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“You okay, Strawberry?” the Doctor asks, walking into your room, spinning and laying back onto the bed next to you.
“Yeah, my head’s just all over the place. Like I can’t concentrate but I also can’t sleep,” you say, hands behind your head, lying flat.
“I can definitely relate to that.” The Doctor leans back against you, comfortably close as she gazes up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. You see the idea flood her mind almost instantly.
“Hey, wanna go to the observatory?”
“Oh? How come?” you respond, shuffling yourself up on your elbows to look at her.
“Like I’d need an excuse to look at the stars,” she laughs, then adds softly, “Besides, I wouldn’t mind some company...” Her shy smile and averted eyes are enough.
“Okay,” you say with a small smile, pushing yourself up and swinging your legs off the bed. She bounces to her feet, already holding out her hand. You smile and pad over, fingers instantly interlocking.
The corridors of the TARDIS glow with dark pink neon, casting the books and plants lining the halls in a gorgeous shade of berry. It feels like an artificial sunset. Each step you take makes the floor tiles blush a rich gold between the seams.
Eight turns and corridors later, you arrive at a double-doored entrance. The door requires a hand scan. The Doctor swaps hands with you before pressing it, prioritising your hand being held above all else. The small, adorable fumbling as she swaps sides almost trips her over her boots.
A whir and the door opens automatically, revealing a large room lined with bookshelves. But your eyes are immediately drawn to the ultimate star of the show: the telescope. Half space-age, half antique, it gleams with brass fittings, wires, dials, and buttons, etched with what you know to be Gallifreyan texts.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”
“I was saving it for a rainy day,” the Doctor replies. “Sleepless nights are best spent among the stars.”
She starts clockwise, showing you each aspect of the room. First on the left as you enter is a low sunken seating nook, covered in thick pillows and multiple knitted throws. Bordering the nook are shelves storing countless scrolls, which the Doctor tells you are maps. She pulls one out to show you a tiny charted area.
“It’s barely a corner of a single sky,” the Doctor comments, “and yet look how much life is there. Countless stories, secrets, and possibilities packed into this tiny space. Kind of like us, huh? So many meanings and multitudes existing within just one being.”
She looks at you - warmth, joy, and a hint of sadness all swimming in her eyes. “Sometimes I think everything really is bigger on the inside.”
You smile, feeling the warmth of her touch linger.
Books are scattered and layered within each cubbyhole and piled against pillows. The nook itself is an art nouveau swirl of carved curves and leaves, molding seamlessly into the adjoining bookshelf. Some books are thick, some bound in old leather or gilded metals. Wedged between them all are various book corners of different designs. One catches your eye - a mahogany piece carved into a photo frame. The woman in the photo has curls for days and a mischievous smile you can’t take your eyes off.
The shelves curl around the room into a curved wall to the left of the telescope.
“Now this, my dear sunflower, is a wall made entirely of starglass.”
The Doctor explains that the glass is layered with shifting constellations and how she herself etched star charts into the surface using diamond tools. Some of the etchings move, alive, reacting to your presence.
“What’s that for?” you ask, pointing at a big lever sticking out of the wall, its casing adorned with silver and brass forget-me-nots.
“That, my dove, can dim the star-lights above and project full planetary systems midair. I’ll have to show you once you’ve had the tour. Don’t let me forget!”
In the centre of the room, parallel to the telescope, hangs a suspended armillary sphere rotating slowly above a highly decorated levitating plinth.
“Each ring is labeled in Gallifreyan, detailing orbits, collapses, and temporal fractures.”
To the right of the telescope, the wall opens into a mini gallery of sketches, data readouts, and pinned leaves from impossible worlds.
Next, your eyes land on an old radio perched on a hexagonal shelf, quietly crackling with fragments of alien broadcasts: static layered with ghostly voices and languages you don’t quite understand. The Doctor notices your interest and, without a word, lifts her sonic screwdriver. A soft bzzz, a flick of her wrist, and the signal shifts, morphing into hazy 90s shoegaze that hums like it's been playing this whole time.
She walks up behind you and slips her arms around your waist, resting her chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Sonic-ed it to suit your mood. Nailed it, didn’t I?” she whispers, voice low and playful against your ear.
You lean back into her without thinking, your fingers tracing lazy circles over the backs of her hands. The moment stretches and for a second, the music, the stars, and her body pressed to yours feel like the only things in the universe.
But eventually, she gently nudges her nose against your cheek, murmuring,
“C’mon, there’s more to see…”
You peel yourself away, only just, and continue walking together, her pinkie hooked around yours.
As you near the entrance again, your gaze lifts to a slender spiral staircase winding upward to a mezzanine balcony. Up there, you glimpse more shelves stacked with books and a floating desk, papers fluttering gently in the artificial breeze. The air carries the faint scent of typewriter ink and dried rose petals... like someone’s been writing love letters between galaxies.
Back at floor level, nestled near the door, is a small control panel embedded into the woodwork. It glows softly, cluttered with post-it notes scribbled in cursive loops, and dusted with custard cream crumbs. You spot a doodle of a star next to your name in the corner of one note and your chest warms instantly.
“Now then, about that lever,” the Doctor says, dragging you back toward it, almost tripping on one of the dozen rugs layering the floor. “Would you like to do the honours?” She gestures dramatically.
“In fact… two secs...” She runs back to the control panel by the door, boots up a couple screens, types some code, and confidently presses a blue button.
“Now try.” She gleams, looking like a proud puppy.
You step forward and pull down the lever, feeling a satisfying click. The lighting instantly dims and the entire room shifts.
The starglass wall pulses softly, and the constellations glow brighter, swirling and rearranging into a breathtaking projection. Suddenly, a miniature solar system blooms in the air before you: planets orbiting, comets streaking, and nebulae blooming in iridescent colors.
Your eyes widen. “Whoa... it’s so beautiful.”
The Doctor beams, stepping closer. Her fingers fold into yours as she points out details in the projection.
“That’s the star system where I met my first pting. Hungry little fella, I have to say. And here,” she taps a sparkling comet, “that’s the one that crashed on Earth and inspired Shakespeare’s Hamlet.”
You lean your head against her shoulder, heart swelling with awe and warmth.
She whispers, “Whenever the universe feels overwhelming, I come here. It reminds me that even in the vastness, we’re not alone.”
You squeeze her hand gently, already feeling peaceful sleep edging in.
“Thanks for bringing me here, Doctor.”
She smiles softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.
“Always, my sweet pea.”
The planets continue their swirling dance overhead as you both settle into the sunken nook.
Your head finds her shoulder and her arm slips around you.
Enveloped by the soft pillows and gentle glow, your eyes flutter closed and you sink blissfully into sleep.