Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, but would definitely love to.
Rose often remembered the first time she met the Doctor. The excited look in his eyes, the way his mouth curled up into run, his hand wrapping around her own, her sudden willingness to trust the strange man who seemed to have come out of nowhere.
The Doctor often remembered this too, though perhaps a bit differently. How scared she looked in the dank, dark basement with the not-so-inanimate mannequins, the thought of adventure on his mind, grabbing her hand, and telling her to run.
She had felt it, as had he. A spark. A current of pure hormonal electricity transmitted between fingers and palms. There was no denying it, though there was no acknowledging it either. Each knew in their own minds the feelings they had for the other, but neither was willing to admit them.
Fondness, not love. Admiration, not adoration. Not at first. But just with their first meeting – holding hands, running for their lives, adventure – Rose was hooked on the Doctor, and the Doctor was hooked on Rose. And both knew in that instant what was to come.
Though neither would admit it.