Dorian nodded slowly with the other's words, a grin of sorts, lacking malicious intent this time, lining his lips. "Of course. Many of my kind come from humans, so it is only natural we rely on them. Perhaps more than those fighting would care to admit." He spoke calmly, not denying the other's points as his gaze drifted to his feet. He was taking in what Akio had to say, actually nodding and willing to comply with what he was speaking of between demons and humans when... Did he sense frustration? Lifting his gaze quickly as he was questioned again, Dorian felt a loss of balance in their conversation.

He should be glad that the other was taking his lack of answers to heart, no? Some voice piped that he should in the back of his mind, but this time the larger part of him was annoyed by the other's words. How did he know he wouldn't have responded? Maybe Dorian would've. At least, he fancied that he may have once he had seemed to have lost the opportunity. He did end up taking some of them to heart, rather, in a way that disgusted Dorian enough so to lose the complacent grin he usually maintained. As his gaze trailed the form of the other's move to the window, he felt his fists curl and his stomach tighten.

Closing his eyes for a moment, his body tensed as a vision of the angry blue-eyed nobleman from his thoughts came back to haunt him. Opening his eyes immediately, he stood and strode to the door, making no pause but to look back over his shoulder for a moment as his hand found the door's handle. Marcel, don't be angry with me... His past words brushed his mind, but he shunned them. Instead, Dorian gritted his teeth and opened the door. "I may not be as cold-blooded as you assume. I have no intent to kill you... Satisfied?" He spoke plainly, agitated, then left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

Once out, he did not pause again until within the safety of his chambers, just beyond his closed doors. Sighing, he leaned back trustingly into the door, head tilting back to brush the cold wood as he slowly slumped against it. One of his hands rose to his face, his eyes closing in distress as the flurry of memories he'd been repressing played back in his mind. One of them in particular plagued him.

Dorian was but a young man, running through an open hall of sorts as sunshine spilled in from the courtyard side of it. Reaching its middle, he stopped, panting, and his gaze found a form sitting beneath the tree pleasantly. There sat a raven-haired noble of similar age, light blue eyes captured by the book he was intent on reading, even as he heard Dorian approach.

"So, you ran from me to go read?" Dorian heard himself question.

"What else would you have me do? Father would be angry if--" The young man didn't get a chance to finish.

"God damnit, Marcel, screw your father! We're in love, he can't tell you how to feel! You can't be angry with me for telling him otherwise!" Dorian felt himself sob, eyes closing as the book the other had been writing was chucked at his head.

"He'll hear us! Now, leave!" The other insisted, voice catching through the anger he managed.

"Don't be so angry..."

Opening his eyes what seemed like hours later, Dorian found the hand he'd rested on his face had gathered moisture. Bitter tears glistened down his face as he stared on ahead at his hand, shocked. "Crying?" He questioned in a whisper, sighing as he wiped his hand on the kerchief he kept in his pocket and stood up. Marcel would indeed be angry with him for his actions now, as he was then for other reasons, but what sway did the opinion of a dead man hold?

Straightening himself up, Dorian decided upon taking a hot bath, and only emerged from his quarters once again after having bated and redressed, red hair yet damp.