A loud sneeze echoed around Jack’s office.
“Thag you,” Ianto replied with what little dignity he could muster.
Jack tried not to laugh.
Ianto’s cold was the result of an unplanned swim in the Taff, courtesy of a rampaging Hoix. Being a strong swimmer, he’d hauled himself out easily enough, but the chill water and even chillier wind had combined to lower his defences. Now here he sat, bundled in a duvet on Jack’s couch, with a nose that resembled Rudolph’s in all its scarlet glory.
Jack was staring intently at it.
“Your nose matches your shirt.”