After hours of staggering, Phillip finally arrived at the circus. It was dark, and the oil lamps in the streetlights flickered. Heavy rain filled the air; Philip was soaked to the skin. He was shaking violently as he reached the doors. He prayed that tonight was one of those not-so-rare occasions when Barnum would work late, finalising costumes or calculating sums.

Phillip pushed through the doors, inhaling the scents of the circus, and he was instantly more at ease. The familiar smells made this building feel more like home than his parents' strict household ever did. He walked unsteadily towards Barnum's - and his own - office. He saw that the lamps were not out and a ray of hope warmed him slightly from the inside. He stopped outside the door, seeing P.T.'s silhouette hunched forward over his desk. Phillip steadied his breathing and tried to control his now racing pulse. He opened the door.

Barnum turned around in his chair. Upon seeing Phillip's state, his face grew heavy with concern, the tension between them from earlier forgotten. He took Phillip's face in his hands and wiped away the blood. As soon as he realised that the various cuts and bruises posed no immediate danger the the younger man, his face clouded over with anger.

"Who did this to you, Phillip?" He murmured, trying to disguise to rage in his voice.

"It was an accident," Phillip lied. He knew Barnum wouldn't believe it for a second, but he didn't want to talk about the incident with his parents right now.

"Phillip, if you don't tell me the truth, I will go to the police." Barnum said. "Was it thugs from the bar? Did they beat you up because you're- because of the newspapers?"

"No! No, it wasn't them." Phillip said. "And please don't go to the police, P.T., please."

P.T.'s face softened. "Alright... but you must tell me what happened."

So, too tired to argue, Phillip recalled everything that had happened since he had run out of the bar, from his mother's reaction to the feeling of his father's fists. Barnum listened. He didn't interrupt, he just stood there, taking in Phillip's words.

When Phillip finished, he was fighting back tears, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. A moment passed, then Barnum stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the younger man, pulling him close. Phillip hesitated for a second, then hugged P.T. back, resting his head on the muscular chest, his arms clasped tight around the showman's waist. Barnum let his head rest on Phillip's, muttering soothing words to his apprentice. Phillip let his tears fall, let all the pent up emotions come out, guttural sobs racking his whole body as P.T. Barnum hugged him. But one good thing remained; for the first time in years, Phillip felt safe. Safe in the hold of a man he'd known for less than three months, but had somehow become the only thing Phillip was living for.

The two men stood there for what seemed like hours, but neither wanted to stop holding the other.

Eventually, P.T. lifted his chin from Philip's head. "We should get you to bed, Phillip."

Phillip nodded into Barnum's chest. "I know, but I don't have anywhere to go."

"I'm sorry, Phillip, but I can't take you to mine, my wife would kill me- you're at the centre of a scandal and you're covered in blood and bruises."

Phillip's chest tightened when Barnum mentioned his wife. "I thought you and Charity were getting a divorce?" He mumbled.

P.T. sighed. "We are... but I don't want to stress the girls out by causing fights."

"Okay... but where should I sleep then?"

Barnum thought for a minute. "I mean, we can roll out some blankets from the closet, you can sleep here. I'll be back in the morning."

Phillip froze at the idea. He gripped P.T. tighter. "You can't leave me here alone, Phin. I've been alone for too long. Please don't go." Maybe it was a stupid thing to say, and as soon as the words had left his mouth Philip blushed.

Phineas touched Phillip's hair and sighed. "Alright... you win. Help me get the blankets out."

With the limited resources of the circus, the two had soon made a decent bed. There was just one problem.

"We'll have to sleep in it together." Barnum voiced Philip's thoughts. They made eye contact for a brief second. P.T. cleared his throat and looked away, while Philip blushed a deep red.

"I can sleep on the chair in the office if you'd rather." Phineas suggested. Philip shook his head, embarrassed.

"I'd rather you stayed." Philip's eyes widened as he realised what he'd said. "I mean- it's just it'll be colder for both of us if we don't, and-" He stopped, blushing even more.

Phineas's eyes seemed to ask him to finish what he was saying.

"And... I'm scared." Philip didn't want to look at the showman. He thought he would shrivel up from embarrassment as he waited for P.T.'s response.

Instead of saying anything, the circus king took Philip's hand gently and lead him to the makeshift bed. The two men lay down beside each other. At first it was awkward, and they lay as far apart as the space allowed, but after a while both relaxed, grateful for the extra body heat.

Philip heard P.T.'s breathing change; he was asleep. He sighed. He was about to shut his own eyes when Phineas rolled over in his sleep, his body curving towards Philip. The showman's head rested on Philip's and the younger man forgot how to breathe. He let himself smile, and wriggled backwards, so Barnum's body cocooned his.

"So you want to cuddle, eh, Philip?" P.T. mumbled sleepily, making Philip jump.

"You're warm is all." Philip stuttered, and he could almost hear Barnum smile teasingly. "Shut up, Barnum." He mumbled.

"I didn't say a word, my dear Philip."

Yep, thought Philip as he felt P.T.'s arms wrap around him, he's definitely grinning.