The Greatest Showman#1157 - 1 jump down

Renly's chest felt heavy, suffocating as he gasped for air. The moist, cold air entered his lungs in shallow breaths, but the sharp tingling sensation only worsened his struggle. It felt as if a massive boulder weighed down on his chest, thumping against his heart in a dull, oppressive rhythm that left him uncomfortable.

Lying in bed, a suffocating feeling settled over him, as if he were drowning in a dark blue lake. The icy water seeped into his body, filling his lungs and pressing down on his chest. Oxygen disappeared, and the chest's constriction was unbearable. Desperately, he tried to move, but his limbs betrayed him, weak and unresponsive, as he struggled in vain.

Choking. Suffocating.

The need for relief took him away from the crowd, away from the set, away from the chaos of the filming base. Quietly, he disappeared into the night. He craved fresh air, solitude, peace... but honestly, he wasn't sure what he needed. Maybe he missed Heather Cross. Maybe Matthew Dunlop, Paul Walker, or Ryan Gosling. He even missed the company of his friends. He thought of Ryan Stone from Gravity and the deep connection to life's struggles that he once felt. Maybe that's what he was looking for—some connection to the real world.

Renly vividly remembered the aftermath of filming Crazy in Love. After the shoot, he had fallen ill, feeling drained and unable to escape the emotional weight of Jacob and Anna's story. It was as if he had just experienced an intense, whirlwind romance—the heartache was suffocating, and no matter what he did, it wouldn't go away.

Today, it was happening again. But this time, it was different.

Renly couldn't quite explain it. Maybe it was because he had never experienced a love as intense as Jacob's. Or perhaps, like Ryan Stone, he had felt the true depth of human struggle, the kind that teeters on the line between life and death. Maybe it was because, with this character, Renly had projected so much of his own life—his and Heather's shared story—into the role, blurring the lines between fiction and reality.

Or maybe it was both. He wasn't sure. His thoughts were fragmented, swirling chaotically in his mind. Just as one thought began to take shape, it was quickly replaced by another. His head ached from the intensity of it all, and it was impossible to find clarity.

This feeling—being fully immersed in a role, in a world—was more overwhelming and real than anything he had felt before. His mind was acutely aware of every detail, each painful sensation magnified, but he was helpless to stop it.

On the one hand, this level of control over his performance was a sign of growth. On the other hand, the torment he was enduring was almost unbearable. Yet, even now, if given the chance, he would choose this path again. Without hesitation.

Perhaps he was a little mad. If he wasn't now, he would be soon.

Once the pain broke through a certain limit, it became familiar. His scattered thoughts seemed to drift, but the pain began to shift. Looking down at the guitar in his arms, Renly couldn't help but smile.

He wasn't sure why he had brought it with him. The past few hours had been a blur, with moments of clarity quickly fading into fragments of memory. His mind was foggy, and time seemed to stretch and bend, the timeline of his day no longer making sense.

In the quiet moment, the guitar strings felt cold beneath his fingers, their sound slicing through the air. The melody was not structured or deliberate, but it flowed in fragmented pieces—some harmonious, others discordant. Still, it began to coalesce.

The clear notes, though imperfect, offered a sense of release, a cold, steady stream cutting through the darkness. The thick fog and distant fireflies seemed to dance to the rhythm, and Renly felt the tightness in his chest loosen a little.

It reminded him of the time spent with the War in the Pacific crew. After a long day of filming, they would gather around a campfire, guitars in hand, and play to ease the tension. It was one of the few moments of relaxation during those intense weeks of shooting.

The sensation of his fingertips on the strings was grounding. The tension in his chest seemed to dissipate as he strummed simple chords, some clashing, others blending, but gradually forming something recognizable. It was like a stream finding its way through rocky terrain, carving its path toward something greater, something calming.

The sensation of the guitar's cold strings under the moonlight reminded him of the vast, deep lake ahead—so cold, yet soothing. It was as if the water was calling him to let go, to free himself from his burdens and merge with the water's stillness.

The voice hummed along with the melody, soft at first, carrying the bitter emotions that had begun to rise. He closed his eyes, his fingertips stiffening against the strings as the sorrow surged within him. The emotion hit hard, overwhelming him in its intensity, but just as suddenly, it faded. He exhaled deeply, feeling a quiet settle over him.

For a moment, he didn't move. He just listened to the stillness of the night, letting the peace of the water wash over his mind. And then, the melody returned, sketching out new fragments of thoughts.

"I'm tired of the late-night streets, working the bus station until dawn. Exhausted, waiting for the first rays of morning light, and yet still walking through darkness."

Renly imagined walking through the barren desert of Route 66, drained and stumbling along a long road with no end in sight. The sun was rising behind him, pushing back the darkness, but he continued walking into an unknown future—slow, hesitant, as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.

There was no hope ahead, no light, only an endless stretch of uncertainty. With each step, it felt harder to continue.

"Don't punish me for what I feel," he sang softly, his voice trembling as the suffocating weight returned. The flames inside him were fierce, but before they could consume him, they vanished, leaving him breathless.

He could hear the wind in his ears, could almost feel the rush of air as he ran. And then, he leapt—soaring into the sky, feeling the wind beneath him as he was freed, as if the lake below was waiting to embrace him.

At that moment, he was free.