@intergalacticstarlight from here 

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Another impossibly gentle ‘whoosh’ of air leaves the Doctor’s lungs as that one simple word, so like the others before yet holding such deeper meaning, is uttered. Before he realizes it he too is transported, to another time, another place where he almost confessed what needed confessing. Where he nearly bared himself and oh, oh how he should have. Fixed point or no, brought together and apart, together and apart like the ebb and flow crashing against the shoreline, oh how he wishes he’d been braver then. He wishes his cowardice and stubbornness hadn’t thwarted his attempts to say more than a pondering of what he would have become without the Master.

He knew, of course, as he knows now. He wouldn’t exist at all. Theta would not be without Koschei. That, too, like themselves, was a Universal constant. He would not have survived the brutality of his adolescent years were it not for the Time Lord in his arms.

That simple ’yeah’ says more than he himself ever has, in all of his utterances in any of his forms. It is beautiful and breathtaking, just like the man who’s said it and the words that follow, the tears that are shed, his hearts clench tightly and he knows. He knows. He knows the things which cannot be confessed because he knows his Koschei so well, and it does not repulse him. Contrary, it never has. His own tears fall more freely, equally as silent and bareft of any dramatic influence. He is simply Theta Sigma, bared now as he wouldn’t allow himself to be then, belonging to the keeper of his hearts the way he was always meant to.
His arms draw the Master closer, a silent request that is immediately accepted and carried out. The fear is gone, dust in the billowing winds of centuries wasted.

Too much time has passed for him to waste a moment of it now, nor ever again, and he clings near-too-tightly, not allowing a single breath of distance between them. His mind is open, his skin warm beneath the Master’s touch, countless hours of barriers, armor, defenses all falling away as mental signatures combine and leave a feeling of relief in the wake of combination. Tendrils outstretch, seeking and drawing in and it’s a wonder how he ever manages to go without this mental contact. Aloud, words fail him, his chosen medium rendered to ash in this moment of startling and brilliant clarity.

Inside, his thoughts speak for him and allow the Master, his Koschei, his home, his Universe, to hear and understand and know. Partly a repetition of the other’s own words to him in troubled moments, partly his own sentiments, all wrapped in a diaphanous blanket of pure and unadulterated love. The words within their swirling tendrils are base, simple, the artform gone and leaving behind just the words and meanings as before. Promises anew.

We’re not there anymore. The past is done and the future waits. Together.
I’m sorry. For all the hurt, pain, terror, blindness, broken promises, I’m sorry.
I understand. What you did, I understand.
I know. I accept. I forgive. Forgive me too.
Missed you every moment. Never leaving again. I remember.
Stay, as I stay, stay with me, Hearts.
I belong to you. Will always, have always. I’m yours.
My other half. Soul of my soul.
My Koschei.

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Koschei murmurs a laugh.  He remains otherwise resolutely immobile. A long moment passes, in which nothing but their pure minds communes.  In this perfect silent bliss, free of the drums and their poisonous associations with death, insufficiency and solitude, he hears every syllable nudged across the ever-closing bridge between them.  He hears, and realizes that he could happily never emerge from this place again.  

In the silence there is a sound accompanying Theta’s words: the distant high hiss, the lull, of a seatide, peppered by something like glass chimes, in incandescent harmony, like the sound of light on the ocean at sunset.  The sound is eternal; it’s their music, together. The sound is neither Koschei nor Theta, but the entropy of both.

Tears continue to fall indiscriminately, like the little boy beneath thousands of years of calcification is leaking through.  His hands rest on Theta’s shoulders; he guides him down to kneeling, until they are both on their knees, then gently, without looking once, guides the pair of them down to the TARDIS grates, on their sides, foreheads still connected.  

We’re not there anymore. 
I understand, too. 
Just, when you run, take me with you, or run toward me.
I trust that you will. 
I know, I accept.
I do forgive you, too.
Now you are me, and I am you. 
What can I do but stay with myself? 
My other half. Soul of my soul. 
Life of my life. 
My every happiness.
My Theta. 
I’ve got you, sweet my love. 
I’ve got you. You are not alone. 
I love you.
I know you love me. 

He opens his eyes, then. 

         “ … Hi.” 

        “Crybaby.”

A gentlest tease, as plentiful tears stain his own face.