“I’m not knocking it, I’m just saying.” Ianto reaches out to steal John’s knife to cut his own sandwich in half before picking it up to take a bite. And it is good, in a greasy, cheesy sort of way. He feels like he should be drinking a beer with this sort of fare but equally doesn’t know whether he could handle it all together in the end.

“You’re obviously quite fond of this sort of thing,” he observes aloud. “I’m assuming they didn’t have a lot of it in the mess halls you’re used to eating in then?” They don’t really even have a lot of it planetside. It’s as much a treat for Ianto as it is for John, and he’s only been a few months without proper greasy junk food. No wonder John is head over heals.