "...N-Not John?"

"Well, technically both," he grinned and you felt your stomach twist into a pretzel. God, what were you going to do with him?

"Oh, shut it," you huffed out.

You could definitely be selfish a third time afterall.

In a blink, you pulled his face towards yours -the steps towards him quick and brash but the way you touched his face was different. Gentle, you trailed your finger along his cheekbone for a second.

Your breath mixed with his, he was just looking at you. Like there was nothing else to look at.

Like he was... happy with just you.

God had he been hiding that look the whole time? -peeking over books as you read them, staring at you as you walked around the Tardis fitting in just like a missing puzzle piece.

"It was all me," he whispered, distracted, sure, but still answering you. Stupid Timelord telepathy and stupid handsome aliens.

And maybe you were a little stupid too, but he didn't need the ego boost, truly.

"Hey-" he pouted out, and the jut of his lip almost made your heart flatline -sure you were almost there but you hadn't worked up to it yet.

The Doctor paused, noticing your stiffening in place, the way your eyes darted to his mouth for a second -a split second, and he grinned.

And for a second you thought he might pull back, and make up some excuse, but instead, his hand came up to the side of your face. Surprisingly smooth fingertips detailing the dips and pulls of your face, you could barely breathe at the closeness.

"Wonderful," he spoke, so quiet you could barely hear him -made you wonder if was even for you to hear. Or if it was just... for him, "-You're wonderful."

"Doctor," you almost cried, the movement so soft, so careful. Like he never wanted to forget the face. You held his face close, a breath away from you and this burst of fondness flooding your chest you just couldn't even describe really.

So, you held his face, trailing your fingers along his jaw -showing it the only truest way you knew how, "My Doctor, my darling Doctor."

"You must understand now?" The voice continued, tone light with amusement, "The potion was never for you, Doctor; it really was to tear you away from your sidekick. I know how terribly fond you are of them in particular, and thought… this may be the perfect leverage opportunity."

"Doctor, what are they talking about?"

He didn't answer you, just set his eyes on what appeared to be a camera in the corner, "What do you want from me?"

You blinked, ready to argue with the Doctor about just… giving in (the Universe was far more important than you), but something else caught your attention.

It was the smell, god, it smelt just like roses in here. So fresh and beautiful, you could almost smell the morning dew on the thorns. It was so… wonderful.

"Y/N?" he spoke, you knew that voice, you really did, but it just smelt so nice in here. You couldn't help but picture the velvety petals beneath your fingertips, the grass underneath your shoes, the rays of sun on your face.

In an instant, your eyes fluttered shut -finding comfort in the warmth. It was like a warm sunny day on the beach, so nice to just… absorb.

"Y/N, darling-" the voice continued, "-can you hear me?"

And just like that, your brain was doused in, what felt like, a cold bucket of water -the rosy pink glow in your head faded, leaving a bit of paranoia in its wake.

"Alright, Y/N," he explained, calmly, "-listen to me carefully, don't-"

Before he could even finish, your eyes flew open, eyes landing on his green ones -searching for some solace. It was almost an instinct, hearing his voice, you just had to search for him.

"Y/N, wait-" He sputtered, eyes connecting with yours, "-why do you never listen to me? You weren't supposed to-"

He paused, staring at you for a moment (almost analyzing you), you blinked.

"Y/N, are you… are you feeling anything?"

"I, uh," you paused rubbing at your eyes for a second and just having a little check in, "-I don't feel anything different, why? Am I supposed to?"

"Well," he looked at you in wonder, and did that thing where he scrambled for a moment, "-yes."

"What?" The voice boomed again, disbelief coating her tone, "You… Why didn't it work? Doctor, what have you done?"

"I didn't-"

You interrupted, confused, "Wait, what's supposed to be happening to me right now?"

The voice answered, a bit more polite than an assumed antagonist should, "You are supposed to fall in love with whomever you see, it's perfectly disposed in the human genes, I don't-"

You blinked, oh.

"Well, I don't-" you inhaled, trying to calm your internal storm at the fact that the Doctor was looking at you like he just knew, but he couldn't have (could he?), "I feel normal, so…"

"Well, then," she spoke, tone a bit surprised but seemingly knowing, "-let's just hope we don't have any after effects, shall we?"

"What do you-"

The Doctor interrupted, voice stern, "Your potion just didn't work, there are no after effects."

"We shall see, Doctor, we shall see."

And with that… ominous answer, there was a click on the large gray door that had sealed them off before, an unlocking -assumedly.

In an instant, the Doctor grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of the room -where the fumes still lingered. You could smell the hint of roses in the air, and your head started to hurt a little bit from the memory of how strong it once was.

"Hey uh, Doctor?" You asked, slowly following a step behind him through the cavernous hallways, "What did they-"

"Shush," he spun around to you, and without hesitation, put his fingers to your neck (checking a pulse?), "-okay, good. A little fast but, alright so far.

Your face was burning hot and you could barely breathe. Your skin tingling where his fingers once were.

"Doctor, can you please explain what's going on? You act like I'm a ticking time bomb-"

He flinched.

"Wait, am I-" you exhaled shakily, pulling your hand out of his, "-am I on a timer? I can't hurt you, I really can't-"

"Y/N," he spoke, voice soft -a kind of gentle whisper-, "-calm down, okay?"

"I'm not-" you huffed, voice shaking ever-so-slightly, "I can't until you tell me what's going on!"

He exhaled, a deep sigh through his body, and you knew that look in his eyes well, an old man who'd seen worlds crash and burn.

"A lot of people have this idea that putting 2 similar things alike can make a better thing," he began, "-objectively, anyway. Scientifically through, that doesn't work, things clash and spark and burst. Like putting two ends of a magnet close to each other, they repel."

“And, that means?” you asked, tone questioning.

"The person who did this to you, tried to make a, objectively, better potion that was compiled of the same things that 2 other potions had," he continued, hand still locked with yours as you roamed down the hall, "This, being done haphazardly didn't really work."

“So, what, Doctor? What’s-”

"What?"

"Eds," he was laughing, but it felt like his heart was ripped open, "-I got accepted into UCLA a couple of months before we graduated. And I'm... starting in the fall."

"What?" Eddie repeated, and he watched his face twist into something Richie fucking hated (hurt), "-Why the fuck didn't you tell me that shit?"

"I didn't want to make this any worse," Richie answered honestly.

"Richie, it's fucking June," Eddie retorted, something deep and heavy in his words, "-and you're leaving in like two months and you didn't fucking tell me?"

Richie had debated it for a long time. But as he watched Eddie live out his senior year, the most free he's ever been, the decision was easy. He wouldn't ruin it for him, and, selfishly, didn't want to ruin it for himself. Make everything sadder than it already fucking was (with 3 missing faces and no contact to show for it). Because he just... god, he wanted this with Eddie. He just wanted to feel fucking happy with Eddie-

And that was a whole other thing. Richie had realized just what exactly Eddie was to him when he was 11 years old and he carved into that fucking bridge. He knew what it was, and what that meant he was. He knew that. And maybe that's why wanted to go to California. And maybe, he just wanted to remember that shit with him happily. Just in case-

"I know, Eds," he breathed out, feet dangling off the Quarry cliff -his shitty car parked just off the road, "-I'm so fucking sorry. But I wasn't going to fuck up our last year."

"It's not like we're fucking dying, idiot," Eddie retorted.

But it kinda was.

Richie knew that he'd fucking call Eddie, or even write him, whatever the fuck he wanted. He knew, if he could help it, he'd talk to him every fucking day, see him every summer, but shit... shit didn't work out that way. Everyone else said the same things, and now... now there were only 3.

Richie hadn't heard from Bev in years. Fuck, Stanley (his best friend before the Losers even existed) hadn't even called him once.

But he hoped to fucking god that wouldn't be him.

"No, we aren't fucking dying, but-" Richie relented, but it felt like a lie, "-our lives are changing. There's no going back to high school, where we're fucking together all the time."

"No, Richie," Eddie's face was pushed into a flat line, "-your life is changing. I'm gonna fucking... rot here in this shithole, by myself-"

"Eds, I told you-"

"I know what you said," Eddie sighed, turning out to the water -Richie wanted him to look at him, "-It's just not fucking happening. You know that. Ma is never-"

"You'll get away from her, Eds," Richie interrupted, "-You can't let her control you forever."

Eddie wrung his hands together and didn't look at him. Richie felt like throwing up, he just knew it would end up this way. He really didn't want to fucking leave Eddie.

They talked about Eddie coming too, running away. But then, his Mom got sick. And well, Eddie would hate himself if he left her -helpless. And Richie spent nearly every day trying to convince him differently, it hurt in his fucking chest when Eddie refused. Every time.

But he needed to fucking leave-

"I can't do that shit without you," Eddie leveled, looking at him, "-I can't... I can't stand up to her without you."

"Yes, you fucking can," Richie argued, shoving into his arm, "-You're brave as shit, Eddie. We fought a demon clown before hitting fucking puberty-"

"I did that with you guys!" Eddie burst, frustrated and Richie might've seen tears in his eyes, "-I did it with everyone. I'm not... Fuck, I can't do it alone. I don't wanna be alone."

Richie frowned, gnawing at his lips, "You're not alone, Eds. You'll never be fucking alone as long as I'm alive-"

Eddie was just staring at him, big brown eyes dusted with tears. Richie felt like his heart was ripped out of his chest, it just fucking hurt-

"-Eddie, even if I... even if I don't do anything like call or write letters, I'm still here for you-"

"Don't-" Eddie frowned, "-Don't say that shit."

"-Eddie, no, you need to hear this-" Richie leveled, putting his hands on his shoulders, "-If I don't talk to you, it's not up to me. I don't... I don't know why it's happening. But I swear to fucking god, I would come back to you, or at least fucking talk to you, okay?"

Eddie was crying now, wiping at his eyes like he was much younger (Richie flashed back a moment), "Yeah, okay."

The summer was, as expected, bittersweet. Richie knew it would be, but he kept it light-hearted or tried to with everyone not just Eddie. But still, it was heavy. In the clubhouse, which was so hard to be in now, there was something in the air. It sucked, but it was gonna happen. He knew it was gonna happen. So, he tried to make it the best summer of his life, of all of their lives.

He thinks it worked. He thinks he had a good impact. He thinks they'll remember this, or he'll try his fucking hardest to.

And then, it was August.

Richie had been packing up since late July, and Eddie made himself comfortable helping. ("You need to be fucking organized so you know where your shit is, asshole.") And Richie let him. He was pretty sure he'd let Eddie Kaspbrak do anything, honestly. So, he'd labeled boxes and argued why he "shouldn't take fucking everything you own, Richie", and danced around just what was happening. They didn't talk about that conversation over the summer, they didn't even touch the fact that he was leaving -not even over his packed fucking boxes.

Eddie just didn't seem to want to touch it, and Richie honestly didn't either. This felt normal, the bickering, even though the reason they were doing it all hung over everything like a fucking storm cloud. They still acted normal, like Richie wasn't leaving, like he was gonna stay right there. They were gonna stay. Together.

He wanted that so bad it burned, but Richie fucking needed out. It was time.

And then, it was the day.

Richie was silently packing up the last box, and taping it shut. And Eddie scribbled on the front with his insanely perfect handwriting -comics.

It was quiet, too quiet. Eddie was still crouched down, staring at the box, the words. And Richie was staring at him. Unabashedly. He thinks he should be allowed to now. And the thought crossed his mind of finally telling him, bubbled along his skin. As he watched Eddie's eyes trace the letters for the 10th time, it felt like it was on the tip of his tongue.

Richie cleared his throat -voice a little scratchy, turning toward his old bed (grabbing something under the mattress), an extra comic. A special one.

Wordlessly, Richie extended it forward.

Eddie eyed him for a second, standing up -glance landing on the comic.

"Are you fucking serious?" Eddie hissed out, "-You forgot one? You're such a-"

"Eds," Richie leveled -seriously, extending it forward -shaking it a little.

Eddie's lips snapped shut, and his eyes dropped from Richie's to the comic in his hand.

It was one they used to fight over when they were younger. He remembered particularly being on the hammock, Eddie's head on his shoulder (cussing him out when he moved too fast, but doing the very same when he moved too slow), and peeking glances when he was focused on reading. Because he was Eddie, and Richie felt a lot then. Still does, but he knows what it is now.

Eddie raised a hand, hesitantly, and pulled the book into his hands. Naturally, he started flipping through it -red pen sticking out on the page.

"I wrote notes," Richie pointed awkwardly, "-like um, like commentary. So..."

Eddie was silent, flipping through the pages -not looking up. Richie just kept talking.

"-So, it was like I was still here. Saying stupid shit."

Eddie laughed a little, something caught up in his throat. He swallowed once, heavily, eyes blinking a little too fast.

Fuck, don't cry, Eds. If you cry, I don't know if I can fucking leave.

"If you talk about fucking my Mom, I'm burning it."

Richie laughed, something heavy on your shoulders, "Well, you better get the fucking matches, Eds."

Eddie laughed a little more, finally looking up at him. The laugh faded, his smile slipping, and his eyes were the same big ass brown ones, but now they were teary. And he was just staring at him, his face falling further each second that passed. Richie felt like he was ripping out his heart and leaving it here with Eddie. It hurt so fucking bad-

And then, before Richie could even blink, Eddie was in his arms -face shoved into his shoulder.

Richie's eyes were watery now, his chest aching, and he wrapped his arms around him, unhesitatingly. He could feel Eddie's shaky breaths against him, wracking through his lungs. And Richie pulled him tighter, pressing the side of his face into Eddie's. God, he never wanted to forget him, please don't let me fucking forget him-

"Promise you'll write?" Eddie breathed out, heavy breaths against his shoulder.

And even though, they'd talked about the outcomes and the fact that, if he didn't, it wasn't up to him, something was happening. Richie still answered the same.

Squeezing him a little tighter, he whispered -maybe through bleary tears, "I promise."

They stayed like that for a while, and Richie felt it on the tip of his tongue. It almost came out with every breath.

Eddie, I love you. I think I've loved you my whole life.

It didn't come out.

Not as he and his Dad and Eddie packed all his boxes into his shitty ass car's trunk. Not as they forced his trunk closed. Not as Eddie angrily told him to take the necessary stops, don't skip meals, and stay hydrated ("Don't fall asleep on the road, dipshit."). Not as his Dad grabbed his gas can and filled Richie's tank. Not as his Mom hugged him, crying. Not as his Dad patted his shoulder and told him to "Take on the world, son". Not as he, Ben, Mike, and Eddie crowded together into a hug so tight that it hurt. Not as Eddie threw himself into Richie again (on his own), all angry edges and sharp pointy elbows ("Promise?" "Promise."). Not as he pulled himself into the driver's seat, aching like he had ripped off a limb. Not as he stared into the rearview mirror, watching as his friends waved and Eddie stared -waving so desolately that it was like he was going to war. Not even as he pulled out of Derry, and Eddie followed the car as far as he could (Ben and Mike pulling him back). Not as the trees flew by his windows, and his eyes teared up -road blurry and sobs wracking through his chest.

But as he got further along, it lessened. He stopped feeling so heavy, wondering why he felt that way before anyway. The towns passed by and he got out, hitting tourist spots (taking pictures and not being sure who to send them to). And then, he was in California, and everything felt fresh.

Pulling up to his apartment building, he trucked up the stairs over and over -boxes piling up in the empty room. When it was all inside, Richie laid down on the floor -letting a big breath out of his lungs. And then, he moved on autopilot.

Digging into his boxes, he found a piece of paper and pencil, pulled a box toward him, and set it down -throwing the pencil to the paper.

Richie blinked once.

He was supposed to write something, he felt it in his bones but he couldn't remember what, or maybe who to write to. But he was fucking supposed to, it was so... visceral.

Richie felt so... He felt something he'd never felt before, an ache in his bones. And just as everything seemed so happy, there was something nagging at him-

He scribbled along the paper, just what he felt (no header, no name).

I think I loved you.

Shaking his head once, Richie blinked and grabbed the paper, crumpling it up, and throwing it into a corner (the apartment really was fucking empty). This feeling would go away. If it mattered, he'd know.

And then, a year went by.

Eddie Kaspbrak arrived in New York, unpacking as soon as he got into his apartment. Digging through his boxes, his fingers dusted along some paper, maybe a magazine. Why the hell did I pack a magazine?

He pulled it out and eyed it for a second.

An old comic book. His eyes flicked along a red pen on the front, Return to Richie Tozier. Eddie pulled it open, skimming over the pages -hinging on red marks. They were shitty jokes, he noted.

Did I get this from some fucking second-hand store? Why? It's fucking ruined.

Eddie shut it and stared at the name again. Richie Tozier. He wondered for a second who he was, like a lot of people did with original owners of their shit, and felt something nagging in his mind. Richie Tozier, he repeated.

Nothing.

He pressed his lips together and although he didn't know shit about it (or why he fucking had it), he carefully placed it onto a table -away from anything else. He'd look at it later, maybe figure out why he kept it.

It ended up forgotten, slid into a bookshelf.

None of it would make sense. Not until 2 phone calls, 2 trips, and the hitting of a gong.

"You've given me so much, Doctor," you continued, the footsteps gaining volume, "-and yet, I still am so selfish."

"Y/N."

"Not only have you given me adventures beyond belief, but you gave me friends… You gave me a home," you exhaled, shakily and lightly trailed your fingertips along the wall, bracing yourself, "-and I love you for it."

There was silence on the other side of the wall, one that only frequented the beating of your heart - it was getting louder and louder now. Echoing in your ears, your hands began to shake as the footsteps grew even louder.

"I'm sorry I had to tell you this way, Doctor," you laughed to yourself, choking on the tears that were bound to spill, "-It's hardly romantic. Knowing you, you'd want it much more romantic. Like, like Rose Tyler, remember?"

"Y/N," he finally spoke, tone soft and a bit angered.

"You don't have to say anything back," you spoke, tears running down your cheeks, "-in fact, I don't want you to."

"That's not fair," the Doctor answered, "-none of this is fair."

You chuckled, sniffling, "Oh, don't I know it."

Your heart was impossibly loud now, the thrum of it beating across your skin, and your lungs vibrating with the sound - he hadn't said much in response. And your heart was confused, whether to focus on his lack of speaking or the nerves that riddled you to the core.

So, you found yourself strung thin -your body feeling an air of self-destruction you hadn't before.

"If…" he spoke, barely a whisper with the softness of his tone, "If it was me, why didn't you just tell me? Why couldn't you just tell me that would be so simple-"

"Doctor, you're a man of the stars," you uttered, the air flooding out of your lungs, "-I doubt a human would make that man happy. And like you said, no reciprocation… I'd die."

The men were now in your sight, eyes set intently on yourself, as you stood back against the heavy metal -at least they had that extra layer. You did what you could.

"Y/N, please listen," he spoke and his tone was shaking and you could hear the drag of the gravel -the tears.

"Take care of yourself, raggedy man."

"Y/N, just let me speak-"

The crowd was in front of you now, you could see the glimmer of their armor in the fluorescent lights glaring down at you. It almost hurt your eyes, but there was a calm deep within yourself -you told him. You did it.

“Don’t do this,” he echoed, voice lighter than before, “-please.”

“Survivor spotted,” a voice echoed down the hall -stoic and calm, “-inform the headmistress immediately.”

“Don’t do this to me.”

You exhaled, trying to focus on the beating in your chest -it was so loud now, you could hardly hear anything else. All you felt though, with the men gaining on you was an air of freedom, your heart open, like your chest had been cracked open and your heart exposed. In a way, that felt welcome -you’d let them prod. As long as he’s okay, you hummed to yourself.

“Y/N, I-” he exhaled in a rush and you could hardly follow until it halted, “-I…”

“Identify yourself.”

You were straining now to hear him, as your heartbeat continued high and strong and the clang of footsteps bounced around your skull. It hurt to focus, it really did. But, you weren’t going to miss a word he said, even on the verge of death.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt it -the spike. It was different, the tingle buzzing up your arms and your heart bumping so heavily in your chest. If you squinted, you could see the fuzz of pink filling in the corners of your vision - leftover potion, probably.

“Okay,” you exhaled, “-I’ll try.”

He hummed, a bit damper than you had seen, but you supposed death could do that to a man. Especially someone who had seen so much.

“I think the sonic is picking up on the Ponds,” he changed the subject, “-best we find them first, maybe they know something we don’t.”

“Right,” you clarified, “Are we brainstorming on the way or? For my…”

“Yes,” the Doctor’s eyebrows flattened, “I’m thinking. I never stop thinking.”

“‘Course you don’t,” you smiled, slowly following him (you trusted him with every fiber of your being). And there it was again, the pink fuzz filling your eyes, just the corners.

You blinked, and it vanished.

“What’s the typical cure?” you asked, mostly out of curiosity, “Like non-amateur.”

“It’s terribly cliche,” he professed, a little bit of a chuckle in his tone, “-whoever loves you has to confess. Or, you have to. To the person, you actually love, not just… not the potion.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “-I’m the one whose affected how would someone who loved me be involved? Shouldn’t it be-”

“It is,” he cleared his throat, looking oddly uncomfortable, “-it’s kind of a backup option, really. To, uh, get you to see your ‘options’, I suppose.”

“And the difference with mine?”

“Well,” he exhaled, a strong gust of breath, “-yours has a physical emphasis on it, on purpose -assumedly. Your heart is much more sensitive.”

“So…?”

“Let’s say you confess to who you love,” he wasn’t looking at you, and something tinged within you, “-if they don’t reciprocate… Your heart with taking it stronger, a literal heartbreak. You won’t-”

“If they don’t love me back,” you continued, “-I’ll die.”

“Yes.”

“Right so, that’s not an option,” you huffed out, blinking back what hope you had, “-so, we wait for a confession.”

“Why not?” the Doctor asked, genuinely questioning, “Surely if you, Y/N, were in love with someone, they’d love you back. They’d be stupid not too.”

Your head buzzed, and the pink fuzz started again, blurrily along the edges. You could feel your heartrate pick up, genuinely unsettling how fast it was pumping. You almost expected your chest to cartoonishly be pounding out in a comical heart shape.

“Doctor!”

You blinked, and your chest calmed.

Amy rushed to him down a hallway with Rory tightly by her side, their eyes filling with a general sense of relief.

"Amelia-" he let out a breath, scanning over her briefly, partially for assumed injuries. Your heart seemed to not take that lightly, amplified by the curse, you'd assumed.

Rory answered, noticing the familiar trail, "We're unscathed. There was only a voice-"

"She said," Amy exhaled, shaky, "-she said she'd kill you both."

"Right," the Doctor hummed, clearly compensating, "-they all say that though, don't they?"

You chastised, eyes landing on the frazzled redhead (you'd never seen her like this… except without Rory), "Doctor."

"Are you guys okay?" Rory interrupted, taking a moment to look at the two of you, like he could see it on the surface level, "She didn't hurt you two, did she?"

Your eyes fell to your wrist, if you squinted you could almost see your pulse, and Amy's eyes followed them.

"Did she?" She asked, with more intention behind it - a fury you'd become familiar with.

You opened your mouth, but the Doctor found his way to the words quicker, "It's…"

His tone was stern, the kind that you imagine rumbled through streets, and you saw it then, the Doctor's fierce loyalty. What some would call 'the Oncoming Storm', but this time… it was directed at you.

"Doctor, I'm just-" you exhaled, shakily, "-you don't have a plan. They experimented on me, right? They want to see some results. They wouldn't just kill me because-"

"They would," he snapped, tone harsh and something in your chest hitched, "-and they will."

Rory added, a little bit unheard honestly, "It's really not safe, Y/N."

Amy nodded, her hand tightening on your arm as if that could stop you.

"So, all of us getting captured is safe? You don't- Ugh, okay, listen, I will be a distraction -it gives you some time to find the TARDIS-"

"Y/N," he exhaled heavily through his nose, "-We can do that with you."

"No," you shook your head, tears heavy in your voice, "-you can't, Doctor. Look around you- all the doors are sealing, and you can hear the march of footsteps."

"So, what?" Amy answered, her hand leaving your side in exasperation, "We will find the TARDIS either way, you don't need to-"

There was a chance there, as all of them fretted -the Doctor's eyes set stony, Rory's hands wringing nervously, and Amy pacing as she spoke. 

The silver doors behind everyone were seeping to a close, the door where the thrum of patterned footsteps leaked through. It was good for them, having intergalactic steel, or whatever it was, between them and the enemy.

But, you knew something that was better than that.

In a breath, you shot through the group, fingers grazing upon his tweed jacket just for a second longer. 

How did you pull the Indiana Jones move? You'd never know.

Sliding through on your knees, you were firmly on the other side of the door and if you focused enough, you could hear them.

"Y/N!" 

"Why did you-"

"We're not leaving you, dumbass."

It was muffled by the thick metal-like substance and the seal evidently shut.

Wait, their room was completely sealed too. And it was incredibly small, maybe built to be like sanitization access between areas, just based on the connection. Fuck.

How would you even-

You heard the footsteps become louder and you could swear your hands were shaking and your heart was beating out of your-

Beating out of your chest.

"Doctor," you said, back up against the metal, "-can you get out of the other side?"

"You can't just slide through the door and just-"

"Can you force the door open, Doctor? Answer me."

There was a pause, and a heavy sigh, his voice got farther away, "With time, yes. But we don't have that. I'd have to-" he sputtered, "I'm going to need some extra power for the sonic, there's probably an energy core nearby, but we're sealed."

"So, if you had more power, you'd-"

"Hypothetically, yes," he cut you off, and you could practically hear the frantic combing through his hair, the familiar pace of his shoes echoing in your brain, "-but I wouldn't be able to access one, I'd have to search the whole ship- It’s just not-"

"Okay, okay," you hummed, "-I get it. You're sealed in, and need a way out."

"We need you to not separate yourself," Amy sliced back, tone unnervingly calm.

"Hush, Amy," you exhaled, "I think… I think I've got a plan."

"Could," you paused, "Could the sonic draw power from an explosion?"

"An explosion?" He parroted back, tone confused for a moment, "-where are you going to get an explosion? There's no-" his voice faded to silence.

"Y/N, no, don't even think about it," he spoke his tone direct, and yet as the footsteps roamed closer…you still felt compelled.

This was what a companion of the Doctor was supposed to do, right? Protect the raggedy man, just like he protected you. He hated it, but it didn't mean it was any less true.

Rory raised a brow, eyeing the space between you and the Doctor with a look you'd find offensive if you weren't in the situation you were in. Almost dead, that is.

The Doctor froze, the fidgeting freezing for a moment -like he was taken aback, before moving again and with a curt tone, "Yes."

"Look," he made his way to you, talking to the group, "-this ship is war-grade, intergalactic war-grade, my sonic can only do so much. The first order is to find the TARDIS, her presence is spotty on the sonic- I think they're suppressing her."

"What does that mean?" Rory asked, as he always did.

He stood right in front of you, eyes scanning your face, and without a second thought, placed his hand on your forehead. Rough fingertips and the smell of old bookshelves overwhelmed your senses, and the pink fuzz started up again.

"You're warm," he spoke, flickering between your eyes in concern, before pulling back his hand.

Not too far though, he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist -checking your pulse, "They want me stuck here. That's my running theory, at least."

"Not all of us?" You asked, your voice a little wobbly, and resisting the urge to wipe your eyes - the pink was getting blurry.

He looked up, "No, they want me."

"So," Amy questioned, eyeing the two of you with a look, "-why target Y/N if you're the one they want here?"

"Y/N's situation," he turned, making his way down halls with precision, "-They could die. Why try and run a risk with a target you want alive?"

Your eyebrows drew together, "So-"

Rory interrupted, face filled with things you couldn't quite understand, "They're using you to get to him."

"But, you're already here," you responded, "Why am I a lure if you're already here?"

"Because they're not using you," the Doctor explained, tone exhausted, "-they're using your death."

"What?" Amy muttered, before rising, "They planned on killing you, to get the Doctor on their side? That's-"

"No," he exhaled, "-They want my… my power, my anger from it. They want to use me as a-"

You answered, "As a weapon."

"The Oncoming Storm," the Doctor answered, his tone solid and uninterested, a tinge of distaste, "-living as long as I have, you get quite a reputation. That's not one I'm particularly fond of."

"But," you began, unable to stop yourself, "-why go after me specifically? Weren't Amy and Rory trapped too, why not go for us all?"

Then, he looked at you. In a way of gentle eyes, curiously analyzing, almost like he was trying to say something to you without actually saying it.

"They must know something we don't," He finished, clearing his throat and abruptly turning back around.

Amy looked at you like you had just missed something, and you heavily assumed you had.

The search down the endless hallways persisted, metal walls blending into other metal walls until you couldn't see straight anymore. Your head was hurting.

Normally, a migraine was typical with stress -you'd always learned to deal with it throughout your trips with the Doctor- but this one… it felt odd.

The pink fuzz had started up again, but less of a, well, fuzz and more of a pink film over your eyes. A tinge of pink over everywhere you looked, and suddenly the whole place seemed a whole lot safer -more relaxing.

It really just… smelt like roses.

"Y/N?" Rory spoke, you recognized him somehow in your daze, he seemed to follow your eye movement, "Guys, hold on. They're almost… lethargic."

Amy was in your sights now, concern shining bright in her features, "Why? What's-"

"Their heartbeat," the Doctor (god, when did his voice get so deep) spoke, a bit frantic but at a contrasting commanding tone, "-Rory, check their pulse."

"It's slow, far, far too slow," he answered, a cold sensation on your neck where he'd gotten it from on slightly gave you back your senses.

"You all are quite pretty, you know," you spoke, at least you tried to -it might've just come out as a jumble of words.

'Too slow,' you heard, '-organs… not getting enough-'

'Their brain?'

Your hearing was fading in and out -which only made you more disoriented, and the only thing keeping you standing was a pair of firm hands on your shoulders.

"-so what? Just try it Doctor, I'm not saying it means anything, it's just… a hunch."

"Amelia-"

"What else have we got right now? Man up, before they quite literally cannot breathe anymore!"

"Rory, can you-"

"Doctor, they're dying. If the curse has conditions, I don't see why n-"

"Fine."

Your nose was filled with the smell of worn books, and a hint of metallic -kind of like finding a stack of books in your garage. And on your hands were rough fingertips, calloused from working so hard, squeezing tightly around your own. On your forehead, there was a dusting of breath, warm, until a soft connection was made there, smooth and you could somehow feel so much out of it. An appreciation and admiration that sent goosebumps up your arms, it felt so… freeing.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the headache subsided, "Ugh. What was that about?"

You looked up, and there he was. He was incredibly close and slightly taller than you. Or at least in this angle, anyway.

His face was just so… human, and yet, you honestly couldn't read a single emotion. The only thing you knew was the pull of his eyebrows, and that was… concern, curious, something- maybe both?

With a few fluttering blinks, he pulled back, hands retreating like they had been burnt.

Your heart tinged and felt like a few strings snapped inside your chest. Your breath hitched, at the muted pain and you wondered what exactly that meant.

If... your heart broke, you'd die, right? Was that... Were you...

"Doctor, don't hesitate to greet them on my behalf," she continued, rather casually, "-This is General Kilape of our fleet, I do hope the two of you get along, and well... you're much familiar with the human, aren't you?"

Doctor didn't respond to her, instead turning back to face her accusingly, "Why have you brought them into this? Is this not about me?"

"It is," the woman (who you still had no name for) clarified, "-Doctor, haven't you ever heard of something called collateral?"

His lips flattened into a straight line -sharp and deadly.

"What? Do you believe that I would just trust you?" She hummed, laughing, "-Doctor don't be silly, having them gives you two options-"

You blearily blinked, eyes detailing the stitching of his jacket and the hair at the nape of his neck. You kind of wanted the jacket, it probably smelt really good -like him. You wanted to smell like him-

"One," she echoed, eyes pointedly glaring at the doctor -before motioning for the creature (Kilape) to push you forward. Your head spun, and you felt the drag of green eyes on you -watching as everything on your body seemed to sink (it was all so heavy), "-you refuse our offer, and we kill them-"

"You wouldn't dare," he snapped back -eyes cold and something hardening in them that you had seen maybe once or twice before.

"-and use your grief, angry grief as the legends go, to our betterment, or two-"

Your eyes were getting so heavy.

She barely took a pause, "-you cooperate, and they are returned to your loving embrace. Truly, how inspiring."

The Doctor didn't say anything then, maybe deciding exactly what he wanted to. His eyes kept flicking to you, and the slight lull of your head -the way Kilape was holding you forward made your whole body feel limp. His lips fell into a frown, something softer passing through his eyes.

He loves me. It was still so hard to believe.

"Okay," his voice was quieter, less forceful, "-okay. Just give them to me, give them to me safely and I'll... I'll do as you wish."

"Wow," she tsked, tapping her fingers along her desk, "-the great Doctor, at the will of a human. You always were weak to your companions, weren't you?"

The Doctor's mouth flattened into a thin line.

"A fickle thing like love bringing him to his knees," she continued, carefully and you saw the Doctor stiffen -it made something in your stomach swirl (don't be upset, I love you, don't be upset), "-So disappointing."

You were barely awake, but you knew something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. You weren't worth the universe, but the words were stuck in your throat. It was pounding in your head, the fate of it all, and he wanted to save you.

"General."

Before you could even focus on her words, you were thrown to the ground. Cold metal stinging against your skin, you think you hit your head. It made your head rattle a little, but still somehow made you a little more aware. Pushing yourself up on your forearms, your eyes skimming along the room -almost searching.

Hearing a gentle buzz, you felt the cuffs snap off your wrists.

Hands guiding you up, you felt warmth and that familiar fuzz of books flickering through your nose. Just as he sat you up, one hand on your shoulder and the other framing your face, you blinked at him slowly. Eyes flicking along his face, taking him in, you could do that now. He loved you, and you loved him. Wow-

Before you could say anything, he pulled you to his chest and stood -your knees wobbled in place but he neatly held you up. How long did this thing last?

"They stay with me," he spoke, icy, "-If any of you touch them, or my other companions for that matter, you are most certain to see the wrath that you are so desperate to. Understood?"

The woman was unmoved, "As long as you cooperate, Timelord, no issues will arise."

You were slowly starting to blink away the fuzz in your brain -your surroundings becoming clearer and voices less stuffy. You could feel the ground beneath your feet, and the strange sort of warmth of his body against yours (alien, right). Words were on the cusp of your tongue, rejection (you can't do this, not for just me).

"I will call on you again, Doctor," she hummed (you still didn't know her name, actually), and motioned for Kilape to guide the two of you out of the room.

He dutifully did so.

The Doctor was moving you gently, carefully, like perhaps you would break. Your mind was clearing up substantially at this point, but your body hadn't had the same effect. Your legs still felt weak, and you could only really feel the scratch of his coat against your skin -it grounded you, just like the mechanical hum had done before.

"Doctor?" You questioned, tone more sturdy -less slurred.

He didn't say anything, neatly pulling you onto a bench. Or a chair, it was actually kind of weird. You weren't sure what-

The Doctor threw the thoughts out of your head, gently grabbing your wrists -bruises now on full display. His fingertips were careful and eyes tediously examining every inch; they fanned over the bruise, but not enough to hurt. Just a gentle sort of brush. (It made your heart stutter in your chest.)

"Does it hurt?" He asked, tone quiet and gentle but something a little with an edge deep under it all (maybe because you were hurt).

You pursed your lips, responding slowly, "Only when you put pressure on it. Like... Like normal bruises."

He hummed, looking over it carefully before his eyes flicked back to yours as if he was trying to judge if you were lying. He probably could, if you were. His green eyes dipped along your features (softening slightly) -examining, a little like you were a fascinating rock and a little like you might be the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Something in your stomach swirled. God, he loves me.

"And the injections?" The Doctor quickly continued, trying to scan your skin, "-Where were they?"

"Uh, in my neck," you answered -obediently, "-somewhere close to the hinge of my jaw, I think."

He frowned a little, fingertips gently caressing your jaw -ever so careful, "Look up for me, yes?"

Your brain felt a little like it was on autopilot, but you did as asked. The Doctor seemed to pause for a moment, before gently moving your head slightly to the left -you mindlessly felt a sting, assumedly where the needles had been pressed into your skin.

His other hand moved to smooth along your skin -fingers trailing to the edge of the wound. You could feel it now, like maybe you just hadn't thought about it enough to realize it existed.

"Looks alright," he commented, before pulling your face back down to match his, "-I'd much prefer better than alright, but I suppose we're not really in a place for that, are we?"

You laughed a little, still a little dizzy from the casual closeness -especially now that you knew he loved you. God, he loves you.

"Not really," you replied, smiling just a little.

The Doctor's eyes twinkled in that familiar sort of way then, lips turning up into a grin -the kind that made your head spin. Your eyes naturally flickered along his face -just absorbing him for a spare moment.

It was almost like there wasn't any danger, like he wasn't choosing you over-

"Doctor," you spoke -suddenly more serious, "-what are you doing?"

"Well," he paused, rolling the thought around in his head -a little cheerfully, "-I'm always doing lots of things, you know that, my dearest Y/N. But, for the sake of clarity, what are we talking about in particular?"

"Doctor, I'm not..." you waited a moment, eyes falling all over his face (love, love, love), "-You're supposed to save the world. Not... not just me."

His lips fell into a frown.

"Doctor, all of this," you motioned, and maybe your eyes were burning a little bit, "-you need to stop it. It's people you're talking about, tons of people, and I'm just... I'm just me-"

"Stop, stop saying that," he interrupted you, gently bringing a hand to cradle your face -guide your eyes to his, "-'just you'? You are so much more than... than just, Y/N."

His words faltered off, and one of his hands curled a trail behind your hair -green eyes focused on you so gently that you felt a little like you might've swayed in place if you were standing.

"Human beings are extraordinary," the Doctor continued then, looking at you a little like you were something very precious, "-what you overcome, your passions, your flaws, your dreams, your hopes, and your feelings-"

You bit at your lip, eyes a little foggy.

"Humanity is quite the feat, believe me, but you? My darling Y/N-" his thumb gently brushing along your cheekbone, "-you're... you. One of kind that I'm so grateful to know in all my years-"

"Doctor," you tried to object, "-I believe you, I do. But you can't just give up."

The Doctor's eyes brushed along you.

"Those people, I don't know if you could call them people I guess," you continued, "-they're worth so much more. They're all one of a kind."

His lips pulled into a frown, but he didn't speak.

"You save people," you repeated, braving a hand forward on his face, "-don't be a prick and choose favorites."

He laughed a little then, and you realized it was a little wet -teary. It was quiet then for a moment, like he was trying to work up what he wanted to say.

"I can't lose you."

You pressed your lips together, trying to smile lightly and fight back tears. You couldn't do this if you cried, you couldn't leave him. He leaned into your hand then, connecting his own around your wrist.

You whispered out, smiling bittersweetly, "And I can't let you do this."

He frowned again.

"So, do it," you hummed, combing back his hair gently, "-save them. Even if it puts me in danger-"

"Y/N, I can't-"

"You don't have a choice," you stressed, "-I know you think you are that legend but you're not anymore. You save them, you always save them."

"What about you?" He questioned, "-Am I not supposed to save you?"

You smiled then, light and airy, ignoring the tears smoothing down your cheeks.