There is a part of him that very much wishes to advance on Johnny, perhaps catch that lurching breath under his hand, feel it stutter and catch, make it come faster yet when he releases him. But things are sweeter when they've been made to wait, and instead he merely leans back against the closed door, letting the singing unease stretch in the air as he fishes for his glasses, sliding them down onto his nose again.

'Just a man,' he says mildly, once again simply, apparently that, harmless and professorial. 'I have... made a study of many arts, but I remain a man.' His whiskers bristle around a smile. 'No eldritch horror come to haunt your dreams, I promise.' He finds Johnny's eyes with his. 'For which you should be thankful.'