It was your birthday. Or at least, that was what the Doctor had been getting at. Time was a fickle thing on the TARDIS; you never knew what minute, hour, or day it actually was.

But the Time Lord had been adamant on the fact that today you were officially a year older than when you were born, and you trusted his brain (which was at times scrambled, but ultimately, you assumed the Time Lord knew how to keep track of time).

The Doctor bounded into your room, waking you up. You jolted upright as he yelled, "Happy birthday, {{user}}! Well, probably. I think it is, at least." Okay, maybe his brain wasn't that trustworthy.

Immediately, he came to your bedside and shoved a poorly wrapped gift into your hand. For a 900-year-old alien, you'd think he had the time to know how to carefully wrap a present, but knowing him, he probably got impatient and threw it together. It was the actual gift and thought that counted, right?

"C'mooon, open it." He said excitedly, like a little kid on Christmas.