Listless

Renly tried to calm himself, but his body continued to protest. Throbbing in his head, ringing in his ears, muscle soreness, a freezing sensation in his stomach... that sensation of numbness and aching was pervasive. Lying on the couch should have been comfortable, but it felt like the cushions were turning into a cold quagmire, slowly engulfing him. The cold and slippery feeling seeped into his bloodstream through his pores, stabbing at his bones sharply, yet he couldn't muster the strength to resist.

He knew he was losing control, but he was powerless to stop it. After suppressing the unnamed fire once with great effort, it swept over him again, incinerating all his rationality.

"If it's about the Oscar ceremony, I can tell you that I don't intend to attend."

Before rationality could catch up, the words impulsively burst out. Even Renly himself didn't understand how those words had come out, why he had suddenly mentioned the Oscars, and why he had decided not to attend.

"What?" Andy was bewildered. The sudden turn of events caught him off guard, and despite his seasoned experience, an astonished voice escaped him. But the loss of composure was only momentary. Andy took a deep breath to regain his calmness before speaking again, his tone composed as he inquired, "Renly, what happened? Why did you suddenly decide not to attend?"

"Hmph." A tinge of derisive laughter escaped Renly's lips. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glancing at Andy with a faint flicker of scorn and disdain in his gaze. "I thought you came all the way to Seattle because of my health. But now, hearing that I won't attend the Oscars, you're suddenly in a panic?"

Confronted with Renly's blazing sharpness, Andy maintained a slight curve in his lips, but his eyes lacked any trace of a smile. "Renly, I think you need to rest for a while. Once you've calmed down, we can talk."

Andy realized that Renly was currently in a precarious state, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He didn't understand what was going on. In all the time he had known Renly, he had never seen him lose his composure like this.

Compared to his usual calm and wise demeanor, Renly's air of sophistication had vanished. He seemed more approachable, but at the same time, he seemed to have become more ordinary and simplified. This was the most unfamiliar aspect.

"Now you're willing to let me rest?" Renly, on the contrary, sat up, glaring at Andy. His deep brown eyes were devoid of any concealment, revealing all his emotions. However, they were just a tangled mess, like a ball of yarn without a clear thread. "Do I really want to rest, or do I want to attend the Oscars?"

Confronted by Renly's domineering demeanor, Andy refrained from responding directly. It wasn't that he couldn't argue back; he understood that any rebuttal would only escalate the situation. Renly had clearly set out to quarrel and was provoking a fight. This version of Renly was truly incomprehensible.

"I don't see the point in attending the Oscars," Andy chose not to respond. But Renly wasn't willing to let the matter rest. The rage coursing through his chest continued to spew out ceaselessly, like a burst of flames, incinerating all rationality, control, and restraint. "I'm like a monkey in a circus, displayed before everyone, then they come to watch, ridicule, and make fun of me!"

"We all know that Colin Firth is the Best Actor, and Natalie Portman is the Best Actress. It's already set in stone. The other nominees are just running alongside them. We arrive at the scene, then reluctantly wish them well. Christ damn it, I don't want to wish them well at all! Every nominee wants to win. Those words about not wanting to win are just hypocritical nonsense!"

An abnormal flush swept over Renly's face, his complexion suddenly turning ruddy. The delicate hue accentuated the pallor of his lips and the despondency in his eyes.

Andy didn't want to respond, but he couldn't hold back in the end. "If you still want to win awards in the future, then you must attend!" He also noticed the abnormality in Renly's complexion. It looked truly unusual. He subtly signaled Nathan with his eyes, indicating that Nathan should call a doctor. However, Nathan remained frozen in place, momentarily unresponsive, disrupting Andy's composure.

"No, I don't want to," Renly waved his hand indifferently, shaking his head. Then he leaned heavily back into the couch cushions, sinking into them. "I don't see what meaning it holds."

"Its significance lies in the fact that you can gain recognition that belongs to you, and then build your acting career according to your own vision," Andy restrained his anxiety and cautiously persuaded. "This world is filled with countless rules. We can't let ourselves be tied down by rules. Only by breaking them can we have freedom. But before breaking them, we need to adapt to the rules, learn to use them, and then break them. Those rebels who ignore the rules often end up as martyrs."

"Those ordinary people who lead uneventful lives in society, those who get ground out, those who submit to life's demands. They all tell themselves the same thing." Renly could be described as firing on all cylinders: mockery, disdain, ridicule, sarcasm, contempt, every possible weapon in his arsenal.

Then, Renly paused for a moment, looking intently at Andy, he emphasized once more, "No, I won't attend."

Initially, it was just a fleeting thought, an idea that had popped into his mind out of nowhere. But now this idea was growing gradually, uncontrollably occupying his entire mind: he didn't want to attend the Oscars.

In the face of cancer, he couldn't see the meaning of the Oscars. Compared to life and death, compared to the meaning of existence, a little golden statue was insignificant. He should pursue grander ideals, truly find his own meaning on the path of life, and set aside the extravagance and desires of the fame and fortune scene.

Regarding performance, he couldn't see the meaning of the Oscars either. It was just an award chosen by a specific race, a specific gender, a specific group of people. It was like a presidential election, a game controlled by a minority, for example, the Weinstein brothers.

He was an actor, not a star. He didn't want to abandon his principles for a mere show.

"We are in the midst of filming, and the entire crew can't come to a standstill just because of me." Suddenly, Renly's thoughts began to clear. Amidst the chaos, his only conviction guided him firmly forward.

"We're in a good state right now. Once it's interrupted, no one knows what might happen. Next, I'll be filming the scene where I have to shave my head. The whole crew is looking forward to it, and we're all prepared. So, I won't attend the Oscars. I won't go to Los Angeles for a circus show."

Renly's words were so resolute, carried a coarse and brutal sharpness. They surged forward unstoppably, leaving Andy rooted in place. He could voice a counterargument, but seeing the brilliance in Renly's eyes, his words got stuck in his throat.

This was the first time Andy saw Renly's soul so clearly.

Fiery and frenzied, pure and sincere, vivid and clear, the madness that disregarded everything for the sake of performance, the unwavering focus immersed in acting, the determination that radiated brilliance for the sake of performance, all of it was presented without any concealment. It was riveting, capturing one's gaze, rendering words colorless.

But this brilliance was merely a momentary eruption. Renly then covered his mouth, panicked, and rushed towards the bathroom. He slammed the door shut with force, and the entire door seemed to groan in pain.

Andy was bewildered, looking towards Nathan with anxiety. However, Nathan's face was equally blank. Before today, Renly had never displayed such symptoms, and the afternoon's incident was known only to Will and Seth.

Both of them rushed towards the bathroom in a fluster, not waiting for a knock. Violent retching sounds emanated from inside, a tumultuous upheaval. Even through the door, the exhausting agony and the piercing pain, evident in the weakened voice, could be felt clearly. The pain was scorching yet freezing.

Originally, pain was so real and tangible.

Even Andy found it hard to endure, awkwardly averting his eyes, unable to continue listening, let alone Nathan. Andy understood that Renly's condition was dire, visibly so. However, the reality was beyond imagination, a thin door panel acting like a barrier between two worlds, with hell awaiting on the other side.

Turning around briskly, Andy retrieved his phone and immediately dialed a number, using a series of connections to contact a private doctor in Seattle. He requested an immediate house call.

Once he finished with these arrangements, Andy returned to the bathroom door. But now it was quiet inside, not a sound. He looked up at Nathan, who appeared anxious and lost. Nathan had also grown frantic and forgotten that, like Andy, he was locked out and had no way of knowing what was happening inside.

Taking a deep breath, Andy forced himself to calm down.

Today, Renly's behavior was far from normal, or to be more precise, his behavior over the past two weeks had been abnormal. Due to his busy schedule, Andy had only been in touch with Nathan daily, not paying close attention to Renly's condition. Hence, the contrast was stark today, as if a sudden 180-degree turn had occurred.

A sense of unease grew within Andy.

The bathroom door swung open, revealing Renly in front of Andy. The damp short hair indicated that he had cleaned up briefly inside, so the disheveled state from vomiting wasn't visible. However, the pale cheeks devoid of the flush of blood, the weakness and exhaustion between his brows, all hinted that things weren't so simple.

Andy suddenly regretted introducing "50/50" to Renly. If he hadn't, would Renly have been ensnared in this predicament?