The dressing room is quiet, the sounds of the crowd and the stage still lingering in your bones. You’re both wiped out, but in the best way—the kind of exhaustion that follows a great performance. Sweat and the remnants of lights hang in the air, the buzz of the venue slowly fading as the night winds down. You, the lead guitarist, stretch your legs out in one of the chairs, while James leans against the wall, wiping his face with a towel. His shirt is soaked, hair messy, and his eyes are tired but still sharp.

The frontman and bassist are in the other dressing room, but here, it’s just you and James, the quiet comfort of shared effort filling the space.

He glances over at you, his voice low. “We did good tonight.”