Chapter Text
Heavy. It hung heavy on my shoulders. It seemed everything did these days -the cold, the heat, my own thoughts, other people's stares-, even as the Doctor provided enough distraction, any distraction at any time, as much as I wished. I think he noticed the frequency of my visits increasing judging by his eyes seemingly following my every movement. Luckily for me I didn’t move much.
Making art was getting more difficult, blank pages staring at me while I sat under the circle- screen near the TARDIS door, headphones blasting music into my ears in the hope it would draw out some inspiration if I just turned up the volume more.
My grip on my pencil tightened.
Images fluttered before my eyes, scenes half playing out -characters laughing, fighting, living their lives- but none quite sticking around long enough for me to grab onto and do something with. All older ideas, all things I’ve been wanting to work on. Why did nothing want to come out?
Lanky legs appeared in my peripheral before knees and a torso came into view as the Doctor slid down to sit next to me.
“Whatcha listening to?”
“Feel free to sonic it to the speakers.”
“Sonic it to the-“, he huffed. “Both you and Amy...” But he did as I said, pointing his sonic screwdriver at my headphones. One whizzing noise later and the music was playing both in my ears and around the console room.
“Ooh Doctor, you soniced me~” I mumbled with a small smile. In response I heard the Doctor hide a snicker behind a cough.
I turned down my volume as we quieted down and just sat and listened for a bit. I saw his foot slightly moving to the beat.
After a moment the Doctor hummed.
“’ve heard this one before, haven’t I?” He tilted his head as his eyes drifted over me. “Let’s see, that’s your sketchbook, so not the writing-playlists-“
I cut him off “I can just tell you, you know.”
“Mister No-Fun, a game is a game, even as small as this guessing-game.”
“Have it your way, Mister Gameshow.”
“Remind me to bring you to a planet near Aldebaran where the laws are based around games. They take it incredibly serious there -well, I suppose you would have to if it depends on you getting a fine or- or being sent to prison.” His hands flapped around as he got lost in his rambling, his eyes drifting all over the place, his thigh pressing into mine. Warm. Heavy. “I lost a game of hopscotch there, would you believe it? ‘was just about a small misunderstanding, but me losing a game of hopscotch-“
“Doctor.”
He blinked at me, mouth open mid-ramble. “Yes?”
“The music.” The song had finished by now and moved onto the next one, melodic with no voices.
“Ah! Right, right.”
He quieted down again. Both straightened up and sagged down a bit at the same time somehow, his arm pushed against my shoulder. Our heights not matching up well enough to sit shoulder to shoulder.
“Quite theatrical music. Not Beethoven…” he commented.
“Ah yes, the famous lost pieces of electrical Beethoven music. My favourite.”
“I’ll have you know that he liked the keyboard well enough.”
I glanced up at the Doctor, befuddled at the comment, only to see him staring right back at me. My brain blanked for a moment when his eyes bore into mine. Light green, with the smallest flecks of brown around the edges. His face full with angles that made him look both young and old, and cheekbones that should be illegal. Hair flopped down slightly above his eyes, his forehead slightly crinkled as his brows furrowed. I could even spot his ears poking out the side of his head.
There was only one thing I could possibly think at that moment.
God, he’s pretty.
He suddenly broke the moment, blinking hard, tearing his eyes away. My mind had to re-start again, windows.EXE start-up sound echoing in my head.
What were we talking about? Beethoven making EDM or something?
“Somehow that- uh”, I had to swallow, my mouth suddenly very dry, “that doesn’t surprise me.” I let out a slightly strained laugh.
The music had changed. The last song on the album but I couldn’t pay any attention to it. My brain was on the fritz.
These… thoughts had infiltrated my head in the past few weeks, thoughts about him but in a way I wasn’t very familiar with, my only crush having been a long time ago, a single boy in high school. And even back then I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Something squirming, something irrational and difficult.
This was a part of the heaviness I wasn’t sure I liked or not. A warm, a nice and cozy warm that turned into a blazing fire whenever I thought about it all -about him- too long. Moving in my chest, rearing its head and pushing its way up my throat to my head. Voice not working quite as I wanted and influencing my brain to make me act sarcastic -more so than usual-, abrasive, colder. I hated to see his face crumple the way it did when my reply on a genuine question of his was particularly harsh, my usual soft edge gone. I did not want to do this. Please, see that it’s this stupid wriggling thing in my chest is making me do this. How could I possibly stop this?
I got jolted out of my thoughts.
My hand. My hand?
My eyes fly to my hand.
The Doctor’s hand.
He had moved his own over mine. Half over mine at least.
I saw his throat bob as he swallowed heavily, his eyes flitting between me and the room.
“Anything.”
My eyes were glued to his face, under the guise of wanting to see what he was thinking. But I knew myself and I knew that’s a superpower I don’t have. I simply wanted to look at him. I think he’s fine with that right? His hand indicating he’s alright with intimacy, that’s what people usually do, isn’t it?
He said something. What did he say.
“Anything?”
His grip tightened. His voice sounded soft when he looked at me, meeting my stare the way I met his earlier.
“Anything.”
I’m quiet for a moment.
“Tell me the band name.”
“The band-?”
“Continue your deduction from earlier." I tried to soften my cut-off, "please.”
The other half of his hand enveloped mine, thumb rubbing the back.
“Drawing, only quarter page filled, portraits of yourself but also the characters from that book series you like. And you told me you listened to a specific playlist on loop for hours when drawing a poster for the series, so! Putting that all together... its Dirt Poor Finches!”
He went from quiet to peppy to happy that he got the answer. The bright hopeful smile he threw at me was… he looked like an excited puppy having done a trick right. I didn’t want to smother that joy again, but-
“Dirt Poor Robins, but I’ll take that as a win. So no jailtime for you, Hopscotcher.”
He slightly deflated at the first part of my reply but let out a laugh at the nickname.
His thumb rubbing. His body pressed against mine.
The warmth.
Heavy.
I close my eyes and breathe.