The show was about to start. The circus was packed; more people had bought tickets than ever before.

Phillip stood off to the side, watching the last minute preparations take place, the troupe hurrying to place their places. Barnum rushed about, adjusting costumes, giving out words of friendly advice or reminders. Generally being amazing, Phillip thought, as he gazed at the ringmaster.

P.T. caught his eye and jogged over, his top hat sat jauntily on his head.

"Excited for the show tonight, Phillip?" He asked, his eyes shining brightly, lighting up dimly lit room.

Phillip grinned. "You bet, Phin."

"I thought you should have the best seat in the house, so I reserved one in the middle of the first row," Barnum smiled. "I felt bad for snapping at you earlier."

"You didn't have to, Phin, the hug more than made up for it," Phillip said.

"You don't want the seat then?" P.T. teased.

"Oh no, not at all, I'll take the seat by all means!" He hesitated. "Thanks P.T.."

Barnum nodded, smiling, then turned to head out into the ring to start the show.

"P.T., wait!" Phillip called, and Barnum glanced over his shoulder.

Phillip walked over and straightened the ringmaster's top hat.

A moment passed and Barnum looked him straight in the eyes.

"I think you can move your hands now Phillip," he said softly.

Phillip blushed, letting his hands drop from Barnum's hat to his side. God, why was the showman so handsome, so tempting?

Barnum raised an eyebrow. "What?" The showman said. Phillip cringed as he realised that he'd sighed out loud.

"Nothing, just... good luck out there," he mumbled.

P.T.'s gaze scanned Phillip's face and his eyes shone with mischief.

"Don't a get a good luck kiss?" He asked innocently, and Phillip spluttered.

"W-What?"

Barnum stared at Phillip, waiting, challenging the younger man to do something.

Phillip felt his whole face heat up, and he was thankful for the low lighting.

P.T. seemed to realise he'd pushed it too far and cleared his throat. "Well, erm... I should probably be going. We need to get this show on the road."

Philip nodded, not meeting Phineas's eyes. "Good luck," he whispered, his throat hoarse.

Barnum shuffled his feet, reluctant to go, but he forced himself to march out into the ring.

Phillip blinked feverishly. Had that just happened? He asked himself. And if it did, why didn't I just kiss him? He did ask... and even if he was joking, I could have shown him how I felt without saying a word! Phillip shook his head and tried to clear his mind. He needed to stay and watch the show, to support the troupe if nothing else. So, his feet and mind heavy, he trudged to take the seat that Barnum had so kindly reserved for him.

The show itself, of course, was brilliant. The acts were all drilled to perfection, everyone working together like a well-oiled machine. But what bothered Phillip was that Barnum wouldn't meet his eyes. Usually, when he was watching the circus from the audience, Barnum would search the crowd to find him, and flash him a dazzling smile as he sang. But tonight, when Phillip was exactly where Barnum had wanted him, the showman wouldn't so much as glance at him. It was torture.

Maybe halfway through, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up and ran towards the exit, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He made it outside before letting them fall, the cool rain washing the saltwater from his face.

Before he knew it he was running again, his legs working without his mind, which was still thinking about Barnum. What it would have been like to kiss him, and then have the ringmaster keep his eyes fixed on Phillip throughout the whole show, singing for him, for only him...

His legs ran for him, taking him to the place to always went to drown his troubles: the bar.

There weren't many people there; they must have been at the show. Phillip elbowed through the short queue and nodded at the barman.

"Bad day, Mr. Carlyle?" He said, and Phillip nodded, afraid to open his mouth in case the tears started again. He took the glass of whiskey that the barman had poured him. He made his way to his usual spot and started to drink.

He remembered when Barnum had first met him here, in this very pub, and had proposed that Phillip joined the circus family. He'd scoffed at the idea at first, but when Barnum had sung to him, looking him in the eyes as he offered freedom and joy, Phillip had melted. He fell for this man, who he barely knew, this wild and ridiculous man who had tarnished Phillip's reputation and brought shame upon his name.

Phillip sobbed into his glass.

"Well if it isn't Phillip Carlyle, the man himself." A voice cut through Phillip's troubled thoughts. He turned around.

There was a small group of men, maybe seven or eight of them, all glaring at him. He returned to his drink, not wanting a fight now.

"Hey faggot, I'm talking to you!" The same man spoke again.

Phillip frowned, ignoring him.

Suddenly, he felt two pairs of hands grab his arms and twist him round. The other men leered and spat at him, while the speaker cracked his knuckles.

"We don't want fags in our pub, lad," He said, flecks of spit flying into Phillip's face. "We think you should leave."

"How am I supposed to leave when these two morons are holding me down?" Phillip sneered, too drunk to be afraid. The man's face twisted and he brought his knee up into Phillip's groin, then punched him hard in the stomach. Phillip doubled over, winded, and coughed violently. The man gripped his hair and yanked it up, so he was looking in Phillip's face. He sneered.

"Look, he's crying!"

The other men laughed, some jeering and cursing at him.

"I think we should rearrange that pretty little face of yours, don't you think, lads?" Phillip flinched as the men pulled back his arm, ready to take a swing.

"Get your hands off him."

Phillip looked towards the door. Barnum was stood there, and behind him was the whole troupe, looking ready to fight anyone in their way. Phillip smiled weakly, and Barnum gave him a reassuring nod, before turning his attention back to the thugs.

"I said, get your hands off him," Barnum said calmly.

"It's the circus freaks!" One of the men yelled, and the rest laughed and jeered.

"Sir," Barnum addressed the man holding Phillip by the hair, "Please get your filthy hands off Mr. Carlyle."

The man let go of Phillip, only to square up to Barnum. "You're another fag aren't you? This your boyfriend?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards Philip.

"What's it to you?" Barnum asked.

The man spat in P.T.'s face. "Faggot," He said.

"You shouldn't have done that," Phillip heard Lettie speak. She was right. Phillip looked up in time to see Barnum swing his fist at the man's face. There was a large crack, and the man staggered backwards, holding his bloodied nose.