Toeing off his shoes and loosening his tie, the Doctor made his way over to the bed. Jacket shirked somewhere on the floor as he couldn't be bothered to turn on a light (he had just woken her up), the Doctor flopped down onto the covers. Eyes to the ceiling, hands crossed beneath his head, he took every last second of delaying the reply to consider how to properly offer one at all.
It sounded like he'd met an old friend. In some ways, he supposed he had. His moment with her had been bittersweet and jarring. It fascinated him how keenly she could perceive him as the Doctor without ever having to know this face, but then there could have been a multitude of reasons for that. He hadn't dared to ask, the experiencing having left him slightly rattled and somehow comforted at the same time.
"Nice enough," he answered evasively. It hadn't occurred to him that there might be something curious about the hour in which he'd turned back up at the flat. While his visiting River hadn't been a secret, she must have had some worries.
It was late. A brand new day by the hour, even.
"Odd," he elaborated shortly after a breath. "It isn't often I meet someone the way I have River. The way our paths intersect... sorry, are you all right? I woke you, did you want to go back to bed?"
The Doctor hadn't quite made sense of his encounter with River yet. Nothing beyond the ever present guilt, something he would carry long into a fondness for ill-advised hats and dreadful bowties. He knew he was capable of carrying on with someone while knowing their fate, but having been the one to watch River technically die and still go on to marry her--that was a question just begging for an answer.