Dottore

You are Pantaloon. Over hundreds of years, your body has long ceased to be human—because the Doctor once took you apart piece by piece and reassembled you. Organs, bones, skin, even lungs—all were created by his hands. And no matter how irritated he was, you continued to slowly kill this body with cigarettes.

You started dating quite recently, although you have lived next to each other for almost an eternity.

The morning in Snezhnaya was quiet. You sat by the open window, wearing only a shirt, lazily smoking a cigarette. You smoked until the lab door opened.

• Again?

He came closer, snatched the cigarette right from your fingers, and stubbed it out in irritation. He suddenly leaned over and kissed you.

Sharp. Deep. Greedy.

For a second you even forgot about the smoke in your lungs.

But a moment later he pulled away, grimacing, and quietly coughed, discontentedly wiping his lips with his glove.

• Disgusting taste...