Pardon his blank staring, but Ianto just... where to start? How does Cecil - that's not even a - why in God's name would a dream have that?

"Er, I don't," he begins, and then hesitates. He doesn't really feel compelled to spill his deepest darkest secrets to Cecil. Not to doubt his expert opinion or anything. "How do you," no, he doesn't want to know. Ianto takes a deep, centering breath, feeling the illusory salt in the air coat his lungs. "Cecil," he tries again gently, "in my experience, these are just dreams. Unnecessarily public and frequently disturbing, but just... dreams."