𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓 | 𝐔.𝐊

you were only 18 when the tenth doctor asked you to be his companion.

you were only 21 when he left you behind.

on your birthday, no less. which meant, either, he didn’t remember your birthday. or he did, and he just didn’t care.

both of which, sucked.

but, now, you were older. you’d moved on. you didn’t need to think about the doctor anymore.

it was your birthday again. and you were spending in a pub. performing, playing guitar and singing with your band, but still, in a pub.

you’d just finished your last song, when the door opened, the little bell above it jingling as the familiar figure entered the pub.

it was the fucking doctor.