The-Greatest-Showman

The fiery sunset gradually sank beneath the horizon, disappearing behind the silhouette of Manhattan's towering skyscrapers. The sky turned a soft blue-purple, casting faint reflections on the still waters of the Hudson River. The warmth of the golden light faded completely, swallowed by the vibrant city lights that flickered to life.

New York's evening was a curious blend of indifference and warmth. The daytime noise slowly faded into the background, leaving behind the calm before the bustling night fully began. It was, perhaps, the quietest moment of the day.

Renly and Rooney stood side by side, silently watching the sunset. Once it had fully disappeared, they stood up and began walking toward Greenwich Village, chatting casually as they strolled. In Manhattan, amid the usual crowd and traffic, this moment felt surprisingly peaceful—perhaps the calm that came with the absence of paparazzi was a blessing.

Rooney, still reflective, commented on the selfless quality of Renly's performance earlier. At that particular moment, she had felt like he had truly captured the essence of artistic perfection.

Renly responded thoughtfully, speaking of the control and release in his performance, particularly the transitions between the delicate nuances of "Gravity" and the explosive energy of "Crackling Drummer."

Rooney shared how the jazz concert she had recently attended had inspired her performance and how the experience resonated deeply with her.

Renly then brought up the interconnectedness of the arts, discussing how music, painting, writing, and performance all share common threads that shape and influence one another.

At one point, Rooney recalled how Renly had explored confining himself within a lightbox prior to "Gravity," a profound moment of creative discovery.

Renly smiled at the thought. He then shared how the contrasting experiences of being trapped in both the lightbox and a coffin had influenced his performance, deepening their conversation.

Their walk continued with lively exchanges, moving from Renly's experiences on stage to Rooney's reflections on her artistic journey. They debated, argued, and passionately defended their respective points of view, their faces flushed, but neither willing to back down. It felt like the same spirited conversation they had had in Telluride when they first met.

"I don't like it."

"You don't? Are you sure? You sure you don't like Steven Soderbergh or George Clooney? And that's why you don't like Eleven?" Rooney teased.

"I'm sure. I don't like any of them. They all share one thing in common."

"Cunning! Oh, I get it now!" Rooney laughed exaggeratedly, catching Renly's side-eye glance from the corner of her vision.

But Renly remained silent, his lips curling slightly in amusement.

Rooney, growing more curious, couldn't resist a quick glance at his face. She caught the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"What's this look?" she thought, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

With a knowing grin, Renly teased, "You can just say it—you think I'm cunning, just like them. It's true. I'm even more cunning than they are. George Clooney wouldn't want to be friends with me either."

Rooney rolled her eyes in response, unperturbed. "Sometimes it's better to suggest things instead of stating them outright. Implication adds flavor—it's part of wisdom. Imagine if Shakespeare had just come out and said, 'I love you,' or 'I hate you.' It would lose its magic, wouldn't it?"

Renly turned to face her, his eyes shining as he scrutinized her face.

"Is that why you're always hinting at things but never saying them outright? You've been hinting all along, haven't you?" he said, the gleam in his eyes growing brighter.

Rooney's expression shifted in an instant—panic set in. "That's ridiculous!" she retorted, her face turning beet red. She bit her lip, her usual confident demeanor replaced by a flustered girl, fumbling for the right words. "I don't like you! Remember? We're just on a date. We already agreed—I don't like number nerds, and you're an exacting Time Ruler. We don't fit."

As she said this, her heart sank a little, and inwardly, she cursed herself for being so transparent. Stay calm! Don't lose it!

Renly simply watched her, his eyes alight with amusement.

Rooney could feel herself beginning to melt under his gaze, her cheeks burning hotter by the second. Before she could protest further, Renly finally spoke.

"Yes, we've discussed it before. I agree. We don't really fit."

Relieved, Rooney nodded, eager to get past the awkward moment. "Exactly. I'm glad we're on the same page. Now, about that afternoon tea you mentioned…"

Before she could finish, Renly added, "We agreed it's just a date. You don't like me, and I don't like you, right?"

"Yes. That's the consensus," Rooney said, trying to sound more composed.

"Well then, I think you should head back to your place and rest up for tomorrow's shoot," she added.

At the foot of the apartment building, Renly's place, not far from Rooney's, they stopped. Neither of them had made a move to leave just yet. Renly gave a casual nod.

"You sure you don't need me to escort you back?" he asked, only half-serious.

"No need," Rooney replied, "I'll be fine."

Renly didn't say anything more, but before walking away, he turned back to look at her and asked, "How about an awkward hug before we part ways? You know, the kind where we're both clearly uncomfortable, like the cliché in a romantic movie?"

Rooney raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean one of those stiff, zombie-like hugs?"

Renly chuckled. "Exactly."

The two hesitated for a moment, both lifting their arms awkwardly, adjusting to find a rhythm. It was clumsy, more comical than comforting, but they embraced briefly before pulling apart.

The moment was over just as quickly as it had come, and they exchanged final words.

As Renly turned to head into his apartment, Rooney started walking away. But just as she took a few steps, her phone buzzed. She pulled it out and saw Renly's name on the screen.

Curious, she glanced up. Renly was watching her through the glass door, holding his phone up and waving.

She walked back to the door and picked up her phone, surprised.

"Didn't we just agree? That was it for today. Simple date, nothing special. Why the sudden change?" she said, a little amused.

"I'm just thinking of having some afternoon tea," Renly said. "It's really hot here, and I thought maybe you'd like some too. Just a suggestion."

Rooney laughed, "You're quite the convincing lobbyist, aren't you?"

Renly smiled, "I'll make it special."

As she entered his apartment, they continued texting, their conversation easy and lighthearted.

"You know, I've always wondered," Renly mused, "what's the difference between English afternoon tea and Chinese tea, or the Japanese tea ceremony?"

"I'll show you next time," Rooney replied, "But if I'm in London, Matthew usually makes the tea. I'll see if he has the set."

Despite the lightheartedness of their conversation, there was an underlying shift—a slow, steady approach toward something deeper. Each step they took brought them a little closer to something more than friendship, but both were careful, neither rushing into it. Their connection was unfolding in its own time, exploring the rhythm of their growing bond.