could've been worse than you would ever know ; ( scene, for capnhotness )
One week and a significant dip into his finances later, Ianto Jones returns to Cardiff, and he doesn't come alone. A small retinue of movers comes first, maneuvering furniture down Edwardian-era hallways that were never meant to hold such large furniture as twenty-first century terms of interior design dictate. With canine-Jack on their heels, they deposit the usual in bedroom furnishings: bed, dresser, nightstand, desk and bookcase, into one of the larger of empty spare bedrooms that are left.
Ianto stays out of the way until they're done, then brings his own additions of a lamp and a favorite chair nicked from his London house, a few boxes of books, clothes, and personal items, and several garment bags containing new suits, testament to a morning spent at Marks & Spencer. He has things partially unpacked, suits hanging neatly in the closet, when he takes a moment out to properly organize his ties on their hanger. According to color, pattern, and occasion, of course.
The week away has obviously done Ianto some sort of good, anyway, even after all that time technically away. He's had some time to address his issues, maybe reach an increased level of acceptance over the whole incident, and soon he'll be ready to talk to Jack about it. But for now, his mood feels almost pleasant, he's absently humming to himself with his iPod on, and blissfully unaware of the corgi on the bed gnawing on one of his older pairs of wingtips.