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The Doctor has always liked June.
June means Amy Pond in summer dresses, spinning around on the glass floor in a cloud of striking perfume. It means she’s dancing down the control room stairs with bare legs and painted toenails, letting warm breeze waft through the TARDIS door when she leaves it propped open on the beach. He associates the entire month with fresh fruit and endless iced tea, wading through waist-high wildflowers on every single planet they come across. He picks her up one day when she’s least expecting it, and he loves the way she laughs at that. She laughs straight up into the copper ceiling, arching her back, legs coming to rest around his waist. Ginger curls framing her face, it’s a while before he sets her down again.
That afternoon, they’re walking out into a grassy forest where the trees are bright green and there are roses absolutely everywhere. He’s strolling alongside her admiring the leaves when he stoops down and picks one. Offering it out, he almost pretends she’s a princess in a fairy-tale, twisting the stem between his fingers, watching the red petals glint in the light. He can’t get enough of the way she smiles at it. For many days afterwards he brings her bunches of flowers just to see her face light up, strong lavender and bright sunflowers; fragile daisies that she makes a point of tucking behind her ear.
He’s lost count of how many bowls of chocolate ice cream they’ve eaten together in the TARDIS kitchen, sticky grins clashing with whitewashed walls. Come to think of it, they've also had those whippy cones out on a pier somewhere; on a distant coast where the turquoise sea had met the sky in a haze. If he puts his mind back there, he can still smell the salt in the air, still hear Amy complaining about the grains of sand in her shoes. He’d taken her hand and felt their fingers melt together in the heat of the day.
The very next sunrise, when they’re out walking in a purple lavender field, he takes her on an impromptu picnic. He likes surprising her with little things; laying out blankets in the middle of the long grass, honeybees coming to take a look at what they’re doing. Amy sits with her legs outstretched, a trace of suncream on her collarbone that she hasn’t noticed yet. If he isn’t careful, she’ll put the stick of celery she’s eating directly into her glass of lemonade. In the spur of the moment, the Doctor pulls out a jar of sickly-looking paste.
“You’re not expecting me to eat that, are you?” Amy twists her mouth into a grimace.
Of course he isn’t. It’s for the fish. The beautiful, shimmering fish that swim in the lake just beyond the trees. He’s been longing to show them to her. Sometimes, he’s even known them to reflect off the sunbeams and glisten, and God knows she’ll drop her jaw at the sight of that. Leading her from the blanket in the meadow, it’s not long before the both of them are sitting by the water, putting bait and bits of leftover picnic on the end of a line. With a cork wedged on the hook, it’s less like catching the fish, more like feeding them, but either way, it doesn’t matter. He’ll do anything if it means he can just sit with her for a while. Hazel eyes trained to the middle of the water, Amy smiles in the dappled light, her irises almost turning amber. He watches for a while as they talk quietly, humid moisture droplets forming in the palms of their hands. He’s convinced the bliss of this entire afternoon is up there with some of the best days he’s ever had with her.
Over the last couple of weeks, she’s got into the habit of kissing him on the cheek when she wants to thank him for something, or when she’s just happy to share the moment. The Doctor’s far from minding. The curl of her smile presses into his skin, and if his hands aren’t already at her waist then he’ll put them there, holding her gently, offering out a compliment on whatever it is she’s decided to wear.
In June, it’s usually pastel. Light blues, floaty greens, summer yellows that slip off her shoulder and mix with the freckles on her skin. God. The clouds floating softly about mountain peaks have nothing on her. All the waterfalls they might find sparkling amongst the trees will only shine brighter when Amy turns to look at them.
At the beginning of the next week, they’re walking out under a cliff face where the sheer rock is salmon-pink. Tracing their way along the shoreline, they’re passing a shared water bottle back and forth between them, drinking the last of the droplets as the ocean crashes out to sea. The Doctor watches as Amy sucks in her lip, taking in the surroundings.
“It clashes with my hair a bit, don’t you think?”
The red curls in question are scraped up in a bun, meticulously placed bobby pins letting wisps of it fall down the back of her neck. Lilac nails scrape over stone as she places a hand to the warmth of the cliff, sun beating down on it. Light bounces off rock pools, and listening to the sound of the waves, the Doctor wishes he could stay in this moment forever. He wishes he could stay in June forever. But the end of the month comes around whether he likes it or not. And it’s Asteroid Day.
In the dead of night, laying out in a field, he and Amy spend hours watching for wandering stars. The warm breeze flutters through the sky, and a comet passes overhead, leaving a trail of red and orange bursting through the night. Blades of grass between their fingertips, it almost feels like they have to hold on tight to the Earth in fear of falling, the depths of the universe pulling them ever closer to oblivion. But as spectacles go, it’s almost silent. The loudest thing the Doctor can hear is Amy’s slow breathing, taking in the view right next to his shoulder. Another meteor whistles past above them, showering sparks beside the trees.
“God, it’s so beautiful.” Amy whispers.
So is June, the Doctor thinks.
So is she.
Laying underneath a canopy of stars, the blade of grass tickling his neck has all the makings of summer perfume. The heat of the night rises over their heads, sickly sweet and intoxicating. In that moment, Amy reaches out and takes his hand.
He wishes the world would stay exactly as it is. Him and her, just... existing here. But he knows it’s never going to happen. The last hours of June are fading out into the darkness, the cosmos glinting in the night. It’s been a month of summer dresses and chocolate ice cream, endless walks along the beach and surprise picnics with shimmering fish swimming in the lake. Even tonight, the last night they’ll have like this, there’s a fragile daisy tucked behind Amy’s ear, resting between ginger stands and starry earrings.
In the gleam of an asteroid, the sight of it almost makes the Doctor mournful.
It'll be July, soon enough.