As far as where Dorian's selfish (and unselfish, in the sense of wishing for more connection) interests lie, it's also easy enough for him to see past them to what the true issue seems to be, here. In the odd way that Toby's struggle has always felt artistic and like a slow-moving revolution to him, that's how all of this feels now: there may be the psychological component of overcoming a monstrous conception of self, but it's also easily a metaphor for a human wrangling with feelings of vulnerability or a fear of a lack of control.
"You aren't fragile, Toby. Even during that time we were apart, you didn't truly break or give up, did you?" Because, the way Dorian sees it, both of them saw and intimately know what that looks like for Toby. It starts with a sunset and ends with cracked ashes shifting between his fingers in the early morning breeze. "And you know what? You're right. If something does go wrong, I can't stop you." He reaches out and lays a hand on the vampire's shoulder. "But you can." He waves a hand dismissively at his own words. "Obviously vampirism isn't a matter of confidence or 'faking it until you make it', but you've been controlling yourself for hundreds of years. You haven't suddenly become more than what you were before, or were at least capable of being before. The way it seems to me, you found a new rock bottom and it shook your confidence in your own sense of the depths you were capable of reaching." Dorian leans back again, and reaches for one of the glasses of wine sitting by the edge of the bath to take a small sip. "And something like that... I can understand, but I can't fully empathize with."
It's a(n ironically) funny thought to pop up into his head so suddenly, but maybe what might help Toby most in this moment is words from someone with a more solid sense of the divides between the monstrous and the human? With each new low Dorian sank to himself, a quiet and buried sense of self-loathing grew too, but he also made room for the new levels of depravity within the scope of his personality and what he allowed himself to be.
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"You aren't fragile, Toby. Even during that time we were apart, you didn't truly break or give up, did you?" Because, the way Dorian sees it, both of them saw and intimately know what that looks like for Toby. It starts with a sunset and ends with cracked ashes shifting between his fingers in the early morning breeze. "And you know what? You're right. If something does go wrong, I can't stop you." He reaches out and lays a hand on the vampire's shoulder. "But you can." He waves a hand dismissively at his own words. "Obviously vampirism isn't a matter of confidence or 'faking it until you make it', but you've been controlling yourself for hundreds of years. You haven't suddenly become more than what you were before, or were at least capable of being before. The way it seems to me, you found a new rock bottom and it shook your confidence in your own sense of the depths you were capable of reaching." Dorian leans back again, and reaches for one of the glasses of wine sitting by the edge of the bath to take a small sip. "And something like that... I can understand, but I can't fully empathize with."
It's a(n ironically) funny thought to pop up into his head so suddenly, but maybe what might help Toby most in this moment is words from someone with a more solid sense of the divides between the monstrous and the human? With each new low Dorian sank to himself, a quiet and buried sense of self-loathing grew too, but he also made room for the new levels of depravity within the scope of his personality and what he allowed himself to be.