gallifreyburning:

Rose was at the top of the first flight before she stopped, hand resting on the cold metal railing, thoughts still down in the courtyard with that bloke. Drunk bloke, surely. He wasn’t slurring his words, but he wasn’t acting like he was feeling all right.

Definitely not feeling right at all.

And that was it. She was moving before her mind had made a conscious decision, going down the stairs two at a time. She should’ve been wary about the idea of helping him, the skinny drunk stranger with the long coat and the wild hair, but she wasn’t. All she felt was certain. Maybe he had a family or a wife, someone she could call to take care of him, to take him home. She would at least bring him inside for a cuppa or something, to warm him up.

She tumbled out the door, heart full of the most irrational excitement, but the courtyard was empty. The strange skinny bloke was gone, the only evidence of his existence an erratic set of footprints in the snow.