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Chapter Text

As soon as John wakes up, he immediately notices that something is wrong.

Of course, he can't exactly tell what that is yet. He's still in that early stage of awakening from a deep slumber, when he can feel his surroundings, but can't understand them. He can feel that the mattress beneath him is too firm, a stark contrast to his typical luxurious bed at home. But he is too drowsy to worry about it.

Next comes the cold. The blanket covering him is very thin, it barely retains any warmth. No matter which way he tosses or turns, it's never quite comfortable enough for him. Now he is drifting into the part where he can actually form coherent thoughts, and none of them are happy. He had fallen asleep so soundly, why is everything so much worse now? And that pillow, it's as hard as a rock and flat as a pancake. It doesn't even elevate his head to a comfortable position.

The feelings are nagging at him and gradually dragging him back to consciousness. He'd love to sleep another eight hours, but he knows his duties as host await him. They loom over him like a storm cloud, commanding all of his attention and thoughts.

His eyes finally flutter open, and he turns his head to the side. He slowly blinks, and- wait a minute. This isn't his room. The cramped and musty space, the saws hanging on the wall... The janitor's closet? Why is John in here? Why was he sleeping in Julian's cot, of all places? How did he get there? His mind starts rushing with frantic possibilities, but he forces those thoughts away for now. He swings his legs over the edge and tries to stand up, but once he puts weight on his feet, he stumbles forward.

"Oof!" He huffs, landing flat on his nose. "What in the-"

He freezes as he hears himself talking. That isn't his voice. It's Julian's. John could never mistake that telltale whimper. He immediately whips his around to look at the rest of himself, and what he sees makes his blood run cold.

This isn't his body. This is... The janitor's.

He lets out a long, shrill scream of pure shock and horror. What in the world? The sound of his screaming only alarms him further. That isn't his scream! None of this is right! John has approximately a million questions, and he can't begin to think of an answer to any of them.

Suddenly, the door to the closet bursts open, revealing a very displeased Laeticia glaring down at him. "What iz ze matter with you?! You are screaming like a chicken with its 'ead cut off!"

That's enough to briefly snap John out of his terror. "Wait, how would a chicken scream if it didn't have a head?"

"You know what I mean! You will keep your screams DOWN, or I will 'ave to clamp your mouth shut with my own two 'ands!" And with that, she slams the door closed once again.

A brief silence hangs in the air before John buries his face in his hands. "I'm okay. Just take this slow. I'm the janitor. I'm him. Somehow. Please let this be some horrible nightmare."

But he knows better than that. It can't be a dream, it all feels too real. He can feel every single thing that's out of place, every feature that isn't his. A mop of jet black hair, unkempt and unbrushed. Chilled hands and calloused palms. Socks with several holes in them. Chapped, cracked lips. And a quiet but noticeable ringing in his left ear.

This is real, no matter how much he hates to admit it.

He grabs the side of the cot and tries to stand up, though his legs are shaky and unsteady. Julian is a lot shorter than him, so it's incredibly difficult for John to find his balance with those little legs. He grunts and grumbles a little bit, but eventually, he figures out how to stand up again.

Suddenly, a horrible thought strikes his mind. If he's in Julian's body, then what happened to his own? Is it simply a lifeless husk with no soul inside of it? He can't let it sit around wherever! He has to find himself before something awful happens.

John barely avoids stumbling over and starts making his way through the tower as quickly as he can, which isn't too fast, truthfully. He's still getting the hang of walking around in this body. Finally, after what feels like forever, he arrives at the first place he can think to look: his dressing room.

Strangely enough, it's wide open. He inches closer and peers inside, and he practically jumps in surprise. There he is, staring back at himself. Whatever is currently inhabiting his body seems equally shocked.

"Uh... Hello?" John asks hesitantly, taking a step inside. "Who's there?"

The person is completely silent, their eyes wide and mouth agape. Goodness, it's so weird to watch himself acting like this. John is already hating it.

"...Mr. Cameron?

"Oh my god," He supposes it only makes sense that the janitor would be in his body. "Julian?"

"Mr. Cameron, listen, I can explain-" His eyebrows furrow together, and he gives a sheepish smile.

"Well then," The host practically slams the dressing room door behind him. "Explain."

"So, well, a couple days ago..."

—

Julian leaned his weight against the large girder as his mop and bucket sat idle at his feet. As he pressed his ear up to the cool metal, a chill ran down his spine. Both from the cold and from the excitement. The show was about to start!

"Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower..."

"The Orbiting Human Circus of The Air." He spoke along. He let out a long, heavy sigh as he glanced up to the night sky.

He allowed his muscles to relax and release the tension building up across his shoulders. He couldn't stop thinking about the host at that moment, couldn't get his mind off of him. Perhaps it was something in the way he was speaking that night. John Cameron's voice had such a soothing affect on Julian, as if every word the host spoke was a lullaby that could carry him off to the world of dreams.

Oh, what a man, that John Cameron. His hair always found a way to look as perfect as possible, even when he was being run ragged. His suits were always fresh and neat, comprised of vibrant bright reds, oranges and pinks (and, if he was feeling especially bold, yellows.) He was the embodiment of perfection in Julian's eyes.

The janitor didn't believe he would ever compare. "I wish I could be him, just for a day..." He mumbled to himself as he stared up at the twinkling stars sprawled across the night sky.

—

A short silence fills the air as the two stare at each other awkwardly. They know they'll have to speak eventually, but neither of them know what to say yet. Inevitably, John starts freaking out.

"Are you serious?! Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Julian flinches away when he raises his voice. "I didn't know-"

"This really is a nightmare," John runs a hand through his hair and lets out a dramatic sigh. "I can't believe we're actually dealing with some 'wishing on a magic star' bullshit."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cameron."

That was definitely not the right thing to say. "Sorry?! You think sorry is going to fix this? I can't be you, that sounds awful!"

"I-I mean, it's only for a day, isn't it?" Julian says hesitantly, as if he doesn't actually believe it himself. "One day, and then we'll be back to normal."

John isn't too sure about it either, but at the moment, he's willing to take what he can get. "Okay. One day. I suppose I can survive that."

Chapter Text

"Mr. Cameron's gonna be so mad..." Julian whispers to himself as he continues to stare into the mirror, right at the face that isn't his.

Of course, they hadn't switched back. He knew it was too good to be true. And now he knows that John will be stomping into the room in a furious rampage any second, or at least as soon as he realizes that they're still in the wrong bodies.

"I really messed up, didn't I? Well, I mean, I really mess up all the time, but this one is the worst."

What are they going to do? There's a show tonight, will Julian have to host? He can't deny that the thought brings a rush of excitement to his senses, but at the same time, it's obvious that John will HATE the idea. Heck, he wouldn't stop complaining that he hated just existing like this.

Julian had to stay the night at the tower yesterday. "Why don't you just go home and leave me alone?" John had snapped.

"I... I don't know where you live. And I can't drive." Julian responded sheepishly.

He received an eye roll and a bout of angry grumbling from Mr. Cameron, but thankfully, that was it.

Julian can't decide on the way he feels about this. On one hand, it's a literal wish come true. He gets to be John Cameron, he actually gets to be on stage! (every time that idea pops into his head, he swears his heart skips a beat) He finally gets to be the star, standing in the beautiful glowing lights.

On the other hand, well, he's Julian. He thinks that inevitably, he'll find some way to ruin it. His mind is filled to the brim with awful possible scenarios, and none of them are good. He sighs and runs a hand through his- John's? Whatever- hair in a halfhearted attempt to calm himself down.

There's another thing weighing down on his mind, too. The acts. They obviously have one lined up for tonight, and for the next show or two. But what about after that? Mr. Cameron still doesn't know where the acts come from. What happens when they run out? Neither of them are exactly sure how long this whole switching thing is going to last.

That's the biggest issue here. He has no clue when, or even if they'll go back to normal. And that truly terrifies him. Yes, being he could survive being Mr. Cameron for a while, but the thought of never truly being himself again scared him to no end.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of banging at the dressing room door. Oh boy, there he is... Julian slowly rises from his seat and opens it, and before he can get a word out, John storms inside.

"Mr. Cameron, um." Julian looks away awkwardly, closing the door behind him. "So- so what do we do now?"

"You think I have any idea?" John snaps, pointing an accusatory finger towards Julian. "You said it was only going to last a day."

"I-I know, but- that was more of a guess? I'm sorry. But I promise I can be a good host!"

After a full day of living in John's body, Julian thinks he should have gotten used to seeing his own body acting in ways it normally doesn't. But it's still so jarring to see his own face glaring at him. "And how do you expect me to believe that? How do you expect me to believe you won't make an ass of yourself in MY body?"

"Um..."

"Exactly. Oh, this is terrible. Horrible, I tell you! We're hopeless." John starts pacing back and forth across the room anxiously.

"Hey, hey, we're not hopeless! I'll try my hardest to be the best host I can be. You don't have to worry about it, Mr. Cameron. The show must go on, right? Maybe I won't even mess anything up."

"Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves," He stops for a moment and taps his chin in thought. "Perhaps you can be... An adequate host. Just don't screw it up. My reputation is on the line."

"I promise I won't let you down, Mr. Cameron!" Julian stands up with a newfound determination and grins.

John raises a skeptical eyebrow. "You better keep that promise. You better."

"Don't worry. I'm ready."

—

Julian is so not ready. Even as he stands on stage behind the curtains, seconds before they are to go live. Here it is. All of his dreams are so close to coming true. It's up to him to host the show. It feels equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Though, those two are essentially the same.

He can feel his heart pounding inside of his chest as if it's trying to escape his ribcage. His breathing is coming in and out in rapid, shallow huffs. His hands are shaking, and he barely manages to to calm their restless movement. It's time. He swallows the lump in his throat and steps forward as the "On Air" sign over the stage lights up.

He blinks a couple times as he stares out into the ballroom. Here he is, standing in front of the audience, with millions around the globe listening in all at once. The opening music plays, and...

He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. He knows what he wants to say, the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can't force them out of his mouth. The broadcast ballroom is dead silent.

Julian stands there, growing more and more mortified every second. So many eyes are staring at him, waiting for him to speak. But he can't. And with every second of added embarrassment, it becomes harder and harder to actually speak. It keeps piling up in a vicious cycle, like a snake consuming its own tail. His voice simply refuses to do its job, and he might ruin the show over it.

—

Meanwhile, outside, high above Paris, John Cameron has his ear pressed against one of the tower's metal girders. With each moment of silence, his jaw clenches tighter and tighter. "Damn it, Julian. Say something! How hard could it possibly be?!"

He grabs a chunk of his hair and gives it a hard tug. He can just imagine Julian standing there, mouth wide open, not saying a single word. He must look so ridiculous, and it makes him want to scream. "Please, Julian, I'm literally begging you."

Eventually, like a miracle, words begin to spill from the janitor's mouth. "Um- hello." Granted, it's not too many words, but it's something.

The bucket and mop lay untouched at John's feet. He hasn't even tried to tend to his new janitorial duties yet. He has to listen in, has to make sure Julian doesn't mess everything up. Obviously, John can't actually do anything about it, but at least it helps him feel the smallest semblance of control. It's obvious he needs it at the moment.

"Broadcasting from the top of the Eiffel Tower... The Orbiting Human Circus of The Air. T-Tonight, we have a very wonderful show for you tonight."

John facepalms.

"S-So let's hand it over to Odette, the swan that can play the clarinet!"

He finally lets out a sigh of relief and visibly relaxes. At least while the act is on, Julian can't ruin anything any further.

He can already tell it's going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

It's too much. It's all too much.

Julian can barely keep himself upright. His heart is racing as though it will erupt from his throat, and he can't supply enough air to his lungs. He stumbles and nearly falls, just barely catching himself as he props himself up against the wall.

This isn't right. This is supposed to be his miracle and his dream come true. So why does it feel so wrong?

As soon as he stepped on stage, he had been filled with a sense of... He's struggling to find the words for it. He felt he was violating some sort of unbreakable law, and every single act he planned to make would be irreversibly wrong.

Why does he feel this way? Why can't he be happy with this perfect opportunity? Why is he reacting as if he's in mortal danger?

As these questions continue to churn through his mind, his heartbeat somehow grows louder. It's almost the only thing he can hear. It's beating way too fast for his own good.

Calm down, calm down... Julian tries to tell himself, but his heart and head refuse to cooperate with him.

No matter how much he breathes, he can't get enough air into his system. He feels like he's suffocating, even as he expands his lungs as far as they can go. Why can't he breathe? He shuts his eyes as tightly as he physically can in an attempt to shut the world out. His head is pounding as if it's been rammed against the wall over and over again and spinning as if it's been thrown into a washing machine. He lets out a sort of whining sound and buries his face into his incredibly clammy hands.

His thoughts are looping. He's shaking and shuddering, he's becoming light-headed, and he thinks he might be dying. He wants to sink into the floor and never be found, he wants to fade away into nothingness, he wants to-

Suddenly, something breaks him out of his loop. Feeling similarly to a drowning man being pulled ashore, he's sent back to reality by a physical sensation. Someone is nudging his shoulder. Someone is speaking at him. He slowly lifts his head to see who it is.

"Laeticia?" His voice is quiet and shaky.

"What iz wrong, John?" Her voice is softer than Julian has ever heard from her.

"I-I'm..." He mumbles. "Sick."

She looks him up and down, which he definitely does not enjoy. He hates being scrutinized in any capacity. "Why didn't you tell anyone that you are ill? You cannot go out on ze stage like zis!"

"I know, I know." While his heart is still beating a million miles an hour, at least it's not the loudest sound in his hearing range anymore. "I can handle it."

Laeticia raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"Aw, don't look at me like that. I'll be ready in a minute." He knows that there's no way he'll be ready by then, but he really, really doesn't want to admit that to her.

For a moment, it seems that she won't leave. She stands there, continuing to look at him, which he continues to hate. Finally, she sighs and looks away. "Fine. But please, if you are going to pass out or somezing, get off of ze stage and find 'elp."

With that, she turns around and leaves.

He's alone again, which gives him time to set himself straight.

How hard can it be to pretend that he's John Cameron? Why isn't his brain working the way he tells it to? Even when he's wearing someone else's skin, he still manages to screw everything up. No, he can already tell that this train of thought will only lead him to more panicking, which will keep him here longer. He can dwell on how badly he messed up later. For now, he's the host. And he's got to fulfill his role. He can't let the audience down.

Julian takes a deep breath, attempts to collect his thoughts, and forces himself back onto his feet.

"Okay. I've got this." He whispers as he approaches the stage. But he doesn't believe it anymore.

Unsurprisingly, he drops the ball with the rest of the show as well. Luckily enough, he doesn't freeze up like he did at first. But he's awkwardly stumbling through every sentence, stuttering over his words, and mumbling to himself. It's a painful, embarrassing struggle for everyone involved.

Thankfully, the show is drawing to a close.

"The, uh..." He swallows thicky and exhales into the mic. "The Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a-a good night."

He wants to sob with relief when the "on air" sign above the stage turns off. Thank goodness. Now he can hide once more.

Julian rushes off stage and tries to ignore the curious whispers of the crowd and the stagehands. He can practically feel their eyes on him, despite his back being turned to them. He bolts out of the broadcast ballroom as fast as he can. He's gotta get away from there. He turns and makes a beeline in the direction of John's dressing room.

As soon as he makes it there, he slams the door behind him and collapses into the swivel chair. Well. That was a nightmare. He already knows that John is going to yell his ear off once they meet again. But he doesn't care about that at the moment. All he cares about is hiding away from the world.

—

In the janitor's closet, John lies wide awake, replaying the events of today in his mind over and over. He got up, yelled at Julian, mopped, mopped again, mopped some more, and nearly had an aneurysm listening to Julian fumble onstage. He still can't believe he let that happen. He knew Julian wouldn't be able to handle it. Not that he could have done anything about it.

Why would he just take the janitor's word for it? He should have stopped this disaster before it started. Would his reputation forever be tarnished? Would he never be able to show his own face in public again? Logically, he knows that one night of slipping up likely won't ruin everything. But there's a small bit of doubt that pokes at him, leaving an open opportunity to worry.

Whatever. For now, he attempts to clear his mind. He shuts his eyes and prepares to leave this stress behind for a few hours while he sleeps.

Though tonight, it seems that sleep wants nothing to do with him. No matter which way he tosses or turns and no matter which position he contorts himself into, he can't calm his mind enough to rest. Just his luck. He lets out a grunt and grabs ahold of the pillow, tossing it across the closet in frustration. But he immediately realises that laying his head down without it is more uncomfortable, so he begrudgingly gets up and retrieves it.

"Ugh, stupid... Everything is stupid, everything sucks..." He grumbles as he flops back onto the cot. "The universe hates me. I need a drink. Dear god, do I need a drink."

How could the janitor stand to live in these conditions? The cot is incredibly uncomfortable, as John complained before. The closet is only a fifth of the size of his own bedroom. He doesn't even have a dresser or a vanity or anything! It's borderline tragic, the state of this place.

For a moment there, John feels a twinge of sympathy for the janitor. He can't imagine having to live in these circumstances for a long period of time, let alone every single day. But he tries his best to ignore it. It's Julian's fault that he's in this swapped scenario in the first place, he tells himself. There's no point in feeling bad for him. Right?

Besides, Julian obviously must have gotten used to it. So what's the big deal? No problems. There's no reason to feel bad.

Now that that brief detour has ended, he's left staring up at the ceiling, begging for a lick of sleep. He has a feeling he's going to be sulking for the rest of the night.

He also has a feeling that tomorrow will kick his ass.

Chapter Text

By some kind of miracle, John eventually managed to fall asleep.

Granted, it had only been for a short while. Not nearly enough to be healthy. But at this point, he's willing to take whatever wins he can get. He tugs the thin blanket tighter around him as he turns to lay on his side.

In the course of the three nights John had spent sleeping during this predicament, he was plagued by almost-nightmares. Dreams of places that he had never seen tinged with an uncomfortable energy. Nothing actually bad happened in these dreams, but something was always... Off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, and the content of it would escape his mind soon after he woke up.

This, of course, was one of those nights. John can hazily remember dreaming of a large field, and it seemingly went on forever and ever. He remembers running, someone yelling at him, and that's it.

He lets out a groan and buries his face in the pillow. He really, REALLY doesn't feel like getting up today. His janitorial responsibilities hang over his head, nudging him to leave the cot and get to work. But damn it, he wants a couple more hours of sleep. Just a couple! But no, he has to continue playing the role of the janitor as if it's a sort of performance.

Actually... That idea sticks out to him. It's incredibly appealing, so much so that he's surprised he didn't think of it sooner. He IS a performer, after all. Maybe if he tricks himself into thinking this is a performance for the stage, he could make the experience slightly more bearable. It's admittedly a bit far-fetched, but it's the only thing he has at the moment.

So he begrudgingly sits up, staggers to his feet, and huffs.

—

John has been doing a lot of complaining throughout this whole experience. Complaining alone without anyone there to listen doesn't exactly have the same effect as when someone does it with friends. It's like shouting into a void. If there's nobody around to here John complain, does he even make a sound?

Either way, he's going to continue.

He never quite considered how thoroughly boring being a janitor would be. When he was host, he always had something to think about. What he would wear, what act was on next, how he would try to stop himself from going insane.

But now, there's unbearably little to think about. Just mopping over and over and over again and again and again until the day finally ends. How does Julian cope with it? If he has to do this for any longer, he might lose his mind.

It's so dreadfully monotonous that he needs to be distracted from all of the nothing.

He finds himself humming a quiet tune under his breath. It's not anything particularly special, really, it's a bunch of random notes strung together. But it gives him something else to focus on while he works. He pushes the mop back and forth, back and forth, creating a beat to work off of.

After a bit, he starts tapping his foot along to the beat. A sort of melody is beginning to emerge, which he's bobbing his head along to. He keeps on going through the hallway, humming and swaying his body slightly in sync with his tune. He adds little vocalizations here and there to keep things interesting.

No wonder Julian is always singing so much. This is... Fun.

He's barely focusing on cleaning now. He's so caught up in his little mini-song that he doesn't notice that he's been standing the same spot in the hallway for a minute straight. But truthfully, he doesn't care. This is the most content he's felt since before this whole disaster started. His clenched jaw, his creased brow, his tense muscles, all have relaxed. Part of him wishes he could fold this moment up and store it in his pocket to relive it whenever he likes. Then he realizes that makes absolutely no sense. But he shrugs it off and continues his song.

Chapter Text

Another day.

Another day, and they're still not back to normal. The fact that John has had that exact thought repeatedly every day certainly doesn't help things. It's practically become cliché to him. In all honesty, he's beginning to lose hope. Perhaps this is his fate, the ultimate punishment for his hubris. Doomed to be the janitor until oblivion. Doomed to clean these halls until the end of time. He sighs bitterly and begins his mopping once more. While yesterday's singing provided temporary relief, his mind is too active today to produce any melody. It almost makes him long for the feeling of boredom.

"'Ey." Out of nowhere, Jacques roughly nudges his shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and stumble.

He yelps in surprise as he hits the floor and immediately wants to slap himself for doing so. He quickly reaches out to catch the bucket, barely managing to keep it from spilling. He must look so stupid right now...

Jacques lets out a hearty chuckle. "You alright there, kid?"

John grumbles and starts getting up. "Don't call me that." He picks up his mop and shoots the stagehand a warning glare.

"Ooh, lil' pipsqueak is standin' up for himself, huh?"

John knows he should ignore it. It's not a big deal. Just stupid petty teasing that wouldn't normally irritate him so thoroughly. But his patience has worn very thin. He narrows his eyes and tightens his grip around his mop. At this point in the night, he has half a mind to march up to Jacques and smack him over the head with it. Maybe even get a bit of mileage out of that bucket, too. The idea is incredibly tempting.

But he doesn't. Despite the anger bubbling inside of him, he doesn't act. Something is stopping him, an instinct he doesn't recognize. He simply stands there, his muscles tensing up as he shoots Jacques the angriest glare he can manage. Though he figures it probably doesn't seem too intimidating, considering it's Julian's face. Come to think of it, has he ever actually seen the janitor angry?

Jacques chuckles again. "Take it easy." Thankfully, he continues walking through the hallway. John continues glaring at him the entire way.

After he's sure the stagehand is gone and out of earshot, he starts grumbling and cursing under his breath. He can't believe he let that happen. Why did he stand there and take it? Nobody speaks to him that way. Like he's a child. Like he's a baby who can't stand up for himself. He huffs and storms off, his hands remaining in tight fists and his jaw clenched.

—

Get up, Julian tells himself as he stares blankly into the mirror on Mr. Cameron’s vanity. It’s almost time for the show. But he finds himself glued to his chair. The idea of going out on stage no longer fills him with a combination of nervousness and excitement. At the moment, it’s only nervousness. The last thing he wants is a repeat of the previous show.

At least Laeticia said she would help him if he needed it. That thought gives him a warm feeling despite everything. As much as he wants to stay holed up in this dressing room for the rest of forever (or at least until the show's finished), he knows he can't neglect his new duties as host. Even imagining the possibility of disappointing the audience with a no-show is downright dreadful. So he gets up and hopes against hope that he won’t mess things up yet again.

Julian moves across the hallways in a daze, not reacting to anything that’s said or done around him. Climbing up onstage, he murmurs out his greeting, earning him a few confused looks from the audience. He introduces the act, a magician. Normally, this would be right up his alley, but he's still in that spacey mood. At least he's not getting sick.

The magician yells something in his ear, momentarily breaking him out of his stupor. They must be preparing their first trick, so he should probably stand attentive. But he can’t seem to find the energy to stay there in the present.

A snap of fingers, and in an instant, Julian feels his entire world falling apart. A force is pulling him backward vigorously. It starts as a gaping sensation in his stomach, then spreads through his arms, his legs, and his head. Something is deeply, deeply wrong. He shuts his eyes as tightly as they can go and covers his ears, groaning in pain. The ringing in his ears turns to screaming. The lights are too bright, they threaten to pierce him. Then, his world becomes black.

—

Julian takes a sharp breath in. He loses his balance and falls, landing on his back with a thump. The surface beneath him is cold and hard, and his surroundings are much darker than they were a few seconds ago. It's also a lot colder now. He feels as if he got dunked into a tub full of ice. He lays there in shock for a moment as he struggles to collect himself.

"What..." That one singular word he speaks is enough to nearly knock the wind out of his lungs. "Oh."

That's his voice. His normal voice.

He props himself up on his elbows and glances down. Lo and behold, he's in his own body again. Just like that. He briefly runs his hands across his face and chest to make sure it's really his. Yep. It's all there. With a small grunt, Julian sits up and pulls his legs to his chest, curling up on himself. He takes another deep breath in, letting his nostrils fill with his own scent. So it's over. He's back to being the janitor.

He runs his fingers along the cool metal beneath him. This doesn't feel right. He can't define it exactly, but he can feel a sort of discontent, as if everything is ever so slightly off. He's trying his best to familiarize himself with... Well, himself.

—

Inside of the broadcast ballroom, John finds himself sprawled across the... Floor, he thinks? Bright lights beam into his vision, leaving him even more confused and disoriented than he was before. He groans and rubs his temple. A few people are staring down at him from above, each with concerned looks on their faces. Eventually, one of them speaks up. "John! What did I tell you?" It's Laeticia, in that annoyed but also worried tone of hers.

She abruptly crouches and wraps an arm around his shoulders, scooping him up with ease. He yelps with surprise but doesn't resist. "Um, what DID you tell me?"

She rolls her eyes and continues carrying him along. Before she can answer, John has a realization. It fully hits him, and he pieces together what's going on. "Ohh... I'm me."

He stretches himself out slightly as if to confirm his suspicions, which earns him a weird look from Laeticia. So he's back to normal? He'll have to save most of his reaction for when he gets some alone time. He doesn't want to look crazy in front of all these people. But really, he's ready to sob with relief.

It’s finally done.

Chapter Text

Tonight, as Julian sits hunched over on his cot, he can't sleep. He can't even get close to sleeping. His mind is much too active, buzzing with worries and mixed-up emotions. He hasn't been taking the change back well, to say the least. Getting used to himself again is harder than he thought it would be.

How could his own body feel so foreign to him? The body he was born into, grew up in, and lived every single day of his life in until this week. He survived for all of these years with it. It's his. And he feels like a stranger inside of it.

He buries his face in his hands, feeling each and every feature. The structure of his cheekbones, his long, wide nose, his dry skin, the shape of his jawbone. The blemishes and bumps that decorate his cheeks, dispersed randomly in little bunches.

At the moment, he can't tell if he actually liked being in John's body. Yes, it was nice not having to work for a while. It was nice wearing clothes that weren't ancient. It was nice not having people treat him like garbage. But he wasn't exactly happy. Between all of the stress and anxiety, it felt like more of a curse than a blessing at the time. This week definitely hasn't been his wish come true as he thought it would be.

He's so... Lost. He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel, which only makes him more confused. He wishes he could pick an emotion and stick with it. He hates this back-and-forth. He wants to be relieved, but he's still on edge. He can't even feel completely upset about it.

Julian picks at his fingernails absentmindedly, watching as small pieces splinter off.

He's jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp knock at the door. Who could that be? Part of him doesn't want to answer, to just be left alone with his his thoughts. But another part of him desperately craves a distraction from all of his complicated, uncomfortable thoughts. But yet another part of him, one completely unbeknownst to him, suggests that might not be the best solution. Maybe he should stay alone so he can straighten himself out. Nobody will want to talk to him when he's so confused. Maybe he should pretend he's asleep.

Another louder knock on the door echoes throughout the closet. He jumps back in surprise. He needs to make a decision. In an attempt to say both "Come in" and "Go away" at the same time, he says, "Come away." An awkward silence, then, "I-I mean, come in."

The door creaks open, and it's...

"Mr. Cameron?"

The host doesn't hesitate to invite himself in.

"What are you doing here?" Julian asks cautiously.

"What are any of us doing here, really?" He sighs as he plops down dramatically onto the cot.

"Uh. I meant, what are you doing here, specifically. In my closet."

"...I don't know."

Julian sits himself down next to Mr. Cameron, still a little on edge. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted.

"I suppose I felt like I needed to be here."

He nods. "I think I get it."

"It's just- everything is WRONG. Once things went back to normal, it was meant to be better. Like nothing ever happened. You forget about it, I forget about it, pretend it wasn't real. But something is- is wrong. I'm not sure what. But it is."

Julian leans himself against John, and the latter surprisingly doesn't object. He rests his head on the host's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it. I feel it, too."

"It's this- this itching. An itch in a spot you can't reach."

"Yeah." He nods along.

"And even if you ask someone for help, it doesn't go away."

"Mm-hmm."

"God, why me? What was the point of any of this?" Mr. Cameron runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Julian pauses, then shrugs. "I dunno, but... But it happened. And we have to deal with it now."

Something comes over his face, a flash of an indecipherable expression. Then, the slightest twitch of a smile. "You know, perhaps we should talk more."

Julian tries to hide how much that sentence thrills him, but his own smile peeks through. "Maybe we should."

"I feel a bit better now."

"Me too."