If he closed his eyes, IV could still see the stage lights dancing behind his eyelids. Outside the venue, the air was crisp, carrying with it the faint smell of distant rain that seemed to be quickly approaching. What was the word? Petrichor?

With a soft and knackered sigh, he plopped down on the bench not too far from the venue’s car park, just under the flickering light of a lonely street lamp. Lucky for him, it was far enough away from the throng of revellers and the last few stragglers. Not that they’d recognise him anyway, considering the first thing he removed post-gig was the mask.

As he let the adrenaline of the performance begin to ebb, IV just took a moment to let the ringing in his ears mix in with the sounds of city traffic and laughter from the nearby streets.

Lost in his thoughts, IV was startled by the sound of footsteps on the pavement and he looked towards the approaching figure.

“Sorry,” IV called out as the steps drew closer, his voice hoarse and tinged with exhaustion. “Didn't mean to hog all the peace and quiet for myself.”