Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is a late night and John Cameron is trying to work. He really needs to finish those papers for tomorrow but no, he can't focus, as some idiot down the corridor put a radio on and its mournful sounds give him so much nostalgia, he repeatedly catches himself blankly staring at wretched reports and next-shows drafts. God, why does someone torments him with this singing? He would just like to finish his work, go home and maybe drink a little, just enough to calm some nerves before tomorrow meeting with his bosses. But no, no one cares what he needs and they decided to torture him. 

Singing continues and when he can't take it anymore, John Cameron stands up, almost knocking over the chair, and storms from his dressing room. 

Theatre is empty and quiet, except from that one voice, howling somewhere closer to the stage. Quick glance and there it is – small, beaten up machine, treacherously producing that stupid, simple, enthralling acapella song. Cursing under his breath famous host goes towards the sound, ready to scold whoever dares to make him stay even later to finish his very-much-past-due work. He curses even harder when he sees person responsible for his inconvenience – it's that kid, one that cleans theatre at nights and gets underfoot during the day and evenings, even though they're kicking him out every time. Kid sweeps further back, turned from John Cameron, who's approaching centre of the stage. But as the host comes closer, almost reaching the wretched noise box, boy spins around, yelps when noticing the other man and starts to mumble incoherent and redundant apologies.

“Um... Mr Cameron! I'm sorry... I-I-Um... I'm working, I swear! Please don't tell Mr...”

“What?”

“I'm really... I'm working it's...”

“I don't care what you do, just keep it quiet! I'm working and I need silence.”

“Um. S-sorry. I'll... sing quieter.”

“Good.” John Cameron gives him a stern look, ready to turn around and storm back to his papers. And only now notices, that singing stopped. Even though machine didn't. “Wait...” He picks it up. Buttons are almost worn down but from up close, it is clear that the machine is set on 'record'. “Were... You?” He gives the terrified boy an enquiring look. “You were singing?”

“Um... Yes?”

“Just now?”

“Y-yes.”

“Huh.”

Janitor hunches a little, ready for a scolding but John Cameron sounds almost... impressed. Or maybe boy just imagines that? He must have because Mr Cameron comes over and leans down to him before starting to shoot questions.

“Whose song is that? How do you know it? Where did you get it?”

Kid swallows hard and clenches fingers on the broom handle, like hiding behind a stick could give him any protection from that maniac look, just inches away from him.

“Well?!”

“It's... Um... Mine. I mean... from-from my head?” He stutters, fixing his gaze at the floor. “I came up with it.”

“You?”

“Sorry...”

“You?”

“Uhm...”

“Don't lie to me kid!”

“I swear!”

Boy takes few steps back, but host grabs him by the arm to stop and ask:

“Is it finished yet? Do you have a whole thing?”

“Y-yes? I think so...”

“Sing it for me.”

“I...”

“Come on, I don't have all night! Unless you don't want to audition for the show?”

“The... uh...” Janitor's heart nearly breaks free of his chest. But after few moments he almost manages to calm his breath. Boy nods and readjusts his grip on the handle.

“Um... Okay.”

He closes his eyes, to escape Mr Cameron's impatient gaze, takes a deep breath and begins to sing. His voice is small and shaky but after a bellowing chorus he gains confidence, ending it, sweetly vocalizing last part. Only after the longest silence, he dares to look. Mr Cameron is still there, patiently expecting his next words. When boy just smiles and chuckles nervously, host sighs, right before getting a sudden revelation.

“Can we... What I'm saying.” He stops himself as it is actually a favour for the boy, he's not going to ask him nicely to do something for him. “Kid, we'll use it in the show.”

Janitor is stunned, too struck to even breathe.

“Uh, kid? Have you heard me?”

“Um, yes. Sir. I'm-um... Really?”

“Don't make me repeat myself.”

“Um... really? Oh my God! Thank you! Thank you, Mr Cameron. I... I... Oh my God!”

Mr Cameron smiles and stops a recording. 

“Good. Mind if... I'll just take that.” He adds, putting the tape into his pocket, barely able to break through boy's neverending wave of gratitude.

Finally, he decides to just turn around and leave. “I need to go back to work. I'll let you know if and when we'll going to use it, kid.”

At the edge of the stage Mr Cameron turns to ask one more thing but boy is already in his own world - he talks to himself in a hushed voice, shifting from foot to foot and making unsettling, small but quick movements with his hands and fingers, either from not knowing what to do with them or unawarely letting them channel apparently massive overflow of emotion. John Cameron hesitates but leaves him. He has work to do, lots of it. 

Kid doesn't seem to notice.

Sitting down to his papers John Cameron smiles. It is finally quiet and he finally found the pinnacle for one of the coming shows. Talking to the kid solved two of his problems. Maybe even could solve the third...

***

Janitor spins, unable to contain his excitement. His song! In the show! They – Mr Cameron – is going to let him be a part of the show! That is one of the best days of his life. Everything he ever wanted. He spins again, so over the moon he doesn't even need to sleep anymore, maybe ever. He might just walk around the city till dawn, screaming his joy to heaven. At least he won't need to worry about where to stay for the night. 

But one glance outside ruins that plan – there is a blizzard outside, roaming through the night. Even if he had somewhere to go, he would prefer not to. With a deep breath, he resumes sweeping, hoping wheater will improve by the time he'll be done.

It doesn't. Heavy snow is still falling when late in the night he finally finishes cleaning the lobby. It's very late already. He doesn't mind. It is actually in his favour – if no one noticed he was there for that long, he might have a chance to stay in the theatre tonight. String of bad luck costed him a roof overhead – lots of unexpected expenses, double pay for the bed in his previous quarters and fraud in the next caused him to run out of money and he ended up on the streets. Since then he couldn't find a place to stay. It was supposed to be for a couple of weeks but extended to a couple more. Most landlords wanted some down payment and it was taking him forever to save enough. And hostels were too expensive to let him do those savings. So, he slept where he could – janitor's closet, other unused theatre rooms, bus, staircases. Sometimes he pretended he slept through his stop on the way home or dozed off just for a moment. And from time to time, when curling up under someone else's door's, Janitor dreamed that he just lost the apartment key, again, and dozed off there, waiting for other resident to come back. Sometimes it was his greatgrandfather or a roommate or occasionally, if he dared, even a boyfriend. They would usually reach the storey and sigh seeing him. Then they would wake him gently and with a troubled smile. 

“Hi. You forgot your keys again?”

“Sorry.”

“That's alright. You wanna come in?” They would help him up and he would hold their things, when they would open the door to the warm and cozy apartment. “You must be freezing. I'll make some tea. Or hot chocolate.”

He would help them and then curl up on a couch or in one of the deep, comfy chairs, and they would talk, Janitor nesting a mug with some hot drink, warming his hands. And when they would be too tired to talk anymore they would just go to beds, nice and warm, waiting for them.

That thought makes Janitor warmer when he shovels the snow around the backdoor, enough to be able to take out the garbage to the container at the back. It's the last thing he has to do today. 

“All done.”

Janitor smiles and with a sigh of relief reaches the door. And finds them closed. It must have slammed shut behind him. Or someone had closed it without knowing he was there. Either way, he got stuck outside, up to ankles in snow.

“How...? Ughhh...” he groans, looking around desperately. The gate is closed. He can try to get through the front door but most likely it'll be also closed. But... yes, thank God, there is still light in the night watchman office. Now Janitor only needs to put some crates and jump over the fence to go through the inner backyard. Okay, that wasn't easy but manageable. Someone should consider checking theatre security but fortunately for Janitor, they didn't. He climbs on some bin to knocks on the window. Boy waves to the startled night watchman – luckily it's Coco, elder man who likes him. Janitor gestures trying to explain what happened, unsure if he's heard through the glass. Coco nods and leaves, hopefully, to the door. Janitor goes back and waits under the door, getting chilly and covered in snow, shivering from cold and anticipation. After few minutes something clicks and the door swings open.

“Get in, get in. You need to be more careful, Julian. I was sure everyone left. You're lucky I was there.”

“Y-yeah. Thank you.”

“Um. We um... I'll put... Report it's broken.”

“Isn't it your job to fix things?”

“No? I mean...” he backs up a little and, focusing his gaze on the floor, plays back in his head all conversations he had with his boss. “No. I'm only cleaning.”

“Alright. sigh Are you heading out?”

“Um.” he puts off a snow shovel and takes cleaning supplies left by the door. And adds, shaking a broom. “I'll just... put this back.”

Janitor heads for the corridor to reach a janitor's closet and put away his tools. If he'll be lucky he'll just stay there. He likes that place. It is dry and almost warm. And, oh, it doesn't smell with that overwhelming rot of mould and dust, like so many of his hiding places. In his dreams, there is even a bed in the janitor's closet. Nothing fancy – just an old creaky cot – but he is allowed to stay there, safe, without fear or worry that any second someone may barge in and kick him out.

“Julian?” voice brings him out of thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

“Um.”

Coco does not believe him. They talk from time to time, friendly souls during long night hours. But boy didn't told him about his current situation. He was afraid that if anyone would find out, especially at work, they would fire him. Janitor knew some people, few of them – including Coco – he even considered friends. But none of them should know about this. So he spends a night or two at friends places, take the invitation to dinner or ask to use their shower – sure, little favours and courtesies were fine but he didn't wanted to overuse their kindness. He wasn't a kid anymore and should rely on and provide for himself. He had to do that. Just a couple more weeks and he'll be back on his feet.

And hiding in the theatre and sleeping there in odd places was working so far. Janitor had some experience in it, it wasn't the first time. Last autumn he somehow, only partially intentionally, haven't left the theatre for almost two weeks – being inconspicuous at work and hiding during the day. Last time, they almost caught him as someone realised he was rarely bothered by the weather – everyone was soaked, at the same time his sneakers didn't saw a droplet of mud in days. He was answering with 'Oh, I stayed overnight to finish things', 'I got so caught up that I didn't even notice it was time to go' or “I came earlier and get dry before any of you left home'. It worked but he started to be more cautious.

And as far as Janitor could tell, Coco thinks he just have a difficult situation at home and that's why he doesn't want to go back there sometimes.

“Were you trying to stay here for a night?”

Janitor looks up, terrified. But seeing that warm, caring smile he nods.

“Sorry. Didn't wanted to...”

“It's alright. I won't tell anyone” night watchman laughs.

“Thanks. Sorry,” he adds, looking down again. “I have nowhere else to go right now.”

“Mhm. Have you thought about moving out? Renting a room? Or a bed even?”

“Yeah. But that's expensive. Right now I could either have a roof or eat.”

“By the look of it, you choose neither.”

“Kind of” Janitor joins a solemn laugh. 

“Have you tried some hostels? Or shelters?”

It was a reasonable solution but if he wanted to save up he couldn't go to hostels. And cheap or free shelters were cold, full of bugs and thieves. City apparently thought that they can solve homelessness problem by bullying poor out of it. The only decent shelter he knew was closing half through his night shift.

“If I'll save some money it'll be alright. Just need a week or two...”

“Okay. If you say so. But, if I can help, in any way – don't be shy to ask.”

“Um. Thank you. The... Letting me stay here is more than enough.”

“Right. You should go to the staff room, you'll be more comfortable there.” Coco looks pointedly at a tiny interior of the janitor's closet. “I'll wake you before my shift end.”

“Um.”

“Good night then.”

“G-good night.”

In the staffroom, Janitor settles down on the floor next to the radiator. He knows he shouldn't lay so close to the heat source – he might get a burn or turn and hit himself on the hard metal, not to mention he'll get an insufferable dehydration headache tomorrow. But today he was wet and cold and tired, and it was one of those few spaces where he could be warm and safe and undisturbed until morning. So he put a backpack under his head and curled on the floor a little tighter, imagining that he's laying on soft fur, in front of a fireplace, in one of those wooden, mountain cottages, just napping between some exciting winter adventures. That thought, accompanied by a pleasant heat petting his back and a hum of radiator and pipes lulled him to sleep.

***

Janitor woke up to a smell of coffee and careful rustling around the cupboards. He sits up with a groan. Something warm and heavy slides off him – Coco's long wool coat.

“Eat up, kid. You should leave soon.” elder says, handling still confused Janitor a mug and half of a sandwich. “They start in half an hour, but you know how zealous office ladies could be.”

Janitor nods despite having no idea. Coffee is cheap and instant and too sweet but oh, so good. All day promises to be a pleasant one – it stopped snowing, he slept for few hours laying down in a warm, dry place and a dream he had would make for an excellent story. He could write it down on his way or even record it later. That reminds him – a tape! Mr Cameron wants his song in the show! Or was it also a dream? No, tape is gone. Gone! For a split second, he's worried about the tape he gave Mr Cameron. It was one of the long ones and he barely started the second side. Would he get it back? Did he remembered to ask about that?

“Oh, no.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Um... no. No. I forgot... remembered that I forgot something.”

“Must have been something nice. You're grinning like crazy.”

“Do I?” he smiles again and stuffs his face with the rest of the sandwich.

“It suits you.”

“Um. I-um... should... Thank you. I'll... Go.”

“Sure. See you in the evening.”

“Um. Bye.”

Janitor gathers his things and leaves. He'll need to ask Mr Cameron, but maybe not today. It would be rude. But he had a very nice story on that tape. And some very good recordings of winter sounds. Does he really want it more than he's afraid to ask?

But getting a place in the show would be worth losing almost all of your tapes, wouldn't it?

“Yeah.”

Janitor spends all day on fruitless search, getting neither a new job nor an accommodation. Well, at least he was trying. 'Maybe tomorrow' he thinks, wandering aimlessly. 'I can hide in the theatre one more night, no problem.'

It might be a problem soon.

“Well, let's worry about it then.”

And when the clock strikes five, he rushes back to the theatre. Not because he has work, it starts in few hours, but because the radio crew soon will be there. And maybe Mr Cameron will be there. He doesn't want to impose but knows he must be there, just in case. 

Janitor decides not to go to Mr Cameron right away, just linger there, around the host's dressing room, casually, as if he was working and accidentally passing his door, not at all intentionally. There was a little niche where the staircase meets the corridor leading to rooms backstage. Meeting point, with a horrible worn-out couch, not that well-hidden ashtray and dusty piece of art, hanging on the wall. It was composed of countless little fripperies, connected by colourful strings and wires into a complicated tapestry. Not many people liked it, finding it 'a pretentious mess someone called art' but Janitor always find it mesmerizing. And, he could swear, it was changing every time he looked at it, telling new stories, recalling different memories, woven into a pattern by some skilled witch, who's only pretending to be a failed artist. Janitor was not allowed near it, as once, trying to touch some piece, he almost made it all fall upon him. But everyone was so busy today that no one would mind. And careful dusting tapestry would give him an excuse to be on the lookout for Mr Cameron.

He cautiously climbs on the horrible couch, holding his breath and expecting it to give in beneath him at any moment. It collapsed a long time ago and Janitor presumes that under dusty cover it consisted only of more dust and cobwebs, maybe some cigarette butts. Sometimes he was imagining a tiny city, busy with spiders and mites, with tiny streets and tinier homes, made out of cardboard and trash collected by mice. They would all live there, little creatures busying themselves all around the theatre, sleeping and hiding in their little couch-shaped kingdom, hiding in plain view, just beneath worn out cover. Boy never dared to check. Nevertheless, the couch holds Janitor's weight. He sighs with relief and starts to work, very carefully, dusting various elements and strings, quickly forgetting about Mr Cameron and the rest of the world, humming, lost in stories tapestry could tell.

Sudden cacophony of voices startles him from that world. He loses balance and to keep steady, Janitor grabs the installation, crushing one of the ornaments and causing a few to fall, together with few ripped strings. Behind him, a stern female voice silences children making a racket.

“Oh, yes, let's stop here. What do you say, children?”

“Good afternoon, sir.” uneven choir greets him.

“Oh! H-hi.” he faces them, terrified, trying to hide damage made to the art piece behind him. “Wh... Can I um... help you?”

“We are on a school trip today, learning how theatre works.” Teacher explained. “Would you tell us what do you do, sir?”

“Oh. Um... I'm-I'm a janitor. Here. I clean. Stuff.”

She looks at him, raising an eyebrow, clearly disappointed.

“Sorry, I thought you're putting it together.” she looks meaningfully at the tapestry behind him.

“That's...” he also glances at it. “Oh. It was made by some proper artist. Like... Very talented. ” he chuckles nervously. “You know, it changes, every time you look at it? Like magic. And um... It's old. Unfortunately, I don't know much about it. I'm only... It needs dusting. Sometimes.”

 “That's interesting. So, are there any special qualifications a janitor in theatre need to have? Especially to make conservation to art pieces like that?”

“Um... N-not really? I'm just... cleaning. Dusting. And sweeping floors. Or mopping. That kind of... stuff.”

“Do you have any questions, children?” They answer her by shaking their heads.

“My mum says, you end up as a janitor if you fail school.” one of the children whisper loudly to their classmates, quickly scolded by the teacher.

“It... it's nice. Here. I... can see things from up close. Like this” Janitor quickly waves at the tapestry behind him. “So that's... cool. And um... be backstage. During the-the rehearsals. And shows. Um.”

“Hm. Thank you very much. The... dressing rooms are there?” She asks, pointing at the corridor. He nods, even though the teacher does not pay him attention anymore, moving towards Leticia, who already greets some children. “Move along children! We're going to meet some artists and theatre staff. ”

Janitor sighs when they leave and turns back to the ruined tapestry. Some pieces have fallen behind and under a couch, but it is too heavy and unstable to move, so for some time he unsuccessfully tries to salvage them, unable to reach elements, neither by diving behind the couch nor lying on the floor and slowly pushing them with a broom handle.

“What...? Julian?”

“Oh! Au!” he hits himself, startled, rushing to get up.

“What are you doing there?”

“I um... dropped. A thing,” he murmurs, rubbing hurt elbow. “Don't worry Mr Cameron, I'll find it. Oh, Mr Cameron! I wanted...”

“Hmmm. Does...” he starts a question but looks up at the tapestry and alters it. “Did that mess changed? There was a red thing in there.”

“There... um....” Janitor follows his gaze, then in panic starts to study the rest of the installation, perfectly aware that 'the red thing' lies smashed under a couch. Finally, he finds another one and, relieved, points at a piece of fabric woven into strings further to the left. “Th-that red thing?”

Mr Cameron squints and lets out a suspicious murmur before deciding it is not worth his time.

“Fine. Whatever. Are little monsters still here?”

“The... What? What monsters?”

“School trip. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to be today. Or tomorrow? What day is it?”

“It... um...”

But before Janitor manages to guess, they both hear Leticia and an enthusiastic response from the children. Mr Cameron swears and runs upstairs, unfortunately for him, not fast enough to escape Leticia's eye and polite, yet firm “There you are John, we were waiting for you. Children, meet our host, John Cameron. He'll answer all of your questions and will show you the dressing room of a star. I need to go back to my work. Have fun.”

“Goodbye miss Saltier!” children say, before starting to shuffle towards Mr Cameron, who sighs a swear. Putting on his broadest smile he turns and slowly goes down, becoming welcoming friendly and jolly showman. He reminds the Janitor of a shark, gracefully moving through the ocean. Boy would not want to talk to him in that mood. But it seems like Mr Cameron will not have time or will for any more conversations today, so Janitor warily retreats to some other tasks.

***

It was a long day and when everyone left the theatre, Janitor sighs with relief and starts to work. He loves being around people but it is a lot easier to do chores with no one around, in peace and quiet. Even loneliness isn't bothering him so much tonight – all events of the day were so exciting and left him so exhausted, he needs some time to simmer down. He switched lights to technical ones. It was bright enough to see all obstacles but blessedly dark, diming colours, patterns and factures. Sometimes he was founding it spooky, being all alone in a dark institution but not today. Everything up to this point was so fast and crazy and demanding and so overwhelming. It was calming to do some mechanical work – step, sweep, step, sweep, sweep, step – with an empty head, creating a simple melody, imagining it all as a beginning of a story. He would be the first actor to appear on a stage, entering when lights are still dim, being more part of decorations than a participant. Orchestra would play opening music and some voice from offstage would set a scene, while Janitor would slowly and methodically sweep, pacing from side to side, making the audience more and more curious. Who is that person? Would they say something? Why did no one tell me it is some unconventional play? Oh God, is this an opera? 

And Janitor would not speak, not yet at least. He would finish his work, put down a broom and transition to the next scene – curl up on the farther end of the stage, shielded by decoration and fall asleep. And the music would rise, and new performers would enter, lively and beautifully illustrating in their dance Janitor's fanciful dreams.

Chapter Text

Janitor is peacefully sleeping, hidden under a set piece in a corner of the stage. He dreams of performing on that stage – imaginary audience cheering, loving every song and every story, other fabulous performers participating. It is making him warmer how happy it all is making them. 

Right now, lights are dimmed again but the stage is full of colourful lanterns, dancing lights casting ever-moving shadows, painting fleeting scenes from a fascinating story. It is almost over when... 

“Whoa, kid! 'the hell are you doing here?”

“'at?” Janitor opens his eyes, not fully awake yet. And on a blindingly bright stage, he sees Jacques, holding a set piece, leaned over him.

“Get the hell out of here!”

“R-right,” he says in a small voice and scrambles to his feet. 

“That could break your bones! Or squash you to a pulp! Don't you know any safety procedures?”

And the seconds later Jacques lets go of the piece, letting it crash with a loud 'bang', seemingly to emphasize the stagehand's point.

“Sorry.”

“Jacques!” Leticia shouts before entering the stage. “How many times do I have to tell you?! Don't work on set pieces alone! You could get injured!”

“He could get injured.” Jacques miffs, pointing at the Janitor, who was trying to leave and hide. “Found him underneath. Again.”

“Wh... Julian?”

“S-sorry. I'll go. I'm...” 

“What were you doing there?”

“I-um... I thought I'll clean. Here. A bit.”

“That's great but...”

“Was sweeping” he adds, too late, pointing at his broom.

“...no one asked you to.”

“I...”

“You were sweeping lying down?” Jacques asks, amused. Leticia sighs.

“Um... I... Must have get... tired.”

“This is a workplace, not some lounge. Moreover, you were forbidden to come 'ere and to touch anything.”

“I know but...”

“If you know, then why I found you tampering with decorations? You were trying to sneak on the show again, 'aven't you?”

“No. I swear I only...”

“You swear? Like the last three times, you promised NOT TO intrude on the show?”

Oh, yes. The last time . It was one of those nights, only a couple of weeks ago, when Janitor sneaked in on to the show and – despite his enormous effort not to interrupt it in any way – unsurprisingly, he ruined it.

He was hidden under decorations, but unlike today, he did that on purpose. And all the time knew where he was and why. It went unexpectedly well – the show was great and Janitor, hidden on stage, had an excellent view of the performance (from the back, but at least from up close) and the audience – seeing it upfront, the way he liked the most. And no one saw him . 

The show was almost over, only a few more minutes after commercials and they won't even know he was there. Mr Cameron just announced the last act and warned everyone to expect it will end with a bang. Janitor grinned, looking forward to this flashy finish, leaning from his hideout to see better. 

“Oh no” he whispered. As as he moved, his sleeve brushed over a dial on a box he was leaning against. He wasn't paying it much attention before and does not remember the settings it was set on. 

“Huuuh. Do-do you remember?”

What? Why would I?

“You always... usually... I mean, you notice things. Often.”

Yes, but only if you look in the right direction.”

“sigh Fine. Um... Lets...” Janitor started to meddle with a dial, trying to duplicate his previous movement to estimate how much he changed it. 

You need to hurry, they're dimming lights! 

“I know... Um... Lets... Okay. It was on 1? And I think I moved two? Or maybe three points? Let's put it on... one before max. Yeah.”

Are you sure? That's a lot.

“Um. Mr Cameron said it will be something big.”

But...

“Shhh! Look! It's starting.”

Mr Cameron welcomed listeners back and the stage was taken by a fire twirlers. Their mesmerizing dance was also creating music, slowly building it from performances stomps, the rustling of movements and voices but also crackling of the fire, swooshing of props and whizzes of whistles build into them.

Just a couple of minutes later, everything around the Janitor seemed to explode with a loud noise. And after he screamed and leaned back to shield himself, everything around him collapsed like a domino.

He came to as someone was yelling at him.

“...'ear me? Julian?! Are you injured?”

Janitor groaned in response and sat up.

“...hell you're doing here?!” the person continued, shaking him. “How many times?! Why are you doing this?! How many times do we need to tell you? STOP DOING THAT!”

“...s-sorry.” Janitor said out of habit and looked around, disorientated. He was lying on the stage. Most of the enormous set pieces were also lying on the stage, except one, dangerously close to the audience, absent from an empty house. There was also a very distinct smell of burned wood and paint which turned out to be a very small fire, happily consuming top of the last standing decoration, high above stagehands heads, who were fruitlessly trying to put it down. It couldn't be that serious, because Leticia was not paying attention to it, rather focusing it on scolding confused Janitor.

“Why were you there?”

“I-um... was watching. The show. I didn't wanted to get in the way.”

“Oh, and you did a great job! You just pushed ENTIRE SET! On PERFORMERS!”

“And the audience.” Jacques added.

“Um...” Janitor glanced at the chaos around them again. “Did... Really? I... I was only sitting here. I swear. I didn't touch anything.”

Except for the dial.

“Oh. Okay. Maybe one thing.” he reflected quietly and raised his gaze with an apologetic look. It wasn't as effective as he was hoping.

“Don't you have any common sense?! Any voice of reason? Any voice in your head, from time to time telling 'mmm, maybe that's a bad idea?' or 'oh, this is against the rules'?!”

sigh Constantly.

“I... Um... Sorry.” he looked down. “I just can't stop myself.”

“Oh can't you?”

“Um... I'll go. Now. C-can I?” he asked in a small voice.

“Oh no. Not until I'll make sure you understood this time.”

Janitor was scared, started to breathe faster, keeping his eyes on the floor, trembling, unable to move. Leticia noticed how terrified he was and backed down. When she spoke, she wasn't angry anymore. Just very, very tired.

“I'm not going to hit you. Or punish in any way. I've told them that having a fireshow and explosives in a very dry and flammable theatre is a terrible idea. And collapsing decorations put out most of it...”

“And scared the audience away.”

“Yes, and... hasten the evacuation. So what you did was actually helpful.”

“It was?”

“Yes. But also, you collapsed the entire set. On people. Someone might get injured! Or killed!”

“...sorry.”

“I want you to understand. This is serious! Jobs and lives of many people depend on that show! And you're a constant nuisance.”

“But I wanted to help. I swear, it was an accident and I only wanted...”

“I've told you already, we don't need your help. We don't want your help. Please, just keep away.”

“But...” he hesitates. Janitor was hoping if he'll be around and help out, the crew would eventually get used to him. Maybe even they'd like him and let him work on the show. It was more wishful thinking than a fully developed plan and it wasn't working. In the slightest. Despite all evidence and experiences, Janitor was continuing his attempts to get involved with the show, in any way possible. 

But even he was able to realise that this time battle was lost and there was no point in fighting any longer. Janitor lowered his head.

“Sorry.”

“Would you stop interfering? And making a mess?”

He nodded.

“Then scamper. And if you'll get 'ere uninvited again I'll get you fired. Compris?”

“Yes, Miss Saltier. Thank you.”

“Off you go. And I don't want to see you 'ere!”

The last time they let him go off lightly. But today, even though nothing was on fire, Leticia run out of patience instantly.

“You swear? Like the last three times, you promised NOT TO intrude on the show? Every time you go near the show, you're getting us all in trouble!”

“I know.”

“If you know then why are keep doing that?!”

“I can't stop myself!” he burst out and immediately hunched a bit, abashed with his own boldness. “I know it's wrong... and I know I'll be in trouble but it's just... Being here...” he takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself. “Have you ever had this thing, that one thing you want, the most in the world, the most wonderful thing, which will make all your life better? And it's just sitting there, at your fingertips, so close, so shiny, and you can have it, if you only dare to take it.” he's looking into the void, raising his hand to reach for something that is not there. “Wouldn't you risk everything to just get there?”

“No. You should work to achieve your goals.”

“sigh What if it is not enough?”

“You work harder. Or wait for the opportunity and take it.”

“W-what if this, you, this show is that opportunity?”

“sigh Julian, this is not the way. If you're going to annoy everyone or endanger yourself, when-if we'll ever have anything you could do in the show, no one will tell you. Because you won't be working 'ere anymore!” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “You know what? Unlike you, I keep my word. What have I promised you last time?”

“I...” Janitor scrambles his brain, trying to remember. Then he realises and looks at her, terrified.

“Miss Saltier, please,” he begs, near tears. “Please, if my bosses... if I lose that job... Please, I have nowhere to go...”

“Why didn't you thought about that before loitering 'ere? Come on, the theatre director should...”

“I... please. It was the last time, I swear...”

“Don't you dare swearing!”

“What's going on?” John Cameron asks and everyone goes silent. “Well?”

“He” Leticia points at the cowering Janitor “was found on stage. And we agreed that after the last time he's...”

“What last time?”

“...banned. Oh. I haven't told you.” she remembers. They decided not to tell John Cameron who was responsible for the last disaster, as it would probably lead to murder. And they couldn't lose host and get in trouble with the venue on the same day. “It wasn't... We dealt with it. But he is banned from getting even near the stage, ever again.”

“Doesn't he work here?” Mr Cameron asks in such a calm and reasoning way it leaves everyone baffled. Especially the Janitor. “As theatre employee, right?”

Janitor nods, suddenly unable to find a voice.

“Yes, but...”

“We have a contract with them and part of it is maintenance. Repairs and cleaning included.”

“John.”

“What? There is no show, no rehearsal, you can't be mad at the ki... person for doing their job.”

“John. I'm worried. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! What is wrong with all of you?” He does seem to be abnormally calm and relaxed, smiling even. “Leave the kid alone. Don't you have a job to do?” he waves a hand at them. Then looks at the Janitor. “And you, go away and stop bothering my crew. They have enough to do.”

“Um. Th-thank you, Mr Cameron.”

Janitor grabs his broom and heads toward the exit but suddenly stops. Maybe he should try to ask since the host seems to be in a good mood. 

“Um... Mr Cameron? Can I...”

“Things to do!” Mr Cameron repeats, rapidly disappearing backstage. Stagehands watch him go.

“What is wrong with him?” Jacques asks.

“sigh Can't you be happy that for once he is?”

“Sure. That was just...”

“Weird.”

“Yeah. Kinda scary.”

“I guess he gets all paperwork in time and has few hours not to think about tomorrow's meeting. Let him have that.”

“So Mr Cameron doesn't know yet.” Janitor says quietly, hidden in the shadows, eavesdropping, still hanging around backstage, despite the fact just a minute ago he almost lost his job for doing that. “Shhh. I'm listening.”

“You know how stressful new drafts are. The station can never imagine how it will look like, how it will sound like... That's too silly for adults, that's too complicated for people, that sort of things. They all say that they believe in John, and his remarkable skills, and yet, are doubting his every choice until proven otherwise.”

“Huh. I didn't know that.”

“Why hire a professional if you want to question they work?” Francois wonders.

“Exactly.”

“Mhm. So, John needs to convince them, every time, and they are always like 'no, no, that's not going to work!' and John always talks them into it and later, after the shows, they like 'oh, you were right Monsieur Cameron, how could we ever doubt you!'. And next month they do the same thing. sigh So, be nice to John, guys, he might have a tough time for a bit. And keep that janitor away, we have enough trouble as it is.”

Janitor sighs and backs up to the corridor. Leticia is right. Mr Cameron should not be disturbed. Maybe he can help with that...

***

Janitor wasn't working for the radio show, theatre hired him. But, as the biggest tenant, radio could, without any trouble, convince his bosses to get rid of him. The show needed space and stage, and PBC could rent it in any theatre in Paris, without janitors interfering with their work on daily basis. 

But Janitor couldn't stop himself. A radio show! Right there, where he was working! He knew he wasn't part of it but by keeping the building clean he was helping. In a way. Although, he was helping more by staying away from them.

But not today. Today (and probably tomorrow? He has no idea when Mr Cameron meeting is going to take place exactly) he's going to make sure that everything is in Mr Cameron favour. At least those things he could push in the right direction. 

Janitor started his new mission by sneaking under the shower – he doesn't want to leave the building today anyway. And if they'll kick him out, he'll be at least clean. 

He could make use of another theatrical asset – kind people in charge of resources. Janitor was making sure to help out with cleaning of the buffet as often as possible, cos lady working there loved every opportunity not to do any work. And in exchange, she always gave him some popcorn or other leftovers, often even before it got stale. Today he manages to acquire a cup of coffee, to leave it in the host's dressing room after cleaning it. Janitor knew Mr Cameron's habits well enough to tell the time just by looking at the emptied glasses, so he is sure coffee is made the way Mr Cameron likes it.

Mr Cameron didn't liked it.

“Why someone left their coffee in my dressing room? Don't you have a kitchen or whatever? And where can I get my own coffee?”

“I can bring you one, Mr Cameron.” Janitor offers, emerging from the room next door. “I mean... if you don't like this one.”

“Jesus f... Don't jump on people like that! What are doing you here? What do you mean 'this one?'”

“I um...”

“Coffee.” Host repeats, seeing boy's confusion. “What did you mean?”

“Oh. I brought it. For you. You're always working late...”

“That's none of your...”

“...thought you'd um... Might want some. Sorry.”

“sigh Fine. Thank you.”

“Um.”

“That's very... thoughtful of you. Now, what are you doing here? Aren't you a night janitor?”

“I um...” he can't say, he's not at work right now and was hiding to wait for the host. Quick, say something already! Anything! “Was cleaning? There.”

“Were you cleaning my dressing room?”

“Yes? But I can do it again if...”

“Have you seen my glasses?”

“Seen my... You're wearing glasses, Mr Cameron?”

“Drinking glasses.”

“Oh.”

Those glasses. Glasses that Janitor knocked off by accident and were now hidden at the bottom of the bin.

“The ones that are usually standing next to the bottles?”

“I um... I'll look for them. In um... kitchen. Staffroom. I'll find them, Mr Cameron. Or different ones. Glass is a glass, right?”

“Not quite. But it'll do for today. Just make it quick, would you? I don't want to pull you away from work.”

“It's alright. I'm not... I mean... I don't have... Um. I'll be right back. And... Oh, do you um... Do you want that... new coffee or the glasses... first?”

“I already have a coffee, thank you.” he takes a sip and looks at the cup with a surprise. “A good one. Huh. Well, I guess I'll prepare for a meeting. Close the door, would you? And don't bother with those glasses. I don't want to be disturbed.”

Janitor smiles and leaves. Mr Cameron liked his coffee! And Janitor was helpful! To be even more helpful, he blocks the corridor with a 'wet floor' sign and stays there, mopping the same square of the floor, making sure no one disturbs Mr Cameron. Even Leticia.

“S-sorry. You can't go through, wet floor.”

“But I need to get to Mr Cameron.”

“Oh, he's not there.” he smiles politely, trying to hide how clever he feels right now when his cunning plan working. “You might try later.”

At this moment dressing room doors open and Mr Cameron goes out, dressed up and ready to leave.

Leticia shoot Janitor a suspectful look.

“What's going on here?”

“John, we need to talk.”

“Walk and talk, I have places to be.” he looks at the Janitor and answers to a boy's big grin with a cautious nod and slight twitch of the lips. 

As they leave, Janitor hears muffled: “Jeez, is this kid working twenty-four hours a day?”

Janitor doesn't care.

“I did it! Did you saw?”

I saw... something?

“Mr Cameron get ready for the meeting and left in a good mood and didn't drink. At all! And was smiling! Did you saw?”

If you call that a smile.

“He was smiling at me. I think. He might even like me. I mean... I didn't... I wasn't nice to him just to... you know.”

Get in his favour so he'll put you on the show?

“Um. He's great. He deserves... I'd love to be with him... be like him. Work together. Follow his every step, be like-like a shadow. A bit like you. It must be exciting.”

Not particularly.

“Yeah. Cos my life is boring but oh, with Mr Cameron! I could learn so much! Just by... by helping out. And being around. Oh, it must be wonderful to see, to-to be able to imagine an entire show and-and see this...”

You can imagine all shows. You do. All the time.
“Yeah, but you know what I mean. Those are... Mine are not real. I can have anyone and everything in them. It's not... I can do anything, by just thinking about it. And he... He can see potential in people. And can take all those artists and acts and put it all together and then... make it all happen. Make it real.” Janitor stops his vigorous gesticulations and drops his gaze from the ceiling to wet smear on the floor. “Just imagine...” he sighs and starts mopping the floor, for real this time, going farther and farther, as smudges and shadows turns into pieces of his new imaginary performance.

***

Mr Cameron rolls his eyes, as the first person he spots after coming back from that disastrous meeting is the Janitor, indisputably waiting for him. Host was not keen on having that conversation right now and definitely too sober too. But the boy is already rising from a bench, pretending he's not expecting anything from the man but also looking at him with all of the expectations.

“G-good afternoon, Mr Cameron.”

John Cameron growled in response.

“Um... Did... Were you...”

“Kid, I don't have time for this.”

“Oh.” boy looks down and sinks, immediately regretting bothering the host. “I'll... Sorry.”

“Leticia! Kid, we'll talk later. There you are. Alright, we'll need to...”

So Janitor follows them to the dressing room and waits. As soon as Leticia leaves, he knocks softly and waits at the door.

“Mmm, Mr Cameron? I wanted to ask...”

“Oh, yes. Would you take that?” he waves in the direction of a trash bin, full of crumpled papers and empty bottles. “And ask Francois to come here.”

“Um... Right.”

Janitor takes a bin and leaves. Well, what he expected? He's only a janitor. 

He stands there, looking at transparent bottles and white papers until everything loses colour. That reminds him of movies, black-and-white stories, in which everything turns out to be alright in the end. And if he believes hard enough, maybe he can be a character of a story like that. This, it's only a challenge, a breaking point. He just needs to overcome it. Yes! 

With new hope, Janitor decides to be relentless and comes back, to start this conversation again...

“Mr Cameron?”

“Important... things!” he shouts, putting on a coat and running out. “Tomorrow!”

So Janitor approaches Mr Cameron the next day...

“Good morning, Mr Cameron.”

“Yes, yes. Morning.”

“Um... Did you...”

“Where is Leticia? Doesn't matter, I can see her. Leticia!”

And when Leticia leaves...

“Um... I wanted to ask...”

“Later!”

And later...

“Mr...”

“Would you stop getting underfoot? I'm busy. ”

So Janitor stops asking. And is trying not to get in Mr Cameron way. He's making an excellent job, one of the rare occasions when he has an objective and achieves it. Until next evening, when he turns around and bumps into someone.

“Oh. Sorry, I...”

“Watch where you're... You!”

“Sorry. Mr Cameron?”

“Would you stop pestering me?! Wherever I go you're right behind me, constantly nagging, asking, yapping! Would you leave me alone for one second?! I'll tell you when I'll tell you! Or I'll withdraw the offer if you're going to piss me off by asking every five minutes!”

Junitor stoops, scared. There it is. He was an idiot, again, and ruined all his chances, again.

“...sorry.”

“Don't you see I have things to do?”

Failing to control his voice he manages:

“S-sorry... I... You won't see me, Mr Cameron, I swear, I go, I um...” and runs away.

He would love to hide and cry somewhere private but there is no such a place for him. So he fights with sobs and sniffs when working. At least he still has a job.

“Hey.” someone asks, which makes him jump. “Are you alright?”

“Um. Thanks. I'll... I need to...”

“Julian” an elderly night watchman nudges him gently. “What is it?”

“No, nothing. Just... the usual.” he smiles sadly. “I ruined everything. And um...” he sniffs. “I really thought this time... That was my chance. And might have been the one. And I'll never....”

“No, no. You're young. You'll have plenty chances.”

“Um. I hope so. But... I needed...”

“There's plenty of fish, you know.”

“Wh-What?”

“You'll find someone eventually.” 

“Oh. It is not...”

“I know that you, young, think that there is only one true love and that's it. But truth is, yes there is someone for everyone but there is plenty of someones.”

“Um. It's not like that. I mean... It's not... that kind of a problem.” Janitor smiles shyly. “More of... It's just... sigh I could use a win right now, you know? Even a little one. Hmmm. Thanks. I'll... work.”

Janitor continues to work, disheartened, till everyone leaves the theatre. He goes through dimly lited corridors, dragging garbage bag, thinking of the best (that means: safest and least obvious) way to watch the next show. Out of habit he knocks on Mr Cameron dressing room door's but enters, before hearing tired:

“Come on in.”

“Oh. Mr Cameron. I wanted...”

“Ughh. It's you again. If you...”

“...just take trash. I can um... I'll come later.”

“...ask... Right. Sure.” he points at the bin and empties a glass, as if he is trying to avoid any other interactions.

“Um. Are... Are you alright, Mr Cameron?”

It's a casual question but boy's tone is heavy with concern. That catches Mr Cameron off-guard. For a moment he's speechless, as this raggedy string off nothing is genuinely worried about him. Then he remembers that it's a Janitor and he would do, as he often does, anything to get into a show.

“I don't... If you're trying to get in my favour just to get something...”

“Noo.”

“...you'll need to try harder than that.”

“You just seem nervous. Not like... usually, when you're very busy and-and concerned about important... things.” Janitor explains, and, suddenly stopping his wildly waving hands, adds: “You look sad.”

“I'm not sad! I have a lot of work to do.”

“And worried. Is... And if I can do anything to support the show, in any way... Or you... C-can I help you...? Maybe? Somehow?”

“Help? What can you possibly do to help me?”

“R-right. Sorry. I just... Just wanted to check. On you. I'll... go now.”

But he does not leave. He takes the trash and lingers a little longer, undecided. In the last couple of days, Janitor had a lot of time to think and the conclusion he reached calmed him down. He takes a deep breath and faces Mr Cameron again.

“Mr Cameron?”

“Ugh... What is it?”

“So um... I understand. That you won't need my song and didn't wanted to tell me to... Not to upset me. I would try to avoid that kind of conversation as well. Sorry for pushing you to it. So um... Thank you. For being so considerate. I won't... I'll try my best not to worry you anymore.” Janitor raises his gaze and smiles so sadly, it makes Mr Cameron uncomfortable and regrets every time he was unkind to the boy. “You liked my song. And that was... huh!” he makes a big gesture, out of right words again. “Who else matters?”/ “Thank you.”

“Well...”

After everything that has happened lately, boy shouldn't be like this. Scared, resentful or angry, that would be more appropriate. But kid is never like that. He's always trying to please everyone around him, made them happy, as if his life depended on other people good mood. Maybe too often it did. Brushing him off was always like kicking a puppy so stupid, it always happily bounces back to get any attention.

“sigh You should go now. Or... Can you send... No, forget it.” he waves him out. “Oh, and Julian? sigh Yes, we'll use your song in a show.”

Chapter Text

“Yes, we'll use your song in a show.”

Change is immediate – boy almost falls over, spinning back to face him. Janitor runs back and comes over, way too close, with such a relief and near maniacal gratitude on his face. It makes John Cameron step back a little.

“Really? Oh my God, that... Mr Cameron! Thank you! I...”

He lets out more sounds, none of them forming words, again overwhelmed with joy.

“But” Mr Cameron says, this time not letting boy spiral into euphoria “you won't be singing it.”

“Oh” boy sinks a bit.

“You're still an author, you'll be credited and everything. And pay you, of course. They just didn't wanted... Song fits the show and that episode but you...  They  wanted someone more experienced to perform it.”

Sadly, it's the truth. What John Cameron isn't saying is the whole of it. Let us accompany John Cameron during his meeting with PBC President, just a few days ago...

“As always, you outdid yourself, John. Drafts promise truly magnificent episodes.”

“Thank you. Well then if...”

“Ofcourse, we have a few, very little, adjustments.”

“Ofcourse.” 

“Here is a copy for you.” Station President hands him some papers, heavily marked with handwritten remarks. “You'll find them all improving  our  show.”

“I'm sure of it, Mr President.” he answers through gritted teeth, already thinking how to fix damage made by those 'improvements'. “If it's all, I'll gladly see to it right away.”

“Yes, yes. There is one more issue I'd like to discuss with you. In the finale of the third episode,” he flips through pages “is a song. But performer isn't specified.”

“Yes. It's... a delicate matter. Have you heard a demo on the tape?”

“Yes. Rather poor copy but the song is not bad.”

“And I'm sure it could be our new hit. We just need the right person to sing it.”

“What is wrong with the singer? Surely with the right equipment... Are they... dead?”

“No, no, no. But he's just a janitor. He can't sing on the stage.” 

“Oh. From the recording... Wasn't he  on stage  when singing I?”

“Not in front of people. This is a live show, we need professionals in it.”

“I see. You're absolutely right. Well, that song deserves a decent performance. Yes.” he leans back in the chair. “So naive and simple yet moving. Did you wrote it?”

“Uh. Not exactly but...”

“Good. Then I know the perfect person...”

“...I'll be delighted to come back on stage and perform it.”

“Oh. No. No, no, no, no. No. We need some new blood. Someone who might give it synergy.”

“A what?”

“Someone who might multiply benefits instead of just adding some.”

“Multiply... Synergy?”

“Exactly! If it was your song, John, I wouldn't dare to take it from you but in that case, Peggy Darling will be a perfect candidate.”

“What? Who... Who is that?”

“ Who ?! John. You're not saying that you don't know the youngest singer who might get nominated for Artist's Association Award? If she'll only get a suitable song.”

John Cameron is confused.

“So... I could have heard her singing in...?”

“Of course not! She's an  actress ! But she'll be a star, or should I say, even a bigger star, as soon as she'll sing. We can be the ones providing her with that song. Imagine! The biggest star of this decade, maybe century even, on a contract with PBC! We need to have a real star!”

“ Real star ? How about me?!”

“I'm going to contact her manager right away! And you” he looks at John Cameron, still not listening to him. “be that kind and send that author to the office, we'll need them to sign some papers, would you? As soon as possible.”

“But...”

“It's confidential, of course. Well, don't let me stop you, John. The show won't prepare itself!”

With no room for further discussion John Cameron left. Although the meeting went surprisingly smooth and well, Mr Cameron is as furious as he wasn't in a very long time. Why? Well, as much as he didn't like to admit it, John saw a chance for  himself  in the young janitor's song. He was hoping to sing it and to get back on a stage as a performer as well. If he'll show people his artistic side again it might be a new opening for him – the opportunity to bring to the world more songs, more plays; show the audience how the world looks through  his  eyes.

He started as a young man, a promising artist that everyone expected to succeed. And he was for sure on a way to a glorious career. But something went wrong, something he does not like to talk, even think, about. No one else noticed – John Cameron seemed to be more and more famous anyway, working in theatre, hosting radio shows, running galas and what not. Until he ended up as the most recognisable and respectable radio host of the most popular radio show, far from what he intended. It wasn't bad – he enjoyed it greatly and all perks and privileges it brought him. But it also meant he rarely  created  anything, constantly managing and curating other peoples creativity and expression. And, although he hasn't shared that with anyone, he missed making  his own  art greatly.

Yet, PBC President's decision robbed both of them of that chance. And for a split second, before indulging in his own misery, John Cameron felt bad for doing the same thing to the Janitor. Yet, even acknowledging that guilt, and trying as hard as he could, he didn't manage to be nice to the boy, even when using Janitor's talents, as little as the boy have of it.

It wasn't John's first choice. But he listened to Janitor's tape so many times he knew every false note, each hesitation, all voice trembles. No matter how he looked at it – there was no possible way to let the boy in the show with it. Maybe after some practice and most likely a few years of training, he will be able to give a decent performance. But not in the next couple of weeks. And John Cameron had a show to run! His pride and joy! The future and livelihood of many people depended on it. And, as always, rumours and unfriendly voices were claiming he, John Cameron, is done and  could not  possibly sustain the quality of his show; he  must  eventually run out of ideas, if not in this season he'll be scraping the bottom in the next one. John Cameron heard that since he began. And, as always, there were new people, younger and louder, waiting for him to slip, to take his place. Not today!

And saving the show didn't felt as good as it used to. Doing it this way felt  wrong . But the host did promised only to consider ' using his song ', not that he'll let the Janitor sing it. Not literally. And boy loved the show. Time and again was telling he would do anything to support it. Not to mention the amount of damage he did already putting him in debt, both material and moral. Yes. Boy owes him a great deal, John should not feel  sorry  for giving him a chance. Not to mention,  John  has bigger responsibilities than the wellbeing of one poor kid, who, by some miracle, managed to put together  one  decent song.

But now, the first time since the disastrous meeting, John Cameron forgets his distress. He even smirks, seeing Janitor, who after initial disappointment became so happy and grateful after receiving news that is not good after all.

“ sigh  I guess we should celebrate and talk about the details. Come on in.” 

He leads them back to his dressing room and invites boy in, pouring two drinks before Janitor even crosses the threshold. John Cameron offers him a glass but hesitates. 

“Are you old enough to drink?” 

“Um. I mean... Yes.” 

“Let's celebrate then.” John Cameron raises drinks and hands one to the boy. Janitor's glass contains a small amount of liquor (as John Cameron concluded: 'boy must be a lightweight, there is no point in wasting good alcohol on him') and the other one is full to the brim (God knows John needs it).

“Well then. Your song in the show. Yay, I guess.”

Janitor grins and blurts out another wave of inconsistent thanks, while Mr Cameron empties his glass. It's not the first one today, yet he calmly refills it before stopping the boy.

“Shush. It's not a good thing. Well, in a way it is. But they'll let someone else sing your song. In the show.”

“Um. I understand.”

“Some... what was her name... Meggy Darning.”

“Um... Peggy Darling?”

“Whatever.”

“She's um... I didn't knew she's a singer.”

“I didn't knew she's anything. For all I know, she might be not able to sing at all.”

“Hm. That would be...” He thinks for a long time. “You won't let your show go wrong, Mr Cameron. It's going to be amazing. As always.”

“It will! But it would be even better if I sang.”

“Oh.” Janitor lights up imagining that possibility. “It would!” 

“But I won't! And you won't either!” Mr Cameron sips some more from his glass. “Aren't you... I thought  you  wanted to be in the show yourself.”

“I'd love to! C-can I?”

“No. I just told you. Didn't I?”

“Um. But... my song...”

“Song will be in the show. You won't. You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren't you mad?! Or at least disappointed.”

“I um... if... um...” Janitor waves his hands like if it would help to form words from thin air. “if that's the next... closest thing... I'll take it.” 

“God, you're even more imco... inpocre... unclear when you're drunk.”

“I... I didn't drink anything yet, Mr Cameron.” Janitor shyly raises his glass. “I'll be... I'm working. In... Right now, actually. I shouldn't.”

“Why are you so reasonable all of the sudden? Or guess you're just meek.” host collapses to the couch and pats a place next to him, inviting the Janitor. “That's not good. People will walk all over you if you won't raise your head and take what you want. Although, it would be better for you to stay out of the stage. Yes. Stay in the shadows.”

“I um...” Janitor looks up and Mr Cameron gives him a sign to continue. “I'd like people to hear my songs. And stories. Me.” he adds in a small voice.

“You don't have guts for that.” Mr Cameron states putting an arm around the boy, to Janitor's surprise. “Be a... I don't know, a songwriter if you want to. That'll be better for you. Less pressure. Less expectations. You don't disappoint anyone. And people would hear your songs. Sang by someone who  actually  can sing. I  can  sing. I'm a professional! Not some... underaged janitor.”

“I'm sorry, Mr Cameron.”

“Don't be. I should be.  I  didn't get a song either.”

“It's alright, Mr Cameron. You'll get another song. I... I can write you one. Even better one.”

“Would you do that for me, Julian?”

“Ofcourse, Mr Cameron.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” he admits. Then, like a grumpy child, the host murmurs: “It's my show!  I  should be a star of it! I deserve this! I didn't spend all those years, so many sacrifices, and for what? So some  flapper  steal my show!”

“What? Is... Would the show be alright? I mean... khm... you, Mr Cameron, will you be alright?”

“I'm always alright! I can't be beaten so easily. Do you think thins the first time someone tries to take my place? Let me tell you...”

Mr Cameron starts to explain, diving into more and more digressions, until he just drunkenly rambles, recalling his glorious past, complaining how misunderstood and underappreciated he is now. Janitor comforts him, awkwardly patting the host's shoulder, eventually even holding his hand. 

And if someone would enter the room now, they would find a Janitor asleep. John Cameron voice is far from calm and southing – he rambles hysterically, becoming less and less intelligible. But for the Janitor, used to dozing off listening to the recording of his favourite show, this drunken rant is the sweetest lullaby.

When someone  does  come into the dressing room, hours later, they find Janitor curled on the couch, asleep, alone. Seconds later, the boy awakens, as someone shakes him angrily. Man pulls and pokes him, swearing through gritted teeth.

“...the hell you're doing here?”

Janitor does not know his name but recognises the man as someone who works for the show sometimes.

“I...”

“You can't be here! How many times we have to tell you this, how many times, boy?!”

“But...”

“That's it. Sneaking in, lazying around.”

“They should have fire you long time ago! Just wait till Mr Cameron hears...”

“'at?” Host suddenly emerges from behind the couch. “What Mr Cameron 'ears?”

“Oh. Excuse me, Mr Cameron. I'll just take that brat and we won't be bothering...”

“Rat? Where?” he looks around and only now notices terrified Janitor, held by the scruffs. “Why are you holding him? He's a janitor, let  him  deal with the rat.”

“I... Nevermind. I caught him here. You should check if anything is missing, Mr Cameron. He still may have it on him.”

“I'm not...”

“Shut up” man smacks the boy over the head.

“Hey!” host comes over to them. “What's your problem?”

“He was snooping around here. I bet you steal.”

“N-no! I never...”

“I  invited  him. He does... some work for me.” Mr Cameron gestures to unhand the Janitor. “Alright?”

Janitor nods, even though he's not sure if the question was directed at him. Then, surprising everyone, Mr Cameron comes closer and, with uncharacteristic tenderness, starts to fix boy's jacket. It's weird, but even weirder – it makes Janitor feel safe and calm.

“Come back in the morning.” Mr Cameron requests quietly. “We need to finish... the thing. Papers.” he remembers and triumphantly raises his hand. “Yes. I need to lie down.”

That is too much for host's alcohol marinated brain and he collapses. Janitor catches him at the last moment and carefully places him on the couch.

“Such a good boy.” Mr Cameron mumbles when Janitor looks around and brings something to cover the host with. “So stupid but so good. I used him and he's grateful for it. You warmed my bed, thank you.”

Man looks between them, confused and a bit scandalized. God knows what he assumes about what might have happened before he came here. He can't fully understand what host is saying. Whatever he thinks, the man says nothing. There is also no one to hear his opinion too – Mr Cameron is out for the count and Janitor suddenly disappeared.

Janitor, of course, took advantage of the fact that the man was distracted and fleed, not waiting to get into any more trouble. 

That was scary.

“Um.” Janitor admits. He's smiling, despite being a little shaken. Now on his mind are only recent good news and praises from no other than Mr Cameron. 

“And he defended me! And said nice things. About  me ! Just now. Have you heard?”

Yes. But I'm not sure if we heard the same thing. Whatever Janitor thinks he's heard, it makes him feel warm and welcomed, in a way he didn't felt in a long time. He works through the night, smiling and humming, spinning from time to time when remembering the good news and praises from no other than Mr Cameron. 

In the morning, still grinning, Janitor comes back to check on Mr Cameron. Host is tired and grumpy, even more so, when he sees an overenergetic boy standing at the door. He sits up carefully and lets out a sound, between a groan and a sigh. God, this is embarrassing. John Cameron remembers most of the previous night. How he drunkenly confided in the boy. Kid, in his awkward way, was good at listening and comforting him. So good in fact, at some point, John Cameron was convinced that instead of the Janitor, it was his younger self with him in the room, also just a boy then, at the beginning of his career. And  he  was holding his hand and assuring that it was all alright, and he's not disappointed in him for not pursuing their dreams – he's actually proud of what they achieved and can't wait to become someone like him.

The most embarrassingly – it  did  make Mr Cameron feel better. And now boy might use it against him or – even worse, tell others about this moment of weakness. Maybe not. Maybe at this point Janitor knew better not to bother the crew so hopefully, he won't tell anyone about it. And people were hardly listening to the boy and rarely believed him if they did. Mr Cameron for sure didn't. Boy was saying nonsense all the time, it was hard to keep up with it. Even when John let him talk, his mind was often wandering and hasn't  heard  the boy. He usually gets lost or bored too quickly to make enough connections, not even trying to fill the gaps in chaotic chatter with bits he already knew.

“Good morning, Mr Cameron.” Janitor repeats once again to get the host's attention.

“I wouldn't say 'good'... You'll never leave me alone now. Huuuh... Great. Why... Why are you here?”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Did I?”

“Um. You said so.”

“Why?”

“I um... the um...”

“To the point, kid.”

“Papers. You said to come back in the morning. For some documents? For the song.”

“Right, right. God, would you...”

But Janitor already hands him some water and, following host's gaze, brings him pills from the drawer.

“Thanks. So... You'll need to sign the contract, the station would prepare that. They'll want your song licenced or something, I don't know the details. Do you understand?”

Janitor nods. But even being as hazed as he is now, John Cameron can't be fooled. He sighs.

“Do you have music and lyrics? Written down? On paper? Start with that. I'll... think. About things.” he states and goes back to the couch to take a nap.

A few minutes later Leticia comes in.

“John would you... Oh.” she glances from the couch to the dressing table. “Oh! What are  you  doing here?”

“I'm um...” boy stutters for a bit, a smile fading from his face. He looks at Mr Cameron, expecting help, but the host is already asleep. “Mr Cameron said... I'm allowed.”

“Really?”

“Um.” Janitor grins shyly. “I'm going to be part of the show.”

“Oh no. Whatever you think you're up to, I won't allow...”

“No, no, no. It's okay. Mr Cameron asked me. To come here. It was his idea. Actually.”

Leticia looks at him with suspicion but he doesn't seem to lie. And John is not in a state to confirm or deny those claims. Whatever the reasons were, if John indeed thought it was alright, she just has to roll with it. Leticia is even a little intrigued now. To get some information from the intimidated boy, she continues with her calmest voice.

“What do you have there?”

“A song. Mr Cameron asked me to write it down.”

“Really? Can I see?”

“Um.” 

He quickly scribbles the last lines and hands Leticia crumpled paper. She looks at it and, with a good-natured smile, gestures for the pen.

“Give me... Thank you. I'll fix it.”

“Oh.”

“Only a spelling. You did not that terrible. It  is  a hard language, you know. Lots of unnecessary letters, randomly scattered around.”

“Um. Thank you.”

“No problem. Has he been sleeping long?”

“Um... Ten minutes? Maybe twenty? I lost track of time. Don't have a watch or... anything.”

“Right. Hm... Was he... Do you know, that is, I guess you had a night shift and might have met him... Did he had a rough night? ”

“I... No? I mean... I saw him but...” he looks up at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“ sigh  Was he drinking?”

“Oh. Yes. A lot.”

“Right. Well, come on. Let him rest.”

“I should...”

“Come on. You can leave it here.”

Janitor reluctantly agrees and leaves, only to sneak back when Leticia disappears backstage. He pretends he comes back to 'clean' but it is mostly to look at Mr Cameron sleeping. Not for some  weird  reasons – he just wants to be there when Mr Cameron wakes up, to get further instructions. Also, Janitor does not have anything better to do. And Mr Cameron might stop others from kicking him out of this nice, warm room.

John Cameron wakes up, but Janitor is so engrossed in his task, he did not notice. He rewrites lyrics, carefully, humming quietly and slightly kicking his feet under a table. For some time host pretends to be asleep, waiting for the Janitor to leave. But when the boy finishes writing he begins to clean, trying to be very quiet but dear God, this kid couldn't be careful if his life depended on it.

It's getting late so John resigned sits up and proceeds with a new strategy – pretending that boy isn't there. It's easy – Janitor does his best not to get in host's way, patiently waiting to be noticed. But the room is rather small so after a minute or two he  has to  acknowledge the unwanted presence.

“Didn't notice you there... Should you... Don't have a home to go to or something? Why are you always here?”

“I um... I was waiting...” he hands Mr Cameron lyrics. “You said... For the-the contract.”

“Right. Fine. Song. We'll need someone to score it. For musicians. Melody and lyrics are only a little part of it.”

“I um... I have music for it.”

“What? Where?”

“Um... in my...”

“If you're going to say head I'll...  sigh ”

“It... It's on the tape, Mr Cameron.”

“Thank God. Show me.”

“Um.” he nods and produces an old tape he repurposed recently. “I... After you said you like my song I recorded some into it but there-there are some... Some of it is on that tape I gave you so... Can I have it back?”

“Yes, I'll find it later.” John Cameron lies without blinking an eye, perfectly aware he has no idea what he did with that tape. “Show me what you got here.”

“Um.”

After a couple of minutes, the boy comes back with a worn-out backpack and produces from it a beaten up recorder. And after only a few tries finds the recording he was looking for. Smiling shyly, hiding groundless pride, he hits play and dressing room fills up with a cacophony of weird wailing noises, out of tune vocalises and other sounds people could do with their mouths but really shouldn't. 

“What? What is  that ?”

“Oh. Um... Those...” he swallows. “Those are um... an instrument parts?”

“Ins... No.”

“I mean... I couldn't play them so... I just...” he rewinds the tape and plays a fragment then rewinds to the next one. “Um... a-a strings... and drums... bass... brass... and some other strings... and piano” he lists them nervously, imitating each instrument with small gestures. As Janitor lists them he grows more and more ecstatic, imagining this gorgeous orchestra. John Cameron on the other hand is more and more confused, hearing names of the instruments and some weird noises made by a boy in some insane attempt to mimic them.

“And-and, oh, the saw.” boy grins with a dreamy smile. “That... That's all I thought about. They're all separate cos I didn't have time and-and equipment to put it together but...” he raises his eyes and for the first time sees Mr Cameron face. That sight makes him sink a bit. “I mean... Those are not real instruments” he chuckles nervously. “But that's... that's how I imagined it.”

“You  imagined  all parts for  the orchestra ?” 

“Y-yes?” and hesitantly ads “Sorry?”

“That's not...  sigh ” Mr Cameron starts to massage his closed eyes. “God, what have I done. Can't you, I don't know, write notes for it?”

“I... um...”

“Let me guess. You have no idea how they work.”

“Sorry.”

“ sigh  Fuck. Fine. Fine. This is fine. I'll just... take your  tips  to someone who actually  can  make something out of it. Hopefully.”

“If... I can tell them where which part goes. Or-or um... if... huh... Oh, I know! There-there is a clock in the lobby if-if you'll give me some... half an hour, I'll time the... write down when they start? The parts. From the tape. If that will help”

“I don't thi... s igh  Whatever. Here.” host reluctantly hands him a watch. “You can stay here. It's better than no one sees you doing... whatever it would be. And don't break it!”

Janitor immediately sits down and opens a notebook. For some time John Cameron observes him with curiosity – he never saw the boy being so diligent and focused. It seems that for the Janitor world, besides the recorder, notebook and watch, is no longer existing.

Boy is still there when the host comes back, after an hour or two. And hands him a piece of paper and the tape.

“Would... would that help?”

With not much hope, Mr Cameron listens to the tape boy prepared. He sighs, massaging the bridge of the nose. It still does not make the slightest sense. 

“I don't know why I thought it would.  sigh  Guess you'll need to explain it to our orchestra manager” he says like if he is about to scold the boy. But he immediately gets discouraged, seeing Janitor lighting up, as if he was promising him great things.

“Oh. Really? Can um... Can I come with you?”

“What? I'm not going... You know what? Yes. Great. We should go there  right now .” Mr Cameron says, almost hysterically. And quieter adds: “Let's make it someone else's problem.”

He takes some papers and leaves, presuming Janitor would follow. Unfortunately, he does. And all the way boy murmurs to himself:

“This is happening, it's really happening! God, this is happening.”

Janitor swings between excitement and fear. A professional musician will prepare a score to his song. And play it. His song! What if they say it is not good and they won't want to play it and be mad at him and... Calm down. It will be alright. Mr Cameron want this song in the show, right? 

“Yeah. But what if...” 

He'll be there. And he'll do all the talking. You'll just  explain  some issues if some occur. 

“R-right.”

They quickly find one of the orchestra members who was tasked to prepare the music for the next show. Musician and Mr Cameron talk about the next episodes and, which surprises the host, do some actual work. Janitor lingers around, trying, and succeeding, to be unnoticeable. Finally, Mr Cameron introduces him and reluctantly explains the problem. 

“Oh, yes, that song. Would you sing it?”

“Um... n-now?”

John Cameron sighs. 

“Yes, now.” he requests, not very encouragingly.

“Uh-um.... okay.”

Very nervous, Janitor sings, wildly out of tune, growing more and more nervous, to the point he needs to stop. 

“Sorry.” 

He looks at the floor, painfully aware that they're both watching him carefully.

“That was good enough.” The musician says and as Janitor looks up he sees that the man is smiling, a slightly forced but polite, encouraging smile. “We'll figure something out.”

“Um... Th-thank you.”

“Yes.” he addresses Mr Cameron, immediately forgetting the boy, who would be glad to disappear for real right now. “So, what were you thinking for the arrangement? You listed...” he checks his notes. “Quite a lot.”

“Yes, I'm afraid it was all  his  idea” Mr Cameron gently pushes Janitor forward “And I can only make sure he does not run away screaming” the host laughs but even he does not finds it funny.

Host isn't as helpful as Janitor was hoping for – in fact he acts annoyed and embarrassed, and those feelings seem to spread among everyone present.

“We have some tape with...  ideas  for the score. Julian, would you explain.”

That almost kicks breath out of the Janitor. And unable to say anything coherent, he just plays the tape. They listen patiently as he explains what all ridiculous sounds are supposed to be, gaining back his voice and confidence as this is something he knows.

“And-and... this part starts with the last verse... aaand... oh, this is a saw part. For the-the... that. I mean, last chorus. And there are smaller parts recorded later for end the of every... at least second and later... verses. And that's it.” 

Janitor looks up and between two men. Mr Cameron is massaging his temples, avoiding everyone's eyes. The musician sits bent forward, propping his head, eyes wide open.

“That was...”

“Waste of time?” Mr Cameron groans.

“...something. Uh, alright.” Musician exhales loudly and starts to go through his notes. “I'll try to do something but...”

“Sorry.”

“No, no. I mean...  sigh  I think I know what you mean. And would love to hear it as you do.” his smile is sincere this time, even if a little tired. “But that will be hella hard.”

“Oh.”

“But, we'll figure something out. Even if it will be probably,  most likely , less than you described. Now, if you could leave  this ” he points at the recorder “I'll get to work. And let you know if... when it will be ready.”

“Right. Thank you. It's rather urgent so if you could...”

“Ofcourse.”

“Well, we'll...”

“C-can I stay? I won't say a word, I swear I...”

“I don't think it's a good idea to disturb...”

“...I can help.”

Two men exchange looks above Janitor's head. Musician shrugs his shoulders at what Mr Cameron sighs.

“Right. Sure. Why not.”

“You can sit there. Just don't touch anything.”

Janitor sits at the back of the rehearsal room and, from time to time, is summoned by the musician to discuss some parts. Boy is delighted and very eager to help, in any way possible. And is soon bringing instruments, papers, coffee, holding things, recording and replaying parts. And the more man writes the more he hears what Janitor meant with his silly interpretations.

“Shame we can't have a viola for it. Even a small part.”

“W-why not?”

“We don't have a viola. Or a violist. We call it orchestra, but there is like, six of us.”

“Oh. That's a lot.”

Man laughs.

“I guess so. Alright, let's try this once again. Would you... Let's... Alright. Put the piano recording on, mind the drum and I'll try this violin part. Alright? Go.”

They try and when hearing just two instruments and a rather poorly added beat, Janitor grins. No doubt that in his head there is a full orchestra playing it perfectly. He even begins to sing, this time with all confidence and skill he has.

“Good. I think that will do for now. I'll workshop it with the rest of the band for the show. But we have some base. They can make some additions as we go. I'll write it up and... Oh, is it so late already? Mr Cameron probably left. I'll bring it tomorrow.”

“I um... I can give it to him. Or-or leave it in his dressing room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Um.”

“It's very important.”

“I know.” Janitor grins, sheepishly dropping his gaze. “I'll make everything... make sure he gets it. I swear.”

“Alright. Here you go.”

Musician quickly copies his drafts into a new music sheet and hands it to the Janitor. The boy holds them as if those were the more precious relics.

“Thank you. So much. I mean... Thank you. It'll be beautiful.”

“It might be. Good night.”

“G-good night.”

Janitor goes through the empty theatre, carefully holding sheets of music. His song!

Mr Cameron indeed already left, so Janitor leaves papers on his desk. After short consideration, he closes the door and cautiously copies the notes into his notebook. Tiny dots dancing on crudely drawn lines, simple cypher guarding such beautiful thing as music. His music! Isn't it wonderful? That you can make a sound out of it? Tiny, inconspicuous ants, building exquisite castles on the dimensions they cannot even comprehend.

As almost two days without sleep catches up with him, Janitor finds a warm, secluded corner, somewhere above the stage and falls asleep, smiling. His song! In the show! If this is a dream, he does not want to wake up.

Chapter Text

“Broadcasting from the heart of Paris, you are listening to the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air! Good evening and all that” Mr Cameron says, looking through the script. “And then... Right, the choir comes in and... Are you listening?”

“Yes. What is he doing here?” Leticia points at the Janitor, lurking around in the wings. Boy spots them and, instead of fleeing as he should, smiles shyly and waves at them. Mr Cameron waves him back dismissively. Leticia looks at it with surprise.

“What? What are you looking at?”

“Would you tell me what's going on or should I find out myself?”

Leticia's suspicions are not unfounded. Since preparations for the new season started, Janitor wasn't exactly welcomed on set but no one throws him out either. Especially after seeing Mr Cameron attitude towards him. Stagehands were easier on him and let him linger around. As long as Janitor wasn't in a way, of course. Some even started talking to him, friendly, and include him in their daily tasks, asking for some work or favours, to the point when Leticia had to remind them again about their duties and the consequences of slacking.

As much as Mr Cameron tries not to be visibly fonded of the Janitor, he's very much aware, that there is some new connection between them. And he's not yet sure how to feel about it. 

So days later, when John Cameron finds Janitor's agreement in the mail from PBC he shouts through the door.

“Julian!”

It doesn't matter the hour, boy seems to always be there when he needs him. Unsurprisingly, soon there is a timid knock on the door.

“Um... Mr Cameron? Oh!” Janitor dodges thrown papers. “What um...?”

“Why I'm getting your mail? I'm not you secretary!”

“I...” Janitor bends down to pick papers and quickly glances over them. “My contract. Thank you.”

“Why it was addressed to me?”

“Um... I think you need to sign it as well? There is um... a place for your signature. As a showrunner.”

Mr Cameron sighs. To hide his mistake, he pretends to be busy and bored.

“Fine. Give it to me.”

He looks through the contract, commenting while putting initials on every page.

“That seems fair. Of course, they added that. Let's see how much you'll get...” he scoffs. “You're just starting but dear God, aren't they cheap. At least you'll get some royalties. Pray for it to be a hit.”

Janitor looks at the page and sees the number. He starts to stutter, hyperventilating and eyeing Mr Cameron.

“Easy, kid. No need for making a scene. You'll get fair pay next time.”

“The... Oh. It...” he fails again, for a moment resembling a fish, took out of water. “This... It's... That's my four... over six months salary!”

Host gives him a pitying smile.

“The zeros at the end are centimes.”

“I know. It... That could solve everything. I won't be in debt anymore! Oh my God! Mr Cameron, I... It... ” but he grins too much to say anything else.

Mr Cameron looks at the number, back at him, does quick math in his head and looks back at the boy with incredulity. He would probably found this amount right here and there, just going through pockets and drawers in his dressing room.

“This? This would solve all of your problems?”

“Well, maybe not all of them.” Janitor chuckles. “But financial ones, yes. Most of them.”

“That's... Those are scraps. Pocket money for a child. Are they really paying you so little? Is this legal? They should be ashamed.”

“They um... It's a good job... actually. I um... It's only part-time so... I um... won't bore you with... Can I sign it? I-I should go. To work. Actually.”

It rises in John Cameron a suspicion.

“Did you do that on purpose? To get money?”

“I um... Yes? I mean... I need to sign it so you can use the song. And um... yes, so I get paid. Or-or does it works differently?”

“No. I mean, yes, it works like that.” he gestures dismissively. “How long you've been doing this?”

“Th-What? What do you mean?” 

“Singing after hours to get my attention?”

“I... didn't. I mean... um...”

He wasn't exactly planning that. More hopping that if he'll be around, helping out, the crew will start to like him, accept as his own and maybe even let him work on the show.

“I-I just like to sing. When working. And... in general.”

“Why were you recording then?” Mr Cameron asks, coming uncomfortably closer.

“Oh. I sometimes make up songs. You know, from... from my head. And to... to remember how to sing them later.”

“So you weren't waiting for me every goddamned night to present yourself? And you weren't constantly getting in my way and on my show, ruining it, because you wanted to be a star?” he smirks.

“Um... No? I... I'd love to be on the show. More than anything in the world. But um...” Janitor takes a step back to avoid Mr Cameron, piercing him with his eyes. “Not... not like this? I mean... not by tricking you, Mr Cameron. Or anything. I...” he furrows brows, trying to remember something and chuckles when succeeding. “I would never have thought of that. And I didn't. It was a um... a happy accident. It's funny how it worked out, isn't it?”

“Hm” Mr Cameron watches him closely but boy is always so obvious when he's lying that there is no doubt when he's genuine either. “So, if I would let you be in the show but without any payment you'd...”

“Would you? Really? I could sing in the show?”

“No.”

“Oh. I... I can do other things, I really can. Tell stories. Be um... part of a choir. Or-or...”

“Pretend to be an instrument?” Mr Cameron scoffs.

“Yes! I can...”

“No, no you can't. And you won't.”

“But...”

“Even if you'd stay perfectly still and silent, no. Every time you go on that stage, disaster follows. Do you want to ruin the show?”

“No.” Janitor says.

“Then don't. And stop asking. Good. Are we done? Then sign it already and go to... whatever you're doing in your little job.”

Mr Cameron pretends to be annoyed but makes sure the Janitor signs documents in all the right places.

“So I don't have to look at it ever again” he says. What he means is: 'So you can get your pitiful pay and not be so ridiculously poor.'

When Janitor leaves host reads the contract once again. Everything seems right. But something still bothers him. He knew people were making less money than him. But weeks of this kid's work were worth less than an hour of his. John Cameron sighs, putting papers on the top of the outgoing mail, so it will reach the station as soon as possible. Not that he cares. He does not care for the Janitor! Or, at least, he doesn't want to admit it. 

But, hours later, it still troubles him, so he brings it up with Leticia.

“How much are we paying the Janitor?”

“Nothing? He doesn't work for us. I mean...Indirectly he does. Some of his pay must come from our fee for the theatre. I can, I don't know. Ask someone? Accountants might be able to dig it up. But it would be assumptions at best. Or... Do you want to just know how much he earns? Just ask, he'll be happy to tell you.”

“No. That's... fine. Thank you.”

“Is he bothering you again?”

“It's fine. You were... Do we pay our interns?”

“We don't have any interns, John.”

“Right, right.”

“If you want to hire him, just do it. I don't know why would you, even if he does some work for us it usually ends up with more problem than help, you know. But I can talk to the theatre management and...”

“No, no, don't bother. It was just... a thought. A thought experiment.”

“Well, better unthink it. You're not yourself lately. And we need you, John, laser-focused and witty. Whatever problem you have, with Janitor or otherwise – solve it. Or tell me and I'll solve it for you. Hm?”

Unfortunately, Mr Cameron problems aren't easily solvable. At least not without murder or other actions that might breach the contract. Soon, his most recent source of trouble is standing before him, looking around the stage with polite curiosity, passing the time with a hushed conversation with her manager.

“It's so... charming.”

“Small.” the actress's manager says under his breath. “Word you're looking for is small. Or old. Or utterly unimpressive.”

“Homely.”

“Good thing no one will see it through radio. We'll need to take pictures from the right angle.”

“Acoustics are remarkable, though.” Mr Cameron adds, putting no effort in pretending he hasn't heard them insulting his pride and joy. “Shall we begin? My crew waits to go back to work.”

They had to close and empty the theatre for miss' Darling rehearsals, as her participation in the show was supposed to remain secret until the premiere. That meant delays, overtime and neverending complaints from the crew. Not to mention keeping ridiculous cloak-and-dagger around the premises, to keep girl's visits a secret. Yet all those sacrifices were deemed insufficient by the girl's manager, complaining constantly and pointing out more imaginary breaches of the contract. And if not for Leticia, patiently explaining everything to their 'guests' Mr Cameron would storm out in rage every couple of minutes.

When it seems that they solved all nonexistent technical problems star's entourage finds artistic problems: with the show's script, sequence of the other acts, advertisement timing and placement, and finally, the song itself.

When actress finally sings, her clear voice fills the theatre, leaving everyone in silence, moments after the song ends.

“Great.” The orchestra supervisor says, making some notes. “Tomorrow we might rehearse with everyone, so we can place some instrumentation. If...”

”Yes, yes.” the manager cut's in. “But could you play it faster?”

“You mean...” musician looks at him and plays a verse, speeding it up a little.

“With more verve.”

“Alright?”

“And faster.”

“I'm not sure if...”

“But I'm sure. Let's make a sweet little ditty out of it.”

“Ditty?”

“Yes.”

“Ditty?” Mr Cameron miffs.

“That suits miss Darling better. And people prefer cheerful songs rather than some mournful... whatever this is.” They add with a peremptory tone. “Oh, and we'll need to change the lyrics.”

“Why not?” Mr Cameron says, already hysterical.

“Not much, just a few lines. See, if we change it like this” he handles Mr Cameron a paper. “We'll get rid of 'friends' and can make it into a love song.”

“A love song?”

“Yes. It would be more appropriate for miss Darling.”

“Young woman singing a desperate love song to an unspecified male suitor. How original.”

“You can inform the author about those changes. Maybe they have a way to put this into better order, but I doubt it. They can still sign it with their name, of course.”

“How... generous of you.”

“Yes. Actually, Peggy, it would be best if you'd start learning this version. So you won't make any mistakes later.”

She glazes upon new lyrics and puffs her cheeks before briefly exchanging looks with Mr Cameron.

“I choose it because it is not... sweet and silly.”

“I know you want people to treat you seriously but they don't want that. They love you because you're sweet and cheerful. That's your brand, darling. Stick to it.”

At this point, Mr Cameron left, not even bothering with an excuse.

“This is a disaster!” he murmurs, pacing his dressing room. “They're ruining the show! My show! And for what? We don't need her. Or her fans. No one knows who that girl is!”

It wasn't true. As soon as 'that girl' started to publicly show interest in the show listeners rate and ticket sales skyrocketed. Her involvement was still a secret but mere visits to the venue and a couple of “oh yes, I'm very excited for new Orbiting Human Circus”, “I was personally invited by Mr Cameron to some rehearsals and can't wait to see it” and “so many remarkable artists, especially this singer” or other public flatteries made more than any advertisement. Apparently, even the most listened radio show needed some boost because PBC President couldn't stop praising himself and his brilliant idea.

Fortunately, only a couple of days and everything will go back to normal.

***

Again, there was a blizzard outside and Janitor had nowhere to stay tonight. Nevertheless, he went to the lobby, to give every impression of leaving, hoping that if he hides there for a moment, the nightwatchman will finish checking staff rooms and if Janitor would manage to sneak past him into those rooms, he can stay in the theatre tonight.

He manages to get to the lobby without problems and, imagining himself in a glorious heist movie, sneaks behind the counter to grab the staff room key. Only a few more steps and he can finally go to sleep, even if only for few hours. Suddenly – footsteps echoing in the empty lobby!

Janitor jumps and ducks down, hiding behind the counter.

“Julian?”

He sighs. It didn't work. Mr Cameron leans over the counter and looks at the Janitor, who, as a last resort, is trying to casually pretend he's tieing his shoe.

“What are you doing here? You scared me! I thought everyone left!”

“Oh! Um... sorry, I just...”

“No one's paying you for overtime. Finish what you're doing and go home already.”

“I... um... did. I mean...” he stands up. “I finished. Already.”

“Then what are doing here? It's 2 A.M.! ”

“I'm... waiting for a bus.” Janitor lies, dropping his gaze and fixing it on his shoes. 

“Here?”

“I mean... I missed my bus and wanted to wait here. It's cold. Out there. So wanted to wait. For the next one. Here.”

“Oh. Right. When is it?”

“Um... like... uh... forty minutes?”

“Jeez. Can't you go on a different bus?”

“Not really.”

“sigh I need to close the building. They'll kick us out if we'll keep leaving doors open for all night.”

“...okay.”

They go to the door. Janitor wraps himself tighter in his jacket, hoping it will keep him warm until he'll find a place to stay. Heavy snow falls rapidly, only slightly bothered by wind.

“Whoah, that's nasty. When you said that bus will be?”

“Half... Forty minutes.”

“I can't wait that long.” Mr Cameron curses quietly. “Come on. Let's find a cab. I'll give you a ride.”

Janitor stops, shocked. That was uncharacteristically kind of Mr Cameron. And oh God, what is he going to say now? There is nowhere to give him a ride to.

“I um... It's... There is no need. Really. Thank you.”

“Kid, I'm not going to leave you in this weather. If you don't want to get in a cab with me I'll give you some cash.”

“I don't want... I'll just walk.”

"It's freezing. You can't..."

"Thank you but I don't need..."

“Well, sorry I offended you by offering help!”

“No...”

“I didn't have to be nice to you. I don't need to care about you!”

“I... You do?” 

Janitor glances briefly at Mr Camer. Host, realising what he just said decides not to continue this conversation and pretend it never happened – he turns around and walks away.

“I'm sorry!” Janitor calls after him. “I really appreciate that! I just... I lied to you. Earlier. I don't...” he inhales shakily. “I didn't wanted to go. Anywhere. It would be... more convenient for me to stay in the theatre.”

“Then why didn't you say so?!” Host spins back. “Stupid boy. If you're going to lie to me at least come up with something solid.”

“Sorry.”

“Fine.” irritated, he looks for keys. “Well? Come on in. I'll lock you inside if that's so 'convenient' for you.”

“Really? Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Don't... wander around or something.”

“Right! Thank you sir!”

“If anyone asks, you found doors locked. I didn't saw you when I closed behind me. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” 

“This” he points between them with a key. “It never happened.”

“Ofcourse. Thank you, Mr Cameron. And um... Good night.” Janitor whispers and disappears into the building.

“Good deed a day, damn it.” Mr Cameron murmurs, locking the theatre. But he smiles, remembering boy's grateful face. “Good night, kid.”

***

Finally, show is coming, the show, his show. That makes Janitor's backstage visits less frequent, as lately he can't contain his excitement. So he's not there when John Cameron lets Leticia and few others listen to Janitor's tape so they could start thinking on set, decorations some visuals because the president wanted this song to be exceptionally impressive.

“It's... oddly familiar.”

“Yeah, I know this voice.”

John Cameron gets pale.

“Noo.”

“I can swear, I heard it somewhere.”

“Yeah.”

“And that song...”

“Is it someone we know?”

“Oooh, is this some star?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why won't you tell us?”

“We'll meet them soon anyway.”

“Yeah, Mr Cameron. We won't tell anyone.”

“sigh No. Besides, doesn't matter if you know them, he won't sing it. There is this actress...”

“Why? It's good.”

“...that president... Because he can't.”

“Why?”

“Because ... because he lost his voice. And is stage frightened. And... dead.”

“Which is it?” Leticia laughs, amused that they caught him on a lie so easily.

“Doesn't matter. Board wants this child actress to sing, so she will. Despite better candidates being already here. So, nothing to argue about, this brat will go there and become a star for a night, despite the better judgement of professional showrunners.”

“Jeez.”

“Are you alright, John?”

“Splendid. Could you all focus on your work and unearth some spectacular addition to this damned finale? Preferably reworked from some old ones, we don't have a budget for it.”

“Right. I need ideas people! Not from your heads, go check what we have and if it will fit the new show.” Leticia assigns tasks and disperses the crew to work while Mr Cameron browses the scenarios, looking for more elements requiring her attention.

“Leticia?”

“Yes?” she braces herself for more of John's usual pre-show panic.

“Why there is a 'spice man' listed on the show?”

“Because you invited him?”

“Are you sure? Not a 'space' man or a 'speiss' man?”

“Pretty sure. You were doing someone a favour or owing a debt or something like that.”

“sigh And what does he do?”

“Mmm... Pictures from spices?”

“And how on Earth are we going to put that on the radio?!”

“I don't know, I thought you'd be describing it for the radio audience.”

“Then why even bother with an artist? I can just made it up without them!”

“He might be saying things.”

“Why am I supposed to do all the work around here?”

“Well, it's your show.”

“That doesn't mean... whatever. Whatever! I'll...” 

“Let me have a look at this.” she sighs. 

“Thank you. Would audience be able to see any of this?”

“I'll find out.”

“We'll need to put it before commercial break. To clean it up.”

“Right. Is this everything?”

“For this episode, yes.”

“Good. If we're done with that... Can I speak with you?”

“I'm alright! Stop asking.”

“That's good to hear. You're not yourself lately.”

“Not my... I'm fine! Everything is fine. Splendid. Thank you for your concern. Stop asking.”

“Would you... What's the deal with the Janitor?”

“What? Nothing. There is no deal with the Janitor.”

“Is that why you allow him to go around as he pleases?”

“Ugh... I don't! Can we go back to work already?”

“You two... He spends a lot of time around you lately. It's... interesting.”

“It's not your concern. At least for now.”

“I'd just like to know my situation. Is he, I don't know, your assistant now?”

“sigh Let's say yes. He does what I ask for, for free, and is very happy to do so. And doesn't ask too many questions, like some other people.”

Leticia smirks, pretending not to notice allusion.

“Should we, you know. List him as an intern or something? Or you two have... different arrangement?”

“Leticia. Leticia.”

“What?” she grins. “You might pretend that you don't have a heart at all, but you are a kind person, don't deny it.”

“I...”

“And there is no need to know you as well as I do to notice that something is going on between you two.”

“Whatever you're insinuating, you're wrong. Couldn't be more wrong.”

“If that's how you like it...”

“Leticia!”

“Alright, alright.” she laughs and waves at him. “Whatever makes you happy. Just be careful, alright? Not only with... whatever your agreement is. But how it looks like.”

“Does it... How does it look like?”

“Like someone is giving you energy to start an exciting new life. Mon Dieu, what are they doing? I didn't said bring everything just...” and she leaves before John has a chance to answer.

***

Janitor wakes up with a big grin and racing heart. It is the day. Today his song will be on the air, in every house, and everyone will hear it. This is the best day of his life.

He cleans up nicely, putting on his best working clothes (it is a special day, unfortunately not a free-from-work one) and runs to the theatre. He is so excited, he grins at all passers-by and spins from time to time, unable to contain so much energy and joy. 

Set looks beautiful and everyone is so busy that the place seems to vibrate, like a beehive. There is too much to do before the show, so no one is asked to leave during the final rehearsal. Entire crew seems to share Janitor excitement, though they are more curious to know who will perform the finale than to hear it.

Jacques spots the Janitor as spices juggler leaves the stage. And, because everyone else is also lingering around to see the mystery guest all city is talking about, he waves him closer:

“Kid! Good to see you.”

“Oh. Hi. Good to...”

“Do you have a moment? Our cooking act was... spectacular” he says loudly. And after looking around if the performer is still there, quieter adds: “but very messy. Can you clean up the stage? I have some....” he says fishing for a cigarette. “...things to do.”

“R-right.”

“I know that you're not working at the moment but...”

“It's not a problem.”

“...if you're not at work right now and if you're not part of the crew, I would need to kick you out.” he points at the strict man in an expensive suit, talking with a strangely familiar girl. “Security requirements and all that. For our secret guest.”

“Secret guest?”

“Yeah. Turns out, it's some actress. She'll be performing the song in the finale. But that's a surprise so don't blab about it. Or I'll have to lock you up or something till the show ends.”

“Um.”

“And, if you want to stay, make yourself busy. Do you follow?”

“Um. I'll... Go for the... thing. To clean. Thanks.”

“And don't think I won't kick you out if you'll get in a way!” Jacques shouts after him, as Janitor rushes out to get a bucket and a mop. Hurrying back in, he bumps into someone, almost knocking over both of them. He looks up at the girl, who puts on a patient, polite smile.

“Oh. Excuse me, miss.”

“Never mind.” she smiles, brushing nonexistent dust from her dress. “Did we... Have we met before?”

“I... um... don't think so, miss.”

“Your voice sounds familiar but I can't place it.”

“I'm just a janitor, miss.”

She snaps her fingers.

“One that crashes the show! Right?”

Janitor turns red and nods, avoiding her eyes.

“I'm glad that they're experimenting with characters. It gives the show this... modern quality.”

“I'm-um... not a character. Miss. It was... Those were accidents.”

“Really?”

He nods.

“I just clean here.”

“Oh. I thought you're part of the show.”

“I'm not... Not yet anyway.” he smiles shyly. “And... if I may... um... Thank you, miss. It means a lot to me that you're going to sing my song.”

“What?”

“The... um... song. Today. It's... I made it.”

“You mean... You? You were the one singing on the tape?”

“Um...”

“They gave a tape with the original version. Before they transcribed the music. It's... It was...” her eyes start to water. “I can't do this.” She says, turns and leaves Janitor alone backstage. 

He's confused at first, not sure what just happened. But as nothing else happens, Janitor grabs his mop and starts to wash the stage. He's halfway through when he hears Mr Cameron, yelling from his dressing room, so angrily, that all the crew members stop for a moment.

“JULIAN!”

At this moment something clicks in Janitor mind and terrifying realisation washes over him. She said that she 'can't do this'. She can't sing his song. He ruined the show, before it even started.

***

Let us follow miss Darling, as she left Janitor, a few minutes ago. She says:

“I can't do this.”

and leaves, going towards John Cameron's dressing room. She knocks politely and then enters, smiling with all confidence she can manage.

“Mr Cameron. I'd like to thank you for this opportunity...”

“My pleasure.”

“...but I can't do this.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I won't sing tonight. Or anytime soon. Not that song.”

“But...”

“You have something magnificent here. So much art, in all its honesty. I can't sing it like that. I want the world to hear it as it was intended. Not some sterile version, distorted by a producer who doesn't understand art, only money.”

“We can change that.”

“No. You already have a person to sing it to the world.” she produces tape from her purse and puts it on John Cameron's dressing table. “I'm here because someone gave me a chance one day. Now I can give it to someone else. Goodbye, Mr Cameron.”

For a moment Mr Cameron is as confused as Janitor was. However, he's faster at the uptake and only a few seconds later he's at the door, shouting in rage:

“JULIAN!”

And Mr Cameron does not wait for an answer. He storms backstage, pushing bewildered crew members from his way.

“Where is this fuckin... YOU!” he points, finally spotting the Janitor, who's trembling at the middle of the stage. John Cameron is mostly mad at the actress, but she already left. And Janitor is there. So he redirects his rage at him and starts shouting, even more, when Janitor breaks into incoherent apologies.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” boy whines, trying to hide behind his mop. “I'm so, so sorry. I'll find her, I'll make it right, I will. I'll...”

“WHAT have you told her?!”

“Nothing, Mr Cameron, I swear, I'm so...”

“WHAT HAVE YOU TOLD HER?!”

“...sorry... I only thanked her. For singing my song.”

“You what?”

“Nothing more, I swear! I'm so, so sorry. I...”

“We have five hours to get her back or find a replacement! We already announced a surprise and a star! We don't have time for all that! Who will come here, learn stupid song, or have their own, make all agreements with PBC... Wait. Wait! That's...”

Mr Cameron has a sudden realisation. He can sing in the show. Yes. John Cameron, stepping in at the last minute to save the show! They'll have to appreciate it. And admit that he was right all along. And deserves a chance to regain his glory. And that silly girl has spent weeks praising mystery singer and won't be able to back on it in time. Those were a few very stressful weeks but he'll get his reward now.

What Janitor sees (and some crew members, too careful to step out of the shadows but too curious not to look) is Mr Cameron, suddenly brightening up and coming closer to the terrified boy. Janitor flinches and inhales sharply bracing himself for a hit. But John Cameron hugs him. And, in his joy, he kisses Janitor on the cheek, then the other one and hugs him again. Even when they part, Mr Cameron does not let go of the befuddled Janitor, putting hands on his shoulders. 

This turn of events surprises Janitor so much, he doesn't react at all, not sure how to feel about it. Relieved? Happy? Terrified? Mr Cameron is happy, for sure. 

“I can sing it. Yes.”

“Oh. You? W-Would you?”

“I can make a glorious comeback.”

“That's... Thank you, Mr Cameron! I...” Janitor smiles with relief. “I really want people to hear it.”

“Right, right. Now, I need to learn and rehearse it. Leticia!” he pats Janitor for the last time and leaves. “Leticia!”

“I'll find her, Mr Cameron. Right away.”

But John Cameron does not hear him. He looks in the distance, with a maniacal gleam in his eyes, no longer paying attention to Janitor. So boy runs backstage, to get as far as possible before Mr Cameron changes his mind.

It is Leticia who finds the Janitor in the corridor, mumbling to himself. Boy seems distressed. She takes a deep breath, she doesn't have time for that. But in last weeks they've learned that keeping boy busy meant keeping him out of trouble. And one minute spent on talking to him might save them hours of undoing mess he would cause 'trying to help' on his own. So she carefully approaches the Janitor, who's hugging his arms and slightly rocking back and forth, seemingly deep in solemn conversation.

“It was my fault...”

Noo. She made that decision. Thank God Mr Cameron agreed to sing it.

“Yeah. He has an amazing voice. sigh”

What's the matter?

“Nothing.”

Then why are you sad?

“I'm not... sad. It's just... When miss Darling said she can't take it from me I thought... hmmm...”

What?

“It's stupid.”

Come one. Tell me. 

“Noo...”

I won't tell anyone. Or laugh at you. You know I won't. I promise.

“sigh I thought... that maybe I can sing it. In the show. You know, cos it's my song.” he laughs hesitantly. “Huh. But who would want to listen to me sing?”

“I would.”

Janitor yelps, startled by her and goes red. 

“I... Um... Leticia...”

“What were you talking about?” she asks in a very calm voice. Janitor does not notice, that she didn't asked with who he's been talking with.

“The... the song. I mean... Miss Darling resigned and...”

“What?! Why? Where is she?”

“Um... so... she-she left? But it's okay. Mr Cameron will sing my song!”

“Your song? What are you... oh. Oh! You wrote that?”

He gulps and nods, avoiding her eyes.

“You! You were on a tape! I knew I recognised that voice! And, mon Dieu, it was you! Were you singing after hours?”

“Um... I think so?”

“I was so sure it was John!”

“Sorry.”

“What for? It is beautyful!”

“You think so?” he looks up, a shy grin lighting his face.

“Stunning!”

“Thank you. I um... So um... Mr Cameron agreed to sing it. He'll be amazing.”

“You don't want to?”

“Oh. I...” he considers it for a moment, trying to remember how Mr Cameron explained it to him. “They don't like when I sing. They said no one would like to listen to that.”

“Who said that?”

Yes, who? You didn't really sang in front of anyone. Except for Mr Cameron, that one time. But that was...

“...an accident.”

“What?”

He looks up, nervous and embarrassed, unable to say a word. Luckily, before it goes into awkwardly long silence something captures Leticia's attention and she leaves him, yelling at someone in act of doing something, not the way she instructed. But she does not forget about what Janitor said and having a moment to spare, she brings it up with John Cameron.

“John?”

“Yes? We need to...”

“About the Janitor...”

“Not now, Leticia. Whatever he did, he's pardoned today. I'll deal with it tomorrow.”

“But...”

“Leticia, please. I need to prepare for the show. Oh, there will be some changes. I'll perform the final part instead of that... unreliable child.”

“About that...”

“She already left! You can try and catch her but that childish behaviour...”

“Don't you think it's unfair?”

“...could not be accepted! Of course it's unfair! To resign like that, at the last moment! How unprofessional! I wouldn't let her go on that stage even if she showed herself right now. That's why I'm stepping in and...”

“I mean you. You're being unfair.”

“I don't follow.”

“Why won't you let him sing it?”

“Who?”

“The Janitor.”

He waits for her to join in the laughter, thinking it is a joke. Then he sees her face and realises that she means it.

“Leticia. You can't be serious.”

“I heard him. And the tape, you played it to us. It was beautyful, John! This is how this should be performed. Isn't it what convinced you to use this song?”

John scoffs.

“He was barely able to sing in front of me. He does not have what it takes to face the crowd.”

“Won't you at least let him try? You know how much it would mean to him. To be in the show. We're still during rehearsals, there are enough people to test if he's as stagefrightened as you're saying. If we prepare him... ”

“For the fucks sake, Leticia! I'm not going to put show's reputation at risk because some insane kid wants to be in it. Let's be professional. Beside, he's fine with that.”

“Is he?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“He told me so. He actually thanked me for singing it. You know what” he goes over to the doors and starts to shout: “Julian! JULIAN! Come to my dressing room!” 

Then he goes back and sits back in his chair, crossing arms and waiting.

After few minutes Janitor is at the door, out of breath, keeping his eyes on the floor. Even though doors are wide open he knocks before entering, praying that Mr Cameron would not change his mind and be in a good mood.

“Um...”

“Oh. Yes. Tell Leticia what you told me earlier.”

“Um... I...” confused, he looks from one to another. “What?”

“sigh That you're happy I'm taking your song. You are, aren't you?”

“Or maybe” Leticia cuts in, before Janitor can say anything. “you would rather prefer to sing it yourself?”

“Um... I...” Janitor nervously glances between them, heart and breath racing until he spills barely audible “Sorry” and runs away.

“See? That's why we need reliable professional performers. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a show to prepare. So do you.”

Leticia sighs and leaves. But anyone she passes she asks: “Have you seen the Janitor? No? Okay. If you'll see him, tell him I'm looking for him. Merci.”

But no one is looking for him and no one sees him when he's hiding on the catwalk, crying. Not for any particular reason, just from how stressful that encounter was. It was supposed to be his day. And he got a chance, he could have it all! If only he was brave enough.

“They wouldn't let me sing. I'm... I'm just a janitor. And I can't do anything right.”

They liked your song. Mr Cameron liked your song.

“Yeah. And-and... Remember how-when he told me about my song? And that miss Darling will sing it? Instead of him? Oh, he was so upset! And um...”

He should know what you feel right now.

“Noo, I mean... I think he needs it more than I do. You know? To be on that stage again, as a performer. He's such a good host but he's not enjoying it. You can tell. If you listen closely. It's like everyone listens to him but no one hears him. And they should! He's such an amazing artist. And if he wants to sing, he should.”

Your song?

“Any song! I... I have other songs. He can have this one. That's what people do when they care about someone, right? You just... help them. And share what you have. If that... Do you think it will make Mr Cameron happy?”

We'll see.

“Right.”

Janitor sniffs and tries to lists a good thing with every breath. When he manages to calm himself down he decides to stay there and watch the show from above. It starts soon and it is stunning. Each performance could be a final act in previous shows. Janitor carefully peers from his hiding place, amazed, quickly forgetting about all his problems and sorrows.

Only right before the final break Janitor decides to go down and join (or rather hide from) the crew in the wings. He excuses it by better acoustic, but we all know, even though he doesn't want to admit it, that he wants to share this moment with other people and see their reactions.

“I don't...”

You do.

“sigh Yeah. I guess I do.”

Current performer is a dancer, converting powders and spices into fantastical pictures, using scents to create impressions of events, bringing back memories and taking people places they've never been. The audience is thrilled. Mr Cameron not so much.

“...if only you could see it, khm, ladies and gentlemen!” He says with fake enthusiasm. “And smell it. Like a real fire! Khm. For both eyes and lungs. You need to share a recipe next time! Incredible Spice Man, ladies and gentlemen!” Applause masks his cough and host continues: “And next, what you were all waiting for - our final musical number!” he takes another pause. Something is wrong. “Khm. Guest performance, you would not expect, but, believe me, will enjoy. Khm, khm. Right after the announcement.”

As soon as commercial jingle sounds, stagehands rush to clean a stage, covered in various powders. Mr Cameron, in his place right next to the performer, bends down and starts coughing profusely. After inhaling too much of the mix, he's having coughing fits and some allergic reaction. 

“John, are you alright?”

“Fine” he wheezes, as Leticia walks him to the dressing room. “Give me...”

“Don't speak. Just... drink some water. Water, John. Or milk. To soothe your throat.”

“I'll be fine” he mouths rather than says, emptying a glass of some liquor.

“John. Please. We need to...”

“I'll do it.”

His voice is hoarse and he's barely able to speak. Not to mention sing. When he pours another drink Leticia shakes her head. 

“sigh Fine. I'll go and see how it is going down there.”

She goes back and tries to calm everyone. They're starting to panic, as it is almost time and the next performer isn't there. 

“Alright! People! I'm not going to lie, there is some trouble. We have till the end of the commercials to prepare some backup. Jacques, bring the large tape machine. Pierre, get the tape from the morning rehearsal.”

“Leticia...”

“Now! We need a grand finale!”

“But how?”

“We'll play the recording, cos we promised a song. Broadcast is a priority. We'll dim the lights for the audience here. Compris?”

“We can put some lights show.”

“Yes! Lily, if no one gets on that stage...”

“On it!”

“Great! We can do that. Places!”

Leticia looks at her crew, running out to their tasks and sighs. Audience in the theatre will be disappointed but at least broadcast might not suffer that much. Now, to get John back. She turns and notices Janitor, standing right behind the curtain. She's ready to scold him for getting in the way when they exchange looks. Boy does not cower or run away. Leticia never saw him sadder or more disappointed.

He waits for her, sadly hangs his head. 

“Julian. Please, I don't have time for this. You shouldn't be here.”

“Is there um... Can um...”

“We'll figure something out.”

“I just wanted them to hear my song” he murmurs.

“Your song?”

He nods. Leticia snaps her fingers.

“Your song! You know it! You can sing it! Can you?”

“Um... I think so?”

“Then go.”

“What? No...”

“We need to go on air in thirty seconds. No time to waste.” she brushes him a little with a handkerchief but it makes no difference. “Allez, allez.”

“But...”

“Don't worry.” she takes him by the arms so he has to look her in the eye. “You can do this. We have a backup, we just need some time. So if you'll screw up, we'll wrap it up as a joke, okay?” 

Before Janitor has any time to answer Leticia spins him and as the end of the commercials is signalised, she pushes him to the stage. And everyone sees him, tumbling in, almost tripping over the mop he's still handling. 

For a second lights blinds him. Someone laughs. Some people gave uncertain claps but soon stops. He must look like a crooked scarecrow or cornered animal. But there it is – a microphone, shiny, inviting, all for him. This is his chance and he can't waste it. So he swallows hard and takes few more steps to reach it. 

“H-hi.” Janitor says as 'ON AIR' sign lights up. “I'm Julian. I'm-um... a janitor... here.” He tightens his grip on the mop handle. “You may know that already. Cos I crashed in few times.” he pauses for the audience's laughter. “Um... I'm here... tonight... for um... I'll... To sing you a song.”

Janitor nods toward the orchestra to start. He opens his mouth but is too nervous to produce any sound. The conductor gives him some signs that Janitor doesn't understand. To make matters worse, it also confuses musicians, who, one by one, stop playing.

As the music dies, Janitor laughs nervously. Part of the audience also laughs. 

“Sorry. I'm not a professional. Let's... Let's try that again.”

This time he only manages to produce one false note. 

“Ugh, that was bad.” he chuckles, now hysterical, hoping no one sees how much his knees are trembling. “It's not as easy as it seems. They'll cut it later, probably.” He gives a nervous sigh. Janitor looks into the wings but Leticia gestures him to continue, not as encouragingly as she thinks she does. Behind her, Jacques and Pierre are frantically trying to untie cables and plug in the big tape machine. 

Janitor looks back at the audience. Luckily he cannot see them – the lights are too bright. And, of course, it is only a small part of the audience. There are also people at home, listening to the radio. Or, more probably, trying to figure out why it suddenly went quiet.

“Oh, we're on the air! And I forgot to introduce the program after commercials! I'm sorry.” he takes a deep breath and repeats a well-known phrase, bringing out his best impression of John Cameron: “Broadcasting from the heart of Paris, you are listening to the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air! And now, ladies and gentlemen, what you were all waiting for – our tonight final, musical number – Julian the Janitor!” he grins and bows slightly to scanty applause. “Okay. That's from the way so... Let's um... A song. Yes.”

Someone boos but most of the audience cheers on him – they think it is a joke. Someone starts to clap to the rhythm. And Janitor hopes, so, so much, that like in a fairy tale, the third attempt will be successful and change everything.

He gives a shy but grateful smile. Deep breath, eyes closed. Music starts and he begins to sing.

“Oh, we'll be old and weary friends...”

 After few lines, all laughter and taunting cheers die out. As the song goes on, filling the theatre, some people sigh, others are starting to get tears in their eyes. Crew in the wings stops, astonished and enchanted by this performance. But Janitor doesn't notice any of this. There is no theatre, no people, no blinding lights. Even gravity seems to cease to apply. Even he might not exist any more. There is only a song and the sound of it.

“...let all this never end.” 

Janitor sings the last note gently and opens his eyes. After a few moments audience realises that it is over and the roar of applause almost scares him. Janitor bows, shy at first, looking at the audience, half-expecting them to start booing or throwing things. But they seem to love it. He bows again, with a flourish, and leaves, passing Mr Cameron, who hurriedly runs into the stage to finish the show. He's red on the face, from fury and allergy. 

Leticia greets the boy.

“Wow.”

“I think... they liked it?” Janitor smiles widely, clinging his mop to stop his hands from shaking. “I... I'll... Maybe I'll go back to cleaning.”

He takes few more steps and almost collapses from all the emotions and distress. It's either dark or he closed his eyes, there is only one thing that matters now – deafening applause, filling the room and his entire body as Mr Cameron's hoars voice says:

“It's all for this week, ladies and gentlemen. This is John Cameron, broadcasting from the heart of Paris. The Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a good night!”