#graysonsharpe

Nico had learned early on in his freshman year that when someone is as easily overwhelmed as he is by larger crowds and louder beats, the least cluttered spot along the wall, with a phone to pass the time when no one else was readily available, was the best place to be. It was a way of being where he wanted without having to put himself out more than he was ready to. 

But that's not to say that Nico doesn't enjoy the company of others; and finds it preferable to be chatting away to someone without a care in the world than quietly being left to his own devices. And he'd made a promise to himself over the summer -- put yourself out there more -- which he'd kept pushing himself to act on. Even though it was only the first day back and resolutions like that are generally broken sooner rather than later, between the barbecue and now, he's pretty sure that's been more successful than he'd expected it to be.

Even with the foxes -- who last year he'd pointedly tried to avoid becoming friends with. Too cautious of getting too close to people who play something so undeniably dangerous. He could tell you most of their names easily after watching so many of their games, but anything more than that for most of them was a stretch. And if not for the fact that they were here, stood side-by-side at a fox and vixen only party, he probably wouldn't have even clocked that Grayson was a fox. Not that he expected any of them to know who he was, either.

"Party not your style?" He asks between sipping at his water and slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Not that I can talk, since I’m kinda doing no better.”