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As the next few days unfolded, Jack learned that Ifan was the one to please and Ianto was the one to watch. He didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He just played music.
Jack had to cajole him into eating something while fiddling with the music sheets, had to trick him into sleeping by asking him to lay down and listen back to his music for a while, lulling him.
Ifan watched the way Jack spoke softly, as if trying not to spook a horse and was impressed with the fact he kept his distance, did what was needed to keep Ianto going without scolding or nagging. Others had tried, they had all failed and increased Ianto's stress levels to the point where Ifan had to let them go, lest Ianto lose his mind.
At least… that is what he told people. The truth was, they got too close. Others. They started to see the cracks and he was afraid of them getting their fingers into the visible cracks, gaining a fingerhold and taking Ianto's attention from him. To find the little fissures in the perfect life he portrayed for his son and discover the truth. Ianto had no life bar what his father allowed.
God forbid the boy gain his own mind.
Jack kept in his lane, and it was nice to see, nice to know there was some order. Ifan never knew what happened in the wee small hours as the rest of the house slept (including him) and Jack found himself awake and on his third or fourth wind, totally riffing to Ianto's madness.
Turns out… they are both night owls. Both insomniacs and both… musical.
Ianto was most creative at night, alone in the night with just a studio light turned low and the sound of his own voice, sometimes singing softly, or just humming the tune he was trying to capture. Then a single note played on the piano or electric keyboard… before moving to the guitar for the rounded-out accompaniment.
Jack found himself at the piano more than once, harmonizing until the melody took shape, then on this particular night, it not only grew into life… it soared like a fucking eagle.
Both men were lost in the sound, the majesty and the … well… delight. It was sunshine, children dancing in the rain, a woodland wander of an afternoon… a dusk beach walk. It was… soul cleansing in some way.
As the last of the notes died, they locked eyes and Ianto seized a book, hurriedly writing down and drawing the music in this weird unique way that was him. Traditional music sheets were used in the end, in the stages of having to share but now, in the beginning of it all, there were little notes, thoughts and even sometimes a story written to take him back there, his edidic mind making the music possible without sheets to read from.
Once Jack had realized this fact and that Ianto could make him do it too, remember instinctively, Jack had worked out that the sheeted Ianto handed his father were simple and concise, songs and melodies to please the man, not the boy… it became easier to see Ianto for himself.
He was not a child, he was a man. A man trapped in a world he did not create, he does not enjoy but has resigned himself to, holding back these little masterpieces for himself is his only joy. The Fuck You Da without it being obvious that he was doing that.
This night, Jack wondered what was being written, if he was in the equations going on or if Ianto was writing about flying on the back of a dragon or something. To Jack, it did seems like a song of flight. High, free and so fucking magical.
Jack watched Ianto then sit back as it satiated by a large meal, this feeding of his soul more than any food could. Then, he pulled over some sheet music and Jack suddenly knew with clarity that Ianto was creating a simple version, a watered down boring one for his father to praise. He kept things to himself, including spectacular versions of his songs.
What they just made… was their little secret.
Jack grinned as he revelled in this, the idea that they created something. Like a life, like… they had a shared creation. Jack hoped he was in it, if there were lyrics… was he mentioned? He might never know, not like Ianto would share it.
So many songs he heard hummed, plated or sung with gusto that never exit that sound booth, the only place bar the toilet that his father did not have security cameras in to listen and watch Ianto's every move.
Ianto was a prisoner.
This was not a place of safety, calm or love.
Jack was starting to see with the eyes of an outsider that Ianto was a delicate rare songbird in a gilded cage, forced to sing for his supper. And his father held the keys.
And it left a sour taste in his mouth.
But what could he do?
He could only protect him as best he could and wait for the day that Ianto was ready to break free.
And then….
Help him.