Phew, I have a lot of work to do. Good thing its summer, so I have extra time to do it all. Once again, thank you for all of your support. Really warms my heart. We will be following Clara's side of the story in this chapter. If you like a lot of fluff and love, then this is most definitely for you! I mean, it's full of it. There is also some very minor cursing at the end, but this story is rated for it.

And, I am sorry for the delay. I would have gotten it out sooner, but I could not resist. I accidently started working on an OCxDoctor story (well, the Doctor is more of the father figure to the OC, but still) ... It was too tempting!

OswinSmith: Thank you. That review made my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

I do not own Doctor Who. All credit goes to BBC.

Clara was not sure how she got into this position. Her life had been prone to sudden changes whether for the good or the bad, one example being her mother's untimely death. But, at the time, even Clara was left dumbfounded at John's sudden outburst of emotion.

She had followed her instincts and had embraced her friend in a warm embrace. She knew she had probably said too much, and that had no doubt triggered something inside his mind. All she wanted to do was show him that she was there for him, to show him how much she (and her roommates) adored his work on the stage, enough that she even wrote her own version of the story. Apparently, she had overstepped some sort of line.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. His sobs were loud, broken. The salty drops of water leaking form his eyes created a soft, wet patch on her jacket. "I'm so sorry. That was wrong of me."

He broke apart from her arms. John's face was red, the whites of his eyes more so. With his sleeve, he cleaned his face of any bodily fluids. "No, it's n-not y-your fault," he managed. John hiccupped trying to breathe. "I-Its mine."

Clara was even more confused. "Why would it be your fault?"

He gave her a quick, shameful glance before getting up from the bed. He walked over to her desk and starred at the notebooks she had strewn across it. She watched him carefully, thanking God that she took a psychology class as a filler and knew a little on handling this type of situation.

John sighed. "Because it always is. If I hadn't-" he stopped, sighing again. "gone out there that night, if I hadn't left home, none of this would have happened."

Clara knew that John was probably not going to say anything else. But, much to her surprise, he kept going.

He turned to face her. The sadness in his eyes brought Clara to a new level of sympathy for him, despite how much he hated it. As he rang his fingers through his hair, John said more clearly than his previous statement, "But there's a catch."

"What would that be?" She unconsciously held her breath.

"I need to know something, Clara." He began to slowly advance in her direction. "No one, and dare I repeat, no one has ever eluded my thoughts like you have." John looked right into Clara's deep brown eyes. "No one has ever gotten me to open up except you."

He sat on the bed next to her. Clara could feel her heart pounding against her chest, aching to be out of her body. It's struggle rang in her ears, and she wondered if John could also hear the thumps of her vital muscle.

"Clara," he said, his voice shaking. "You have been popping into my life more and more ever since you won that tour a couple of weeks ago. And I need to know, I really do. Have I had the same effect on you?"

The girl who was said by friends and family to have been able to handle the impossible, the girl who was prone to sudden changes, was at a loss for a response. Her brain and her heart were quarreling with each other, logic in a vicious brawl with emotion. The very air she breathed was heavy, causing the whole moment to feel like a hallucination, like she had gone to the dentist and put under anesthesia. Finally, both her brain and her heart compromised on a question, hoping that the response would better determine the fate of their war.

"A-are you saying that you love me, John?"

"Yes." The word was not hesitated upon, and it knocked that heavy air right out of Clara.

Oh, did the battle begin to rage then. Clara remembered that night when she had first gone to the theater, the night when she and John shared some spectacular Italian and ran through the streets to avoid being caught by imaginary felons, the night that she stayed up late working on her own version of the production. She also remembered those hours she spent wondering if John had really cared about her as deep as she did about him. She was being so stressed out about someone saying that they loved her! She could feel the sweat about to emerge from her pores and ruin her makeup. She could feel they gray hairs staining her perfect hair color.

And it was all stopped with a simple response. A single word. A single word that would decide everything. With a small smile sewn across her lips, Clara said. "Yes."

He stared at her in disbelief. He expected a negative answer.

"I do feel the same, John," Clara whispered. "I know this is insanely awkward, and my roommates are going to flip if they find out I do, but..." She leaned in close. "You've caused me to face the facts."

He giggled, the man riddled with sorrow replaced with one of joy and of love. Before their lips touched, John whispered, "You really are impossible sometimes, you know it?" The pale rims of his mouth locked in with her rosy-pink colored ones.

Clara could not deny that John was a good kisser. He was very delicate when his lips entered hers and when they exited. She knew she had average kissing skill, but bloody hell...