The Greatest Showman#1129 - 1 million years
Ryan's heart pounded violently as he gasped for air. A faint, unconscious smile played at the corners of his lips—a moment of relief, of survival. "Caught you," he murmured under his breath. But before the sense of victory could settle, panic surged anew, his pupils dilating with sudden fear.
Alex gripped the rope with all her strength, struggling to control it. She attempted to use the force of her arms to counteract the lingering momentum, leveraging Ryan's position to slow their movement. But it was futile.
Her arms refused to contract further, her feet had no purchase, and no matter how tightly she clenched her fingers, she couldn't transfer enough force to halt their descent. The invisible hand of gravity—or what little of it remained—continued pulling them, slow but relentless. Worse, their trajectory dragged Ryan away from the safety of the space station.
Terror bloomed in her chest.
Space offered no leverage, no solid ground to push against. She clutched the rope as though it were the only thing tethering her to life itself, but the force acted only upon the cord, leaving her grasp ineffective. Ryan, too, was moving—sliding, bit by bit, toward the abyss of nothingness.
His left leg, wrapped loosely around a suspension paracord, had remained passive in the weightless environment—until now. The increasing tension of Alex's pull tightened the cord around his leg. Under immense strain, the cord constricted, biting into the fabric of his spacesuit. But the material lacked the necessary friction. The paracord, stretched to its limit, began slipping free.
It wasn't until the cord looped around his ankle, catching against the sole of his boot, that it finally found resistance. Ryan's descent slowed. The tension between them solidified, drawing Alex to a halt as well. The rope stretched taut, a fragile lifeline suspending them in the void.
The momentary stillness was deafening.
Ryan exhaled sharply, mist forming on his helmet's visor before vanishing. His breath came hard and fast, but he steadied himself. "Caught you," he repeated, softer this time, eyes locked onto Alex.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her chest heaved as if it might burst, overwhelmed by the dizzying relief of near-disaster. When she looked up, she saw Ryan watching her intently, his lips curled in the faintest of smiles—small, fleeting, but undeniably warm.
Despite herself, Alex felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response. A joke hovered on her tongue. But then—
Her eyes caught it.
The paracord. Slipping. Slowly, agonizingly, unraveling from Ryan's ankle.
Her stomach dropped.
The force that had nearly dragged them to oblivion had not dissipated completely. It still clung to her, to both of them. It hadn't let go.
Ryan had nothing to anchor himself to—nothing but the failing paracord. If he could just grab onto a handle, a tether, anything attached to the station, he might have a chance to negate the pull. But there was nothing. Only the fraying rope between them, barely holding on.
The abyss still called to them.
The smile on Alex's lips froze. Her breath hitched.
She stared at Ryan, realization settling like cold lead in her gut. She knew what this meant. And so did he.
Her eyes burned with an unyielding resolve, the fierce refusal to accept the inevitable. Through the layers of their spacesuits, she could almost feel the energy radiating from him—the sheer determination in his grip.
"Hold on," he said, his voice rough but steady. "I'm pulling you in. Maybe all that time in the gym will finally pay off."
It was a feeble joke, one that should have fallen flat in the face of their dire predicament. But Alex still found herself smiling—just for a second.
She held his gaze. Even through the fog of their breath on their visors, through the abyss of space between them, she saw his eyes. Deep brown, reflecting the endless void, yet burning with a light more brilliant than the stars behind him.
For the first time, she truly saw them. Not blue. Brown.
"You know," she whispered, voice trembling, "maybe they really should have approved the prototype test because of your eyes."
But this time, there was no teasing lilt in her voice. No mockery. Just quiet, aching sadness.
Ryan didn't laugh. He didn't argue. He only stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his expression. A sorrow so profound, it cut deeper than the vacuum of space itself.
Time stood still.
—
This wasn't the first time Rooney had improvised lines beyond the script, and it wouldn't be the last. The same went for Renly.
Yet the crew remained transfixed, eyes darting toward Alfonso for direction. But the director did not call cut.
On the monitor, the footage streamed through the IRIS robotic arm, capturing two different angles that blended seamlessly. Alfonso was no longer merely watching. He was inside the moment, swept into Ryan and Alex's world. The intensity in their eyes was magnetic.
He shivered involuntarily, goosebumps prickling across his skin.
In Alex's eyes, he saw the weight of resignation—the painful acceptance of what must be done.
In Ryan's eyes, he saw the rawness of grief, the unspoken agony of knowing. Even as Alex joked in a desperate bid for normalcy, he saw the truth beneath her words.
And then—when Alex spoke that final line—something ignited within Ryan's gaze, a silent, desperate denial. He shook his head slightly, an unspoken plea, even before Alex could say what they both already knew.
Their souls mirrored each other in that moment. In the vast emptiness of space, they had found the one person who fit them completely. And just as suddenly, the universe threatened to rip them apart.
Their reflections shimmered in each other's eyes, capturing an eternity in a single glance.
And Alfonso finally understood.
This was more than just a performance. It was raw, visceral, transcendent. The chemistry between them crackled in the hollow silence, filling the void with an aching depth no words could match.
It was haunting. Breathtaking. A tragedy written in starlight.
Time itself bent around them, stretching impossibly thin—
A single glance spanning a thousand years.