Offbeat

Part 0: The Beat Between Us

Ethan, seventeen and chronically overcommitted, barreled through the crowd with what looked like an entire music store in his arms—sticks, binder, metronome, gloves, water bottle, and his phone clenched between his teeth.

Why today? Why did it have to be today, of all days, that I'm running late...

He barely had time to finish the thought before a bass drum player cut directly in front of him. Ethan stumbled, juggling everything like a circus act.

He didn't notice the brown spiral cadence book slip from his binder. 

Didn't hear it hit the floor. 

Didn't see it vanish under the stampede of passing drumlines.

He just kept moving, dodging a quad drum: shouldering open the door to the North Pine practice room.

If we get DQ'd, the guys are gonna kill me...

He dumped everything onto a chair with a crash loud enough to make the cymbal players flinch.

Jamie, his best friend and the only person allowed to yell at him without consequences, spun around in his harness. "Dude! Where the hell have you been?! I was texting you for ages!"

"Traffic jam on 95," Ethan muttered. Apparently leaving an hour and a half early wasn't enough.

He flipped open his binder. Jamie kept ranting. "I told you to take the backroads—!"

 "I know, I know..." Ethan started, but then he froze.

The cadence book wasn't there.

He flipped again. Harder. Pages slapped. His heartbeat spiked.

He dropped to the floor, checking under chairs, under bags. "Jamie, is my cadence book over there?" 

"Uh... no?"

"Shit!"

Jamie turned to the rest of the drumline. "Hey! Anyone seen Ethan's cadence book? Brown spiral?" 

A chorus of head shakes. "Nope."

Ethan went pale. Oh my god. I must've dropped it in the hallway—!!!

He shot upright. "If the judges come, stall! I'll be right back!"

Jamie's chibi‑rage voice cracked behind him. "WHAT?! We're on in fifteen!!"

Ethan didn't stop. He plunged into the hallway, weaving around bass drums and equipment cases. He checked under chairs, along the wall, between cases, scanning the floor like a man searching for oxygen.

Then—

Music.

A rhythm he knew better than his own heartbeat drifted through the hallway. It wrapped around him, tugging at something deep in his chest.

Wait... that's—

He followed it down a side corridor marked SOUNDPROOF PRACTICE ROOMS A–F. The sound grew louder. Sharper. Familiar.

He reached a cracked door, pushed it open and then...

 The world stopped.

Inside, lit only by the dim overhead bulb, stood a boy with his back to the door. His shoulders were straight, posture relaxed but precise, the kind that came from years of disciplined practice. Dark hair fell slightly over the nape of his neck, shifting with every movement of his arms as he played.

He was completely absorbed in the snare drum in front of him—each stroke clean, confident, and impossibly smooth. The rhythm pulsed through the room, steady and alive, like a heartbeat that belonged to him alone.

Even from behind, there was something unmistakably magnetic about him. The way he moved. The way the sound seemed to rise from his entire body, not just his hands. The way the dim light carved out the lines of his back and the subtle strength in his arms playing—

My song.

Ethan's missing cadence notebook sat open on a chair beside him.

"HEY!" Ethan snapped before he could stop himself.

The boys eyes opened. Slowly.

He turned.

And for a moment, both boys just stared—shock, disbelief, something else flickering between them.

"Where did you get—" Ethan started, but the words died as recognition hit him like a cymbal crash. "—that..."

The boys expression shifted too. 

"A—Aiden?!" Ethan stuttered.

And suddenly he wasn't in the practice room anymore.

He was back two summers ago— sitting on the edge of a hot tub, Aiden leaning in, kissing him under the glow of string lights. Aiden's hair black and dripping, towel around his neck. Ethan's heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst.

Then the memory dissolved into another— a headline on Ethan's phone: "Musical Dynasty's Son is Dating an Idol?!" Aiden smiling beside a girl in South Korea. Ethan's chest tightening with questions he never got to ask.

Back in the present, Aiden smirked and picked up the notebook. "I guess some things haven't changed."

He held it out. Ethan hesitated, then met his eyes.

Aiden leaned in, voice low against Ethan's ear. "Same rhythms. Same bad habit of overcomplicating the middle." He paused. "But I never thought I'd see..."

A memory flickered— two boys, twelve or thirteen, in school uniforms, laughing as they played bongo drums together. Aiden's voice echoing softly: "...the melody we played together..."

Another memory— young Ethan looking at Aiden, cheeks flushed. "...turned into a drum solo."

Ethan scoffed, snatching the notebook back. "Psh, conceited much! This has nothing to do with—"

His foot caught on a loose equipment bag. He fell backward—

Aiden lunged. Grabbed his arm. Pulled him in.

Their bodies collided, breath mingling, hearts pounding.

"You—" Ethan choked out. Aiden smirked. "Sorry, what was that? Couldn't hear your lies over your yelping."

Thump—thump—

Ethan shoved him away. "S—s—sh—shh—" he stuttered.

Aiden's expression softened. "Ethan."

He reached for Ethan's arm, fingers brushing the rainbow band there. "If you snap the band, the beat will help with your pacing. Remember—"

"SHUT UP!" Ethan shouted.

Silence.

He turned away, head down. "You don't have that right anymore. So just... leave the p‑past where it belongs."

He slammed the door behind him.

Inside, Aiden reached for the handle—hesitated—then let his hand fall.

——————

Outside, Ethan clutched the notebook to his chest. It's been two years since I saw him: my first friend, my muse, and even worse, my first crush.*

He walked back toward his band. Music gave me a voice... but Aiden was the one who gave me the courage to let it be heard.

When he disappeared, all I had left was that courage—and the heartbreak he left behind. I poured it into every beat until I became North Pine High's Drumline Captain.

Ethan takes his place at the front of the Fighting Bulls Drumline, snare strapped tight. We've been #1 in the region two years straight. And this summer, I'd finally get my shot at performing on the best drumline in the country.

Across the field, another drumline stepped into formation. Aiden's.

That was until that same crush became the captain of our rival school—

Their eyes locked. Aiden's stare sharp. Ethan's breath catching.

—and fked everything up.*