It was a cold winter's evening that loomed over Cardiff Bay. The air was damp and heavy, as if you could truly feel the weight of the world upon your shoulders. In the distance stood a young Welshman, dressed in a suit that fit his body rather nicely. This is where my story began.
I stalked over to the young man. His ice blue eyes where looking over the bay, with a sadness I knew I could never get rid of. He had recently lost his half cyber converted girlfriend -my fault-, and was still grieving. I wasn't surprised he was out by the bay, he wouldn't stay of work when I asked, but with suspension he's been forced away. I stood quietly behind him to see if he recognise my presence. I heard the soft sobs come from him, it tore me in two. To know I had done this to him. Made him so upset because of something I had done. No-one deserves that. I place my hand on his shoulder.
The Welshman jumped slightly, he turned his head around to face me. His eyes where full of unshed tears and sorrow. It made my heart break, to know that he was practically dieing on the inside. The younger man turned his head back to the bay. Looked out to the water once more, before walking off, somewhere towards his car.
I sighed. Debating on whether to go after him or not, I decided he needed some time-I needed some time. It was all my fault, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt pass over me. Not once had I felt like this after killing someone or something. Wandering to the tourist office I found a sheet of paper, taped to the door.
'Jack.
Thanks for everything, its obvious I'm not cut out for this job. I hope you and the rest of the team have a good torchwood life. I know I did; I'm sorry for what I've done.
Ianto'
I had to fix this now. Running to Ianto's house was the only thing on my mind at that point in time, it was then I realised how far it was from here. Determined to find him, I took all the shortcuts I could think off, just to get me there quicker. Once I reached his house I knocked on his door.
Smashing came from the other side, along with welsh words that sounded like swearing. I smirked. The Welshman opened the door, he was standing in sweatpants and a lose fitting t-shirt, with his hair wet -from a shower- and his eyes were rimmed red. I stepped forward and dragged him into a hug, where he softly sobbed to himself into my chest.
