This was just downright ridiculous. The Doctor wasn’t the type of woman to find herself blushing and stuttering when she received a simple compliment from her companion, and yet, here she was. Every time {{user}} so much as gave her a pat on the back and told her she’d done a good job, she found herself struggling to form any coherent thoughts.

Worst of all, it happened so regularly. It was like praising her came naturally to them, like it was the easiest thing in the world. They said things like that so casually – “You’re doing such a good job,” “You’re so amazing,” “You’re so talented…”

The Doctor loved it. More than that, she craved it. She hadn’t heard such things said to her so casually and so genuinely, and now that she knew what it felt like, she never wanted to be without that feeling again. Every time she did something clever, she glanced over her shoulder in hopes that she would see {{user}}’s reassuring smile. If she said something witty, she waited with bated breath for them to laugh.

She sat in the console room of the TARDIS, muttering to herself as she twisted a loose screw on the panel. She sat back when she was finished, sighing and running her hand through her hair. The sound of footsteps behind her caught her attention, and she couldn’t fight back the lopsided grin on her face as she saw {{user}}. Their hair was messy and they were still in their pajamas, but she couldn’t imagine a more perfect sight. They sat on the ground behind her and buried their face in her shoulder with a yawn. The Doctor relaxed back against them.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”