[Dorian’s ire is again immediately inflamed by what he’s come to recognize as typical for the other man: the overarching disinterest in his own existence continuing. Dorian grits his teeth, heart knocking hard with the pain of the way that knowledge hits, briefly resisting the hold on him again. When he speaks again, Dorian's tone is sharp, bitter, and biting.]

And I suppose they hardly matter? The people you’ve impacted and are going to leave behind? [Distantly, the words coming out of his mouth are funny. Ridiculous. Him? Going after someone for being selfish? The irony is profound, and something that will occur to him later once he’s escaped from all of this. He’ll laugh. For now he’s just angry.]

I have a perfect memory, [he spits out. It's eidetic, and unflinchingly so. He remembers the faces of every person he’s ever interacted with, discarded, adored. Larus will be a streak on his portrait as much as he'll remain permanently fixed in his memory.] Normal people will pass without notice to the void and your traces will go with them, but I’d remember. [His expression pulls into a sharp look. If Larus has the temerity to inflict feelings upon him, he’s going to lash out at him with them without hesitation.] Eternally.

[He pulls harder at the hold on him.]

Let go.