one-shot collection [multi-fandom]

Hugs || Barlyle

The first time Phillip Carlyle ever received a hug, he didn't know what to do. One minute, he's standing there having a rather pleasant conversation with Lettie, and the next, he felt as if he would burst from the vice-like grip around his waist.

Arms flailing, Lettie relaxed her grip, ever so slightly to allow Phillip to breathe, but refused to let go. Finally, Phillip calmed down, and slowly, gradually, let his arms come to rest around Lettie's shoulders, finger tips tentatively brushing the tops of her arms.

When the two of them finally pulled away Lettie elected to ignore the glazed look in Phillips eyes as she sashayed away, presumably to go bug Phineas over something.

~0~

The second time Phillip ever received a hug, he was a little more prepared than the first time. Only a little.

One hour prior, Mr & Mrs Carlyle officially disowned their son, and Phillip didn't know how to feel about it.

On one hand, he was glad that he was out from beneath his parent's thumb; he was free.

On the other hand, he was hurting. He was doing what he loved, what made him happy, and his parent's couldn't accept that, they couldn't accept that a life without happiness is a life unfulfilled.

What he wanted- no. What he needed right now was not the suffocating, crushing embrace that Lettie gave him not two days ago, but something softer, something more gentle.

That was why, when the thin arms of Anne Wheeler wrapped around his shoulders and brought him into her delicate arms, a hidden strength rippling beneath her skin, Phillip tensed only for a split second before he relaxed, feeling if his bones had liquified.

Anne's heart shattered as she felt Phillip melt in her embrace. No words needed to be spoken between, only a mutual understanding that this new family that Phillip had found, would not be so quick to dismiss him.

~0~

The third time Phillip ever received a hug was the day he was released from Hospital. He had spent hour after hour, day after day, week after week, bored out of his mind in the cot in the burn ward in the hospital, unable to get up and walk around, only allowed one visitor at a time.

Walking out the front door of the warehouse-type building that the hospital was located in, he wasn't sure who initiated the hug, only that within seconds of stepping out the front door, he was engulfed in the embrace of the entire circus troupe.

Well, almost the entire troupe.

~0~

The fourth hug Phillip ever had, was the first time he had ever initiated anything more intimate than a handshake.

Lifting the flap of the tent into what would become the office that he would share with Phineas Taylor Barnum, he was curious to find said man hunched over the desk that had been placed in the centre, a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in his hand. In fact, he was so hunched over, it seemed as if his forehead was resting on the papers in front of him.

Sighing deeply, Phillip hobbled over to the hunched figure, still quite stiff and sore from his injuries. With one hand, he reached out and placed a gentle hand in the centre of Phineas' back, the other reaching out to pry his fingers from their vice-like grip around the glass.

When he was finally able to remove the glass, Phillip sighed once again at the lack of response from the unconscious man. How much had he had to drink? The man had an iron stomach and could usually out-drink a fish! Mindlessly, he ran his fingers through the thick hair on Phineas' head, short nails scratching ever so softly.

Slowly, Phineas' woke from his drunken stupor, fingers ceaselessly rubbing soothing patterns against his scalp. As he turned his head to face the owner of the hand, he felt said hand quickly snap back out of his hair. Blinking in the low light provided by the candles, he blearily looked up, gaze landing on Phillip's beaten up face. Groaning, he turned his face back to the desk, resting his forehead against the cool wood.

Frowning, Phillip slowly knelt beside him, attempting to be mindful of his injuries. "Phineas? What's wrong?"

His response was nothing more than a half-hearted puff of air, what was presumably a scoff from the hungover ringleader, followed by some indistinguishable mumbling.

Brow furrowing deeper, Phillip shuffled closer. "Phineas?"

Finally lifting his head, although he did not open his eyes, Phineas turned to Phillip and spoke a little clearer. "Go away. I'm not in the mood for ghosts."

Just as he was once again lowering his head to the desk, he paused at the low chuckle from the man knelt beside him.

"I'm not dead Phineas. Takes a little more than a building collapsing on me to kill this guy."

The scowl on the drunken man's face deepened. "That's what you said last time."

The amused smile on the younger man's face dropped and he stood up, realising the situation was a little more dire than just merely a drunk Phineas. "Phineas Taylor Barnum, I don't care what drunken hallucinations you've had over the last few weeks, you are getting up, sobering up, and manning up."

The drunken man jerked away in surprise, falling off his chair in the process. The comparison between drunken adults and young toddlers could not have been any more prevalent in this moment, as Phineas landed on his back, he instantly dissolved into tears.

Standing there, watching the grown man sob on the floor on the other side of the chair, Phillip could feel his heart shattering. Slowly, he hobbled around the chair and once more lowered himself to the ground, this time placing himself behind Phineas. Cautiously, Phillip reached forward, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist, drawing his back into his chest.

Resting his chin on Phineas' shoulder, Phillip softly began muttering words of comfort into the older man's ear, his soft voice soothing, the rumble of his voice in his chest calming the other man, until eventually, the two of them fell asleep, arms and legs entangled, daring the world to separate them once more.