Tenth leaned on the side of the doorway, looking at Rose's messy, untouched room.
Ever since she had left, he had always went in hear every time he was just about to leave the TARDIS, on another almost-killing-him quest. He always leaned on the door frame, as if listening to when se would tell him again that she wasn't ready, yet. Telling him to wait. He breathed out a long breath, then reached up to brush his hand through his brown hair.
Her bedroom was how she always left it. Bed unmade, only a few of her clothes hanging up, while everything else was strewn across the floor, in piles.
Only his bedroom rivaled hers.
He walked in, his Convers already stepping on the dirty laundry. Picking up an old purple Sweatshirt with the lettering of "London" in red across the front, he stared at it for a couple of seconds, before dropping it. He moved onto her bed, ruffling the pink comforter between his fingers.
Without thinking, he pulled the sheet up tightly, tucking the corners underneath the mattress, followed by the comforter. After that, he walked the course of the room, picking up the clothes and throwing them in a corner in a great big pile. WIth the giant pile in his arms, he walked down the hall, depositing them in the wardrobe room. Whenever clothes got messed up, he would put them through a small chute in the wall. About two days later, they'd return to where they belonged in the closet, very clean.
And he did the same with the never to be used again clothes down it.
He walked back to her room. He had ruined it. Looking around, she could already hear Rose's voice, yelling at him that she couldn't find anything. And imaginary Rose wasn't the only one mad at him. He closed the door, pulling his sonic screwdriver out. Then he locked it. Never to be opened again.
It was the last place that he could've remembered her.
And he had ruined it.