𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 , doctor who

iii. february 29th, 1532

journal entry #3 AN ENTRY ON THE VISIT
DURING THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1532.

It took The Doctor four years to return, but I waited patiently for I was a firm believer in keeping a promise. Not matter how big, no matter how small.

I was surprised by his sudden appearance; that year I was still clueless. I still sat in front of the fireplace but instead of being surrounded by wooden playthings, assorted papers were scattered around me. A bottle of ink sat by my side and I clutched the pen in my still innocent hands.

He landed in the same spot, squeezed between my large bed and larger wardrobe, and I cried out as one of my papers was blown into the raging fire.

"It worked!" Was the first thing he shouted to no person in particular before turning to me. "Congratulations on your eight minuscule years, Abraham."

"Thank you, Doctor," I beamed. He looked over my put together appearance and came closer to scan what I had been scribbling. I did the same to him. He didn't seem to change clothes. "I waited."

"They always do, don't they," he brushed off my statement. "I tried to come sooner to keep my promise, but unfortunately my theory was correct."

"Cheers," I giggled.

"Now, what's with all this?" He questioned. He held up off my sheets, fingers nimble as to not smudge the still fresh ink. "Some big words on here for a boy your age."

"Whatever do you mean?" I laughed once more at his incredulous statement. "I am getting older, Doctor. I have started my studies since you left. I know lots of French now too."

"Oh, French? Ever had a baguette from the 18th century?"

"Erhm, no, sir," I answered with a hint of confusion. He was an odd man I realized as I slowly figured for myself his story and where he came from.

"They're fantastic."

"Will you stay longer this time? I have been feeling quite restless. Even in her seniority Ms. Wilkins still insists I stay on top of my work."

"So you're in your room often? Your father doesn't ever make time for you?" I could not help but to feel my heart soar, for The Doctor had remembered that small detail about me. I would later learn he had a way with making us simple humans feel that way.

Like we were wanted. Like we mattered.

"Oh, father died a year after you left," I stated.

"Sorry for your loss."

"Quite alright. We were not close in the slightest," I sighed. The Doctor's brow furrowed in concern. I could read his mind. The tragic part was not that my father had died, it was that he was distant. He acted as if he did not have an obligation to me, his one and only child.

I did not resent him for it. I knew I would be better, even at an age such as mine.

In an act of pity, The Doctor squatted next to me. He began to gather my papers, letting loose a few compliments that were unnecessary. "You said you were feeling restless?" I nodded in response. "You ever built a snowman? They make great companions."

A smile found its way onto my cheeks and I let out a childish giggle.

The Doctor spent the rest of the afternoon with me, showing me how a birthday was truly meant to be spent.