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For quitehomoerotic: when I was seventeen
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hofficoffi
As he crossed the street, Ianto shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and bent his shoulders forward even further. For once, his father wasn't around to tell him to stand straight, to look proud of being a Jones, so he didn't. Besides, he wasn't proud of being a Jones, not after Bethan Taylor had spent three weeks giving him hope over history revisions, only to move on to Gary Evans, who was better in maths.

He'd discovered everything earlier that morning, when he saw the two of them together, Bethan brushing her fingers against his wrist. Ianto remembered how she had ruffled his hair once, when they'd first started talking, and he thought he understood the way Gary looked as though he'd forgot everything but her.

As he thought about it, Ianto gave a sour look to the next person he passed.

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Ianto grumbled something that may well have been whatever.

"Right," he said, then, louder but rather (perhaps falsely) unimpressed, "Captain. What will we be doing down by the bay?"

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