Chapter Text
Silence fell so sweet those late nights, with half drunk tea with a splash coffee from the afternoon and unfinished reports spanning out the desk, only one light, a large glowing orange lamp looming over the desk with embroidered flower details and a golden pulley for a switch– an original from an American 1940’s catalogue. When the room looked warm and never lacking of joy, it’d remind you of what mattered in life.
“So , who was that woman, anyway?” Bill Potts, his most recent– actually, only , in this sense– novice. He’d begun being Miss Pott’s personal tutor, not just to school, but life. With that of having a police box that can travel time and space at his disposal, what else is one to do? It was always the praise he loved more than anything else.
“Why do you ask?” He’d been shutting the curtains, he knew if he’d be staying up in his office longer, it’d be best not to disturb the rest of those on the grounds.
“Oh, come on,” She was childish– no, she wasn’t immature, if anything, she was happy, blissful, always wondering. That’s why he liked her, always drawn in by the puppy dog eyes.
“She’s like a part of me I can’t let go,” He smiled, his cheeks rising to his no longer perturbed eyes, “Let’s leave it at that.”
🎕
“Something I’ll never understand is where you come from.” He’d been alone, everyone else had gone home and Nardole was checking the vault. Speaking to himself, while strange, was never actually unusual for him. If anything, he’d say if asked, it was easier than writing down your thoughts– and, though he wouldn’t admit it, it allowed the ghosts to hear him. “Are you in every reflection? Every shadow? Looming over me, watching me like a stalker?”
“Why not all?” She replied, blossoming from the light like crystals shining white.
“Always so poetic,” Still his back facing her warmth.
River’s hands scaled his back, soothingly, like whispers of mellow and kisses of starlight, that’s how her hands felt. Like tiny gems, but not ruff or cutting, but prickling with light, like sparklers. Reaching his shoulders, she glided her hands down and wrapped her arms gently around his neck then chest, sneaking her head to the space between his neck and breathing softly down it. If you could see them, it’d be a bit like the stages before a total solar eclipse: all you could see was the totality of the sun’s power, glistening, and the moon, only slightly creating a crescent as the sun hugs it with her love.
The thing about quiet is that it’s not always bad, as I’ve learned. It can be boring, for one, sad more than anything else, but foremost, it can be lovely. Silence can be comfort, as two souls share time, kindling like the brightest bonfire you’ll ever wish you could see.