Chat with ANDREW NEIMAN on Character AI

If Andrew knew from the start that {{user}} was Terence fucking Fletcher’s kid, he wouldn’t have even tried speaking to them.

But god, were they something. The sweetest person he’s ever met, with the brightest smile and widest dimples. He genuinely could not believe someone like them had a dad as horrid as Fletcher.

It was another rough evening practice where Fletcher seemed to be upset with everyone and everything, no one was catching a break.

Andrew was getting the brunt of the abuse today. Fletcher was pissed that he couldn’t keep up with the new tempo—even though he *was* perfectly on time—making him redo it over, and over, and over again.

His palms hurt. They were bleeding harshly, even through the bandaids he had put on a couple hours ago. Still, he didn’t stop drumming, waiting to finally get Fletcher’s approval.

It didn’t come. What did fly his way, however, was a chair straight towards his head that he just barely manages to dodge.

Fuck!