Not a good night for Rose Tyler. Since the trip there and back

takes a little over an hour each, it’s past two in the morning by the time the blonde makes it back to Cambridge station. Then there’s the walk home, which takes another ten minutes— she’s knackered by the time she makes her way home. And then, she spends goodness knows how long staring up at the ceiling, recalling the events of the day, and especially the events that’d transpired with John, and it’s an eternity before she manages to drift off to sleep.

Yet she still wakes when her alarm trills the next morning, though she goes through her morning routine in a nearly trance-like state.  

Come noon, the blonde’s hair is mussed from the amount of times she’s dozed off with her head in her hand— there were only so many times you could let your head slump face first onto the counter before your hair stopped staying pristine. She’s taking another one of these power naps when his voice breaks through her reverie, and she cracks an eye open before she registers that yes— John was here, and straightens up faster than a speeding bullet (Not really, but you get the picture). “Hi.” And a blush rises to her cheeks, and to the tips of her ears, then down the back of her neck— her whole face burns hot as she remembers how she’d followed him home the night before; the level of obsession she’d risen to when she’d followed him home. He’s still talking, not seeming to have noticed yet, so she turns away to busy herself with making his drink. ” ‘m alright, jus’— just had trouble sleeping, s’all.” Under no circumstances was she going to admit that she’d spent half the night wracking her brain over what she’d glimpsed at Norwich. She’s done with his drink a few minutes later, and then, because he’d insisted, makes herself a flat white— one of her favourites.                                              He’d remembered. “Cheers.” Handing him his drink, Rose proceeds to lift her own drink to her lips, taking a grateful sip of the steaming hot liquid. It seeps through her bones, warming her up from the inside, and she sighs in contentment.”You… y’alright then?” She asks, choosing not to mention anything of the night before as she leans against the counter to talk to John, choosing instead to appreciate how well the blue and white striped sweater suited him, or how he looked particularly adorable with his hair ruffled like that— she’s glad that it’s a slow day today. “Y’look like y’haven’t shaved yet.”

A small yawn escapes the young man's lips as he leans agains the counter just slightly, doing his best not to follow her actions as  she makes the drinks with his eyes, instead choosing to act nonchalant and... "cool". The furthest thing from cool, but he'd  certainly give it a shot for her benefit. Rose looked tired enough on her own today; the last thing she needed was listening to his horror story of a night after he'd gotten off the train. "Oh, m'sorry--you're the one who works at this shop. Maybe try a chamomile sort of a tea or something?" It was a meek suggestion, but the last thing he wanted to do was turn their whole conversation into the both of  them being down. He gave her a small smile as she handed him the drink. "Cheers," he agreed, lifting it to his lips gratefully, taking in the warmth like he hadn't been outside in ages. "Oh, me?" He quickly realizes she was talking about the slight mess that he appeared to be. "I'm--I'm fine. Didn't really have trouble with sleeping, see--problem with me is that I had other things t'be done. Forgot I had a project due for my 7:30 a.m. class, so had to work on that for a couple of hours...only got about three hours of sleep. But that's my fault for bein' forgetful. Managed to get it done and get good marks, but that's a bit of mad luck for me." He blushed at her comment, quickly looking down at his drink to hide his face and apparent scruff. "No, yeah, you're right--haven't. Gods, I'm a bit of a disaster, aren't I?" Should've  stopped back at my dorm to make sure I was half decent at least before taking a train an hour out to see the coffee girl I fancy. His hand quickly went up to feel the roughness on his face, unable to help laughing at himself. "Had class all morning and came here. Maybe-- maybe I should go back and pull myself together."

"Paint, yeah." And then she turns left into the compound while he continues going straight down the road, and the pair seemingly part ways for the night. Except the blonde’s concerned for John— there were no other housing areas left in vicinity; he wasn’t living in a cardboard box somewhere in an alley, was he? He’s taller, and thus his strides are longer— Rose finds herself having to hurry to keep up, and even more so when she sees him step elegantly over the gap between the train tracks and the platform. Why in the world was she still following? It’d been established that he wasn’t living in a cardboard box now— she should’ve been appeased. But no; she hurries after him, glad that she’s wearing trainers instead of heels today as she crosses the bridge between the platform and the train just as the doors slide shut. Then she hears it. Norwich. Well… sleeping on a train was loads better than sleeping in a cardboard box. But there are a hundred different possibilities why he’s on the train— the blonde considers that option as she seats herself in an empty compartment, hopefully out of John’s line of sight. maybe he’d stop at one of the closer stops, though the fact that he takes a train to the coffee shop daily already confuses her. But no— they pass Dullingham, and Newmarket, and Kennett, and she loses track afterwards when she dozes off in her seat. She only startles awake when she hears "The train is now stopping at Norwich station--"; the blonde doesn’t pay attention to the rest, too busy turning to look out of the window. She was in Norwich— she’d spent over an hour on the train, and John— she catches sight of him as he steps off the train, and the revelation that he lives in Norwich stuns her so much so that she can’t even bring herself to follow him any further, frozen in her spot as the train doors slide shut once more. 

Somehow, John manages the rest of the night without having a complete breakdown. He's fairly  certain it's about two in the morning when he realizes that his concept draft for his final portfolio is due in approximately five hours; and here he is, stuck in his dorm absolutely exhausted with zero inspiration or medium. It's likely two thirty by the time he's nearly cried out of exhaustion again, tossing his things across the room--and, out of the corner of his eye, spotting a small napkin with the sketch of the girl from the coffeeshop on it that he did months ago. He'd done at least one every day since he'd been going--not to be creepy, of course, but to be consistent. And somehow, it managed to work out, the progression of his talent and her story (or something like that, however his professor had phrased it) went together so well. (The only issue with this was that Rose was now the  centerpiece of his final senior portfolio. But he'd worry about that sort of a thing later on.) He manages some good marks there, a bit of yelling in color theory and nearly dozes off in the middle of his eleven a.m. history class--and honestly, the only thing getting him through all of this is the idea that he'll see her in a little over an hour. Even if he's a tad afraid that things'll be odd after he offered to walk her home last night, he tries to  convince himself it's nothing more than a kind gesture. But now he's running on a total of five hours sleep in over forty-eight hours, and he's positive that not even the duck sock on his left foot can help how much of a wreck he appears to be today, blue and white sweater pulled over his body and the desire for caffeine as he stepped through the front door overcoming nearly everything else-- Besides the fact that Rose could have very well been working on the same thing as he, from the look of her. In an instant,  his problems disappear, handing over his usual fare and then some. "One--one chai, and use whatever y'need of--" A yawn. "--Th'rest to get yourself a flat white. I think we both need't, today. Not--not that you look bad or anything, I mean--you just look tired, and...and I get tired."

She just— she just hadn’t wanted to be a bother, that’s all, 

but the blonde has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed for some reason. Still, her pace slows to allow him to catch up, in hopes that he’d make conversation. But he doesn’t seem to have much to say now, and neither does she— the pair simply walk side by side in companionable awkward silence. They pass the campus: oh, he didn’t stay there, then — but it’s only when she slows down as they approach the flats another block down and he doesn’t that she starts to grow curious. Just where else did he stay?

"Right—this is my stop." Rose shifts her weight from foot to foot, unsure of the proper procedure here. “I’ll jus’… bye, then. See ya tomorrow?” And then she turns on her heel, but not before shooting John a brief smile. It was fine, she’d see him tomorrow still, they could talk a bit more then— no. Curiousity prevails, and Rose Tyler finds that she just has to find out where he’s going so late at night, if not home.  And so, she follows, ensuring that she keeps at least ten feet away as she walks. 

It's not that John doesn't want to say anything; he'd love to tell her all the stories that he thinks make him interesting  and about his horrible color theory professor and what it's like taking classes on civilizations and people that were dead long before either of them had been an idea--it's just that now, he's fairly sure she wouldn't really be interested in that. It was late. She wanted to go  home. And he had a train to catch. He quickly turned to face her as she slowed down, securing his  messenger bag over his shoulder. "Right, I'm--I'm not too far from here, actually. Small world," He lies, giving her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I'll be round. You know. Paint." Oh, you're an idiot, John. He gives her a small wave before turning on his heels  and breaking into a faster than brisk walk toward the  train station, glancing down at his watch to make sure he hadn't already missed it. But surely enough, he arrives, with about a minute to spare to catch his breath on the platform, stepping over the gap and settling in his seat. "This is the last Greater Anglia train to Norwich for the evening. Mind the gap." And he was on the right train. It was a good night.

The Big Doctor Who Fan Facts Post

"Productive." Is her passing remark, tone the perfect 

mixture of cheek and sincerity. “Must be knackered, then— are ya on a deadline?” She stops by his side, sweeping the used napkins on the counter into her garbage bag before she slides herself onto the stool beside his, satisfied that the place is clean. "No. S’not— s’not necessary." Her response to his offer to walk her home is almost too abrupt, too quick, and Rose is glad that it’s almost too dark for him to see her expression. “So…” Tongue peeking out to wet her lips, Rose now becomes all the more aware (delayed reactions seem to be the norm when she’s around him) that the pair of them are the only ones left in the coffee shop.

“Shall we go, then? Imagine you have an early class, yeah?” He had to— he’d spent all afternoon and evening in here.

He can't help laughing at her comment, knowing that his afternoons were never really all that productive since he'd been spending more and more time here. That lead to rushed projects until all hours of the night and into the morning and all nighters and classes slept in studio and-- "Oh." The response comes quickly and he tries all he can not to sound too disappointed. John wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the no was a bit disheartening.

"Yeah, right, I should--I should hurry back." At this rate, there was a small chance he'd be able to make the last train back. "Y'know, don't  wanna get in too late." So, with a small jump, he hopped off the stool, fixing his coat and  following Rose out into the night, towards her campus and the train station.

"Right, this is insulting. I’m here, trying to figure out who has killed these people- now up to three in the span of two weeks and all in this hospital and you are trying to make it into something it’s not. This isn’t one of those science fiction shows on the telly- this is real life. Now, if you’re going to continue with these fantasies I will have you detained for obstructing a murder inquiry.” Alec paused, staring the other, younger-looking man right in his eyes. ‘John Smith’ indeed. “Is that clear?”

"You always were stubborn," The older time lord murmured, shaking his head for just a moment. He took a deep breath, trying to rationalize the situation in his head from "Alec"'s point of view. "I'm not playing a game," He continued, voice growing serious. "You think I'm the type of bloke who'd play games with people dying left and right? My life is my friends dying left and right. I do not play games. And if you're going to drop the only lead you've got--as irrational as it is--by detaining me, know that not even that will stop me."

"Look, I’ve stood here for the past-" Alec paused to look at the watch on his wrist. "The past five minutes listening to you wittering on. Whoever it is that you’ve convinced yourself I am, I’m not."

"Listen, I'm just--just John Smith," He lied, voice insistent. "But you are the Doctor. Don't ask me how I know, but--but I do, and you think people are dying of natural causes but they're not. And you're the only one who can stop it."

           ❝ I’m going to ignore most of that,               and it’s certainly NOT because I               don’t quite know what to say. How               old are you again? You’re acting               like a child, stop it. ❞

"It's definitely because you don't know what to say because I'm  right. And I'm 2200...something  years old. I'm not acting like a  child, I'm acting like I'm correct. And offended. Both of which are true."

"Thanks. S’jus’—" He gets a grateful grin in return, though she quickly resumes tossing stained napkins and used coffee cups into a garbage bag. “Don’t like bein’ completely alone, especially at night.” And since he was already here so late, what was another five minutes? ”Did ya get much work done today?”

John takes a place on one of the stools at the counter, wanting somehow to help but knowing that if he misplaced something, which was likely, she'd be blamed. "Oh, it's no problem. I can walk y'back, if--if  need me. Not that I think y'can't fend for y'self, it's just that I'm close enough--" liar. "That it isn't an issue." Work. You're meant to be doing work here. "Oh, I--well, sort of. I'm trying to think of a  topic for my senior project. It's a big undertaking and a lot of..paint. At least, I think I've decided on  paint. That was my big decision today."

Sentence Memes [Death/Loss Edition]

"Are you going to the wake?"

"The funeral is tomorrow."

"Do you miss him/her?"

"Does the grief ever end?"

"I can’t believe they’re gone."

"Do you believe in the afterlife?"

"Can you help me bury the body?"

"Their blood is on my hands."

"He/she died in my arms."

"I have a month left to live."

"I don’t think I’m going to make it out of this."

"I still visit the cemetery."

"You need to let go."

"I wish I was the one that died instead."

"How am I supposed to survive if you’re dead?"