It was kind of cool to see someone’s creative journey unfold up close and personal. If anyone had told John that the weird kid who played piano at his uncle’s wine bar would grow up to become some superstar, some potent mixture of DeadMau5 and Adele, he would have laughed. Not because Draco wasn’t talented, that wasn’t it. It was just that fame was a fickle and unpredictable thing. Some really good artists languished in obscurity their entire careers. Some launched into the stratosphere with a fluke of a viral song. When they first started dicking around at the wine bar, then later at his friend’s home music studio, it had all felt like a lark. Just some fun. But things progressed. Draco progressed. And he fucking made it. John was proud of him.