She wakes up screaming. Her voice hoarse from ululating the harsh sound. The nightmare haunting her psyche. She had just seen someone about to be murdered, a man she didn't recognize. He had long, brown hair that she wants to run her fingers through. Where did that thought come from? She doesn't even know the man. His eyes were bright blue, a direct contrast to her golden-brown. He had nice lips, kissable lips. Stop it. Stop. You don't know him. She tells herself. He's too tall for you anyway. Her humble 5'4" is no match for his 6'4". He's an entire foot taller than she. But, she just wants to stand up on her tip-toes and caress his face. And as he closes his eyes, she leans in, tilting her head slightly—Stop! Her mindshouts, You just saw him die! How would you two ever work out?
She recalls the dream, wondering if his name was mentioned anywhere in it. It isn't, but somehow, she already knows his name. Sam Winchester. The most beautiful man she had ever seen. Except maybe the Doctor. But he left her. He left her and his duplicate died with the rest of her family. They sent her to this parallel universe to protect her from the collapsing universe they resided in. Sam Winchester, her mind whispers to her, Sam Winchester.
He wakes up with a gasp, having just seen the girl again. Every time he sees her, he's dreaming. The first time was about two weeks ago, seven months after Jessica's death. He was about to die, and she took the blow for him. He dreamed about her again last week, the same dream. And then this time. But this time was different. She died, but he stayed by her side. He was crying, sobbing over her dying body. Her dyed blonde hair was fanned out on the ground, framing her cherub-like face. Her golden-brown eyes were wide open in shock, the light going out of them. Her plump lips were opened in a surprised 'O', her short stature a foot less than his. He was crying out her name, Rose. Rose, it's such a beautiful name. She's probably the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes upon, except Jess, his mind reminds him. But his heart has its doubts. He has no idea who this woman is, but this is the third time he's had a vision about her.
Rose Tyler. That's her name. When he thinks hard about her, he can recall a voice. A lilting English accent joyously speaks to him. He can't tell what she's saying though. He wants to so badly. He wants to find her and just embrace her small, lithe body. Lifting her off of her feet, he wants to press his lips to her soft ones, and be washed away on a sea of contentment. He wants to feel the hard muscles that run up and down her well-maintained body. Taste the flavor of gunpowder, sweat, iron, and something indiscernible on her lips. He wants her, yet he doesn't even know her. He wants to love her. There is an ache in his chest that longs to be filled. By her. Rose Tyler. He whispers the name and loves the feel of it rolling off of his tongue. Rose Tyler.
