After, he goes to the bathroom to splash a bit of water on his face and unwind a moment. Playing, even something as seemingly casual as this, always left him with an odd sense of being out of time and place. His right had itched along calluses he didn't have. He refused to think he was going crazy; artists were allowed a bit of eccentricity, after all.
But he pulls himself together, then goes back out, easy smile in place. He makes his way to Cecilia's table, thanking those who stop him to say they enjoyed his set. He arrives, and sits beside her, like they've known one another much longer than they have. "Well. You didn't slip out while I was playing, which is a good sign."