The Greatest Showman #1403 - Standing Alone

The 67th Tony Awards have officially concluded.

There was no grand sweeping victory by a single show that dominated the night. Both Boots and Les Misérables were the evening's biggest winners, each taking home five trophies.

Boots claimed five awards, including Best Musical, Best Arranger, and Best Lyric Writing, while Les Misérables won Best Revival of a Musical, Best Musical Actor, and Best Musical Screenplay, among other honors.

However, the award for Best Musical Director went to Diane Paulus, the director of The True Story of Pepin, which was a surprising upset. This proved a crucial point: the past year has brought forth an exceptional array of works, and the quality of the musicals competing this year was truly remarkable.

Otherwise, how could the Tony Awards suddenly be so generous with the distribution of accolades?

Though Les Misérables had the more prestigious awards overall, with three major wins, it further solidified the show's lasting popularity on Broadway.

That said, as the awards ceremony wrapped up, all attention shifted to Renly. Whether it was guests, the media, onlookers, or loyal fans, there was no escaping the focus on him. It was as if the entire evening had been orchestrated around his moment—a spectacle in itself. Renly had become the room's centerpiece, not unlike the sole white whale in a zoo, a sentiment which, though perhaps crude, felt undeniably true.

"Renly! Congratulations!" One person greeted him, their eyes scrutinizing his every move. Renly was, after all, the young man who had made history, but in reality, he was just a person like anyone else. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth—nothing extraordinary.

"God, Renly, I really love Les Misérables! It's fantastic!" Another remarked, a critical gaze lingering beneath their words, studying Renly's expression for any hint of insight.

"Unbelievable! Truly incredible! But you deserve it." This compliment was followed by an undercurrent of cynicism, and soon, the person was more focused on probing Renly's next project, speculating about his vast connections in Broadway and Hollywood, as if to suggest this award was just another PR win.

"How's it feel? I can't help but tremble just sitting here watching!" The tone was tentative, as if treating Renly as a specimen to be analyzed—the first person in history, someone to study for their true thoughts and emotions.

"God, you did it! You really did it! Congratulations!" The congratulations piled up, followed by an eagerness to extend invitations to after-parties, as if handing out invites to a tourist attraction, showcasing their own proximity to history.

"Renly, can I take a picture with you?" Before Renly could even respond, the camera was out, and the photo was snapped, later posted proudly, as if to display that they had witnessed history firsthand.

Amidst all the noise and celebration, Renly felt a growing sense of coldness and isolation. It didn't matter if this alienation was intentional or not; what mattered was the subtle shift. The Renly everyone wanted to know wasn't the same man who had entered the room earlier.

Renly wasn't bothered by the purposeful ambition behind every encounter—this was how Vanity Fair worked—but what troubled him was how those who approached him wore masks. There were no longer any signs of the raw passion for art, for the stage, for performance; it was all replaced by the shine of superficiality.

For a brief moment, everything felt eerily familiar. It reminded him of an Oscar night in Hollywood, of high-end parties in London—of Vanity Fair. He had thought Broadway was different, that it was unique. But now, after receiving his Tony Award, he realized it had changed. Tonight's ceremony had altered everything. He was beginning to miss the Broadway he had known before.

The heights were cold. The phrase had never felt more poignant or ironic than now.

Renly, too, began to wonder if perhaps he was truly different now. Perhaps he was no longer the passionate artist obsessed with his craft, but instead a trendsetter, an influencer whose every move could shape the direction of the industry. The purity of it all was slipping away. Things were no longer simple.

But Renly quickly dismissed these thoughts. They felt too ridiculous, too unnecessary. Let go of the burden, he told himself, and enjoy the night like any other—a night marked by a win, with alcohol as the protagonist.

And yet, Renly couldn't stop thinking about Rooney.

Rooney, who had fled to Seattle after the Oscars. Rooney, sitting alone on a bench in a grand evening dress. Rooney, who had gone to Los Angeles, only to return to New York to pursue her dream. Renly now understood that feeling—the suffocating heaviness and depression that had once gripped him.

Renly left the celebration at Radio City Music Hall, unnoticed by the throngs of ecstatic celebrants. The spotlight had moved on, and no one realized the guest of honor had slipped away.

This was the truest face of Vanity Fair.

Standing on the street corner, Renly looked around. The phone rested in his palm, yet he didn't immediately contact Nathan. Instead, he let the cold midnight wind wash over him, carrying the chill of the Hudson River. Even in late June, it was cool, a biting reminder that this moment wasn't as glamorous as it appeared.

He reached into his pocket, hoping to find a cigarette.

But there was no room for cigarettes in his evening attire. His phone was tucked neatly in the inner pocket of his jacket to avoid disturbing the sleek lines of his clothes. At that moment, he truly could have used a cigarette, not due to any specific emotion, but because no words could fully capture how he felt.

Looking down at the Tony Award trophy in his hand, Renly thought, if a passerby were to offer him a pack of cigarettes in exchange, he would gladly trade it. Unfortunately, the street was empty and cold.

He opened his phone, hesitated for a moment, and then called Rooney.

The phone rang for a while before Rooney's voice answered, breathless, as though she had hurried to pick up the call. "...Hey, Renly? I thought you'd be at the celebration, so why are you calling now? Oh, by the way, congratulations! This is incredible!"

Her words were a bit jumbled, but Renly didn't mind. Hearing her cheerful tone made him smile, easing some of the tension he hadn't realized he was carrying. "Remember the Oscars ceremony a couple of years ago?"

Rooney paused for a moment before remembering, her smile faltering slightly. "You want to run away again?"

"No," Renly replied lightly. "They're not scary enough to make me run away. Don't forget, I've faced worse. But I could really use a friend right now. Where are you? How about grabbing a beer?"

"Sorry, I'm in Boston for a movie project, meeting with a producer and director," Rooney explained with a sigh. "But if you don't mind, we could share a night sky and a bottle of beer when I'm back."

"Ha, I'll wait," Renly teased. "What I need is a real person, not an inflatable doll."

"Are you comparing me to an inflatable doll?" Rooney exclaimed.

Renly chuckled, "You should talk to Ryan Gosling. He'll tell you that even inflatable dolls have life. Your comment just offended a lot of people."

Rooney sighed, likely rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. "I hope the film project goes well. Congratulations again on winning EGOT. I can't imagine how that feels, but I know it's extraordinary."

Their conversation ended there.

Renly's smile faded as he hung up the phone. The same coldness he had felt from the celebration crept back in. Rooney's congratulations, while heartfelt, felt just as distant as the ones he had received back at the ceremony.

But what could he say? Her response was natural, wasn't it? Was it really necessary for him to feel so uncomfortable with the congratulatory words? Maybe he was just overthinking things, immersed in his own world, creating problems that didn't exist.

Maybe.

He stared at his phone and noticed more than fifty unread messages—his personal phone wasn't as full as Nathan's, but even still, it was enough to prompt a response. Renly never rushed to reply to text messages, and it was rare for him to check them right away. Usually, he'd let them pile up until Matthew couldn't take it anymore and handled the responses. But today, Renly hesitated, and after a moment, he opened the inbox.

Familiar names flooded his screen with congratulatory messages, even Arthur and Andre had sent their well-wishes. It was clear that this moment had made waves.

Renly didn't reply.

Before he closed the inbox, he noticed a message from Matthew.

"How are you?"

Renly stared at the message for a while, then, after another hesitation, he replied. Moments later, Matthew's response came through, and Renly looked at his phone again, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

For once, he wasn't alone.