When it came to emotions, the Doctor was far less invested in his own than those of others. Rose's took precedence, of course. How he felt was inconsequential, he had done nothing to deserve any shred of happiness he found traveling beside her, though he accepted what he had while given the time. It didn't matter how many planets he saved or how often he'd patched up holes in the universe, he didn't do it for the prospect of a reward.
It only would have been nice to be given one in the end after having lost so much with that selflessness in mind.
That she didn't see his behavior in a negative light reassured him. He still felt guilty for avoiding her. Staying away from her was a double edged sword at times. The separation meant he didn't have to face his own demons, but it also meant being alone with their echoes. The more he opened up to Rose in time, the more he found he preferred facing them head on than running.
But, running was all he'd ever done. It would be the hardest habit to break.
Her words impacted him so strongly that he found himself at an absolute loss for any in return. Hands found their way to her waist suddenly, grateful intent burning in his eyes for the fraction of a second they could be seen before he inclined his head to kiss her dearly. It was the sort of kiss the Doctor could easily get lost in, but tried his best to keep it honest, meaningful. Finding difficulty in the endeavor, he managed to lift up from her lips a hair's breadth to tell her that he loved her to the very envy of stars.
And-- "Rose Tyler," he finished and only smiled with the intensity of one. For a fragment of time, the Doctor did feel absolutely all right.