[Dorian barely has time to step into his tower suite after being handed his new phone, before he's hit with a barrage of voicemails. He ignores the relentless pinging of the device (What could it be but more cultist orientation shit? He doesn't know anyone in Duplicity and, frankly, doesn't care to right now.) only to come back an hour later and wish desperately that he hadn't waited.
Because the voicemails are shocking. Dorian's heart races and his throat constricts with heartbreak and awe as he makes his way through each message. It can't be true that Toby's alive. Lucifer destroyed everything the man was or ever would be when he stole his body. He told him he was gone, and the fallen angel is eternal, and everything to everyone. He never lies, and losing Toby was the final curse he bought for the sum of his soul.
But each and every message, from the drunkenly mournful and barely coherent, to the lively and gossiping, is every part of the memories of Tobias Matthews that remain etched on his heart. He's drawing short breaths and wiping away tears by the time he's halfway through the collection of voicemails again.
This could be a lie. It could be a trap. He doesn't care. The vanishingly slim chance that this could be real is too much of everything he's wanted for so long, that he automatically presses 'Call' on the voicemail dated in July.
The phone rings, and the sound feels as if it fills the entire suite, blotting out everything and everyone else in the tower. He can't breathe. He's never wanted anything in his life more than to hear the sound of a simple call connecting.
voice; @Gray
Because the voicemails are shocking. Dorian's heart races and his throat constricts with heartbreak and awe as he makes his way through each message. It can't be true that Toby's alive. Lucifer destroyed everything the man was or ever would be when he stole his body. He told him he was gone, and the fallen angel is eternal, and everything to everyone. He never lies, and losing Toby was the final curse he bought for the sum of his soul.
But each and every message, from the drunkenly mournful and barely coherent, to the lively and gossiping, is every part of the memories of Tobias Matthews that remain etched on his heart. He's drawing short breaths and wiping away tears by the time he's halfway through the collection of voicemails again.
This could be a lie. It could be a trap. He doesn't care. The vanishingly slim chance that this could be real is too much of everything he's wanted for so long, that he automatically presses 'Call' on the voicemail dated in July.
The phone rings, and the sound feels as if it fills the entire suite, blotting out everything and everyone else in the tower. He can't breathe. He's never wanted anything in his life more than to hear the sound of a simple call connecting.
Pick up. Fucking pick up.]