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It is a calm mid-November afternoon in downtown Manhattan. The sun is already beginning its early descent, as it does during this season. A breeze travels and ricochets across the buildings, cold but not bitingly so. Some of the remaining autumn leaves are still changing their colors, others follow the wind’s path. Men grumble when they are forced to hold on to their hats, women huff as they draw their shawls tighter around themselves. Children chase after the dancing newspapers. For the majority of New York’s inhabitants, autumn is not an enjoyable season. Better than winter, that’s for sure, but far less pleasant than the rejuvenating spring. The draft of air carries a certain smell as it emerges from the Hudson river and swirls through the docks. An odd mixture of ocean salt and peanuts. Some enjoy it, others don’t. But only one man calls it ‘free publicity’.
“Cheer up, Phillip!” P.T Barnum’s voice is loud and resonnant inside the circus tent, full of a joyous tone his apprentice– partner does not currently share. Or at least not entirely. “You didn’t drown, did you, so lighten up!”
“Easy f-for you to s-say, P-P-P.T.” Phillip Carlyle stutters out, his teeth clattering madly. “Y-You weren’t the one p-pushed into th-the damn n-near f-freezing river!”
“It was an accident, and you know it.” Barnum laughs, laying a warm hand on the younger man’s back to guide him to the back of the tent and into their shared office. “Besides, what can you do about it now?”
“O-Oh, y-you wait a-and see.” Phillip promises with a half-hearted glare. “They’ll p-pay. Y-You’ll all p-pay.”
Barnum chuckles, opening the door for his business partner to step through. “As you say, Claudius.”
“Th-That’s n-not what–”
“Now how about I start a fire and make us some nice, hot tea.” Barnum cuts him off with a satisfied grin. “While you, get out of these wet clothes before you catch your death.”
“P-Pour some r-rum into that t-tea, and w-we have a d-deal.” Phillip declares, even as he already starts to shed the coat Barnum gave him immediately after he helped pull him out of the water.
“You drive a hard bargain, Carlyle.” Barnum says, patting Phillip’s shoulder as he walks past him.
“L-Learned f-from the wo-worst.” Phillip mutters, carefully setting the coat over the back of his desk chair. He takes off his vest, scowling at his ruined notepad. At least he had had the luck of forgetting his pocket watch at home today. He silently apologizes to the lamp post on Fulton street he had cursed at once he had realized he had forgotten it.
“I think the cold has rendered your speech incomprehensible.” Barnum calls behind his shoulder from his kneeling position by the fireplace. “I’ll just assume you said ‘the best’ and leave it at that.”
Phillip grumbles a few words under his breath along the lines of ‘righteous bastard’ and ‘peacocking old man’, just loud enough for Barnum to hear should he pay attention. Judging by the man's resulting chuckles, he has. He lets his suspenders fall unceremoniously around his hips, kicking off his shoes with more force than necessary. They land a foot away with a sloshing sound. He moves to his shirt and finds himself struggling to unbutton it as his bluish fingers shake and stiffen. The smell of firewood reaches his nostrils, reminding him once again how insane it had been of him to accept the installment of a fireplace in their adjacent tent, no matter how danger-free Barnum had sworn it to be. Although in this moment, Phillip is glad to have reluctantly agreed, and very much looking forward to curling up next to it. He sees Barnum move from the corner of his eye, and out of his eyesight, then back and in front of him. Phillip raises his head, water still dripping from his hair.
“Need a hand?” Barnum asks with a small smirk.
Phillip wants to snip something back at him, like ‘ Yes, please slap it across your smug face to save me the trouble of doing it later ’, but he’s too tired to engage in their battles of wits right now. He drops his hands by his sides in wordless acceptance. Barnum, shockingly, doesn’t comment and simply sets to the task of unbuttoning Phillip’s shirt. Their closeness brings heat up to Phillip’s cheeks. He tells himself it’s his current low temperature reacting to Barnum’s normal one, and definitely not the brush of Barnum’s calloused fingers so close. He can smell the man’s cologne, the sawdust that always remains with him. It’s intoxicating, making his heartbeat elevate. As his shirt falls open, Phillip almost takes a step back as he suddenly thinks that Barnum will see the scars from the fire. But half a second later, he remembers he wears an undershirt, obviously. Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, Phillip thanks his partner, and peels off his shirt from his shoulders. He thinks it’s his imagination the way Barnum appraises him.
“There are towels in the bathroom.” Barnum then informs him softly, even though Phillip is aware.
“Right.” Phillip replies just as quietly, turning around and walking towards the closet. He opens it and takes out some spare clothes he keeps for when he does an allnighter at the office. Then he heads to the bathroom. Again, the eyes following him must be in his imagination.
Phillip reemerges a few minutes later, dry and clothed, hair still damp and body still feeling cold. He tosses the hair towel on the desk carelessly.
“Please tell me the tea is ready.” His stuttering is gone, at least.
Barnum turns around, two steaming cups in hand. “Ready and spiked to your liking.” He offers one to Phillip, who accepts it gingerly, taking a cautious sip.
“Consider this your first step into redemption.” Phillip walks past him to settle down in front of the fire.
“How am I to blame?” Barnum asks with mock-offense, sitting down on the couch behind Phillip.
“You laughed.” Phillip deadpans, earning a bark of laughter from the older man.
“How could I not with that very manly scream you shared with us.” Barnum’s grin can be heard.
Phillip turns his head to glare at him. “How about you go on and take a dive,” he quips, “We’ll see how you like it.” That earns him another chuckle.
“As long as W.D and Charles accompany me.” Barnum says in a playful tone. “And you repay the favor of fishing me out.”
“We’ll see.”
“I don’t want to point fingers, but Charles was the one crouching behind you. And W.D the one who shouted to watch out for the seagull.”
“Yes. And what a great seagull it was.” Phillip drawls. “It flew so fast I didn’t even see it go by.”
“Drink your tea.” Barnum huffs amusedly. Phillip doesn’t protest the order, letting the hot liquid warm his insides. He lets his eyes fall shut in exhaustion, feeling the shivers slowly subside. The flames gently lick at him, reviving his body through his clothes. He lets his toes curl in his socks. This is nice, the sound of wood crackling, the occasional squeak of the couch behind him. Phillip is aware of his throat being slightly scratchy, but he’s unbothered by it. It’s probably just the rum. He startles slightly when a blanket is draped over his shoulders. He looks at Barnum as he stands over him.
“Thank you.” Phillip mumbles, pulling the blanket as close to him as possible.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you.” Barnum sits down next to him with ease. It never ceases to amaze Phillip how young Barnum is in anything but age. The way he moves, the way he talks and acts and thinks. He often envies that constant positive mindset. He basks in its presence, too. Now, he groans at Barnum’s immature remarks.
“Child.” Phillip huffs.
“Old man.” Barnum shoots back.
They look at each other, and burst out laughing, almost spilling their tea. Then Phillip sneezes.
“Bless you.” Barnum says. “Be careful not to catch a cold.”
“If I do, I’ll know who to blame.”
“You look like hell.” Barnum tells him first thing in the morning, two days later. “I thought I told you to stay home today.”
Phillip shrugs his coat off sluggishly. “Good morning to you too, P.T.”
Barnum stands from his chair, walking towards Phillip. “Really, Phillip. You’re looking pale. Why don’t you take the day off?”
Phillip waves him off. “I’m fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to fill out, and so do you.”
“Did you hear that?” Barnum suddenly asks, lifting a hand to his ear. “I think Lettie is calling me.”
“P.T–”
“Yes, definitely.” Barnum moves for the door. “Be right there, Lettie!”
“P.T, I swear–”
“Can’t keep the good woman waiting, Phillip. Toodles!”
“BARNUM!”
The ringmaster is already out the door, cackling at the swears leaving his partner’s mouth, followed by a sneeze.
“Another great day, another great show!” Barnum exclaims as he bursts through the door of the office. “Too bad you preferred to stay up here– Phillip?” He looks at the vacant desk, then around the room, his eyes landing on the figure sprawled on the couch. He grins, taking off his top hat and red coat. “Well well well. Slacking off work, are we?” He walks towards and around the couch, his teasing smile turning fond at the sight of the younger man fast asleep, an arm covering his eyes. He looks peaceful at first glance. But something nags at Barnum. Phillip wouldn’t miss a show just to sleep. So he crouches down, and listens. Phillip’s breathing is shallow, rapid. A sheen of sweat gathers on his temple, his hand trembling next to it. Barnum frowns, and sets his hand gently on Phillip’s forehead. It’s hot. Very hot.
“Damn it, Carlyle.” Barnum sighs, and begins to shake his partner awake. “Phillip, wake up for me, will you?”
Phillip groans softly. “F’ve more minutes…”
Barnum can’t help the small smile pulling at his lips despite his concern. “Come on, Phillip, let’s get you home.”
Half an hour, a lot of stumbling, and about twenty sneezes later, Barnum and Phillip reach the younger man’s apartment. Luckily, he had decided on a place close to the new circus after the old one had burned down. Easier access, cheaper rent and all that. Barnum himself has made use of Phillip’s living quarters more than once on long nights. His couch is more comfortable than the one in the office, too. Barnum opens the door to the apartment and leads a half-conscious Phillip in. During the entire trek here, Phillip had lolled in and out of consciousness, muttering some assurances of his well-being, which Barnum had scoffed at. When Phillip had protested help, Barnum had threatened to regale the troop with tales of Phillip’s multiple faceplants as he had tried to put his coat and scarf on. Whether Phillip had understood him or not is still unclear, but Barnum had not been met with any further resistance.
By the time Barnum has locked the door behind them, Phillip has disappeared into an adjacent room. The older man sighs. “Phillip?” No answer. He walks into the empty living room, peering into the kitchen. Empty as well. A sneeze resounds from the bedroom. Bedroom it is, then. The sight that greets him upon entry is one he wishes he could take a photograph of; Phillip, fully dressed, facedown on the bed, curled around pillow held tightly in his arms.
With an amused smile, Barnum sets to work on removing Phillip’s shoes and outside clothes, grumbling about the fact that he had to wrestle them on barely an hour ago in the first place. Phillip remains limp and pliant under his care, occasionally grunting out a few disgruntled sounds.
“Come on, get under the covers.” Barnum coaxes, wincing in sympathy when Phillip slowly crawls his way under them. “Good boy.”
“‘m fine y’know.” Phillip mumbles from his pillow, sniffling. “You can go.”
“And leave you here to suffer alone? Just how cruel do you think I am?”
“The cruelest.” Phillip answers with an obvious smirk to his voice.
“My heart!” Barnum gasps in a high-pitched voice, immediately laughing after. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t accept some tea from the cruelest man in the world?”
Phillip turns his head slightly, peering up from the pillow. The look in his eyes sends a pang of something in Barnum’s heart. He looks exhausted and pained. Barnum stands up. “Alright, alright. Coming right up.”
Barnum sets off to the kitchen to make some ginger tea for his sick companion. He tries not to ponder on the feeling of guilt he feels at the fact. While it is true that he had nothing to do with Phillip’s untimely plunge into the Hudson a couple days ago, he had wasted time in fishing the young man out of the water by laughing. But truly he had not been able to stop himself. Perhaps half of the reason he had laughed was out of nervousness, flustered from Phillip’s soaked appearance and the look of utter surprise and shock in his beautiful blue eyes. Yes, beautiful. He’s very well aware of Phillip’s near ethereal beauty. To deny it would be self-delusional. He uses the word ‘near’ because only actual angels could reach that level of beauty, should they exist. Humans are limited to this plane of existence, but Phillip is right at the limit. And he’s letting his traitorous mind wander off again, isn’t he? Sometimes he can’t help it. Phillip just happens to be at the forefront of his thoughts most of his days. After all, he sees the man everyday at work. It’s normal he should think of him often. Although Barnum is no fool. He knows his line of thinking isn’t what the populace would call entirely 'sane' and 'healthy'. They'd call it 'despicable', even. Then again, his entire line of work is called as such, if not worse. But it doesn’t matter. Phillip is simply a beautiful, intelligent, considerate, courageous, and passionate man. His business partner and friend. Sure, there are times where Barnum wonders what kissing him would feel like. But that’s not something he’s going to try anytime soon. Although he wishes–
The tea kettle whistles, dragging him back to reality. Shaking his head to disperse those thoughts, he pours a large cup of tea for Phillip, adding some honey to the mix. He walks back to the bedroom, grabbing a chair on his way. He finds Phillip on his side, eyes closed.
“Are you still awake?” Barnum asks, setting his chair next to the bed. Phillip slowly opens his eyes, looking up at Barnum. “Good. Sit up then, will you?”
Phillip’s eyes narrow, but he complies, his movements uncoordinated and heavy. He leans against the headboard, and accepts the proffered cup with a raspy ‘thank you’. He drinks it slowly. Barnum watches him. Phillip glances at him back. “Is there something on my face?”
Phillip’s voice is hoarse, but still holds some humor to it.
“Except a red nose, no.” Barnum answers with a shrug.
“Then stop staring at me.” Phillip sighs. “Why are you still here?”
“I was waiting for you to become coherent again.”
“Well as you can–” Sneeze . “–as you can see, I’m fine.” Sneeze .
Barnum chuckles. “They always come in two, don’t they.” Sneeze . “Or three.”
Phillip pulls out his handkerchief and wipes his nose. “Very funny.”
“Not as funny as you spilling your secrets to me earlier.” This gets Phillip’s full attention. His eyes widen, a glint of panic in his eyes as he stares intently into Barnum’s mischievous ones. Barnum can see the rise in his pulse against his neck, the slow bob of his adam’s apple. He keeps his expression serious, just to mess with his partner a little while longer. But then he grins, showing his cards. Phillip’s face goes from apprehension, to confusion, to annoyance.
“You’re pulling my leg,” he states coldly.
“Had you going, didn’t I?” Barnum chuckles. “Judging from your reaction, I now wonder what you have to hide.”
Phillip groans. “Conniving bastard.” The insult doesn’t deter the grin from Barnum’s face. He downs his tea. “You've had your fun at my expense. Now will you let me rest in peace?” His voice wavers at the end, showing his exhaustion. It makes Barnum straighten up in his chair, worry once again gaining volume.
“Do you need anything else,” he asks, serious, “Some more tea? Another blanket?”
“I’m alright, thank you.” Phillip says quietly. “And thank you for bringing me back here. I’m sorry for the inconvenience–”
“Nonsense. I couldn’t leave your sorry state on the office couch.”
“Right. Well…” Phillip trails off. Barnum stands.
“I’ll check on you soon, alright, Phillip?” Phillip nods tiredly, already sinking back down onto the mattress. “You will not come to work tomorrow, is that understood?” Another nod. Satisfied, Barnum bids him goodnight and walks away, casting one last glance at the younger man before leaving the room.
He’ll come back tomorrow, before lunch. He finds himself suddenly tired too, and is thankful to have found an apartment in the city as well, if another fifty minutes uptown.
That night, both men toss and turn for different reasons.
Barnum quietly lets himself in Phillip’s apartment with his spare key the next morning, a small paper bag in hand. He’d gone ahead and bought some cold medicine and broth, as well as a box of herbal teas, as he had noticed the depleted box in the kitchen cupboard yesterday. He doesn’t call out his partner’s name, just in case he is still asleep. He couldn’t wait until lunch to check on him, deciding to go before work. Barnum silently steps into the bedroom, and is pleased to see Phillip asleep, laying on his side. He approaches the bed, observing the rise and fall of the covers. He lays his hand on Phillip’s forehead. Still hot, a little less so than yesterday, he thinks. Phillip emits a small sound at the contact, leaning into the touch. Barnum leaves his hand there longer than strictly necessary. As he pulls it away, Phillip whimpers, turning his head as to follow it. It pulls at Barnum’s heart. “I’ll be back later,” he whispers.
But later turns into much later, due to a small emergency at the circus that carries on throughout lunch time and into the late afternoon. This small emergency consists in Constantine tripping over his cape in the changing room, falling onto the corner of a vanity thus making it tip and all of its content fly out. The contents being cloth dyes of various colors, the results are disastrous for both the occupants of the room and more importantly, their costumes.
And so, between this incident and fixing it, rehearsals, and the actual show, Barnum is only free in the evening. He hurriedly makes his way to Phillip’s apartment, fuelled by his all-day long concern. Once again letting himself in, he hopes Phillip has made good use of the broth and tea he left on the kitchen counter, and most importantly the cold medicine on his bedside table. He enters the apartment, walking in the living room, and immediately his heart seizes up. Phillip is there, lying on the carpet floor, unmoving. He’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
“Phillip!” Barnum runs over to him, kneeling down. He turns him on his back. Phillip is still breathing, much to Barnum’s relief. He’s panting even, and Barnum wonders how he didn’t see it a few seconds ago. Heat is radiating off of him, too. Barnum checks his temperature. He is near burning to the touch. Quickly but carefully, Barnum scoops him off the floor, one arm under his knees, the other on his upper back. He shifts so that Phillip’s head is tucked against his chest and not lolling on the side. He stands without much difficulty, only feeling a slight soreness from tonight’s show. Phillip groans at the movement. Barnum carries him to the bedroom, setting him as gently as possible on the bed. And that’s when Phillip’s eyes flutter open, unfocused.
“Phillip? Are you with me?” Barnum asks softly. Phillip’s gaze shifts to Barnum, but his eyes look right through him. They fall close again. “I suppose not then.”
He ponders on what to do next. He looks at the untouched bottle of cold medicine. “Silly boy,” he murmurs. He turns around and heads to the bathroom, opening the cabinet and taking out a small towel. He opens the sink and lets the hand towel soak in cold water. Turning off the water, he squeezes the towel as not to let it drip on the way. He walks back to Phillip, folding the towel to lay it on the younger man’s forehead. Phillip sighs shakily, a small sound stuck in his throat as a few droplets slide down his temples. It draws a small smile from Barnum. “There. Better, isn’t it?” He doesn’t receive an answer except for a quiet moan.
And so, Barnum heads to the kitchen to make them some broth. Hopefully Phillip wakes up on his own before dinner is ready. That would be a reassuring sign. But half an hour later, as the broth is done, Phillip still hasn’t woken up. Barnum sets two bowls on the bedside table, and sits on the bed. He pats Phillip’s shoulder, whispering for him to rouse. Phillip does so with a groan, blinking awake slowly.
“P.T,” he queries tiredly, “What are you, mm… doing here?”
“Making sure my investment doesn’t fall through.” Phillip makes a confused sound, rubbing his eyes. The towel slips onto the pillow. Barnum huffs, amused at his own joke. “Nevermind. Here, I made us dinner.”
Phillip looks up at him, then at the bowl, and back at Barnum. “I’m not hungry.”
Barnum raises a brow. “Well, tough. You’re eating.” His tone leaves no room for argument, or possibly an invitation for a lost battle. Phillip slowly props himself up against the headboard.
“Vegetables?” Phillip asks airily.
“Chicken.”
“Ah. Right. Thank you.” He picks up a bowl. Barnum does the same. They take the first spoonful simultaneously. “It’s good.”
Barnum hums. They finish their dinner in silence. Once done and the bowls set aside, Barnum clears his throat. “You can take your medicine now. It’s easier on the stomach if it’s full.”
“Medicine?” Phillip breathes, confused. His eyes drift to the maroon colored bottle. “Oh. Did you buy that?”
“Yes. Now take it.” Even as he says so, Barnum takes Phillip’s spoon, then the bottle, uncorks it, and pours the liquid into the spoon. He hands it to Phillip. “Go on.”
“I’m not a child.” Phillip mutters, nevertheless taking the spoon. “I can take care of myself.”
“Ah, yes. However, I’m not sure that having a rest on the carpet of your living room can be considered as ‘taking care’ of yourself.”
Phillip downs the liquid, making a disgusted face. “This tastes horrendous.”
“Yes,” Barnum agrees, “Rich will be the man who manages to change the taste.”
Phillip hums in agreement, setting the spoon down. “You never told me you were a qualified nurse, Mr. Barnum.”
Barnum chuckles lowly. “There are many things I’ve yet to tell you, Mr. Carlyle.” He winks. Phillip blinks, looking away. The coloring in his cheeks is from the fever, surely.
“Right. Well. I’m all better now, so you may resume your duties as ringmaster and pain in my neck.”
“Phillip, I am hurt,” Barnum smirks, “And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”
“Of course I do. You know I do.”
Barnum raises his eyebrows at the honest tone in Phillip’s voice. He’d expected some snippy retort, not...this. It warms him from head to toe.
“Awfully sentimental of you.” Barnum teases, unsure of what else to say. But when Phillip doesn’t answer, still looking down at his lap, guilt stabs at Barnum. He tries to remedy the situation. “Needless to say I enjoy your company as well.”
He is rewarded by a glance and a small smile. Barnum adores those little signs of joy Phillip occasionally shows him and only him.
Sneeze.
“Bless you.”
“You’ll get sick if you stay here, P.T.” Phillip tells him, eyes closing.
“I can take it.”
Phillip sighs. “If you, um…” he trails off, lifting a hand to his forehead. “If you say so. Excuse me, I’m… feeling lightheaded.”
Barnum chuckles. “That would be the medicine working. Fast and hopefully just as efficient.”
Phillip hums, head dropping on his chest. Barnum huffs amusedly, and helps Phillip slip back under the covers. “Goodnight, Phillip.”
“‘Night…” Phillip breathes, “Don’t, uh, don’t watch me sleep.”
Barnum smiles fondly at him, and pats his shoulder affectionately. He picks up the bowls, leaving Phillip’s spoon on the table, and leaves the bedroom. But stays in the apartment. Phillip won’t mind if he sleeps on the couch, will he.
Barnum looks up from the book he borrowed from Phillip’s bookcase earlier to pass the time until he tires himself out. He thought he heard something. Mentally shrugging, he goes back to his book.
“ P.T…”
There it is again. Now he’s sure he’s heard his name. He sets the book aside and stands from the couch. He quickly makes his way into the bedroom, expecting to see Phillip awake. But no, his partner is asleep on his back, lips parted and mouthing silent words. Or maybe not quite silent.
“P.T… Don’t…” He turns his head quickly, whimpering. Barnum remains in the doorway, intrigued and slightly concerned. The boy must be dreaming. Of him. Barnum pushes down the tingling feeling at the knowledge, especially since Phillip’s dream doesn’t seem to be pleasant. Barnum is brought out of his reverie by a sudden strangled cry. He almost runs the small distance to the bed.
“Phillip?” He sets a hand on his forehead, quickly retrieving it. He’s burning up. A lot hotter than before. “Christ.”
Phillip continues to pant, head turning right and left, body quivering. Barnum makes quick of retrieving the towel and recommencing the earlier act of setting it wet on Phillip’s heated skin. But this time it doesn’t incite a pleased reaction from Phillip, only a miserable groan. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” His voice seems to calm Phillip for a little while, soothing away his rasped calls. For the next fifteen minutes, Phillip’s sounds remain nonverbal. Until they don’t.
“Anne,” he calls out fearfully, “Anne’s not…” Barnum watches as he gasps and jerks. “No–No, no… please…”
His trashing increases suddenly, sharp intakes of breath mixing with frightened whimpers. “Fire– There’s–” A sob escapes Phillip. “ P.T… ”
The realization of what exactly Phillip is dreaming of breaks Barnum’s heart. He’s tormented by the fire, by his assumption that Anne had been in the burning building. By Barnum himself. Although he isn’t sure how he fits into that equation. He hadn’t been in the building until after Phillip had run into it. But no matter, what’s important now is getting Phillip out of that feverish nightmare. He needs to get his alarmingly high temperature down, and that little wet towel isn’t enough. But perhaps… Perhaps a bigger source of cold water would be. Yes, of course. That would definitely help Phillip’s sickness. He’ll cool him down until he is once again clear of mind. Then he’ll make him drink some more tea and medicine. Yes, that should work. And if his plan doesn’t get Phillip better, he’ll call a doctor. Now. To draw a bath. He walks to the bathroom, and turns out the bath faucet, letting the cold water flow. He mentally winces at the idea that Phillip is going to have to sit in there. But it’s for his own good. He waits until the bath is full, listening to Phillip’s pitiful cries in the adjacent room. He eventually turns off the faucet, and goes back to the bedroom. He halts in his steps when he realizes he’s going to need to strip Phillip down. His heart skips a beat or two. He shakes it off, moving to pull the covers down and off Phillip. The younger man continues to shiver and moan.
“Now. I’m hoping you won’t actually wake up while I’m doing this.” Barnum mumbles, and starts with Phillip’s socks. Next, he unclips the suspenders. They are already off his shoulders, and not in his way. He knows he’s just biding his time. Alright, no more delaying. This is just… a medical procedure. Right. On with it then. He unbuttons Phillip’s shirt. Unlike the day of the Hudson incident, Phillip isn’t wearing an undershirt this time. Barnum swallows thickly at the reveal of skin, of scars. They remind him coldly how closely Phillip had come to death that night, because of him. Shaking off these thoughts, Barnum focuses on pulling the shirt off, unable to help the appreciative gaze over his partner’s flawlessly sculpted chest. The scars don’t ruin his beauty, on the contrary. They are proof of his courage. As his fingers accidentally brush Phillip’s skin, the younger man jerks and emits a sound that in a different context would be entirely obscene. Barnum has to bite his tongue to distract himself, especially as his next task consists in removing Phillip’s trousers. With shaking fingers, Barnum undoes the only button at the hem. This feels all too intimate, when it shouldn’t. Holding his breath, Barnum slowly pulls down Phillip’s trousers. He’s wearing dark grey undergarments that Barnum decides will stay on. His legs are perfectly muscled, his thighs strong. Barnum straightens up, twisting a bit to make his vertebrae crack. He lets out a pleased breath as his muscles relax. Time for the actual difficult part.
He folds his sleeves back. “Up we go.” He lifts Phillip up in the same manner he did earlier. It’s odd, having Phillip in his arms like this, practically in the nude, curling up against him. Phillip doesn’t react past a pained moan. “Yes, yes. Keep the complaints for what’s coming next.”
Standing by the bathtub, Barnum hesitates. He looks down at Phillip’s face. Sweaty, pained, flushed. Lips slightly parted from his ragged pants. Burning in Barnum’s hands. Right, he needs this.
Slowly, carefully, he lowers Phillip into the tub. As soon as the water makes contact with Phillip’s skin, the younger man whimpers loudly. Barnum almost pulls him out right then and there, before thinking better of it. He continues to ease Phillip into the water. His whimpers grow louder, eventually turning into outright whines when he is entirely immersed in the cold water. It pulls at Barnum’s heart as he holds Phillip still to prevent him from trashing. Phillip’s eyes remain screwed shut as he fights weakly against Barnum’s grip.
“Calm down, Phillip,” Barnum soothes, “Everything’s alright. It’s just a bath.” He dips his hand in the tub, scooping some water to carefully splash Phillip’s face. And again. And a few more times, Phillip jerking with every drop. Phillip eventually ceases his struggles, falling silent and slumping. His body continues to shiver violently, and Barnum remains kneeling by the tub, checking Phillip’s temperature every now and then. He continues to spread the water on Phillip’s neck and face too, waiting patiently for him to wake up.
After ten minutes, Phillip gasps, his eyes flying open. But they are glassy. “Out… Everyone– Out…” Phillip rasps, beginning to struggle anew. Barnum sets a hand on his neck to keep him still. Water splashes over them both and onto the floor. “We’re out of the fire now, Phillip. It was almost a year ago.” Barnum tells him softly. It doesn’t register in Phillip’s brain. He shakes his head erratically. “No– No, where’s Anne…”
“Anne is safe, you’re safe.” Barnum squeezes his neck gently. Phillip tries to pull away and pulls himself out of the tub. His weakened state forbids him.
“I have to– I–” Phillip whines, suddenly turning his head towards Barnum. “ P.T? ”
“Yes, I’m here–”
“Leave me…” Phillip chokes, “Go, please– P.T, please…”
Barnum stares at him incredulously. What is he talking about? They’re only inches away from each other, but a year apart. “I’m not going anywhere, Phillip.”
Phillip frowns at him, as if utterly confused. “You’ll die,” his voice cracks, “You can’t... die.” His hand emerges from the water, seeking. Barnum takes it, clasping their hands together.
“I’m not dying. Nobody died.” Barnum assures him, his own voice suddenly hoarse from the memories. The memory of Phillip running into the blazing inferno, chasing after him thinking it’ll be too late. Finding him near unconscious under a pillar, burnt and bleeding. Thinking him dead. Feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces. “I’m right here with you.”
Phillip continues to look through him, still fearful, before his eyes flutter shut and his hand falls limp.
“Damn it.” Barnum sighs. He pats Phillip’s cheek a couple of times. “Hey, don’t fall asleep now.” But Phillip doesn’t react, sighing softly.
For another few minutes, Phillip’s limbs twitch randomly, small sounds making their way past his lips, until finally, he startles awake. His eyes open slowly. They are clear this time. He blinks, looking around the bathroom and down at himself, then at Barnum who is looking at him with relief.
“What’s happening,” Phillip asks eventually, his voice hesitant, “Why am I in a bath?”
“Everything’s alright–”
“Why am I naked?”
“ Almost naked.” Barnum is quick to correct him, trying not to imagine Phillip actually naked in a bath. Or anywhere. Now is not the time. Anytime is not the time. “You have–” he sets his hand on Phillip’s forehead again, “–Or at least had a high fever. You were burning up half an hour ago.”
“Oh.” Phillip wraps his arms around himself self-consciously, drawing his knees up. “Um, did you… I mean, did I undress myself?” He doesn’t look at Barnum as he asks him.
Barnum shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Ah, well. No. You were already, um, unconscious.”
“Oh.” Phillip says again. He shivers, and neither man is sure whether it’s from the cold water or the embarrassment. But nonetheless Barnum takes it as a cue to get Phillip back to bed. “Alright. Your fever seems to have gone down enough for you to get out of here. Think you’re up to it, Carlyle?”
Phillip nods, gripping the edge of the bathtub, ready to push himself up. But as soon as he lifts himself a few inches, his strength gives out. Water splashes around him as he huffs in frustration and exhaustion. Barnum’s mouth thins in sympathy. He doesn’t bother to ask Phillip if he needs help, wordlessly taking ahold of his arms and pulling him up. Phillip’s legs wobble, especially as he lifts them one after the other over the tub. Barnum doesn’t let go of him even as he reaches for a large towel for Phillip. Phillip remains quiet as he takes the towel and wraps it around himself. His shoulders slump in relief when his body becomes hidden once more, a gesture Barnum doesn’t understand. Is Phillip ashamed of his body? How can he be? It’s perfect.
“B-Back to bed?” Phillip asks softly, looking at the floor.
“Yeah,” Barnum answers, “Can you walk?” Phillip nods, so Barnum releases him. But as soon as Phillip takes his first unaccompanied step, he stumbles. Barnum is quick to catch him, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him upright. “Alright, let’s take it one step at a time, what do you say?” Phillip nods silently again, and it worries Barnum, his continued silence.
Nevertheless, they slowly make their way back to the bedroom. “You need to change, you can’t go to sleep with wet under– clothes.”
“I’ll… do it later.” Phillip answers quietly. Barnum nods, and guides him to the bed. They sit down on it. Barnum helps Phillip to remain seated long enough to hand him another cold medicine filled spoon. Phillip eyes it, and sighs. He lifts his hand to take it, but it shakes. Barnum can see the result of having Phillip shakily hold the liquid filled spoon, so he pushes Phillip’s hand back down. Phillip frowns at him, all the more when Barnum leads the spoon to his lips. Instinctively, Phillip leans back. From there, the two men have a conversation with their eyes only. Phillip starts.
What are you doing?
Helping.
I don’t need your help. I’m not a child.
Yes, you’ve said that already. So don’t act like one and open up.
This is humiliating.
Barnum cups the back of Phillip’s neck gently but firmly.
It doesn’t need to be. Now will you take the damn medicine?
Fine.
Phillip purses his lips before parting them, looking to the side in embarrassed anger. Barnum leads the spoon to his mouth with a satisfied smirk. Just as Phillip closes his lips around it, he lifts his gaze, locking it with Barnum’s. Barnum’s smirk falters. He swallows thickly, feeling the air around them frizzle. As he pulls the empty spoon back, he can’t help but look down at Phillip’s lips as they slowly slide away from the metal piece of cutlery. The moment is broken when Phillip groans, presumably at the taste.
Barnum lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. And is it just him or is it really warm in here? He clears his throat, practically throwing the spoon back on the table and standing up.
“Well, I should, um, let you sleep,” he manages to say in a relatively even voice. Phillip looks up at him only briefly, nodding. “Right. Don’t forget to change. I’ll be next door if you need… something.” He begins to walk away. And stops at the doorway, glancing back. Phillip makes no move to stand, staring at the floor. And damn, if that silence isn’t bothering the hell out of him. Not even ten words since the bathtub. And that eye contact moment was even more disturbing. And unnervingly arousing, not that Barnum wants to acknowledge that fact. But at least he can make Phillip acknowledge that something is off.
He turns around and makes his way back to Phillip, who looks up at him. Barnum stops in front of him. “What’s wrong?” he demands. Before Phillip can either answer him with a lie, or ask for unnecessary clarification, Barnum elaborates, “You’ve barely talked for ten minutes. So either you’re feeling worse than it shows, in which case I’ll be calling for a doctor, and we both know how much you love those,” he notices the clench in Phillip’s jaw. “Or something else is bothering you.”
Phillip maintains eye contact, choosing his words. Barnum suddenly hopes he won’t demand an explanation for the spoon ‘incident’. Barnum has no idea how he would explain himself. Seeing as Phillip is still pondering over what to say, Barnum sits next to him, setting a reassuring hand on his knee. Phillip looks at it. “You can tell me anything, you know.”
Another fifteen seconds of silence pass before Phillip finally answers. “You undressed me,” he murmurs.
Hell. “I did,” Barnum confirms calmly, “Like I said, you needed to be cooled down.” He wonders where this is going as Phillip pulls the towel even tighter around himself. “And as you can see, your modesty remained intact, if that’s what has you worried.”
Phillip’s eyes flicker to Barnum’s at that statement. “No, that’s not… Forget it, it’s just the fever talking.”
“Phillip. Tell me.” Barnum uses a slight admonishment in his voice, being privy to its effect on Phillip. Indeed, Phillip immediately straightens, scowling at his own reaction. Yet his lips remain sealed. “ Phillip .” There, the younger man glares at him.
“It’s the scars, alright?” Phillip snaps, instantly looking back down as the words leave his lips, sighing. “My apologies. I… I know it’s absurd. Nonsensical. But I just– I loathe seeing them, much less having y– someone else see them.”
Barnum observes him, the genuine shame and anguish on Phillip’s flushed face at the subject. So he stands, Phillip’s gaze snapping up to him in surprise and apprehension. Barnum faces Phillip, looking down at him neutrally.
“Stand up,” he says, and Phillip hesitates. “Come on, stand up. I won’t bite.” Phillip obeys this time, albeit slowly. They stand only a few inches apart. “Now take off your towel.” At this, Phillip almost balks. His eyes widen, an irked refusal ready on his tongue. But Barnum continues. “Either you do it, or I do.” The turndown dies before it can ever come out. Phillip still doesn’t make a move to carry out Barnum’s order.
With a look of both amusement and determination, Barnum lifts his hands and closes them around the edges of Phillip’s towel. He pulls at them as carefully as would a surgeon during an operation. The towel comes undone in his hands, leaving Phillip bare from the waist up. Neither man looks away from the other. Barnum eventually is the first to break their staring contest, letting his gaze travel down Phillip’s chest, all traces of amusement gone. A tense moment passes, Phillip standing motionless and crimson as he is examined, almost startling when Barnum talks again.
“These scars, they’re all from the fire?” Phillip nods. The ones on his chest –the ones Barnum can see– are. The ones on his back are not. “And you find them…?”
Phillip swallows thickly. “Repulsive," he grits out.
“‘Repulsive’.” Barnum echoes, almost distractingly. “Right. Well,” he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing against the larger scar right above Phillip’s hipbone, making the younger man shudder, “that’s absolutely preposterous, isn’t it.”
Their eyes meet. Heat rushes up into Phillip’s cheeks, sending an odd sensation in his stomach. Odd, yet familiar in Barnum’s presence. His vision blurs slightly as he takes a step back, the back of his knees hitting the bed.
“I–” Phillip clears his throat. “I think I need to– to rest, now. If you wouldn’t mind…”
“Phillip–”
“Please, P.T.” Phillip says quietly. “I think I’ve had enough ridicule for one day.”
Barnum’s gaze hardens. He raises a hand, carefully cupping Phillip’s cheek. “I never thought I would one day need to convince you of your own beauty.” He caresses his cheekbone. “You are beautiful, Phillip. Incredibly so.”
Phillip’s lips part minutely in shock, fluster, and something akin to tentative relief.
“Why would you say that,” he whispers, voice cracking, “You can’t say things like that.”
“And yet, I mean every word.” Barnum says, a rumble in his voice.
Phillip closes his eyes, breathing in and out shakily, tilting his head up. “ P.T… ” He can feel the other man’s breath tickling his skin. They’re too close. The hand on his cheek slides to his neck, threading in the hair on his nape.
Barnum deposits a kiss on his forehead.
“Rest now.”
And then the heat and the scent that are uniquely Barnum are gone, leaving Phillip feeling cold once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phillip dreams again.
He dreams of the circus, of pink elephants and swimming giant caterpillars wearing bowler hats. All is going well at the circus. The stands are empty but the tent resonates with cheers. He sees P.T, in the middle of the ring, grinning. He extends his arm towards Phillip in invitation. But then, the invisible crowd starts to ‘boo’ at him. They shout unintelligible jeers that Phillip knows are slurs. P.T’s grin disappears, his arm falling by his side. He shakes his head.
“You don’t belong here,” he says, and suddenly the tent transforms into an inferno. Everything is ablaze, screams erupting from every corner. Phillip is unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to call for help. Suddenly, he sees P.T, laying only a foot to his right, unmoving, a blackened pole piercing his chest. His eyes are open, their light gone.
He screams.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Phillip awakens slowly. The early dawn’s light illuminates his bed through the window. He shifts, feeling his pillow slightly dampened by what he suspects are his own tears. He’s used to it. He swallows, and regrets it instantly as his throat is parched. Turning his head, he sees a large glass of water on his bedside table, next to a pile of cotton handkerchiefs. Silently thanking Barnum, he sits up, wincing at his sore muscles, and eagerly empties the glass. He then blows his nose with one of the cotton cloths. Wanting a refill on that water, Phillip stands up, closing his eyes briefly as his world tilts and the nausea hits him. Slowly, he makes his way to the living room. As he walks past the couch, he startles as he sees Barnum. The man is lying on the plushed furniture, fast asleep, an opened book on his stomach. Half a second after thinking that he looks quite handsome with his mussed hair, Phillip is reminded of what occurred the previous night. The touches, the words. The damn touches .
Phillip quickly departs for the kitchen. Once there, he pours himself a glass, and then decides to start on some coffee. A few minutes later, however, a voice sounds from behind Phillip.
“A bit early for coffee, isn’t it?”
Phillip sneezes in startlement, something he didn’t know was possible. Apparently, neither did Barnum according to the look on his face as Phillip turns around to greet him.
“Bless you and excuse me,” Barnum says amusedly. Phillip chuckles quietly.
“Good morning to you too.” Phillip gestures to the coffee in invitation. Barnum nods. “I would have thought you’d have gone back home by now.”
He busies himself with pouring them both a cup as Barnum hums. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to require a second dip.”
Phillip blushes as he recalls last night’s events. “Very thoughtful of you.” He hands a cup to Barnum, who thanks him. They drink in companionable silence for a minute.
“How are you feeling today?” Barnum eventually asks.
“The fever broke, I think. Other than that, both my throat and nose demand a merciful execution.” His joke is ignored in favor of a temperature check. Phillip blames his vertigo for the way he leans into Barnum’s hand.
“Still a bit warm,” Barnum says, “but definitely better than yesterday.”
Phillip hums, eyes fluttering shut. He is still tired, after all. The hand on his forehead drops to his arm. Barnum chuckles.
“Come on, let’s go have a seat.” Phillip nods and follows him wordlessly. They sit next to each other, thighs almost touching. They continue to sip at their coffee. When Phillip’s cup is empty, Barnum takes it and sets it alongside his on the coffee table. “You must still be tired.”
Phillip sighs. “I am. Lord, I despise being sick.”
Barnum chuckles. “Don’t need to tell me twice. It’s simply a waste of time. Nothing to be done but wait and sleep, mostly.”
“On the subject of wasted time–”
“Ah ah.” Barnum tuts him. “Don’t you dare. Today is Monday, there is no show, and Lettie saw us leave on Sunday evening, if you can’t recall. She’s been made aware of the situation, and shouldn’t expect either of us at the circus today.”
Phillip wants to argue about it, but he is frankly just too tired. He simply sighs and lets his head fall into his hands, elbows on his knees. Barnum rubs his back in sympathy. It helps with the tension along his vertebrae. A few minutes of silence pass.
“Say, Phillip,” Barnum starts softly.
“Mm?”
“Do you still think about the fire?”
Phillip’s hands twitch over his face, body tensing. But he remains in his position. “Only sometimes,” he lies, and waits a couple seconds before continuing, “Do you?”
“I do,” Barnum answers honestly and without shame, “It often haunts me during the night. I’ll wake up thinking everyone I love died in there, because of me.” Phillip hesitantly peers up at Barnum, who is looking straight at him. “Including you.”
Phillip swallows thickly, dropping his hands and straightening up. “Why are you telling me this?” How is he expressing everything that Phillip feels about this, the near replica of his own nightmares?
Barnum takes his hand gently. “Because I want you to know that you’re not alone. And that you can always talk to me about your own hauntings.”
Phillip wants to deny it, but what’s the point. He feels an immense weight lift off his shoulders. He’s not alone. Barnum understands. He understands the terror of believing to have caused the death of their friends, their family.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. And before he can stop himself, adds, “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d– if I’d lost you.” Their eyes meet.
Barnum squeezes his hand. “I share the sentiment, Phillip.” He sighs. “I’ve come to care a great deal about you, you know. Perhaps even, a slight more than most would consider to be… appropriate.”
Phillip’s breath catches. “What do you mean,” he whispers, his heart starting to beat faster.
“I think you know, Phillip.” Barnum’s voice becomes as quiet as the younger man’s.
Phillip nods slowly, their eyes never leaving the other’s. Barnum clenches his jaw, and slowly, ever so slowly, begins to lean in. Phillip doesn’t move, finding himself frozen.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” Barnum murmurs.
Phillip’s answering silence evolves into a small whimper as their lips brush, burning at the barest whisper of contact. It’s Phillip who pushes for further contiguity.
Their lips move together in a slow, exploring tenderness. One of Barnum’s hands moves to hold Phillip by the back of his head while Phillip’s close around Barnum’s shirt. Eventually, they separate. To breathe, to think, or maybe to admire the other. Or all three.
Phillip’s eyes flutter open, swaying. Barnum holds him steady while wearing a smitten grin. “Let it be known that I can sweep you off your feet.”
Phillip laughs a surprised laugh, just as smitten as the other man. “I’m already off my feet.”
“Exactly.” He leans in for another yet quicker kiss, which Phillip returns gladly. “Now how about some broth and bread from breakfast?”
A few days later, Phillip grins wickedly at his partner as he sneezes and groans about his apprentice trying to usurp his position by getting him sick. Phillip kisses Barnum chastely but lovingly, assuring him of his innocence as well as promising to return the favor of leading him back to health, adding that he had warned the man about getting sick from his continued presence at Phillip's side, as well as all the stolen kisses. Barnum grumbles but smiles nonetheless, seeking another kiss and receiving it affectionately.