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Cold water pours from up above, but it does nothing to wash off the shame permeating off Julian. His body shakes and shudders as the shower washes away his tears. "I hate Mr. Cameron! I hate him!"
He can hear his Narrator attempting to get his attention, but the dull white noise of the shower drowns everything else out. His thoughts are rushing like the water flowing down the drain, one after the other. Thoughts of humiliation, for having been seen in such a situation by so many people. Thoughts of hate, an emotion he hardly ever feels, towards Mr. Cameron for doing such a horrible thing to him.
Then something slowly draws him out of his panicked, mortified state. A voice, louder than the one in his head. At first it's garbled and incomprehensible, but it slowly rises to the surface of his mind and shouts in his ear.
"Julian. Julian. Julian!"
He awakes from his stupor with a start and shrinks into himself when he lays his eyes on the host. "M-Mr. Cameron!"
"Julian, the shower! Turn it off, you're ruining the show!" He snaps, trying his best to look anywhere except at him.
"I'm sorry..." Julian shakily rises to his feet and does as he's told, wrapping a towel around his waist. The silence left behind is so deafening, he can hear his ears ringing.
John lets out a long sigh and rubs his temple. "Thank you." For a split second, something crosses over his face. An expression that imitates a fraction of regret. "And... I just wanted to say-"
But the janitor is already gone.
—
The next day or two, everything goes on in a relatively normal fashion. The stagehands are working tirelessly as they always do, and John Cameron is holed up in his dressing room. But something is very, very wrong, in the sense that nothing has gone wrong.
Julian has made himself scarce these past couple of days. In fact, nobody has actually seen him yet. Even when one swears that they've seen a figure in the corner of their eye, as soon as they turn to identify it, it's gone. The crew has not hesitated to gossip and theorize about him or where he could be. In fact, he is the topic of conversation at this very moment.
Jacques and Laeticia are hauling a particularly heavy box filled with god knows what, with Laeticia holding the front and Jacques holding the back.
"Ey, 'Tish," Jacques says. "Whaddya think about the whole thing with that janitor kid the other day?"
"I do not have any thoughts on it, and I do not want to discuss it further." Laeticia waves him off with her free hand and shakes her head.
"C'mon, you always got an opinion about everythin'. Just tell."
"It iz not my place to give my opinion."
"It ain't gonna hurt nothin'."
"Fine," Laeticia stops in her tracks and lets out an irritated huff. "But if a single word of zis gets back to John Cameron, I will-"
"I won't say nothin'. Promise."
She pauses for a moment, searching for the best words. "I do not think it was right to do zhat to ze janitor, 'e should 'ave been given a warning first, at ze very least. I mean, I understand why John Cameron would want to punish 'im for all of the trouble that 'e causes, but zhat was a bit cruel."
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Jacques raises an eyebrow and speaks up. "That's it?"
"That iz all."
"That can't be it."
She shakes her head again and resumes walking forwards, adjusting her grip on the box. "It iz none of mine or your business. Though I will say, it would certainly make my job a lot easier to not 'ave Julian running around anymore. If you care about ze janitor so much, why do you not go speak with 'im yourself?"
"I mean, I don't care. I'm just sayin'." Jacques shrugs and follows after her once more.
"What are you saying, exactly?"
"Nothin'."
—
Night has fallen once again, and with it, the show is in full swing.
Julian stands in the hallway outside the broadcast ballroom, his gaze empty and hollow. His mind is somewhere else, somewhere far, far away. The sounds of the show, which he would he would normally be listening to with every ounce of his being, is nothing but empty noise at the moment. Useless sound fills his skull, which he can hear, but he's not listening to. His calloused hands remain wrapped around his mop in a death grip, but he doesn't move it a single inch.
"Julian," his Narrator prompts. "Are you there?"
"I..." His mouth opens, but he can't force anything to come out yet. He remains as still as a statue, and he hardly even reacts to what's being said to him. "I'm not ready."
"Ready for what?"
"To talk," He allows himself to fall backward, leaning against the wall for support. "Ever."
"Ever? I'm sure you'll have to talk eventually. You're doing it right now, aren't you?"
The Narrator's attempts to cheer him up are definitely appreciated, but they're not exactly doing much. "Thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
"C'mon, you know."
Suddenly, Julian feels something soft and warm touch his shoulder. He gives a yelp of surprise and jumps slightly, his head bumping against the wall.
"Oh! Uh, are you alright there? For a second, I thought you'd gone catatonic." It's Mr. Cameron, because of course it is. He quickly puts his hand in his pocket and gives him some space.
"Um. M'fine," The janitor looks away awkwardly and clears his throat. "Shouldn't you be on stage?"
His eyebrows furrow together with what seems to be concern, but Julian can't tell. "...The show's over. It's been over."
"Oh."
"How long were you standing there, doing nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cameron. It won't happen again." Julian gives a typical stock response to being reprimanded. It's clear that he's not all there, he's spaced out to a degree that he rarely achieves on normal circumstances.
"I'm sure it will. But anyway, as I was saying. I wanted to..." Mr. Cameron pauses for a moment, looking away as well. "So. How do I say this? I'm- no, you are- ugh, give me a minute."
"Take your time." He says quietly, but his voice is hollow.
After a frankly embarrassing amount of floundering on Mr. Cameron's part, he finally finds his footing and speaks eloquently enough. "Listen, I know that you haven't exactly been yourself these past couple of days. And while that has taken a lot off my plate, I feel as though I owe you an apology. Julian, from the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry."
That's enough to completely snap Julian out of his stupor. Like a fog lifting, everything feels clear. And now, he has to process these words that are being thrown at him. "Wait, what?"
"Oh, don't give me that. Is it really so hard to believe that I have a conscience?" Mr. Cameron seems to catch himself mid-snark. "Sorry, apologizing. Right. What happened the other day, what the hypnotist did, that was wrong. I just stood there and let it happen, like an idiot."
The janitor is still trying to process this. Those hours he stood there, completely immobile, they feel as though they're flowing through his mind within seconds. So much is happening all at once, and it's more than a little overwhelming. "But, but I thought you did it on purpose? I thought it was a punishment?"
"Yes, I'm aware. And I'm pretty sure everyone thinks so, too," The host lets out another huff and finally looks back at him. "But I honest to God didn't know that was going to happen. If I did, I would have stopped it. And I know you probably don't believe me, but it's the truth."
Mr. Cameron... Actually looks apologetic and genuine. He truly regrets what he did, doesn't he?
Julian feels a massive weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He feels like a dam that has finally been broken. Those words mean more to him than the host could ever imagine. In an instant, he drops his mop to the floor and wraps his arms around Mr. Cameron.
"Oh, sweet Jesus-"
"Mr. Cameron, you have no idea how much that means to me," Oblivious to his discomfort, Julian gives John an affectionate squeeze. "I really thought I'd never be able to talk to you again."
"Ah," John awkwardly pats him on the back. "There, there?"
He lets out a contented hum and nuzzles his face into John's shoulder, the smell of cologne filling his nostrils. "This is one of the best days of my life."
"It doesn't take a whole lot to make you happy, does it?"
"I guess not."