Ianto Jones... The Boy Who Lived... The Chosen One... The Teaboy and a bloody pain in the arse

All titles he'd owned, earned and looking back, yes, even partly deserved.

He'd survived unforgivable curses, abuse, pain, suffering, loss, abandonment, heartbreak, guilt, torment, betrayal, fear, battle and the aftermath of hell itself.

Throughout all of this he'd kept himself in check, oh he'd had bad days. Some days he would sulk, others he'd torn about in rage and on a few, and he meant that as in he could count how many times on one hand, he'd simply sobbed until exhaustion claimed him.

Until one day he simply snapped. He decided he'd had enough of it all, he was sick and tired of everyone turning to him for the answers, turning to him for a plan, he was sick of people assuming he knew what he was bloody doing because he had no fucking idea who he even was.

He was Ianto Jones of course, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One and the pain in the arse, let's not forget the Teaboy shall we? But these were just names, titles he'd earned, owned and somehow deserved, but not for long.