[He glances at Dorian and studies his expression before letting out a tired huff. They've had this argument before; perhaps not the exact same one, but certainly one very much like it. Though Toby's perspective had initially been positive when he first arrived, the consequences of siring fledglings and the fear gas and being driven from his home have all since worn him down. So now, where he might've tried to be more like Dorian in seeing beauty and light around him, all he sees are decay and darkness. Right now, Dorian is his only solace; what will Toby accomplish by arguing with him, too?

When he answers, his tone is tired, and his words are quick and rambling.]

I don't know—what makes me happy and what doesn't, what is or isn't a waste of time, who else should even matter anymore... I really don't know anymore, Dorian. So. I'm going to seek professional help.

[Which probably is for the better to avoid a repeat of what happened in the eighties.]