The-Greatest-Showman

Strange noises crashed in Renly's ears—indistinct, fragmented, as though the world itself were trembling. He couldn't pinpoint their source. Instead, he felt only the chaotic waves of air pressing against him, the heat dense and suffocating, compressing the space around him like an invisible force.

It was like drowning in an ocean.

Adrift in this vast sea, Renly gradually regained consciousness. Every muscle in his body ached, fatigue weighing him down as though he were encased in lead. Moving a single finger was impossible; even opening his eyes drained what little strength remained. Exhaustion seeped into his bones, curling into the deepest recesses of his soul, making him yearn to simply surrender—to float endlessly, cradled by the silence, waiting for nothing at all.

But he was still alive.

With immense effort, he forced his eyelids apart, just barely, allowing slivers of light to pierce through. The flickering glow danced erratically, like a signal in the dark, before unraveling into a surreal spectacle before him—a mirage, painted across the skyline like a fevered dream.

Feet, hundreds of them, walked upside down upon the sea's surface. The hot wind rippled with vibrant colors, seabirds surfing upon waves of air, while in the distance, a massive blue whale glided past lazily. Then, the rhythmic pounding returned, deep and resonant, like the pulse of nature itself—beating in time with the blood coursing through his veins.

A mirage. Here, in the heart of Manhattan. Impossible. And yet, there it was.

He knew where he was—on the bustling streets, amidst skyscrapers and relentless city noise. But reality bent, shimmering with visions too vivid to dismiss, too intricate to explain. A dream? A hallucination? A trick of the mind? It didn't matter. He was too tired to question it.

The weight of exhaustion pulled his eyelids shut once more, plunging him into darkness. The mirage vanished, but the steady drumbeat remained. The rhythm was comforting, a gentle reminder of existence. A faint smile curled at the corners of his lips.

Was he insane?

Or had he, at last, learned to walk the fine line between obsession and control? He wasn't entirely lost in the abyss, not yet. He could still discern reality from illusion—couldn't he? Or was this the first step toward unraveling?

"Renly?" A voice, trembling yet carefully restrained, cut through the haze. She was holding back, struggling to maintain composure, as if afraid the slightest misstep would shatter him into pieces.

The smile on his lips deepened. "Don't worry, I'm still alive. Miss Rooney Mara, I haven't forgotten our date tonight. But fair warning—I'm still holding onto the two-day rule. Once the clock strikes midnight, we part ways."

Rooney pressed her lips together, fighting back the surge of emotion that tightened her chest. But the dam broke, and before she could stop them, tears slipped down her cheeks. She hastily wiped at them, laughing softly through the mess of emotions. "That's my line," she murmured. "The two-day rule—I wouldn't dare break it."

The slight tremor in her voice didn't go unnoticed. Renly exhaled lightly. "You know, as a gentleman, I should be offering you a handkerchief right now. But since I can't, I sincerely hope this doesn't tarnish my image in your eyes."

A shaky laugh escaped Rooney. "You've never been Mr. Perfect in my eyes." She sniffed, blinking rapidly. "You're a lunatic. One day, you're going to kill yourself, you know that?"

The words tumbled out—half complaint, half plea. If she had the strength, she might have punched him right then and there. But looking at his pale face, she merely clenched her fists before letting them go, biting her lip to keep herself together.

Renly didn't open his eyes, but he could hear the thick emotion in her voice. He wanted to make another joke, to slip into his usual humor and mask himself once more. But he didn't.

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was trust. Perhaps it simply didn't feel necessary this time.

"I know." His voice was softer now, lacking its usual distance. A quiet admission, laced with a hint of self-deprecation. "But… it's the only way I know how to exist."

A simple truth. Yet in its simplicity lay a tragic, unwavering finality.

Even if it meant burning out. Even if it meant losing everything. Because this—this was what set his soul alight. This was the weight he carried, the burden of a name, the relentless climb from nothingness to something. From obscurity to history.

Rooney swallowed hard, fighting another wave of tears. She reached out, hesitantly, then traced the sharp lines of his face with her fingertips—softly, reverently, as if she could etch his existence into permanence, as if she could touch the fire hidden beneath his skin.

If she could, she would stay right here. She would let him lean against her shoulder, just for a little while, until the weight of the world felt lighter. But now was not the time. Chaos still swirled around them, and for now, all she could offer was this moment of quiet.

"You exist," she whispered. A simple truth. A profound declaration.

Renly's eyes fluttered open, just barely catching the warmth in hers before she turned away, shifting her gaze toward the madness beyond. A wry smile played at her lips. "Damn 'Renly Hall.'"

Just the name alone could stir a storm.

Renly chuckled, closing his eyes again. "Ha. So I guess I do exist."

The same word, different meanings. Rooney let out a quiet laugh—this was Renly, the real Renly. The Renly she knew. The sharp edges of Andrew were fading, the storm within him quieting. For now.

"The ambulance is here! Quick, Renly? Renly!" Nathan's panicked voice cut through the air, ringing sharp and urgent.

Renly sighed. "Well, this just got a whole lot bigger than it needed to be."

Nathan didn't understand, but Rooney did. She laughed despite herself. "An ambulance isn't going to change anything. You're already public enemy number one."

Renly arched a brow. "Then I might as well enjoy it. Next time, I'll make my exit in a police car. That'll really be something."

His signature smirk surfaced, laced with mischief and defiance. Even now, bruised and exhausted, he couldn't resist the game.

And then, with an exhale, "Nathan, I need a little help."

Fatigue had overtaken him entirely. His body refused to move, limbs heavy as stone. "Before they haul me onto that stretcher, let's make this look a little less dramatic, shall we? I can still walk. My legs aren't broken. No need to give the press another headline."

Nathan hesitated, then sighed, stepping forward. But despite his size, he was more bark than bite. In the end, it took Paul and Ryan to lift Renly to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but he was standing. Barely.

With weary steps, they guided him toward the ambulance, the flashing lights bouncing off the city's skyline.

The mirage had faded, but the fire within him still burned.