Ianto stood at the coffee machine, patiently waiting for the brew to be ready. His attention, though, was all on Jack. From where he stood, he could surreptitiously watch as Jack meticulously combed his hair into just the right roguish coif for the day.

Ianto didn't like to stare, he considered it the height of rudeness, but he could see the look of concentration on Jack's reflection in the mirror and it was hard to look away. He wished he could verbalise what he felt looking at Jack, and why, but that would require knowing what it was in the first place.

Ianto was trained as a researcher and archivist. Identifying things, being able to get to the right question that would lead to a useful answer, was his job and his nature. The unidentifiable, the uncategorisiable, the unfathomable perturbed him. It wasn't right. How could something exist without a definition?

So, what was it he felt looking at Jack?

Most often, when he had the opportunity to really look, to observe him, Ianto was left with a pang of what felt keenly like sadness. That wasn't entirely surprising, given their history, but it wasn't as though Ianto was usually thinking of those trying moments, not anymore. So, what, then?

There had certainly been a fair amount of snogging and shagging between them, increasingly so, but that shouldn't be leaving him feeling gloomy when he'd very much enjoyed their pursuits. He'd have expected to feel happy, warm… hopeful when looking at someone with whom he enjoyed a healthy sex life.

But maybe that was it. If he expected to feel 'butterflies' but didn't, maybe that was what was disappointing him. Maybe he wanted more than just a sex life with Jack.

Ianto's jaw dropped slightly as a thought came to him and he pulled his gaze away from Jack. He felt he was far too near the mark now. He was not supposed to want more. Not with Jack. That was impossible, for dozens of reasons.

Ianto continued to look away and now shut his mouth firmly. He did want something more, and it was something patently unattainable. Now identified, defined, and categorized, it existed, and the sadness that swept over him whenever he really looked at Jack made sense.

Staring was the height of rudeness, Ianto reminded himself as he slowly, meticulously pulled the first cup of the day.