[They were having a moment. At least, Ianto had thought that they were having a moment, up until the point that Owen had broken it with his commentary. The fact that he had broken it was jarring, and Ianto has a harder time trying to figure out what to do with himself now that it's apparently abruptly over than he did while the moment was occurring. And then Owen mentions Jack. And maybe it's the hurt that's already coloring his thoughts thanks to the interruption or maybe it's the alcohol in his veins, or maybe some combination of both, that inspires Ianto to speak up rather than keep quiet like he might otherwise have done.]
[He glances at the other man, his expression still pretty hurt, despite whatever efforts Owen had made at trying to soften what he had said before.] It was a month, Owen. A month of my life spent being fucking useless on your couch, waiting for a man who had left me to maybe possibly return for me, hating him for being gone, for having left things the way he did, praying he'd come back to me because even after it all I still needed him here. I couldn't even be properly angry at him because I knew it wasn't his choice, it wasn't his fault. I wanted to get out of your hair because I didn't know whether you were letting me stay there because you actually wanted to or out of some sort of obligation because I was Torchwood and just about as pathetic as they came. I wanted to stay because where the hell else would I go that wouldn't be so damn lonely all the bloody time but right where I was.
So yeah, it was pretty shit, and I've only just gotten used to the idea that maybe it won't go back to that, but Jack still doesn't know that I've died and maybe it will go spiraling down that same damn path that it did before, but if it does I would really appreciate you being a friend and not being an arse when I'm only trying to say something to help you, alright? [Angrily, and more than a bit emotionally, Ianto tosses back the rest of his drink and slams his tumbler down on the coffee table, perhaps with a little force than he intended to but he's trying to make a point there as well.]
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[He glances at the other man, his expression still pretty hurt, despite whatever efforts Owen had made at trying to soften what he had said before.] It was a month, Owen. A month of my life spent being fucking useless on your couch, waiting for a man who had left me to maybe possibly return for me, hating him for being gone, for having left things the way he did, praying he'd come back to me because even after it all I still needed him here. I couldn't even be properly angry at him because I knew it wasn't his choice, it wasn't his fault. I wanted to get out of your hair because I didn't know whether you were letting me stay there because you actually wanted to or out of some sort of obligation because I was Torchwood and just about as pathetic as they came. I wanted to stay because where the hell else would I go that wouldn't be so damn lonely all the bloody time but right where I was.
So yeah, it was pretty shit, and I've only just gotten used to the idea that maybe it won't go back to that, but Jack still doesn't know that I've died and maybe it will go spiraling down that same damn path that it did before, but if it does I would really appreciate you being a friend and not being an arse when I'm only trying to say something to help you, alright? [Angrily, and more than a bit emotionally, Ianto tosses back the rest of his drink and slams his tumbler down on the coffee table, perhaps with a little force than he intended to but he's trying to make a point there as well.]