The Greatest Showman #1433 - Demonstrate Skill

Simmons stood in silence, eyes fixed on Renly, who was standing nearby. He could clearly discern every feature that composed the young actor's face—handsome, sharp yet soft, with a subtle depth. Together, they formed an understated beauty, one that revealed an undeniable charisma that held his gaze without effort.

This was the actor who had taken Hollywood by storm. At such a young age, Renly had already amassed a legacy—one of brilliance and history. He had secured his place in the annals of film.

And yet, Simmons felt a deep sense of frustration.

Not from jealousy, but from the overwhelming distance. A gulf that stretched across honor, prestige, strength, talent, and work, igniting a sense of inadequacy that simmered deep within. He clenched his right hand, struggling against the pressure, but it remained suspended in the air—unable to drop, despite the force of his will.

He understood. He knew.

This was all a performance. The slap they had rehearsed countless times, with Damien's insistence on filming it live and Renly's decision to use real takes. They were aiming for something raw, something real, in order to capture the breaking point between Andrew and Fletcher.

All the pieces were in place; all that remained was the opportunity.

However, during the actual shoot, Simmons couldn't contain his nerves. The name "Renly Hall" alone carried a weight—a sense of history. It was a strange pressure, one that seemed to suffocate him. While it was an unusual feeling to describe, it was undeniable.

Renly's performance, subtle and layered, consumed Simmons. The intensity in his eyes, the tension in his movements—it left Simmons no room to maneuver. He found himself caught up in Renly's momentum, unaware of how the rhythm of his own performance was slipping. His own nerves, already high, became a spiral of panic.

Simmons felt as if he were suffocating.

This wasn't his first film. He had appeared in countless others before—always in supporting roles. He had been the father, the boss, the neighbor—never the focal point, never the one the camera lingered on. And while his face was familiar, his name rarely was. He had always been the actor who left no lasting impression, the one whose presence was noticed in passing but never truly recognized.

Now, things were different. He was one of the most significant supporting roles in this film, working alongside the most influential actor of the moment. The pressure was unbearable, and no amount of effort seemed to lessen the weight of expectations.

The rush of uncertainty and fear only increased as Simmons tried to calm himself, pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of the moment.

"jk, during the rehearsal, everything was fine, wasn't it?" Damien's voice echoed in his mind, filled with confusion and frustration. "The shoot just now—it went so well, why did you stop? Why? Tell me, jk, what happened? We had everything—emotion, timing, everything. Why did it all fall apart?"

Damien's exasperation only heightened Simmons' frustration. He wanted to explain, to make it right, but he couldn't. He could only take deep breaths, but the air felt heavy in his lungs, suffocating him.

Damien's voice began to blur into the background, the words incoherent. Simmons' mind was elsewhere, trying desperately to regain focus. He couldn't pinpoint the problem. Why did everything feel off?

Then, from the corner of his eye, Simmons saw Renly's stillness.

That's when he realized—Renly had been silent this whole time.

Since the scene had been interrupted, Renly had not uttered a single word. Amid the flurry of Damien's frustrations, the exclamations of the staff, and the overall chaos of the room, Renly remained eerily quiet, almost as if detached from the storm surrounding him. It was strange—unnerving.

"Renly?" Simmons muttered, as if to apologize.

Damien was right. The scene had gone flawlessly. From the rhythm to the emotion, to the pacing and the lines, everything had been perfectly in sync. If it wasn't for Simmons' abrupt halt, the take would've been flawless. But, as always, there was no 'if.'

Simmons began to approach Renly, who finally met his gaze, his expression unreadable. But then, Renly's eyes softened in a way that caught Simmons off guard.

Renly's gaze wasn't the calm, collected focus he had come to expect from the actor. There was a subtle shift—something was off. Simmons noted the slight trembling in Renly's pupils, the nervousness that flickered behind those otherwise clear eyes. There was a hint of vulnerability that couldn't be hidden.

And then it hit him.

Renly wasn't immune to the pressure either. He was afraid. He was struggling, just like Simmons.

Simmons stood still, watching as Renly's usual calm demeanor cracked slightly. His shoulders were tense, his posture stiff, the subtle shifting of his gaze betraying a deep inner conflict. Renly, too, was feeling the weight of the moment. He was trying to hide it, but it was impossible.

Simmons couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy for the young actor. Here was someone who, despite his success, was just as vulnerable as anyone else. And in that moment, Simmons realized the weight Renly carried—the same fear, the same doubt, the same pressure that he, too, had felt.

It was a shared moment of understanding. One that cut through the layers of performance and revealed the humanity beneath.

Simmons' lips parted as he tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His gaze lingered on Renly, now understanding what had been happening all along.

The moment wasn't just about performing a scene. It was about the pressure they were all under, the fear of failure, and the uncertainty that plagued them both. Simmons wasn't the only one struggling—Renly was too. And in that shared vulnerability, there was something unspoken, something that neither of them had anticipated.

The performance, like everything else, was a demonstration of skill—but it was also a reminder that even the most skilled performers have their moments of doubt.