the evening descended into a complicated, multi-layered family drama involving Dede’s impending move, his mother’s past relationship with a Charles Manson look-alike, and her attempts to mend fences with Jay and Gloria.
Ethan, however, was conspicuously absent from all of it.
He purposefully stayed upstairs, barricaded in his room, headphones on, strumming softly on his acoustic guitar.
He didn’t come down at all, not when a muffled argument erupted downstairs about old grievances.
He didn’t emerge when Dylan, Hayley’s boyfriend, apparently made some soppy, heartfelt speech to appease Claire.
And he certainly didn’t show his face when Dylan then, to everyone’s collective horror, decided to sing a song – a slow, acoustic, overly earnest ballad that, in a different part of the country, would have had him shot.
Ethan merely turned up his music, humming along to his own, infinitely superior, melodies.
He was purposefully minding his own business, a master of strategic avoidance.
And it was a great success.
Everything downstairs, the drama, the awkwardness, the terrible singing, all fell into place perfectly, completely without his involvement.
The next night, the Dunphy driveway was a flurry of activity.
Ethan, looking surprisingly cool in a black band t-shirt and ripped jeans, was expertly loading his drum kit and guitar amps into the back of his beaten-up, but surprisingly spacious, white panel van.
His bandmates, who had just pulled up in a similarly aged van, were already helping with the smaller equipment.
Claire stood by the van, her arms crossed, a look of barely contained anxiety on her face.
“Now, Ethan, remember the rules,” she reiterated, her voice firm.
“Drive carefully.
No speeding.
No illegal parking.
Call me when you get there, and call me when you leave.
No afterparty.
Straight home.
Do you have enough gas?
Did you check the tires?
Did you pack a snack?” Her questions tumbled out in a rapid-fire succession.
Ethan, securing a speaker with a bungee cord, merely grunted in acknowledgment.
“Yes, Mom.
Everything’s fine.
I’m a professional.” He zipped up a guitar case, then turned to face her, a practiced, slightly exaggerated grin on his face.
“We’ll be back before you know it.”
“And remember, your phone needs to be charged,” Claire added, as if on cue.
“Got it,” Ethan confirmed, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, though his eyes were already scanning for the quickest exit.
Just then, a figure emerged from the sedan, a striking contrast to the suburban backdrop.
It was Cassandra, Ethan’s best friend and the band’s lead singer.
Her raven-black hair, cut in a sharp, asymmetrical style, framed a pale, almost porcelain face adorned with an impressive collection of piercings: a delicate silver ring in her septum, a small stud above her left eyebrow, and a series of hoops and chains adorning her ears.
She wore an oversized, chunky knit black jumper, the sleeves almost entirely covering her hands, despite the mild weather.
Baggy cargo pants completed her undeniably goth aesthetic, creating a silhouette that seemed to swallow her small frame.
A small, intricately embroidered patch on her jumper bore ‘The Rusty Spoons’ logo, a design she had meticulously crafted herself.
Claire, ever observant, immediately noticed the subtle gleam on Cassandra’s face, but her primary concern was the girl’s attire.
“Cassandra, aren’t you hot in that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly at the heavy knitwear.
Cassandra offered a small, polite smile, though her dark eyes held a hint of amusement.
“I’m fine, Miss Dunphy.”
Ethan, seeing his mother’s impending lecture, interjected smoothly.
“Yeah, Mom, she’s fine.
She’s been wearing jumpers like that for months now.” He rolled his eyes, a familiar exasperation.
Claire sighed, her focus shifting from the new adornment to her son.
“Is that a new piercing?” she asked, her eyes now finally settling on the tiny, sparkling gem just below Cassandra’s lower lip.
Cassandra’s smile widened.
“Yes, Miss Dunphy.”
Claire sighed again, clearly overwhelmed by both Cassandra’s fashion choices and her son’s rock-and-roll lifestyle.
“Keep him from doing anything stupid.”
Cassandra’s smile widened further, revealing a flash of dark humor.
“I will try, but stupid tends to follow him around.” She glanced at Ethan, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
Just then, he saw Hayley’s face appear in her bedroom window, a look of profound envy and irritation on her face.
Ethan’s grin widened.
He gave a nonchalant, yet utterly infuriating, wave.
“Bye-bye,” he called out, his voice just loud enough to carry, purposefully designed to rub salt in her wounds.
He could see it had done its job; Hayley’s face twisted into a scowl before she disappeared from the window.
The perfect farewell.
Ethan, back in his attic room, now wearing a triumphant smirk, looked directly into the camera.
“I had a great time at the concert.” He leaned back, a dreamy look in his eyes.
“Let me tell you, it was the best night of my life.” He paused, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“I now know why people in bands sleep with fans.”
The venue was a small, grimy club, thick with the smell of sweat, stale beer, and raw energy.
But to Ethan, it was a palace.
‘The Rusty Spoons’ were tearing it down.
The bass throbbed, rattling the very foundations of the building.
Ethan, a blur of motion behind his drum kit, pounded out a furious rhythm, his face contorted in a joyous snarl.
The crowd, a swirling mass of bodies, surged and swayed, caught in the infectious energy of their music.
He was lost in the sound, the roar of the guitar, the thundering bass, his own voice raw and powerful as he screamed into the mic.
The stage lights, cheap and flickering, cast long, distorted shadows, turning the band into mythical figures.
Midway through a particularly blistering guitar solo, Ethan looked out over the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of faces, a wave of euphoria washing over him.
And then he saw her.
Standing near the front, bathed in the chaotic red glow of a stage light, was the most attractive blonde woman he had ever seen.
Her hair was a veritable shockwave of platinum, a cascade of perfectly messy, almost impossibly bright strands that seemed to defy the sweaty humidity of the club.
It caught the flashing lights, reflecting them back like shattered diamonds, an iridescent halo around her head.
Even as she violently headbanged, her movements fluid and uninhibited, not a single hair seemed to fall out of its effortlessly chic place.
Her eyes, a brilliant, almost impossibly clear blue, held a fierce, unyielding intensity that seemed to pierce through the smoke and haze, fixing on Ethan with an unnerving, magnetic pull.
They were the kind of eyes that saw everything, judged everything, and yet, in this moment, held a wild, unadulterated joy.
Her features were carved with an almost intimidating precision: high, defined cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a perfectly defined cupid’s bow mouth that was currently stretched into a wide, uninhibited grin, revealing perfect white teeth.
She wasn’t just in the crowd; she was the crowd’s undeniable focal point, radiating an effortless, queen-like confidence that set her apart from everyone else.
Despite the gritty, raucous atmosphere of the club, she looked impossibly fresh, her presence a dazzling, almost unreal beacon amidst the dim, pulsing energy.
Every move she made was fluid and self-assured, a natural grace that spoke of someone utterly accustomed to being admired, even worshipped.
She wore a perfectly distressed band tee, tucked into high-waisted leather shorts, effortlessly chic and completely in command.
The way she moved, completely lost in the music yet utterly in command of her space, was captivating.
She caught his eye, and for a fleeting moment, they locked gazes.
A spark, a connection, a silent understanding passed between them.
Ethan, momentarily stunned, almost missed a beat.
He recovered quickly, a new, exhilarating surge of adrenaline coursing through him.
This was it.
This was what he played for.
A/N) What are you guys thoughts on the protagonist?
If you guys want, I will add a couple chapters before the pilot if you want that.