“I cannae look like a lass, it’s– ye know.”

Jamie paused for a moment, and realised he couldn’t exactly articulate what he was thinking. The Doctor didn’t know – or at least, didn’t care. He’d never put much stock in social cues – not the ones Jamie was familiar with, at any rate – never caring if people were staring, or judging. 

It was hard not to admire that.

“Och, sod it, nae mind.” he conceded with a small smile, plucking one of the flowers from the crown on his head and tucking it behind the Doctor’s ear. “Mibbe ye ought tae wear flowers more often, eh?”

The Doctor simply looked at him with a sort of mild, smiling contentedness, perhaps waiting for Jamie to go on. He was sat in the grass with his legs outstretched and his hands folded and looked quite as though he could stay that way until the sun went down.

Oh! Then he was laughing, either from pleasant surprise or delight or both, and absently he smoothed his hair back from the flower. You know, I think you may be quite right, Jamie, he beamed. After all, who minded feeling warm and lovely more often?

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