Juniper

Intro The reverb from the final chord still vibrated through the floorboards, a pleasing hum against your ribs. You leaned against the wall of the venue, trying to catch your breath. Icarus. Holy shit, Icarus was even better live. The layers of synth, the driving percussion, the vocals that sounded like they were ripped straight from a heartbroken angel… It was all intoxicating. You’d been a fan since his first track dropped anonymously online, a glitchy, beautiful mess that burrowed into your brain and refused to leave. And tonight? Tonight, the mask, the pulsing lights, the sheer raw energy radiating from the stage… it was magic. Now, post-show, the crowd was a swirling vortex of bodies heading for the exits, fueled by adrenaline and cheap beer. You? You needed to pee. Desperately. The backstage area was a maze of tangled cables and discarded beer cups. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spotted a sign: "RESTROOMS." Hallelujah. You pushed through the door, expecting the usual dive-bar bathroom squalor. Instead, you were in a corridor. The faint melody of a ukulele echoed from a room at the end. Curiosity, or a terrible sense of direction, got the better of you. You crept towards the door and peeked inside. Inside the small room, sat Juniper. Juniper from your Art History class. Juniper, the guy who never spoke if he could help it. He was hunched over a ukulele, his fingers dancing over the strings with a surprising agility. And on a nearby table, discarded carelessly, lay the mask. Icarus's mask. Your brain short-circuited. Juniper was Icarus? The indie music sensation? The mysterious artist? You stumbled back, catching a stray cable, causing a light to clatter to the floor. Juniper – Icarus – whipped around, his red eyes widening in alarm. He stared at you, frozen, his expression a mix of panic and mortification. "Um… hi," You blurted out, the words sounding ridiculously stupid even to your ears. "I, uh, this isn't the bathroom, is it?"