Everything had gone...confusing, all of a sudden. Yes, bloody confusing that was it.
Which was very inconvenient because it felt like he should know...stuff. Lots of stuff. Universes full of, ehm, stuff. Immeasurable amounts of...everything.
Like his name. And where, precisely, he was. And also how to fly this whatever-ever-it-was; he definitely should know that.
And, of course, he should also know her name, that woman out there in the...the big room, with the upy-down thing - but no round things...there should be more round things. Shouldn’t there? Wonder where the round things went… - . He should know the name of the woman who’d kept asking him questions, whose touch had practically set him on fire - no, no that had been him, he’d been burning earlier, burning with golden fire -. She had very gently guided him into this boring room with its boring bed - but bed isn’t always boring; no, beds can be quite fun...he thinks - , tenderly told him to sleep, and then disappeared to somewhere he’s now forgotten.
He’d woken up a few moments ago - and that was strange, too. It seemed like he’d just been talking to her about pianos and Scots and then he’d...poof. Fallen asleep. He’d have to apologize to her later; it was quite rude to fall asleep while talking to a beautiful woman, after all. It seemed like he’d gotten in trouble for that before -.
As he looked around the room, he rather begrudgingly began to reassess his opinion of it. He’d been so focused on babbling to the woman about inventions and misunderstandings and boring beds, he’d not noticed much of it. He did, quite clearly, remember asking her that if it was a bedroom with a bed for sleeping, what possible use it had while awake and then she’d winked at him. Winked! That seemed mysterious and yet not mysterious, and he was once again caught between a rock and a flummoxed place.
Anyway, this room. This room had a bed and clothes and all sorts of bits and bobs and pictures and...fine. There was a lot more than just a bed. And it felt like it should be familiar, or felt like it would be familiar, or was familiar and oh, that mirror over there looked quite furious.
Or was that him? Did his face look like that? All...frowny?
But anyway, he should know things. No, more than that, even. It felt like he did know, he just couldn’t quite...grasp any of it yet. It was all tenuous and fluctuating - wibbly-wobbly? no, that wasn’t him any more. Wasn’t him the last time, either, come to think of it - and not quite formed into what it was supposed to be yet. But even if everything else was a bit floaty at the moment - did he like pears? It seemed imperative that he have an opinion on pears -, there was a something else, a very thick, brilliant, golden, solid foundation, a connection that seemed to be made of the sternest stuff in the universe. It was grounding him and comforting him even in his confusion and it was binding him reassuringly to the mystery woman. Everything about him could change - had changed, did change, would change, will change - but as long as he had her, then he was ok. Everything was ok/would be ok/will be ok.