The Greatest Showman #1158: Heart-to-Heart

Rooney-Mara stood still in the moonlight, the cold night air sending chills across her skin. Goosebumps rose, yet she remained motionless. She didn't step forward, nor did she leave, afraid that even the slightest sound would disturb the person in front of her.

"Don't, don't punish me for what I feel; don't, don't punish me for the torment of my soul."

Her heart, guarded and firm, was struck by an overwhelming wave of emotion. Before she could brace herself, tears broke free, streaming down her face and landing on her hand, warm and scalding. Through her blurred vision, she could still make out his silhouette.

Lonely, sorrowful, melancholic.

His fragility, unintentionally revealed in the cool moonlight, shimmered like a serene lake—beautiful yet distant. It was an image so delicate that one feared their actions might shatter it. The quiet peace, the raw vulnerability, begged to be protected, lest a careless move cause irreversible damage.

So, she stayed there.

She stood, looking down at him, while he sat, grounded, on the earth. In that moment, it almost felt as though she were gazing up at him.

Memories of the "one-man concert" surged within her, overwhelming her thoughts.

She was the audience, surrounded by thousands, looking up at the stage. Under the spotlight, he stood with a guitar slung across his back. There were no extravagant costumes, no dazzling lights—only the raw, unfiltered connection with the crowd through music. In his sincere, unrestrained singing, he carefully concealed his deepest truths, moving forward with a faltering yet resilient spirit, scarred but unyielding.

The soul hidden beneath his refined exterior was profound and intricate, like a masterpiece. People often believed they understood it, yet every new encounter revealed something different. Thousands of faces, each finding their own meaning in his work.

First came the Telluride Film Festival, then the movie "Crazy Love," followed by "One Man's Concert." Next were the Oscars, "Les Miserables," "Gravity," and finally... now.

The sing-along under the moonlight, the free-spirited rock and roll energy entwined with his guitar strings, was a roar—a sound that stirred the very soul, a sound so powerful it brought tears to her eyes.

To the world, he was a superstar, an actor, a singer, a dream. At just twenty-three, he had reached the peak of his career, achieving milestones that many would never even dream of. But in her eyes, he was simply Renly Hall.

Sometimes, he was like a child, passionately discussing his favorite films, dancing with excitement, debating one movie after another with his fans.

At other times, he was a madman, consumed by his own world, performing recklessly, regardless of the consequences or the controversies it might stir. He cared little for others' opinions, only for expressing himself.

Yet, at times, he was a gentleman—witty, charming, graceful, but always maintaining an invisible wall, keeping a polite distance, refusing to get too close.

And sometimes, he was like Don Quixote—stubbornly standing by his convictions, charging forward despite the bruises, ignoring the reality that tried to knock him down.

He wasn't perfect, but in his imperfections, he was perfect. He was Renly, the unique, irreplaceable Renly.

Rooney stood there, tears streaming down her face, lost in the moment. The gentle melody wrapped around her like a soft embrace, and all her memories scattered like fragments across the floor, finally resting on the figure before her, outlined in the moonlight.

In him, she saw herself. For the first time, someone truly understood her.

Laughing and crying at once, she couldn't contain the warmth that blossomed within her. As she laughed, the tears streamed down her face, a mixture of embarrassment and joy. In that radiant moment, she saw Renly turn and meet her gaze.

In the dim moonlight, their faces were half-hidden, their expressions a mix of surprise and recognition. Their eyes locked—both were vulnerable, yet filled with a sense of quiet understanding.

It felt like standing before a mirror, seeing oneself reflected back. In that moment, both Renly and Rooney realized they were no different. They lowered their eyes and laughed softly.

Rooney shrugged, embarrassed. She hadn't intended to disturb him, but Renly, sensitive as he was, had noticed her. He turned, breaking the silence.

She didn't hesitate. With a smile, she said, "Knock."

Just moments before, Renly had sung, "I'm still sleeping on your porch, afraid to break the chains on your door." He had chosen to stay outside rather than enter the world of strangers, where his pain remained his alone to bear.

Now, Rooney had summoned the courage to knock on that door. With tears in her eyes and a sincere smile, she met Renly's gaze unflinchingly, resolutely standing her ground.

Renly's defenses faltered, his fingers instinctively curling as he hid his emotions. When he looked up again, his eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth curled into a genuine smile. He extended a cautious invitation, "Welcome."

Rooney returned a polite smile, then stepped closer, sitting cross-legged beside him. "Sorry to interrupt your solitude."

It was a chance meeting, but Rooney didn't need to explain herself. She simply apologized with sincerity, understanding that if Renly had truly wanted to be alone, no one would dare intrude on that peace.

Renly shrugged with a smile in his eyes. "You know, this is a devil's agreement. You'd better keep it a secret. Otherwise, there could be serious consequences."

"I know, I missed my chance to escape," Rooney joked, her smile playful. "By the way, what's the inspiration behind that song? I've never heard it before."

"It's just a melody I came up with," Renly said without hesitation. "I've been thinking... if I ever release a second album, maybe it'll make the cut."

"Wait, there's a second album?" Rooney asked, surprised.

Renly shook his head dismissively. "No, nothing's in the works for now. I'm just talking. Honestly, I haven't composed anything since the Grammys. I think my inspiration's dried up. Feel free to tell reporters about that if you want."

Rooney nodded knowingly. "But, honestly, I think that melody is amazing. I'm just not sure... this feels like indie rock, right? It's a ballad on the guitar, but the arrangement and chords seem a little off for that."

"Yeah, I'm trying a new direction," Renly confessed. "I know I can't outdo my last album with folk music, so I figured I'd change things up. Before everyone accuses me of wasting my talent, it's better to take the risk myself."

Rooney couldn't help but smile at Renly's self-deprecating humor. "Who knows? Maybe your talent for rock music is even better than your folk music."

"Are you serious?" Renly asked, feigning disbelief.

Rooney spread her hands innocently. "No, of course not. I'm just an amateur music lover. I'm just an actor—how could I possibly know?" Her wide eyes betrayed her playful innocence, and Renly couldn't help but laugh.