"What was the end of that sentence?" Oh, how he wished. How he wished he could lean in and tell her those words. "I love you, Rose Tyler." The simplicity of that sentence. How many muscles would it take to say it? Not many. Surely worth the strain.
No, the other him was there first. Leaning that damned cheek against hers and whispering. Whispering, whispering. "I love you." No, you don't. But he does. I love her. He does, oh, he does. Always me. Forever.
His Rose. His Rose was no longer his. Her lips were against his, her arms around him.
But he felt nothing.
It wasn't him.
He wanted it, God, he wanted it.
I love you. He does.
But this was no place for a Time Lord. She was too perfect for someone like him. With all her flaws and faults, with every mistake and blemish. Perfection.
Absolute perfection. And none of it was his.
Rose Tyler.
She's saved worlds.
I love you.
But she can't save him.
That day, for the first time in a long time, the Doctor had a first.
That day, he learned what two hearts sounded like when they broke simultaneously.
I love you, Rose Tyler.