The Greatest Showman #997 - Sunday Morning

Bill Skarsgard stood in front of the peacock blue door, hesitating. He checked the house number again—this was indeed his destination. But despite being sure of that, he lacked the courage to knock. The journey to Notting Hill by subway had been long, and the anticipation, mixed with a dash of anxiety, had drained his resolve.

This was Renly Hall's place.

According to their plan, Renly had invited him over on Sunday for an in-depth discussion about drama and performance. Along with him were Tom Holland, Paul Walker, and Meadow Ryan. The thing was, they hadn't set a specific time—Renly had just mentioned afternoon tea. But Bill had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, and before he knew it, he was standing here, far too early.

Was it too soon? Had he interrupted Renly's rest? Was it rude to show up uninvited before the agreed-upon time? Should he have waited at a nearby café until later?

The swirling thoughts made Bill anxious, and just as he was about to back away, a voice broke his nervous reverie. "Bill? Why aren't you knocking?"

He turned to find Paul and Meadow standing behind him.

Paul flashed a helpless smile, patting Meadow's shoulder. "The kid was up before six this morning—so excited about today's visit."

"Dad!" Meadow groaned, giving Paul a playful glare, as if to say, "Why'd you have to tell them that?"

Paul shrugged, embarrassed. "Sorry, couldn't help it. Anyway, haven't you met Renly before in Los Angeles? Why are you so excited?"

Paul knew Renly, of course. Renly had been just another actor and friend back in LA. But now, things were different. To Meadow, Renly was a full-fledged superstar. She couldn't stop talking about how amazing he was, even mimicking his performance on stage. "God! Can you believe it? I know him!" she had exclaimed.

Paul chuckled, shaking his head. "I know what you mean. I don't quite believe it either."

Bill, who had been quietly listening to their conversation, smiled at Meadow's infectious excitement. But then, as he thought about Renly still being asleep, his nerves crept back in.

"Is Renly still resting?" Bill asked, glancing at the door.

"Yes," Paul nodded. "But we can go in and wait. Maybe we can chat while he gets ready."

Before Bill could protest, Paul knocked lightly on the door. A moment later, the peacock blue door creaked open, revealing Matthew, Renly's ever-calm assistant. Dressed in a light gray suit jacket, a navy polka-dot shirt, and black trousers, Matthew looked slightly out of place for such an early Sunday morning, but his composed demeanor gave off an effortless charm.

"Morning, Matthew," Paul greeted with a grin. "Sorry we're early. Is Renly still resting?"

Matthew nodded, his expression neutral. "It's fine. He's still asleep, but he should be up soon. He has a visitor scheduled for this morning, though."

He stepped aside to let them in. As Bill entered, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and excitement. This was it. This was where it all happened—the place where Renly brought his art to life.

The apartment was simple yet elegant, with an understated charm. The narrow hallway led to a cozy living room, lit in soft blues and grays. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with an eclectic mix of books—many of which Bill recognized as Renly's scripts, study materials, and other works related to his craft.

The living room itself was sparsely decorated, but there was a palpable energy to the space. A small, open area in the middle seemed like it should hold some furniture—a low table or a stool—but instead, it was completely empty, almost like a stage. Beside it was an ottoman, with a few scattered books and a thick pile of loose papers—a chaotic detail amidst an otherwise impeccably neat room.

"That's Renly's script," Matthew said, pointing toward the clutter. "And the stack of papers is his preparation for the performance."

Bill blinked, still taking it all in. He noticed Meadow was already standing near the bookshelf, her eyes wide with amazement.

"Those are Renly's scripts," Matthew continued, this time addressing Meadow. "He's read dozens of books related to his performances. They're all over the place, but he keeps them organized. If you'd like, you can flip through them, but be quiet."

Paul, who had been following behind, chuckled. "Renly really is a workaholic. He's the best actor I know, but he's obsessed with his craft. I swear, if there's anyone who lives for acting, it's him."

Bill stood silently, taking it all in, his heart racing. This space—this living room—was where Renly had created so many unforgettable performances. It was almost magical.

Matthew's voice broke his reverie. "You can join us for breakfast if you'd like. Tom's already at the table."

Tom Holland was sitting at the wooden square table, casually eating pancakes. His eyes met Bill's, and he laughed. "I was up early too. Breakfast is prepared by Matthew. You guys want some?"

Bill was still processing the overwhelming experience of being in Renly's personal space. "I didn't realize I was so late," he muttered, surprised to find Tom already here.

"Tom was here before seven," Matthew added with a smile. "We don't mind if you join us. Breakfast's ready."

Bill could barely contain his excitement. This was it. This was where Renly lived, where he poured his heart into his performances. The space was filled with traces of Renly's genius. Every detail spoke of his dedication, from the meticulously organized bookshelves to the cluttered papers that somehow made the place feel alive with possibility.

Paul, who had been quietly observing, shook his head. "Renly's a genius and a lunatic. He puts in more work than anyone I know. But that's what makes him so great."

Bill, still wide-eyed, nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of Renly's dedication in every corner of the room. He could only imagine what it took for Renly to transform into Jean Valjean—or any of the other characters he'd embodied.

"Alright," Matthew said, with a touch of humor in his voice. "If you're ready, breakfast's waiting."

Bill's gaze lingered on the room for a moment longer. Yes, this was it—the birthplace of magic. The place where Renly's craft truly came to life.