[Despite Dorian's intentions being quite the opposite — there for work, there for documenting, there for slowly chipping away at his own sanity trying to store every mile of this world into his mind for safekeeping in case he needed it — he finds himself walking into the same room as Nightingale. The scent of the fyrra is a pleasant one, and the world is a bit more quiet here. Enough that he can sit back, relax, calm his racing thoughts.
Well, he was going to do those things. The moment he meets the other man's gaze, his brows shoot up in a mixture of surprise and amusement.]
You are, perhaps, the last person I thought would be here.
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Well, he was going to do those things. The moment he meets the other man's gaze, his brows shoot up in a mixture of surprise and amusement.]
You are, perhaps, the last person I thought would be here.