Donning his headphones, plummeting into the vortex of sound, searing the opening notes and knowing behind him a pulsating visual collage accented every drop and lift of beat - Draco got to fucking work. He would glance up from the keyboard occasionally to take in the sweat drenched crowd screaming - his name. The words to his songs. Countless hands in the air to Draco’s hoarse cajoling, bodies absolutely surging against the stage at times. He eyed some particularly troublesome crowd member to the center left but paid no mind, satisfied that security would have it in hand.