Both the dark and the lingering blur in Otto's vision- the dryness of his eyes- ensure he can't even see where Norman is, let alone what sort of expression might be on his features. But he hears the ragged breathing, along with the whimper. He hears the click of the door closing and the soft rustle as Norman slides down to the floor.

And it fuels more worry than he's felt for several weeks already, if not several months.

He moves to the edge of the bed, still rubbing at his eyes and forcing them to open properly. His gaze finds Norman's silhouette. Possibilities are shooting through his head; several worst-case scenarios. But he can't jump to wild assumptions. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"