Chapter Text
It’s rare that Jane ever willingly works off the clock. He’s a workaholic, yes, but only if he’s being paid overtime. He also loves directing though. He loves writing scripts and making a client’s idea become a reality. And he’s always been good at that, at delivering a unique storyline—
Until now.
Jane has been given a project by his boss for a space-themed ad. It’s for a popular drink company that has put out very outlandish commercials before. Jane had done his research and pitched something similar, but the company rejected it, saying they wanted it to be different.
No more silly ads; they want something profound. Something that grabs the viewer and leaves an impact.
Jane, personally, thinks this drink company needs to stop huffing gas if they think they’ll be taken seriously after how much they pushed this silly era, and suddenly want to go serious, but he’s not on the marketing team, just directing. So nobody fucking cares what he thinks.
Standing outside the local planetarium, Jane hesitates before going inside. He’s definitely prepared. He brought a camera and a notebook to jot down ideas and he listened to a space podcast on the drive here, but there’s still a niggling in the back of his mind. A voice that says, ‘I could be doing something way better with my time.’
Truth be told, Jane never particularly cared about space. He doesn’t find it interesting or relevant. He’s never going to be able to ride a spaceship to the moon, so why care about something completely out of his reach? Information on Earth is already so pressing, why care about Neptune or Uranus?
Why care?
Maybe that’s why he’s struggling so hard with this ad. His heart isn’t in it, and he just can’t bring himself to care.
Space is completely and utterly meaningless to him.
With a sigh, Jane enters the planetarium (because it’s not like he won’t go in, he already wasted the gas driving out here) and goes to the front desk. He pays the fee for a day pass—which includes some extra light show bonus, whatever that is—and is given the opportunity to roam the exhibits.
The planetarium, aesthetically, is very pleasing. As a director, Jane can appreciate the dark rooms bathed in colored lighting that corresponds with the various topics. It sets a very serene mood, something that Jane jots down in his notebook, and he snaps a few photos as inspiration.
Along the walls are plaques with blurbs of text, describing artifacts boxed in glass. Jane tries his best to read, but his attention is short and he doesn’t care to read about the history of telescopes.
The next room is large, with body-sized replicas of the planets in the solar system. Jane takes a heavy seat on a bench in front of the blazing sun and starts to rethink his script.
Maybe it can be about a girl…who thinks she’s an alien? That’s silly…but maybe everyone bullies her at school until she meets someone who looks past her odd behavior. There, heartfelt. A story that will stick with viewers and— Who the hell is Jane kidding?
His head is as blank as black hole and he’s fucking exhausted. He needs a nap and an energy drink and maybe an hour of silence.
That will do him good.
The sound of footsteps jolts Jane back to Earth. He straightens himself out and sees someone coming around the side of the sun replica. It’s a boy, his tan skin illuminated by the vibrant orange light emitted by the ‘sun.’ He looks at the replica with eyes blown wide, his full lips moving. At first, Jane waits for another person to come up behind the boy, to see who is listening, but nobody arrives.
And now that Jane sees the boy in full, he can tell the boy is whispering to himself, conscious of his volume even though it’s just the two of them in the room. Curious, Jane wants to know what the boy is saying to himself, wants to see if this mysterious boy can spark an idea within the dark, empty recesses of his brain.
Jane stands up, and despite his own reserved nature, approaches the boy.
He’s wearing a nice mustard-colored sweater, a spaceship pinned to his breast and space-related charms jingling on his backpack. If there’s anyone who has some good ideas about space, this boy is it.
As he gets closer, he hears the boy say to himself, “The Sun formed about 4.6 billion years ago in a solar nebula and—” There are no plaques, no little information tidbits around them. This kid is reciting fun facts about the sun from memory. Wow.
As if sensing Jane’s awe, the boy abruptly stops talking to himself. They stand there for a few silent seconds, before the boy peeks up at him through his bangs, as if wondering why Jane hasn’t left.
“You know a lot about space?” Jane asks after a few more silent moments. The boy stares pointedly at his shoes while his fingers anxiously twist back and forth. Jane, feeling awkward, adds, “I’m an assistant director for the company Good Pick… Have you heard of it?”
The boy shakes his head.
“We make commercials.”
Again, Jane receives a vehement head shake.
“Anyway,” he continues, “We’re making a commercial about space—” At this, Jane has successfully nabbed the boy’s attention. “I don’t really know the first thing about space, or planets, or stars for that matter.”
“Ozone likes space,” the boy hesitantly whispers.
Jane smiles. “I thought so. Is it okay if we talk about space? I’m Jane, by the way.”
The boy seems to internally fight with himself, his eyes flitting back and forth before he finally says, “Ozone’s name is Ozone. Ozone likes space very, very much.”
“Awesome.”
Truly the best way to learn about a subject is to consult an expert, and Ozone is just that. He obviously has something—autism, maybe, Jane isn’t sure—but it doesn’t discredit his knowledge.
They walk around the planetarium for a long time, lingering at exhibits that Ozone finds particularly fascinating. They talk about stars and galaxies and the planets, Ozone filling Jane’s head with this abstract image of space he doesn’t think he could’ve gotten anywhere else.
“Have you always loved space?” Jane asks as they stare at a miniature, model spaceship.
Ozone bobs his head. “Ozone can talk to the stars.”
Jane sends him a curious look. “What do the stars say to you?”
Ozone shuffles his feet around until they are shoulder to shoulder. “The stars tell Ozone many things. They talk to Ozone when he’s awake and when he’s asleep, they give him predictions and warnings for the future.” He whispers this all to Jane, as if it’s a secret he’s never told anyone else.
Granted, what he says sounds completely bonkers, but a part of Jane believes Ozone. It’s the way he looks at Jane, like a seasoned soldier that’s faced a long, arduous battle. Like he’s been haunted by these predictions, on what they have brought and will bring.
Jane is an assistant director, and he’s seen plenty of bad acting, but this isn’t it.
“Do those predictions ever come true?” Jane asks.
“Sometimes.” Ozone frowns. “One time, Ozone dreamt of his friend getting hit by a car, and when he woke up, Ozone saw him come to get me, but Ozone told him, ‘No, no, no. Don’t cross the street, you’ll get hit and bleed out on the road and die.’ But, instead, the stars lied, and my best friend got hit by the car instead. Ozone couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
Jane’s stomach flutters with a feeling he can’t explain. “Is your best friend okay?”
Ozone pauses and then nods with a smile. He doesn’t look at Jane, not even once, but it doesn’t do anything to halt the electric feeling brewing between them. Jane smiles, sated with the information.
“Then I’m glad. I hope you don’t have any more nightmares, Ozone.”
Ozone does look at Jane then, however fleeting it may be, but it’s nonetheless momentous, and it’s like the turning point of a good drama.
Jane’s heart skips a beat, and he needs to quietly tell himself to not fuck this up.
When they reach the end of the exhibits, Ozone grabs Jane’s hand and takes him to an open theater, the chairs situated at a slight incline to better look up at the ceiling.
“What’s the show about?” Jane asks as he settles in his seat, camera safely held in his lap.
Ozone sits down beside him, eyes never leaving the ceiling. “Space,” he whispers, his excitement palpable.
Jane smiles and glances down at his camera. He hasn’t really taken any photos, he’s been too busy listening to Ozone’s fascinating tour of the planetarium. Sure, he’s got some random photos for his mood board, but he thinks he’s completely screwed until the show starts.
The ceiling opens up with these swirling colors of purple and blue, a mist of fog rolling over them from a fog machine. There’s a low voice narrating, but to Jane, it’s just white noise. All he can focus on is Ozone standing up from his seat and grabbing at the stars.
He rolls up to his tippy toes, his hands desperate, as if he could pluck a star straight from the sky, and Jane is struck by the sudden urge to find a way. To be able to snatch a star from the night sky and place it right into Ozone’s palms.
Jane lifts up his camera and takes a picture of Ozone, to capture him in this moment to make it last forever. It’s like a match dropped in a gasoline can—all the ideas in the world come to Jane, flooding him with inspiration.
All of it revolves around a boy who wants to touch stars.
Afterwards, when they sit alone in the theater, the fog long cleared and lights low, Ozone fiddles with his hands. “Did Jane figure out what he’s going to do for the space commercial?”
Breathless, Jane answers, “Yeah.”
Ozone deflates. “Oh.”
“But I still need your help,” Jane rushes to add. “Can I have your number? Or we can just meet here? Whatever works best for you.” Please say yes, please say yes, please say anything.
Ozone sits there, frozen, for what feels like forever, before he’s taking his backpack off and pulling out his phone. He hands it wordlessly to Jane and Jane dutifully taps in his number before handing it back.
“You’ve been a big help to me, Ozone,” Jane confesses.
Ozone squirms, and through his thick curtain of bangs, Jane can see the beginning of a pink blush. “Ozone liked spending time with Jane… Ozone liked talking and having someone to listen… Ozone wants to do this again.”
“We definitely will.” Jane takes a deep breath and schools his expression before he asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”
The smile that splits across Ozone’s face makes this all worth it.