Ianto sat down, passing a refilled glass of sherry to Jack and picking up the remote control to turn the gas fire down a bit. "Someday I'd like a proper fireplace, in a nice, old country house. Or maybe a townhouse. Not sure I'd fancy not being able to nip down the shops whenever I needed something."
"Townhouses can be quite nice. All the convenience of city-living, but the space and comfort you can't get in a flat," Jack nodded absently. Ianto might almost think the sherry was starting to affect him, but more likely Jack was just relaxed.
"So… what's up next?" Ianto asked, perusing the stack of DVDs on the coffee table.
Jack leaned forward and plucked one out. "The Snowman?"
Ianto looked almost horrified. "You had to have brought that. No way. I hate that film with the burning passion of a thousand suns."
Jack looked at Ianto incredulously. "Really?"
Ianto nodded. "Extremely."
"Because the film is really more nightmare than whimsical when you look beyond that sketchy animation, and I had to sing that bloody song half a dozen times every Christmas in school. If I never heard it again it would be far, far too soon. I consider Aled Jones a traitor to Welsh classical singing."
"Ok…," Jack said carefully, "nix The Snowman. Got it. How do you feel about… um… maybe James Stewart? It's a Wonderful Life?"
"Now that's more like it. Human, meaningful, relatable, doesn't end with grieving a friend."
Jack looked over at Ianto. "Ya know, I never thought of it like that. I just always enjoyed the nostalgia of it."
"No surprise there," Ianto grinned. "Well, you pop in the DVD and I'll bring the rest of the sherry over," Ianto said, ready to settle for the rest of the night.