The Greatest Showman #916 - Falling Apart

The food in the unnamed bar was of no particular quality. The burgers were dry, the fries were burnt, and even the coffee was dreadful. The only redeeming option was beer. But Renly didn't care. He sipped at his late lunch slowly, as though savoring a Michelin-starred meal.

The bartender behind the counter sighed dramatically. "God, are you sure you're all right? Even the homeless can't stand our food. How do you enjoy it so much? I can feel my stomach twisting just thinking about it."

Renly shrugged, smiling. "If you have no choice, you either give up or enjoy." He tossed a soggy french fry into his mouth and nodded toward the stage. "What about him? Why's he up there? The bar's practically empty."

"Old Frank?" The bartender glanced over. "He's the plumber in town. Comes in during his free time to play. He's got quite the story. You interested?"

Renly raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

The bartender put down his beer mug and leaned over the bar. "Well, when he was young, he was a musician, the kind who traveled the world with just his guitar, playing at bars, earning pennies, hoping for a break. Dreamed of releasing an album and becoming a real musician."

He paused, his voice softening with a kind of nostalgia. "But he didn't make it. Not everyone's cut out for music, right? So, he came back to town and became a plumber. The dreams faded. Around here, people talk about him all the time—there's even a rumor that he once toured with Bob Dylan. But who knows?"

The bartender chuckled lightly.

Dreams, it seemed, often ended in failure and disillusionment. But that was never the point of a dream. The point was the hope it brought—hope that kept life moving forward, even when everything felt impossible.

It was the kind of hope that led people to trade their youthful ambitions for practicality and a life of compromise. People would ridicule dreamers, mock their stubbornness, and call themselves "mature" as they adjusted to reality. But in truth, they had lost something along the way. Maturity, true maturity, wasn't giving up your dreams; it was discovering yourself through the pursuit of those dreams.

Renly didn't engage with the bartender's words. He wasn't interested in joining the mockery. Instead, he smiled and asked, "What kind of music did he play back then?"

The bartender shrugged. "I don't really know. But I remember, last Christmas, he brought in an album. The title was something like... 'Don Quixote' or something. I think it's a character from a novel. Anyway, it was like his second wind. Came to the bar, and the owner agreed to let him perform a bit, even though his music... well, it's not great. But he really insisted."

The bartender rambled on, but Renly's attention drifted back to Old Frank, who was strumming his guitar on stage.

In the grand scheme of things, people like Frank were the majority. They clung to unrealistic dreams, burned out like moths to a flame, and when they failed, they became the very picture of mediocrity. People labeled them losers, but few ever paused to think about what their lives had once held. Frank had lived a vibrant, painful life—full of experiences that most people would never get to know.

And now, he was here, playing to an empty bar, singing not for an audience, but for himself. For the memory of a dream that had once felt so real.

Frank's voice was rough, occasionally off-pitch, but his sincerity carried the weight of his life's story. His music might not have been polished, but it had something raw about it. Something that made Renly stop and listen.

After a few songs, Frank put down his guitar and moved to the piano. The hauntingly familiar prelude of "Cleopatra" rang through the air. A cheerful, lilting tune, but with an undercurrent of something more.

Renly closed his eyes, letting the melody wash over him. But when the lyrics hit—"When I die alone, I won't miss it again"—something inside him snapped.

Tears flowed uncontrollably. The grief he had held back for so long flooded out in an instant. There was no stopping it. The hurt, the pain, the loss—it all came crashing down, too much to bear.

Heather was gone.

Heather Cross, the girl with the bright eyes and the unbreakable spirit, was no longer there.

The thought hit Renly like a sledgehammer, a blunt force that left him gasping for air. He had been strong for so long, holding himself together. But now, in the quiet space of the bar, with the soft hum of "Cleopatra" in the background, the reality of her death overwhelmed him. It shattered him, piece by piece.

"Renly," Heather's voice echoed in his mind, "I'm starting to like 'Cleopatra.' I never understood it before, but now I do. 'When I die alone, I won't miss it again.' What were you thinking when you wrote that? God, I'm so jealous of you. You're a genius."

The world seemed to collapse around him. The girl who had once dreamed so big, who had sung "The Beast" and smiled with that infectious energy, was gone. She had broken her promise. She had said she wouldn't give up. But in the end, she did.

It wasn't fair.

Renly clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. But it didn't help. The anger, the pain, the frustration—none of it could be contained. His emotions spilled over, and everything—everything—came crashing down.

Old Frank's voice continued, a mournful thread in the background, but all Renly could hear was the ache in his chest, the grief tearing through him.

By the time the last notes of "Cleopatra" played out, the tears had stopped, but the emptiness remained. Renly wiped his eyes, his chest still tight with the weight of everything he had lost.

Through the blur of his tears, he saw Heather once more.

There she was, running through the golden sunlight in a white lace dress, her laughter like a chorus of silver bells. She was free, dancing, her voice clear and sweet as she sang:

"I won't miss it again. I won't miss it again. The love of my life. When I die alone, when I die alone, I won't miss it again."

And for a fleeting moment, Renly smiled through his tears. He knew she was free now. And maybe, just maybe, so was he.