The Greatest Showman #1160 - Finishing Soon

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

Rooney hummed softly, her voice slightly trembling, the pitch and tone straying from the original track. It wasn't perfect, but the fragility and sadness embedded in the melody and lyrics were palpable—revealing the vulnerability of the heart and soul.

In that moment, Rooney understood why the filming of Gravity had been so profound and difficult, why every performance of Renly's felt so deeply penetrating, and why he often seemed distant after his scenes. The answer, she realized, was Heather Cross.

The song Renly had composed echoed in her mind again, its bitterness and sorrow rippling in the quiet, a cold, biting undercurrent wrapped in gentleness.

Renly noticed, and Rooney knew he did.

A sudden wave of embarrassment swept over Renly as if his deepest secrets had been laid bare. He quickly lowered his eyes, trying to avoid meeting Rooney's gaze, but in the next moment, he found himself looking up again.

Then, he saw Rooney's sincere, unflinching eyes. There was no pity, no probing, no sympathy—only a simple, understanding warmth, a connection that resonated quietly.

A small smile curled at the corner of Renly's mouth, but it felt more natural than forced. He shook his head slightly, and the smile bloomed further. Staring at Rooney, he said, "You know, you're not exactly a good singer."

Rooney laughed, the warmth in her expression melting away the cold, aloof demeanor. "Yes, I know. That's why I just hum in private. I prefer listening to music rather than singing."

"Oh? You like music too? Classical or pop?" Renly asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued.

Among Renly's friends, only Matthew had studied music in depth, and his tastes aligned so closely with Renly's that they often discussed books more than music. But Rooney, raised in the circle of elite education, must have dabbled in art, even if she didn't specialize in it.

She held back a smile, then asked seriously, "What kind of music do you like?"

Renly paused for a moment, thinking it over, before laughing softly.

Rooney's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I mean, I don't like this one." She teased him playfully, like a little fox scratching at his defenses, making Renly chuckle even more.

"Fortunately, my music isn't classified as either pop or classical," he replied with a grin, "so it shouldn't offend too many people."

The night grew darker, and a cold wind began to pick up. But the conversation between Renly and Rooney didn't stop. They sat cross-legged on the ground, the dark clouds above them, the quiet suburban scenery surrounding them, and the distant lights creating a stark contrast. It was as if the world was vast yet small, and in that moment, it felt like only the two of them existed in it.

As time passed, their conversation drifted, and the topics seemed endless. They spoke of everything—from Heather and Mount Sinai Hospital to the Oscars, from music to movies. Somehow, they always circled back to Gravity and the scenes they'd shot that day.

Renly, as always, brought depth to his performance, infusing it with meaning drawn from life itself. Meanwhile, Rooney's approach was to link her character's actions and emotional arc, making the scenes flow more naturally.

It was rare for two actors to engage so openly in discussing their performances, sharing insights without holding back. In Hollywood, such pure academic exchanges were becoming increasingly scarce. Yet here, in this quiet corner of the world, they found themselves lost in a conversation about craft and character development.

The discussion turned into an animated exchange of ideas—technical terms, performance nuances, and artistic concepts. To outsiders, it might have seemed dull, perhaps even boring. But for them, it was thrilling. As they spoke, they stood up, gesturing with their hands, mimicking the movements of their characters, fully immersed in their craft.

When Nathan finally found them, he stood frozen for a moment, staring at the two of them in disbelief. The crew had been frantic, searching for Renly and Rooney after they realized they had disappeared. After scouring the filming base several times without a trace, they were relieved to find them... deep in conversation.

Nathan could hardly suppress a laugh. After working with Renly for so long, he had grown accustomed to his eccentric habits. It wasn't a surprise anymore. He pulled out his phone and called Roy, updating him, "Renly and Rooney are fine... they're over by the forest, talking... and I swear, it's like they're in their own world... emotional preparation or something, it's like... illegal content." He rubbed his temples, trying to regain his composure. "False alarm."

The tension that had gripped the set finally eased.

As the filming of Gravity neared its completion, the sense of relief was palpable. Despite the crew's initial worries about Renly's physical and mental state, all of them had been proved unnecessary. Renly had handled everything with grace, his focus unwavering.

Although the final scenes were challenging—spending hours in a light box, working with computer effects, retaking shots—Renly handled it all with ease. The film moved smoothly toward its goal, propelled by his dedication, bringing the team closer to completing the film. The crew was on track to finish the project, though the post-production process would still demand a lot of work.

Meanwhile, Warner Bros. eagerly anticipated the release of Gravity by the end of the year, though Renly and the crew knew the road ahead would still be long.

But for now, the actors' work was done. Renly could finally remove his bulky spacesuit and leave the light box. "I can finally feel the gravity of Earth," he joked with a wide grin. "For the next while, I plan to enjoy the grounded feeling."

As laughter filled the air, Renly saw two special guests waiting for him at the door of the dormitory, accompanied by Roy Lockley. Their arrival could only mean one thing—they were there for him.