[Clara's usual immaculately put together look extends to her room. Or rather, her portion of the room. The Doctor's portion is beyond help and out of her control. Having to live among that chaos for so many months now helps soften the chaotic nature of stepping into Alina's shared space. The odds and ends strewn about are given slight glances, but her eyes are only on the other woman.

She sits rigidly straight next to Alina, feeling her heart racing. It should be easy to tell the truth, to be honest with someone she's come to care for. But it isn't, and Clara finds that peeling away the layers needed to just come out with it is terrifying. She almost can't bring herself to face that fear and do it. She's so afraid of Alina feeling like she needs to protect her, or being so saddened by her fate that she does something even worse and pities her.

Clara never has been able to stomach the pity of others.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of her skirt, tightening and releasing. And when that isn't a good enough method of getting out her anxiety, she stares straight ahead and twirls the ring on her thumb. It's spun three times before she can bring herself to look over at Alina, wondering if she can feel the way her heart is pounding with how close they're pressed together.

Sitting side by side with someone she trusts doesn't make burderning her friend with the truth any easier.]

I'm honestly not sure.

[Her words are barely a whisper, her voice soft enough for only Alina to hear.]

But I thought it was time to stop speaking in riddles or hypotheticals, at least when it comes to you.