The first time Fitz had seen him, the musician had done a double take. He hadn’t expected to ever see a face like that again - soft, long, and dreamy eyed. It had been shortly after one of his smaller gigs and he’d stopped and stared, sweaty and high from the success of a good set.
The second time Fitz saw him at a gig, he’d had plenty of time to think about how impossible it was that this man was the Doctor. Yet he felt himself drawn, anyways. Hair still a mess from flailing about on stage, he approached that achingly familiar figure lingering by the bar and asked him out for coffee. Just a friendly chat, of course, to learn more about him and why he was always at Fitz’s gigs.
A couple months later and he knew that Dorian wasn’t the Doctor but that hadn’t stopped him from falling head over heels in love. It had hit him like a train head on. Dorian was so sweet to him - so understanding and willing to help with just about anything he could. He was handsome and Fitz was fully entrenched. He hadn’t caught any inklings of trouble, which is why Fitz had stutteringly invited Dorian to move in with him in his large-ish home, a result of budding fame.
Fitz sat in the livingroom, a stack of bills in front of him as he attempted to reconcile his accounts. There was something not matching. Money was missing but he couldn’t figure out where it had gone. Brows pinched and with a frustrated sigh, he called out to the other room. “Dorian, love- can you help me out with this for a second?”