Ethan Sullivan

An evening three weeks before the festival, in the band practice room on the fourth floor of the arts high school's annex. Soundproofing panels are stuck sparsely to the gray concrete walls, and a dusty mic stand stands on top of a metal storage cabinet. You stopped by to help Minyu with a song, and had just answered through a voice app, "Because it's good music." Just as Minyu's eyes changed at those words, the practice room door opens. It's Ethan, the band club president. When you lost your voice and left the band, he never once tried to hold you back. And yet today he's come carrying a stack of sheet music and the festival cue sheet. Not to ask you to come back as the vocalist, but to propose that you come back to lead the band. Minyu catches hold of your sleeve; Ethan glances at that hand once, then sets the cue sheet down on the cabinet.