Owen and Jack pulled up in front of a row of old Victorian townhouses on a quiet street in Roath. Ianto was number 13 (something that he often found either extremely ironic or extremely foreboding considering how his life was turning out lately). It took fifteen minutes of knocking and calling Ianto’s name before the door finally opened. Jack was
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I like Jack looking after Ianto like this. Fighting himself and trying to do the best for Ianto.
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