I do not own The Greatest Showman.

My seven year old is obsessed with it. Seriously, he scream-sings the songs on the swings at the playground. It's adorable.

Rewrite The Stars

Thrice

The first time he attempted to attend the theater, indirectly, with Anne . . .

". . . never be enough . . . never be enough . . ."

. . . it had been an unqualified failure.

Because of him.

And his gut reaction to his parents, his disapproving father relating the information to his disapproving mother.

Anne, . . .

And he had let go of her hand, dropped it, as if it were hot iron.

. . . I'm sorry.

And Anne had turned away and left and he had stayed, chest burning with pain and regret, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"It doesn't do for people to see, Phillip. It doesn't do. Compose yourself."

"Yes, Mother."

The second time he attempted to attend the theater, directly, well, mostly directly, with Anne . . .

". . . sure you'd come if I asked."

. . . it had been an unqualified failure.

". . . shame, Phillip?"

Because of his parents.

". . . the help."

And Anne, once again humiliated and rejected, had turned and fled.

Only this time, he had not let go so summarily, calling out her name . . .

"Anne! . . . Anne!"

. . . over and over again.

"Anne!"

To no avail.

And angrily reprimanded his aghast parents . . .

". . . speak to her like that?"

. . . his mother, even, . . .

". . . any part of it."

. . . before running back out into the night.

To find . . .

". . . small-minded people."

. . . her.

And it took a very long time . . .

"Please? It'll be okay this time, I promise."

. . . for him to convince her . . .

"I don't - I'm not sure -"

"Please? I don't think I can make you fall for the 'Barnum Left A Ticket' trick again, do you?"

"No."

"So please say 'yes'. Please."

. . . to try again.

"What will we do if your parents are there again? Other people like them?"

And he considers it, shrugs.

"If my parents are there, we'll ignore them completely. The way I see it, I attempted to introduce you to them once and they behaved so poorly, they've lost that privilege."

He watches her beautiful mouth pull down in displeasure, the sparkle in her eyes fade, at the memory or the potential for a new disaster, or both, he doesn't know.

But Phillip Bailey Carlyle was born into this society, he knows just how suffocating and insufferable they are.

And how fresh and alive Anne Wheeler is and what . . .

"As for the rest of them, . . ."

. . . she truly deserves.

". . . well, if they look down their noses at us, we'll just have to hold our heads higher and look more down our noses at them."

To illustrate his point, he picks up his empty teacup, thrusts his nose high into the air.

And attempts to balance the china on the end of his nose.

"Oop-"

Which promptly falls off.

The blue rose china teacup, not his nose.

Anne deftly catches it with a giggle and a shake of her head and sets it back down on the table.

As Phillip takes her hand in both of his.

"Anne, will you please come with me to the theater? You said you've always wanted to go. I know you have bad memories of it. I'm so sorry for that. But we can make new ones."

And she gazes at him for a long handful of moments.

"Please."

Before nodding.

"Alright."

And Phillip feels a smile burst across his face.

"Alright? Alright!"

Makes one more heartfelt plea.

"Will you wear the green dress again? It was so beautiful on you. Please?"

And he sees tears in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

And she smiles and nods.

"Okay!"

Again.

He dresses in his tails, Letti brushing his lapels of lint with generous, confident hands.

It isn't matronly, she doesn't have many more years than he does.

Rather, . . .

"You show her a good time, Mr. Bigtime Ringmaster. You take care of her, understand?"

. . . familial.

He nods, a grin he didn't call finding its way across his face anyway.

"Yes, ma'am."

Familial.

Not his familial.

But someone's.

Letti cuffs him on the shoulder, bringing back his wandering attention.

"I'm not joking, Phillip. She deserves it. She deserves everything good."

"I know."

And he kisses her cheek.

And she . . .

"You better."

. . . smiles.

And Anne does wear the green dress, bright lime and bold and vibrant.

Accents of pink and black satin ribbon, gold and pearl embellishments, lacy black shawl.

Black gloves and heeled boots.

All pulled together, created herself.

Her unique, alive, sense of style and flair.

It shouldn't work but it does.

Because it is her.

Long, honey-colored hair pulled into a low, demure bun.

Small shiny baubles adorning the lobes of her perfect ears.

Lightly applied powder and rouge highlighting her regal cheekbones, shadow and shine complimenting her dark, deep eyes.

Color rosing her perfect lips.

To the high swell snobs, him among them once upon a time, she would appear strange, odd.

Freakish.

And she does still stand out, it's true.

In the best possible way.

"You look beautiful, Anne."

And she . . .

"Thank you."

. . . manages a smile.

And he . . .

"Shall we?"

. . . offers his arm.

And she . . .

". . . "

. . . hesitates.

He honestly thinks for a moment that she will renege, say no, preemptively flee.

Until . . .

"Yes."

. . . she takes his arm.

And they . . .

"You take good care of her, Mr. Bigtime Ringmaster."

"Yes, ma'am."

. . . go.

Not to toot my own horn but the vision of Phillip the sour, snotty dude from the beginning of "The Other Side" attempting to balance a teacup on his nose like a seal just to make the woman he loves laugh is one of my favorite things about this chapter.

But that's just me.

;)

Thanks to Seth A. Mincberg for so kindly reviewing the previous chapter!

And thanks to the silent readers as well. :)

Part 2 tomorrow!