Time seemed to stop when he would find himself staring at her. He was in his chair, taking a "break" to let Clara pilot the ship. He told her that his breaks were meant for small naps. They were, until he found himself being unable to look away from her. The next time he took a break, he couldn't stop gazing at her again. His eyes trailed her body, taking note of how she pressed the buttons with ease and twirled around the console like his old self.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked, amused from where she was standing.

"I was admiring the circular connectors, Clara," he lied.

"Whatever you say, Doctor."

The TARDIS beeped at him, much to Clara's pleasure.

It wasn't until the very next time that he took a "break" that he managed to find something to distract him. He picked up the pen and notebook from his chair and began sketching. He glanced down at her for a fraction of a second, but found it harder than ever to tear his eyes away from her.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it was just for his drawings, he knew that he looked at her for a much different reason. He was enamored by her and her presence alone. It was as simple as that, yet it really wasn't.

His twin hearts sped up as he felt that she knew that he was taking in everything about her. He wanted every last detail of the drawing to be perfect, just as perfect as he always saw her. You will never look any different to me, he had once told her. He meant it.

Those brown eyes of hers never seemed to age, just as the smile on her lips failed to fade along with time itself. Even the most beautiful, ancient stars had nothing on her caressable dimples. He drew them in more carefully than anything else. They were the easiest to understand when it came to her face. He was still lost when she pursed her lips at him or furrowed her eyebrows together. He'd figure it out someday, that he knew.

"Doctor, what are you-"

His head shot up as he realized she was looking down at the notebook in his lap. She had snuck up on him, only to find herself at a loss for words. She couldn't believe that he had been drawing her the entire time. She sat on the arm of the chair as he handed the notebook to her. His hearts thumped louder with every flip of a page.

"Why have you been drawing me?" she whispered.

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Oh, Clara," he began. "Why wouldn't I draw you?"

"That isn't answering my question."

"Do you really want to know the truth?"

"Yes," she pleaded. She made sure to inflate her eyes for him. He sighed in defeat.

"I've been drawing you because you've bewitched me, Clara," he said softly.

"I-I have?"

"Since the moment we met."

She didn't know how to respond to his confession. Words didn't seem to cover it. Gently, she slid from the arm of the chair into his lap. He stiffened at first, but began to immediately relax. Her eyes wandered to his lips. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing. He must've been, as she felt his hands on her waist, slowly pulling her closer to him. She closed her eyes as she pressed her lips onto his. He froze, her lips much softer than he had expected. His lips glided over hers naturally, as if they had done this many times before. Her hands found their way to his silver curls, tugging on them to deepen the kiss. The lack of oxygen between them became overwhelming for her.

He could tell that she needed to breathe. He wanted to be selfish and continue but didn't. He pulled away, letting Clara catch her breath. She gripped the lapels of his hoodie and rested her forehead on his.

"Body and soul, eh?" she said.

He nodded.

And I love… I love… I love you.