I love you.
He shuts his eyes tight as his mind played the event back like a film, taunting him. Torturing him. Driving him mad. If missing her came in waves, tonight he was drowning.
Rose Tyler-
The pressure behind his eyes was unbearable. Worse than that, his throat was constricting in the most unpleasant way. The telltale signs of tears.
Except they just wouldn't come.
He shoved his shaking hands into his hair and pulled, trying anything to dull the pain. The pain that was tearing through him like a bloody chainsaw. He was sure he had never felt pain like this, not since destroying his own people, and he was sure he would never feel pain like this again.
He wants to cast her name amongst the stars, to let the supernova he used to say goodbye burn it into the skies just like how she seared it into his hearts. But he can't look to the stars, because he knows that if he does he'll just be nostalgic for the times they travelled them together.
Am I ever going to see you again?
He hates violence, but the hurt that flashes through his hand when he punches the wall just might have been worth it.
He shouts and screams into the oblivion because no one can hear him and he can't go to sleep tonight because he knows his dreams will be filled with images of her. The way her skin felt on his, or how her hand fit so perfectly into his hand.
You can't.
He collapses on his bed, clutching her sweater like it's a lifeline. It still smells like her, that vanilla scent that's now just a memory woven into the fabric like an anaesthetic. He almost feels like she's there with him, close enough to sense but just far enough that his desperate grabs won't touch her. She will always be just out of reach, he realizes.
His bloody box that can do just about anything but reunite him with Rose Tyler. The same Rose Tyler that is etched in his very skin, the same Rose Tyler who's essence runs through his veins and speaks to his soul.
The same Rose Tyler that is now gone.
He can't help but long for hushed conversations held in the dead of night, of hesitant touches made in fear of crossing boundaries he had so difficultly set out for himself, of tongue touched grins and the salty taste of afternoon chips.
He wants it all to stop. He wants to feel nothing at all. If he would no longer feel hope and joy and love, why would he want to feel this misery and loss? This grief?
He knows why. Because she would want him to.
He's not a big drinker, never has been, considering the liberal amount it would take to get him tipsy. But tonight he consumes all he can take, because he just wants to forget her, forget how bright her beauty burned.
He wants to forget how she made him feel, because he's a fucking Time Lord, godamnit, and he shouldn't get these urges.
But her hazel eyes had sure made his hearts flutter.
The alcohol doesn't help. She would frown at him right now, maybe yell a bit, and he would yell right back. Oh, how he wanted to yell at her right now, to see her cheeks flare up and hear her voice break as she finally starts crying. He wants to apologize, and he wants to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything's going to be okay.
Even though nothing would ever be okay again.
He's staring at the bottom of his glass, wondering how this one human had carved herself a home in his head and lit all the dark corners with her smile, and wondering if anyone could ever light them again.
Probably not.
I'm burning up a sun just to say goodbye.
He has a picture of them together. She's laughing and he's looking at her, and he can see just how much love he holds for her because it's right there on his face. His hand involuntarily traces the lines of her face, and his tears drip down and smudge the ink. He can't stop staring at her face, and his eyes are wide and unblinking, and he feels so goddamn empty inside that he rips the stupid photo into pieces and throws them into the fireplace.
Sobbing, he thrusts his hands into the burning flames, seeking out the photo only to have ash fall through his fingers. When he pulls his hands out they're in white hot agony, but he can't bring himself to care because it doesn't compare to how he feels right now.
She's gone and she's not fucking coming back, and never in his thousand years has he ever felt so sick.
He shouts it into the air, because she'll never hear him say it and he'll never say it to anyone again.
"Rose Tyler!"
Then he whispers it, softly and gently, like he wants to.
"I love you."