The Greatest Showman #994 – Waiting for a Long Time

In London, at the end of May, the warmth of summer was nowhere to be found. Late spring still carried the biting chill of winter, and when night fell, the temperature dropped sharply. The cold wind in the West End seemed to gnaw at your bones. As people spoke, their breath hung in the air, a visible reminder of the cold that made one want to laugh or cry at the irony of it all.

But none of this could dampen the enthusiasm of the fans. Across from the back door of the Almeida Theater, the alley was packed. It wasn't a bar or a nightclub, yet the energy in the air was unmistakable. This was the West End, and tonight's show had been an event. Even at this late hour, people huddled together, shivering in the cold, still eager to catch a glimpse of their favorite actor.

This was no ordinary queue, either. This was part of a beloved tradition in London's West End—fans waiting at the back door of the theater after the show for a chance to meet the actors. It was an open area, where anyone could stand and wait. Some actors, when they had the time and energy, would come out to sign autographs, take photos, and even chat with the audience.

The "stage backdoor signing" had become an unofficial custom, one that allowed fans to engage directly with the stars. Most actors, if they had the energy and the time, would always stop, and for those who waited patiently, it was a sure way to meet their idol.

However, the nature of West End performances meant that after a show, actors were often exhausted. The demands of live theater were enormous, and after a performance, they often had to deal with other obligations, ranging from thirty minutes to two hours, which meant not every fan could get the chance to meet their favorite actor.

That said, over the past two weeks, the back door of the Almeida Theater had become the hottest spot in London, thanks to the young cast. Tom Holland, Charlotte Kennedy, Joe Alwyn, and others had made it a point to connect with fans after each show, adding to the excitement of the performance. But it was Renly Hall who had truly changed the game.

Since the opening night of Les Misérables, Renly had made it a point to never miss an opportunity to sign autographs. Every night, without fail, he appeared at the back door, engaging with fans, snapping photos, and talking to them as though they were his closest friends. This dedication had earned him a reputation for being incredibly approachable and personable, showing a different side of the actor known for his cool, aloof demeanor.

Renly's popularity only grew from there. On the Monday following the opening weekend, despite the cold, there were only three people waiting for him outside. Renly, however, stopped, signed autographs, took photos, and even bought them coffee to help warm them up, chatting with them for nearly twenty minutes about the performance. This simple act had sparked a viral moment on social media, and now, more and more people showed up to wait outside the theater each night. By tonight, more than 80 fans had gathered, nearly filling the alley.

Rebecca Burke was one of those fans.

This wasn't Rebecca's first time waiting at the back door for Renly. She'd been there since the tickets went on sale for the premiere, and since then, she had developed an undeniable admiration for him. Renly's dedication to his craft, his sunny disposition, and his unwavering focus had drawn her in. She loved everything about him—the way he moved, the way he spoke, even the dry, woody scent that seemed to linger on him.

She had been one of the three fans who waited for him that Monday.

Each night, Rebecca waited, and though every encounter felt different, the excitement never faded. Tonight, though, the cold was unbearable. The thin coat she wore offered little protection against the biting wind, but the anticipation of seeing Renly made her forget all about the chill. Her heart fluttered, her nerves a mess of butterflies.

After two hours of waiting, she finally saw him. In that instant, the world seemed to shift. Nothing else mattered. Renly had appeared.

Surrounded by the crush of fans, Rebecca felt a sense of awe wash over her. Despite the shouts and cheers, she couldn't take her eyes off Renly, studying the subtle weariness in his expression—the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the bloodshot eyes, the hoarse voice that still managed to sound so captivating. Even in the darkness, there was something undeniably fragile about him.

"Renly, tonight's performance was amazing!"

"Master, I really love you!"

"Will you still be on stage tomorrow?"

"Oh my God, this is really happening!"

"Can I take a picture with you?"

The voices swirled around her, a cacophony of excitement, love, and admiration. The crowd—more than 80 people—had become like a storm, pushing forward in eager anticipation. The atmosphere was electric, the fans' passion almost palpable, but Rebecca only felt a pang of concern.

"Quiet! Everyone, quiet!" she shouted, but her voice was swallowed by the noise. She didn't give up, though. She clenched her fists and roared, her voice rising from deep within her, "Quiet!"

Finally, there was silence. The crowd stopped in its tracks, staring at Rebecca in stunned silence, unsure of what had just happened. Even Renly looked momentarily taken aback.

Rebecca didn't flinch. Her eyes locked onto Renly's, and she spoke earnestly. "Don't you see how tired he is? After two weeks of back-to-back performances, each one lasting six hours, can't we show a little concern for him?" Her voice softened. "He's not a machine. We can't do much, but we can at least give him a little peace."

Renly's lips curled into a small, appreciative smile, though it was tinged with exhaustion. His eyes shone with a quiet warmth as he acknowledged her. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse but sincere. "I really appreciate it."

He paused for a moment, letting the silence settle, and then continued. "I'm sorry, but I'm really not in the best state tonight. I can't sign autographs or take pictures, but I'd be happy to chat with you for a bit. If you have any thoughts or questions about the performance, feel free to ask."

The crowd was understanding. One girl, her voice full of admiration, spoke up. "Master, during the last scene of the first act tonight, did you feel like the tension got out of control a bit?"

Renly chuckled softly. "Ah, I knew someone would catch that. Yes, I think I let the vocals and the intensity get away from me a bit. But thank you for noticing. I'll be more mindful next time."

The crowd laughed lightly, the tension lifting. One fan, who had seen the premiere, spoke up again. "But you adjusted in the second half. The performance was flawless. I've seen your best work, and tonight, you really nailed it."

Renly smiled, his weariness forgotten for a moment as the conversation continued. Despite the exhaustion that weighed on him, he felt a warmth spreading through him—both from the fans' understanding and the sense of connection that still remained, even after a long, grueling night.

As the night wore on, Renly couldn't help but reflect on how lucky he was. In a world that often felt like it was moving too fast, moments like this made him pause and appreciate the journey. Even when the crowd seemed overwhelming, there was always something genuine about the people who waited, something real. And for that, he would always be grateful.