patelyne

Non-Author Note: Here is this thing that I hate - not really sure what to call it…too short to be fic…I don’t know (remember? Not a writer) I’m not even really sure why I wrote it and where it came from, other than the fact I sat too long in the rain yesterday morning. I’m sorry to have made Ianto all mopey, especially as I myself don’t particularly like him to be. Please don’t hurl hate at me as I was forced to post this by my “wives” who claim to like it. So thanks (I think)

tardistenantsue and

candybree

Ianto slumped down onto the bench. Even with the house full of people, he felt alone. Instead of bringing everyone else down he figured it was better to sit out in the garden. Besides that, if he was going to feel alone he might as well be alone. He hadn’t felt this way since…Well he didn’t really know when.

Times like these he wished he was more like Jack. The man always had a story for everything. It was a great way to draw attention to himself and distract others from seeing any actual feelings at the same time. Ianto sometimes wondered if Jack kept a diary of his own, complete with a name drop or memory to use in every situation. He also wondered if Jack would keep him around long enough that he would have heard them all. Or better yet, long enough Jack no longer felt the need to try and distract him that way.

Ianto hunched over more as the wind picked up and it started to rain. He wished he had thought to grab his coat on the way out. He didn’t want to face the group of happy guests inside, so instead he moved to the other side of the bench, closer to the sheltering trees. He started to pick at the loose paint peeling from the bench’s arms. As the paint flecks fell revealing the metal beneath he remembered when he had last felt this way. Lisa, he thought with a heavy sigh.