a/n: Hey, guys! Thanks for all the views; a few days ago, I hit almost 400 in a single day! I'd really appreciate some reviews, though-the last one only got 2, and I really enjoy getting feedback.
John was almost three streets away when he realized he had absolutely no idea where he was.
His head felt fuzzy. He groaned and rubbed his temples, trying to remember what he'd been doing. He had been going to his flat, right? Yes, that was it. His flat. His… flat? Something weird's going on, he thought to himself. All of a sudden, he couldn't remember where his flat was. He'd been walking somewhere so purposefully just a second ago, and now his mind suddenly felt blank, Where had he been going?
John rubbed his temples and groaned softly, wondering what, exactly, had happened to him down at the pub last night. The memories were fuzzy at best, but he was pretty sure he could remember little bits and pieces. It had been dark-ish, and crowded, and that was where he'd met Clara. Or maybe it had been well-lit and nicer, with only a few people in it when he'd met Clara. The events of the previous evening were almost there, hovering just out of reach, sending so many mixed signals that he couldn't figure out which were real and which were induced by whatever the hell he'd been drinking. Some of it had to be real, but he couldn't figure out which bits fit together properly.
The only thing that was standing still through all those memories was that Clara. He could have sworn on anything that he'd never seen her before he woke up on her couch, but something seemed oddly familiar about her—The way she moved, her voice, her funny little way of speaking, and, most definitely, the way he felt so inclined to smile around her. Not for any particular reason, of course, because how could there be a reason? They'd only just met. Yet somehow, something about her stirred up the thoughts at the back of his head, and as he waded through his mind trying to reach them, he was becoming alarmingly aware of the proper lack of so many little things that should have been there, but weren't.
He shook his head and gripped his temples, letting out a heavy sigh. Maybe he should go back and speak to Clara again. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was still somewhat hungover (at least, he felt hungover, though he couldn't even remember what he'd had the previous night), but his mind was filled with fog. She seemed to lift it, if only for a moment.
John turned and headed back the way he'd come, hoping he could find his way back, since he seemed to have been on autopilot up to this point in time. The streets all looked the same, vaguely familiar and yet not. Blimey, what had he had to drink? It messed with his head pretty bad, whatever it was. He shook himself out and continued on his way.
He spotted Clara a few minutes later, sitting on the front stoop of the flat next to a mug of something, her damp hair slung over a towel on one shoulder and a small paperback novel in her hands. She hadn't seen him from where he stood at the far corner of the street, but he could see her plain as day, knees scrunched up to support her book, smiling faintly at something she had read. He found himself suddenly unable to go up to her, content instead to just look at her from afar. It sounded creepy in theory, but he tried to convince himself he most definitely wasn't being creepy, just curious. Because there she was—one crazy night, and all of a sudden his life didn't make any sense anymore, and yet she did. She was the one impossible thing around him that clicked in his mind, but for some reason when he wanted to go up and talk to her, words failed. He hovered where he was for a few more seconds, noticing another man approaching the flat. He walked past Clara, exchanged a formality with her (John couldn't hear exactly what was said, but apparently the bloke was Nina's boyfriend) and then walked up the steps and entered the flat. Clara gazed after him for a second, a worried expression on her face, and then took a sip from her drink and went back to the book.
He had almost steeled himself to go and talk to her when her gaze suddenly flickered up. Panicking, John ducked back behind the corner of the shop he was standing against, heart pounding in his chest, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring at her. He chided himself and took a deep breath, then stepped back out, deciding to go talk to her right then and there. To his surprise, when he emerged back out from the shadows, she had left her book and her mug on the step and was walking towards him, a curious expression on her face.
He faltered back a few steps as she approached him, trying to force a nonchalant greeting. "Um, hello! Clara, right?" There was no doubt in his mind that her name was definitely Clara, of course, but he felt more at ease pretending he was still fuzzy about the night before.
For some reason, his falter seemed to upset her. The smallest shadow of a frown crossed her face before she was standing on the pavement in front of him, chin tilted up so she could see him better, and a look of slight confusion in her warm brown eyes. "So," She said, the tiniest hint of a smirk gracing her lips, "I saw you standing here a moment ago."
His entire face flushed, and he reached up and hastily straightened the bow tie he was wearing. "Well, uh, yes. I came back, you see, because I needed to ask you a question." Or just see you again. Something about her intrigued him, made him want to be around her. He just wasn't entirely sure what.
"Really?" Her smile widened slightly. "Well, ask away."
He coughed nervously. "I don't… suppose… you know where my flat is?"
She stared at him for a second, her eyebrows slowly creeping towards her hairline and her mouth barely agape.
That's it, John thought to himself. She thinks I'm loony.
Suddenly, Clara took a step away from him and covered her mouth, letting out a very un-ladylike snort of laughter, and then collapsing into giggles. Thinking that he perhaps hadn't screwed things up as badly as he'd initially assumed, he let a hesitant grin cross his face. Finally, she stopped and straightened up, pushing her hair out of her face with a small huff of air. "Sorry," She apologized, though she was still smiling a little bit. "It's just a bit funny that you've completely forgotten where you live."
"Oi!" He pointed an accusing finger at her face. "It is not funny. It isn't! Blimey, I've been wandering about for almost an hour and I can't remember where I live. Is that even normal?" He dropped his hand to his side, his forehead creasing in thought.
Clara rolled her eyes and chuckled again. "Sorry," She said finally. "I have no idea where your flat is. Have you really forgotten?"
He nodded seriously. "Yes," He replied honestly. "I have quite actually forgotten where I live."
"Well, then." Clara stepped up beside him and glanced around. "I'll help you out."
"Really?" He was surprised by her sudden offer.
"Sure. If we wander around long enough, someone's bound to recognize you." Clara shrugged slightly and started off down the street, her hair still tucked over her shoulder on top of the towel.
John hesitated for a moment, his mouth half-open in the beginnings of asking a question he didn't actually have, and then finally closed it and started after her, figuring it would be worth a shot. Besides, maybe he could strike up a conversation with Clara, maybe remember why she seemed so familiar to him. In any case, it couldn't hurt.