Hey everyone, welcome to my very first PTX fanfic! I hope you guys like reading it as much as I love writing it. Feel free to leave your thoughts/constructive criticism in the comments below, and I'll hopefully see you guys around :) [oh and feel free to press play on the video above to have some music accompaniment!!]
I wanted to dedicate the first chapter of my fic to bantambirdie, since 'Pretty Boy' inspired me to continue writing fanfiction again in the first place :) thank you so much for getting me back into it ily
Scott Hoying had been sitting in row 4, seat number 23, when he had been sure that his heart stopped beating.
With his fingernails burrowed into his dark jeans and his lip between his teeth, he could do nothing but stare upwards – 50 feet above him– as the figure pranced along the high wire. The performer's body swayed to the melody around him, a stunning smile lighting up his entire face as he moved; his arms were thrown out to the sides, toes pointed, as he jumped along the tightrope.
The massive tent expelled a blinding white light in the performer's direction, casting an ethereal glow upon his black-clad figure. On cue, the performer then quickly leaped forward, smile still intact, executing three of the most perfect front flips Scott had ever seen in his life.
He thought the boy looked miraculous up there, and that was definitely an understatement. Though he was around same age as Scott himself, his way of performing showed experience and talent far beyond his years; the performer quite literally personified the music. It's sure that Scott was definitely the last person to be able to judge circus performers, as it wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but he knew passion when he saw it. Scott was certain that if he even attempted something of that calibre, he would probably start crying, if he didn't break his nose first.
***
Surprisingly, it was but twenty-three hours ago that Scott had not planned to go to the circus. At all, if ever. In fact, he had very, very different plans, which probably entailed sticking another thermometer up some poor creature's ass.
He had initially arranged to take the evening shift on Friday at Mario's Veterinary Clinic. Unlike the other 3rd year veterinary students at the University of Texas in Arlington, he barely had to work to snatch this part-time job: Mario was a family friend of his, and was more than happy to have Scott on his team. Not that Scott didn't have the right qualifications or anything – setting modesty aside, he had some of the best grades in his class. There was just something about caring for animals that Scott just fell in love with, and studying was the easy part for him; it was the practical component that required a lot of experience, as he expected.
It was a cloudy Thursday night when the course of Scott's life took a complete and unexpected detour, though he couldn't have possibly predicted the significance of the date beforehand. Scott was whipping together his favourite meal, ramen noodles with a splash of poorly-chopped cilantro. He had just gotten back from a rather tough day of classes; even though he was more than prepared for that pop quiz in biology, it still sapped him of every morsel of his energy. College just got harder and harder, but Scott didn't mind too much. His career was the gateway to eventually starting a family, so his education meant everything to him.
Scott remembered being a young kid and dreaming of the perfect future for himself: he would own a quaint wooden house on farmland, just on the outskirts of Arlington, have a PhD in rocket science, and a significant other that doubled as a chef (even his younger self could predict his ineptitude with preparing food). He often wondered what his 8-year-old self would say to him now. In fact, it was a thought that often plagued his brain at odd moments of the day, for pleasing a version of himself that no longer existed grew increasingly more important to him as the years went on. Why? Scott had no idea. Perhaps it was due to the people that he surrounded himself with back then, the people he knew, and deeply wished he still knew. For making his old-self proud was practically the same thing as saying, "I made it" to people he cut ties with. Or the people that unintentionally, or intentionally, cut ties with him. It was all the same really, in the grand scheme of things.
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The Funambulist
Fanfiction{fu·nam·bu·list: a tightrope walker/rope-dancer} Scott Hoying had been sitting in row 4, seat number 23, when he had been sure that his heart stopped beating. With his fingernails burrowed into his dark jeans and his lip between his teeth, he could...
