(no subject)
Nothing is ever forgotten, Eleven/Rose, G
And whenever Amy reminded him of the twelve years, he could imagine a signature grin aimed at him, and that voice he wouldn’t admit to missing saying “Well, that’s even worse than twelve months!”, 267
A/N: Partially inspired by this picspam.
The stars twinkled at him, life and brightness and starting over. The star whale quietly moved Starship UK forward through the perpetual night, and everyone lived. It was a new beginning.
So why couldn’t he shake the ghost of a hand in his as the wreckage of Earth floated past?
He wondered if the universe was trying to make sure he never forgot her. There was too much, to many times she’d held his hand and grinned when he told her to run.
Too many days like this, when the barrage balloons taunted him and the Union Jack always made him think of that specific blond. And whenever Amy reminded him of the twelve years, he could imagine a signature grin aimed at him, and that voice he wouldn’t admit to missing saying “Well, that’s even worse than twelve months!”.
Amy didn’t even know, the ways she reminded him of her. When she asked about his friend so many memories came and went, the image of another red-haired girl asking nearly the same falling around him. Or the day she had dragged Rory and him to the fair, only to return with the second largest ball of cotton candy he’d ever seen.
But he was good at hiding things, this time around. So very good. He never let Amy see how much goodbyes hurt, or the kitchen he never visited anymore, because of the pink mug with “Rose” written on it in beautiful script.
He never told her that he couldn’t watch her and Rory smile and hold hands without wondering about another couple, far, far away.
And whenever Amy reminded him of the twelve years, he could imagine a signature grin aimed at him, and that voice he wouldn’t admit to missing saying “Well, that’s even worse than twelve months!”, 267
A/N: Partially inspired by this picspam.
The stars twinkled at him, life and brightness and starting over. The star whale quietly moved Starship UK forward through the perpetual night, and everyone lived. It was a new beginning.
So why couldn’t he shake the ghost of a hand in his as the wreckage of Earth floated past?
He wondered if the universe was trying to make sure he never forgot her. There was too much, to many times she’d held his hand and grinned when he told her to run.
Too many days like this, when the barrage balloons taunted him and the Union Jack always made him think of that specific blond. And whenever Amy reminded him of the twelve years, he could imagine a signature grin aimed at him, and that voice he wouldn’t admit to missing saying “Well, that’s even worse than twelve months!”.
Amy didn’t even know, the ways she reminded him of her. When she asked about his friend so many memories came and went, the image of another red-haired girl asking nearly the same falling around him. Or the day she had dragged Rory and him to the fair, only to return with the second largest ball of cotton candy he’d ever seen.
But he was good at hiding things, this time around. So very good. He never let Amy see how much goodbyes hurt, or the kitchen he never visited anymore, because of the pink mug with “Rose” written on it in beautiful script.
He never told her that he couldn’t watch her and Rory smile and hold hands without wondering about another couple, far, far away.