The Greatest Showman - #1152: False Hallucinations

Alfonso Cuaron stood still, his thoughts racing, unable to make a rational judgment before the tears began to flow. A ripple formed in the halo of his mind.

He knew now, truly knew, the complex relationship between Ryan and his younger brother. The estrangement that had built between Ryan and his family, the delicate dependency Ryan had on his dreams, the regret he carried about his brother's children... From shedding social labels to embracing them again, from a lofty position above life to the humbling return to its core—Ryan's path toward truth had led him full circle. What once seemed like a journey upward had become one of profound return.

It was as though mortals had transformed into gods, wielding the power to create and rule life. But upon reflection, they realized that this divine power, too, originates from life itself. And so, after a second transformation, they descended again to the earthly realm, finding themselves back at the starting point, where the world appeared anew.

Life and death, creation and destruction, humanity and divinity—reason and emotion—everything was both an origin and an end. The ends are linked, completing a circle. The journey may bring one back to the beginning, but the world, once traversed, is forever altered. The mountain remains, but it is no longer the same; the water flows, yet it is no longer just water.

It is complicated, profound, philosophical, and paradoxical. Yet, in its core, it is simple, straightforward, clear—a truth rooted in the depths of the soul, unchanged and waiting to be discovered.

Some people live their lives unaware of its existence; others chase it tirelessly, yet never reach the end. But there are moments when one is offered a glimpse—an opening into a new world entirely.

At this moment, Ryan realized. And at this moment, Alfonso saw the true power.

It was not a performance, nor an interpretation, nor a calculated display—it was the raw force of reality itself. The soul's baptism was like a torrential rain. Fear mingled with reverence.

Alfonso truly understood now, how immense, how taxing, how intricate Renly's craft was. With a simple smile, Renly could shape the atmosphere around him, commanding not only the actors and the audience, but even the director's mind.

God. Oh god.

...

Ryan stood motionless, his expression frozen in place. Despite the immobility, tears continued to fall from his eyes, crystal clear, the depths of his brown gaze slowly blurring.

He remained there, perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement would cause everything to unravel.

"You're holding a baby, aren't you?" Ryan murmured softly, his voice imbued with joy. It wasn't a smile, but a quiet happiness, a gentle warmth, flowing like spring water—melting all barriers.

This was not the Ryan known to others. Gone was the icy, unsmiling persona. This was not the Ryan who had once fought for his team at the cost of his own life, nor the man who knew little of life beyond his profession. This Ryan was tender, his eyes radiating warmth—slowly softening the ice surrounding him.

"Are you singing a lullaby?" he asked again, receiving no reply. Yet, Ryan didn't mind. He began to hum, broken and strained, the notes escaping from his throat like a soft sob.

"That was sweet," he whispered. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "You know," Ryan continued, his voice growing softer, "I used to sing a lullaby to my brother." The words trailed off, his voice thick with emotion, "But… we haven't talked in a long time." He tilted his head, a bitter smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Not his fault, he's been busy..."

The final words lingered, trailing off into a deep sorrow. His eyes held an unspeakable sadness, full of regret, and in that moment, it was almost unbearable.

Ryan didn't speak again. He simply listened to the cry, the lullaby, the melody that continued, gentle and unfamiliar, a soft language from another world. The sorrow on his face began to fade, the sharp angles softening as all defenses melted away, leaving only a raw vulnerability.

"Do you think I'll ever see him again?" Ryan murmured softly. The words barely formed before they dissolved in quiet despair.

...

Rooney observed him quietly, her gaze lingering on the changes that passed across his face. His eyes, once calm, held an ocean of pain—sadness, despair, struggle, and surrender. His thoughts seemed to unravel, leaving behind a fragile peace, as though he had decided to give up. He was no longer fighting for survival, no longer resisting fate. His arms were open, ready to embrace death. She understood now. He had made peace with it, just as Alex had moments before.

But Alex's decision had been fleeting, instinctual. It was over before it had begun. For Ryan, however, it had been a long, grueling journey. The back-and-forth struggle between hope and despair had worn him down. Yet, now, he had relinquished the fight, letting go of all hope. The pain was palpable, the slow destruction of his defenses almost unbearable to watch.

Still, Rooney couldn't look away, drawn to the depth of his suffering. His performance—this raw expression of torment—was nothing short of extraordinary. It resonated deeply with everyone who watched.

The sound of muffled sobs filled the air, as the intensity of Ryan's grief reached a crescendo.

...

Ryan exhaled slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. Then, without hesitation, he began to move again, his actions deliberate and calm. He started by turning off the lights, followed by the power, and finally, the oxygen.

The movement was fluid, with no pause before he turned off the oxygen. The action was so smooth, it seemed almost ordinary, as if this were just another routine. Yet the alarm blared, its harsh beep reminding him that the oxygen levels were dropping. But Ryan remained unruffled, calmly removing his mask, running a hand through his messy hair, and lying down, as though preparing for sleep.

Amid the chaos, the lullaby on the radio continued to play softly, a gentle contrast to the extreme panic and the eerie calm that had overtaken Ryan. For everyone else, the scene was tumultuous, but Ryan, it seemed, was beyond it all.

Ryan folded his arms over his chest, eyes slowly closing. A sense of peaceful exhaustion settled over him. "It sounds good," he whispered, a tired smile curling on his lips. "Keep singing... accompany me to sleep."

"Don't stop..." he murmured, the tension and exhaustion in his body finally beginning to recede. The peaks and valleys of his inner turmoil had all faded away, leaving a serene, quiet place. It wasn't surrender, but the quietness that comes with the end of a long battle. He had fought long enough, struggled long enough. Now, he was ready for rest.

His body relaxed, as though the weight of a lifetime had finally been lifted. The vibrant light of life began to dim, like a flame running out of fuel.

And then, just as the room fell silent, there was a soft knock at the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang...

Ryan slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the light that crept in. In the dimness, he saw her—Heather Cross.