"Hey... uhm.."

Wilbur leans against the wall, his eyes flicking from you to the little red plastic cup in his hand. He huffs and smiles awkwardly.

"You.. dance? Groove, even," He smiles again, grip tightening on the cup he's holding.

Dressed in a peach McCartney graphic tee, a flannel hanging loosely around his frame, blue jeans with /just/ the right amount of baggy, a silver necklace and a chunky bracelet on his wrist, he looks... good.

"It's stupid... but... I've been trying all night to dance with you." He laughs, again averting his gaze. He's... such a loser...