m_findlow

Title: Eavesdropping
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Ianto, Rhys
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 691 words
Content notes: Spoilers for Ghost Train
Author notes: Written for badly_knitted's prompt "Any, any, Paper thin walls..." at fic_promptly
Summary: Living together has its downsides

Rhys twirled the mug around on the kitchen counter again, avoiding looking at anything else. He didn't like rocking the boat, he really didn't, but...

'Something wrong, Rhys?' Ianto said, perching on the kitchen stool, scooping up a mouthful of scrambled egg.

'Er, nothing,' he replied.

Ianto put down the fork and looked at him.

'You're about as good a liar as Jack. We don't have to have been rooming together for months for me to know that something is up. It's not that Field of Despair thing again, is it? Like I said before, it targets you when you're most vulnerable, planting the seeds of doubt.'

'No. No, it's not that. It's just...'

'What?'

Rhys hated that earnest look in his eyes; the one that made him completely incapable of withholding the truth from Ianto any longer.

'Listen mate, I really appreciate how you've been letting me stay here. You know, given how the world is ending and all, and there being multiple me's going around, but, well,'

'If this is about the place being too clean, then I'm sorry,' Ianto quickly interjected. 'It's just, well, I clean when I can't sleep, or when I've got too much stuff on my mind. It's mad, I know. With everything that's been happening, I shouldn't even have the energy for it. Just, well, don't feel obligated to keep things extra tidy on my account.'

'It's your place,' Rhys said, as if that was the only factor.

'True, but I've kind of gotten used to having you around. The home cooked meals every night are definitely a bonus.'

Rhys gave a weak grin. 'Yeah, and you're home for them about as often as Gwen.'

Ianto shrugged. 'That's Torchwood for you.' He caught Rhys drawing circles on the counter. 'But, that's not what's wrong, is it?'

'No,' Rhys said slowly. 'It's more about when you are here.'

'Oh.' Ianto's face fell.

'Now wait, don't get me wrong,' Rhys said, seeing the expression on his face. 'Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it. It's not you, exactly. It's Jack. It's what you and Jack do when you're, you're...'

The look of realisation dawned on Ianto's face. 'Oh.'

'Yeah. Those laundry walls are paper thin.'

Ianto went bright red at the comment. Bollocks. Rhys felt so guilty. They were adults, after all. What they did after hours was their business. It wasn't his fault he had an overactive imagination. Every squeak of the bed, every groan, grunt and moan drummed up images in his head that he could really do without.

'I promise you, Rhys, I tried to keep things quiet, but you know, it's Jack.' He paused. 'And I may have, sort of, um, forgotten you were there.'

Oh, it was those bloody memory pills again, Rhys thought. He knew Ianto was only taking them to prevent things from getting too complicated with having to live a double life, carrying on at Torchwood like he always did, whilst also harbouring Rhys, who was apparently the only one who could save the future, according to Jack anyway. "Tell Ianto," wasn't a lot to go on. He'd really rather hoped that Ianto would have been able to help more than just giving him a camp bed in his laundry and a head full of images of him and Jack in the throes of passion.

'I'm sorry,' Ianto apologised. 'I should have been more considerate. You're stuck here with me, when you'd much rather be at home with Gwen, and we're in the next room shagging like teenagers.'

'No, it's fine, really,' Rhys said, trying desperately to salvage the situation, before his brain caught up. 'Teenagers?'

'Oh, yes,' Ianto replied, unable to stop himself from grinning, before remembering Jack's promise to come over again tonight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two of the white retcon pills, slipping one across to Rhys.

'I think maybe we should both take one of these in the morning.'

Rhys grabbed for it gratefully. He might not be able to block out the sounds, but at least in the morning he wouldn't remember any of it.