When they're finally alone together, Jack sits beside Ianto and strokes his hair. It feels like he imagined it would, springy and crisp, as precise as Ianto's well-cut jackets and perfectly composed sentences. No one, Jack should have known, is that controlled without chaos underneath.
Ianto's face is slack and expressionless--Jack rejects the word peaceful. Jack rejects all lies, looking at that white skin. Against it, Ianto's eyelashes and stubble are as black as deep space, mercilessly black. When Jack touches his cheek, he leaves dull red-brown smears which he doesn't wipe away.
"I told you I'd do it," Jack says finally. "I told you." That's the truth, it was always the truth, and it's not Jack's fault that Ianto didn't believe it.
Jack leans in and kisses Ianto gently on the lips, then rests his head on Ianto's chest. He listens, but there's only the silence of a heart that won't start again.
He thinks of fairy tales, of hundred-year sleeps broken by a kiss, of monsters transformed by one. He kisses Ianto again with his monstrous mouth, and then he shuts Ianto into his tomb and goes away.