He’s had people in the past tell him that he shouldn’t be alone, which is why he both loathes and looks forward to it when he is. It’s a chance to get his thoughts together, focus on the future instead of what he’s left behind, where to go, what to do...if only it was just that easy.
His thoughts are always consumed by someone. Clara, River, Amy, Rory, Rose, Donna, Theta, others - it’s like a revolving door and no matter how much he covers it over with extravagant gestures and big words to impress whatever sepsis he manages in the tour of the universe he’s found himself on, it just doesn’t stop turning, it’s never still.
He supposes he has a talent for making friends, but also seems to have a talent for losing them as well when it’s least convenient. It makes him angry, how tired they get of him, of the running and travelling and how little they seem to feel both before and after they leave.
Thankfully, the stars are like them in many ways, so it helps in times where the dark reaches of his mind try to dash him away again. They are plentiful and never run out of love for him or his cause, whatever it turns out to be for the time he’s focused on it. However, the stars only provide so much. They don’t provide warmth or laughter or verse, they have no faces.
He also can‘t reach out and touch them, despite hapless attempts both in the past and present to do so. They feel distant and cold, like memories long forgotten by a very old man with a very old man and a lot of time on his hands and for now they are just...there. Forever watching. Just like he hopes that they below him do still.
He sometimes visits or well, he researches more than actually parking the TARDIS and physically checking in on someone. He knows he shouldn’t, but sometimes the overpowering beating of his two hearts becomes too loud or his head too flooded that he needs to decompress and the best way to stop himself is to occupy his brain with something he feels like he knows best. People he used to call his friends or at least to him, they still are his friends, regardless of the way they left things off, either sadly or joyously.
He has favorites, most of his forms do. He thinks if he looked back into his memories hard enough, he could remember which companion meant muchly to a specific regeneration, but his head even aches with the thought, a new feeling as he wasn’t used to human levels of emotion and pain, but had felt them more often as of late given his tendency to try and act as human as he possibly could. A feat for most without a disguise, if he’s honest with himself.
There will be another. He knows this too well. He looks forward to those days, as they stay with him long after and are comforting to his aged brain. He’ll go someplace, find a new someone and that someone will be special. Always special.
One of one. Never the same, but always just that. Just like everyone else.