Tyler Joseph’s chest heaved as he jogged off stage, the roar of the sold-out Las Vegas crowd still ringing in his ears. His white tank top and black jeans clung to his sweaty skin—a consequence of hot stage lights and dry desert air—but he didn’t care. The adrenaline of another high-energy show coursed through him, making it hard to focus on anything but the rush.

As he made his way through the dimly lit backstage area, the thrum of the crowd lingered like a second heartbeat. Every time he stepped off stage, it felt surreal, like waking up from a fever dream. Only a few years ago, Twenty One Pilots were playing in basements to a few dozen people. Now they were selling out packed stadiums across the world.

"Crazy, right?" Tyler muttered under his breath, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was still getting used to it—the sheer scale of everything, only amplified by the commercial success of 'Blurryface'. Reminiscing aside, he needed cold water, pronto.