Making the perfect whoufflé: one shots

Forgotten barriers [whouffaldi]

Domestic!whouffaldi :3

It definitely was not suppose to end up like this. They both had their respected living areas and those lines were not meant to be blurred. Clara's flat was Clara's flat and none of The Doctor's silly knick-knacks were suppose to end up in it, despite the TARDIS always being landed in her bedroom. Same went for the TARDIS. The TARDIS was his place to keep all his silly things inside and there was plenty of space for him to keep his things since the TARDIS was, well... infinite. But after a few months of The Doctor practically living in her flat, they each found each other's things lying around quite often, the barriers slowly forgotten.

It all started one morning when Clara woke up to the TARDIS sitting beside her bed and its doors wide open. When she swung her legs over the side of her bed and walked towards the doors, The Doctor was no where to be found in the console room. Deciding he must be somewhere in her flat, she left her room in search of him. While walking down the hallway, she heard a shrill scream. Why is his shout so girly? Clara thought, running down the hallway towards the sound. "Doctor! What are you doing!?" she yelled when she saw the sight of The Doctor beside her washer, soap spilling out from it.

"I tried to do the clothes for you! I don't think it worked! Must be broken!" he yelled back in his thick Scottish accent.

Clara ran beside him and turned off the washer, stopping the soap from pouring out. "Do not try to do the laundry again! And now I need a new bloody wash!" Clara heaved. "Are those my knickers?" she asked, looking at the leaf-covered patterned pair of cotton undies in his hands.

"What! Are they?! OH MY GALLIFREY IM SORRY JUST TAKE THEM BACK." He panicked, throwing him across the room. The Doctor's cheeks flushed bright red.

"Just go clean yourself up, Doctor." Clara rolled her eyes playfully, looking at The Doctor drenched in soapy water. She picked up the pair of underwear and dropped them in the washer.

**

As time went by, the barriers of their privacy went practically unknown. Clara wouldn't hide from The Doctor whenever she took a shower and was walking back from the bath to her bedroom with only a towel on. He would only get flustered and run away anyway and it wasn't like Clara cared. They weren't together and nothing was going to happen, so what was the hurt?

Neither of them spoke of each other's private business or acknowledged the fact that they had lives outside of each other. But they both knew. And they both knew each other. Clara knew how The Doctor couldn't sleep without two blankets and The Doctor knew that Clara couldn't stand tea that didn't have only five sugars in it--no more, no less than five. They both knew the little things about each other, like how Clara tapped her foot when she was nervous. Oh, they knew each other like the backside of their hands. The Doctor couldn't stand the sight of roses--Clara didn't understand why, until one day he told her.

"I bought new flowers for the table." Clara said to him one evening. She always bought a bouquet of flowers for her dinning room table each week. Every week was a different flower. And this week it was roses.

The Doctor walked into the room with a book in his hands when he looked up to find the bouquet. "Oh, what is it this we--" he stopped talking. "Roses?"

"Are you okay? Do you not like the roses?" Clara asked him, setting a vase of fresh roses on the table. She had forgotten of his odd fear or dislike of roses.

"Uh, not really. I just think carnations would've been better, they suit you." He chuckled sadly before turning to walk out of the room but Clara caught his wrist.

"Why do you dislike roses so much, Doctor? There has to be a story behind it." Clara inquired.

He swallowed hard and turned to face her. "Yeah.. Rose was an old friend, lover more like. And now she's trapped in another dimension. I never really got to tell her exactly how I felt.. Roses just bring back memories."