[Dorian's so caught off guard by Toby bringing up both Harry and Sybil, that he's momentarily lost for words.
Scared. As much as it grates to admit it, he knows he's scared. He can feel the fear thrumming through him even now. Harry and Sybil changed everything. How could he not see truth in Harry's words - that truth repeating over and over again for decades - when the first example started with a thoughtless mistake that ended everything his life could have been, forever? The circumstances here aren't the same, but at this moment and all others, the past hangs over him like a leaden curtain. Will always be there, pushing on his present. In the worst sense, this made him who he is. It's a painful reality that's on the verge of cutting right through him, if it's only pressed on too hard.
And how could he not be scared, when Toby could be torn away at any time, and over so little? When he already has, several times? Everything between them has always been borrowed time, whether they knew it or wanted to admit it. How is this different now? He doesn't know how to look past that.
So why can he not simply let go of all that for now, and have this one, perfect (well, not perfect now) moment where none of that is true? Where none of it has happened again yet?]
Of course I'm scared. [When he finally speaks, the words come out breathless and small, and as overwhelmed as he feels.] Every time we're together, and things between us start to get good, and I start to think we've found something worth keeping, something happens to change that. We keep coming back together, and then get torn apart. If I'm about to remember that it happened again in however long it takes here, I don't-- [he draws a sharp breath] it's just ... so much, Toby.
[Another breath.]
I don't daydream - haven't for years - because what's there to daydream about, Toby? We get married and have lives we could have only dreamed of when we were young, and then it falls apart? [He truly doesn't know.]
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Scared. As much as it grates to admit it, he knows he's scared. He can feel the fear thrumming through him even now. Harry and Sybil changed everything. How could he not see truth in Harry's words - that truth repeating over and over again for decades - when the first example started with a thoughtless mistake that ended everything his life could have been, forever? The circumstances here aren't the same, but at this moment and all others, the past hangs over him like a leaden curtain. Will always be there, pushing on his present. In the worst sense, this made him who he is. It's a painful reality that's on the verge of cutting right through him, if it's only pressed on too hard.
And how could he not be scared, when Toby could be torn away at any time, and over so little? When he already has, several times? Everything between them has always been borrowed time, whether they knew it or wanted to admit it. How is this different now? He doesn't know how to look past that.
So why can he not simply let go of all that for now, and have this one, perfect (well, not perfect now) moment where none of that is true? Where none of it has happened again yet?]
Of course I'm scared. [When he finally speaks, the words come out breathless and small, and as overwhelmed as he feels.] Every time we're together, and things between us start to get good, and I start to think we've found something worth keeping, something happens to change that. We keep coming back together, and then get torn apart. If I'm about to remember that it happened again in however long it takes here, I don't-- [he draws a sharp breath] it's just ... so much, Toby.
[Another breath.]
I don't daydream - haven't for years - because what's there to daydream about, Toby? We get married and have lives we could have only dreamed of when we were young, and then it falls apart? [He truly doesn't know.]