The Doctor jumped out of bed happily, the dream of the night before still lurking in his thoughts, but it didn't matter. It wasn't real. His sheets still smelled like Rose because that is where she slept the night before this, infecting the covers with a mix of her sweat, deodorant, perfume and her shampoo. He loved that smell, nothing elses in the world could compare to the way Rose smelled. It was familiar yet different every time based on varying factors such as how much running they had done, how much deodorant she had on, how recent she'd taken a shower. But familiar, and still very her.
He pulled on his suit quickly and made his way across the hall to her room, pulling the handle he opened the door and walked inside.
His smiled faltered, she wasn't there. Didn't matter though, she could be somewhere else. There were a million rooms she could be in, maybe she had fallen asleep in the library, she did that sometimes. Or perhaps she was eating, yeah, that had to be it. So he checked.
He checked the rooms she usually resided in, her things thrown across tables and chairs. Empty mugs where she left her tea, and unfinished book, and a towel hanging off of the rack from where she swam a few days earlier. There were bobby pins in the library next to a bowl that held popcorn in it, next to a couch that was opposite a big screen TV she liked to watch shows on. There was left over chips in the fridge, and a half eaten sandwich next to it. There was her blanket at the dining room table because she was cold and her jacket lying across the railing to enter the TARDIS. There were all here things, thrown across the TARDIS in a way that cried out home, all her things were there, but there wasn't her.
It hit him then, a dream that was much too vivid, a TARDIS that was much too quite, a lack of humming inside his head where he could usually detect her presence. Half eaten meals, clothes in a closet she'll never open again, a bathroom she'll never shower in again, jewelry, unfinished books, empty tea mugs and so many things, but no Rose. No Rose, no Rose, no Rose.
He fell to the floor that second, every hope that maybe she was somewhere else on the ship crushed as realization hit him. His hands were held up to his face, pools of tears forming in his palms as images of the day before hit him. The white room with an open wall, a pink and yellow girl flying into the void only to be caught by Pete Tyler, a broken man leaning against said wall as if she'd appear next to him and tell him it was okay. The cry when he got back to the TARDIS, a dinner he made and only half ate by himself before deciding he wasn't hungry, and a good cry to put him to sleep.
The Doctor began to call out to her, as if her hand would grab his and tell him she was right here and there was nothing to worry about. He sobbed out her name over and over along with so many things he never got to tell her. The Doctor eventually stood up and began to walk back to Rose's room, and laid in her bed and did what he had done, what he probably would be doing for a while. He cried.
"Rose come back," He pulled up her blankets around him, cradling himself in her scent. He wished there was a way to bottle it, but there wasn't. And he really wished he could get her back, but he couldn't.
So he sat there, rocking and shaking under the now wet sheets, drowning in self-pity. The only word that mattered sing throughout his head. Rose.