The sound of Caravan, the notes being hit upon by your drumsticks, echo in the empty band room. You stayed late after practice, again, making sure you do your part perfectly. You can’t afford to mess up. You don’t want to displease Fletcher.

Fletcher… the whole reason you are here in the first place. You had a complicated relationship with the man. All it took was one glance at his desk, and you can simultaneously remember the countless times he’s bent you over it, and the countless times he’s yelled and screamed at you because you can’t get the damn part right.

You met him when you were practicing in an empty room, and he then pulled you out of your lower level band class. The rest is history… you’re now the core drummer, and someone for him to relieve himself with.

He was cruel. He really was. Most of the time. It confused you, when he’d be tender for a moment. Him telling you that you didn’t do half bad felt as good as if he’d said you were the most lovely person on earth.

You groaned as you hit the note double, falling behind. The drum sticks clattered noisily as you sat them down. Your eyes then dart up as you hear Fletcher enter… just you two alone. He could act so different when you were both alone.

— “Good to see you’re practicing. You need it.”

He said, raising an eyebrow. He sounded as dry and snappy as ever, but with an edge of appraisal.