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“You’d think for a party such as this, they’d invite a god of music that plays well,” The Doctor jokes to nobody in particular, if anything, the joke is merely for himself.
As in all his millenniums and endless epochs of attendance to these things (his attendance seemingly necessary when no one actually seemed to agree) no one dared to spend a moment with him that wasn’t accompanied by a smile distorted by their not-at-all hidden distaste, or their awkward and frightened indulgence of his company.
He’d learned to pay it no mind, their ignorance while disheartening he’d learned overtime to chalk up as something silly.
If only to put his mind towards better things, such as the Underworld and the Dead. It’s what everyone rather him focus on anyway, so he carries on as he does, and…
A hand lands on his arm, the first touch he’s felt in goodness knows long, before suddenly its owner is leaning into his space, their beautiful laugh carrying itself near his cheek, leaving the Doctor shivering as the man speaks to him:
“Like they’d spring for anything more than that lousy lot!”
The Doctor is taken aback, not needing to breathe, and yet it’s as if he’d needed it all this time and not known it, when his eyes finally glimpse upon the young god who he does not recognize, and who, unlike everyone else, isn’t afraid of him.
Toothily he can’t help but smile at him, the very warm god that the Doctor finds himself chasing after by stepping closer, likely closer than appropriate;
But if the young god notices or cares, he’s clearly in the same boat, gravity pulling them together into a singular orbit.
They giggle together suddenly like fools, their amusement infectious to the point they're garnering more attention than the Doctor is used to ever receiving.
Something he hopes this god doesn’t notice, because surely then he’d realize there was something amiss, that he was not a god people were so bold as to talk to, let alone touch.
Surely the god didn’t know who he was, that was the only explanation the Doctor had as to why he was so friendly with him.
He was fresh and new, he certainly had to be since this is the first time he’d ever seen the man, and the god hadn’t yet been swept into the other god’s distaste for the concept of death and all that it entailed- thinking they as immortals were above it.
Oh, how the Doctor ached to keep them in this moment a mere minute longer so as to pretend he could actually have an eternity of such pleasant affection.
But nothing lasts forever, this is something the Doctor knows intimately, especially as the beautiful man before him seems to take notice of the silence the room has since been plunged into, and his brow crinkles as he looks around in confusion to their judgement.
The Doctor sighs, used to ignoring their glares when they had the energy to give them, and he won’t subject the god in front of him to any more of it.
He takes a begrudging step back, his grin baleful against the heartache flaring within his chest, and the poor boy frowns even harder at the sight.
“It was nice meeting you but you see I’m-” He tries to explain, really not even knowing how he was going to finish that sentence, as his shoulders go stiff in awe as the god takes an easy step forward back into his space, utterly insistent.
“Ah ‘ken who you are.”
Now that makes the Doctor freeze, his confusion and wonder surely written across his face as the boy’s hand reclaimed its spot on his arm.
He knew who he was and he still-
“They’re just daft. I dinnae mind who ye are or what’s yer station,” The god admits earnestly, before sending a disapproving glare at their onlookers for good measure.
“Jamie,” a voice calls out then, hesitant and apologetic all at once.
Jamie, what a beautiful name, the Doctor can’t help but think as the man looks over his shoulder at who was calling to him.
Another god the Doctor doesn’t recognize, a young girl who gives him a shy smile, seemingly not afraid of him either, rather just embarrassed for butting in on their conversation.
The young man gives her his attention without ever removing his arm, and the dark haired girl comes right out with it, “You’re late.”
Jamie frowns, finally taking his hand from the Doctor’s arm to check the watch on his wrist, before muttering a curse under his breath.
Indicative of the fact the man was in fact late for something, the Doctor finds there’s some hope for deities yet, as Jamie and this girl caring at all about something like being late is as telling as their view of him.
“I have’tae go,” Jamie then tells him apologetically, his bangs brushing down against his eyes in a way that makes the Doctor’s fingers flinch in an attempt not to reach out and brush them away.
An instinct to reach out he’d thought he’d lost long ago when being starved for affection…starved out entirely.
His only refrain comes from the latent fear the boy would react like everyone else…unkindly, even as Jamie had stalled in his tracks when by now he surely should be rushing off to wherever he was needed.
The kilt wearing boy sends one last glance at their peers, before shaking his head to himself, an action that baffles the Doctor entirely.
Especially as suddenly the man’s hands are bracing his arms, pulling him closer, making their lips meet.
It’s only a second, the longest of the Doctor’s very long life, one he’d give the rest of his eternity for if granted a single second more.
“It’was nice tae meet ye,” Jamie’s thick accent huffed out breathlessly, before he and the other god were rushing off, likely oblivious to the fact he’d changed what was considered the god of the Underworld’s life forever.