[It's a small relief, but a relief none-the-less. Dorian doesn't know if he could endure more of watching Prior being coerced without getting into a shouting match with a being who probably wouldn't answer him. He takes his hand to help him to his feet, and he continues holding it after Prior's stood, just in case he risks returning to his place in the past.

He involuntarily squeezes it when he makes the mistake of meeting the Angel's gaze as he surveys the room, and an uncomfortable noise torn between a whine and whimper escaping his throat. In a voice a pitch higher than his usual:] I— I don't think it's you either, because as easily as you could have my company, I doubt you could bring me here.

[His quaint little apartment is suffocating. He clears his throat.] Perhaps we should try to leave.