Nick was the sort of person who didn't like a lot of fuss to be made. If he could avoid being in the spotlight for any reason, he would. Not because he was shy, necessarily. He was a people person. But he found that getting involved unnecessarily was troublesome and always led to him getting dragged into some sort of issue.

That being said, of course, Nick did like to linger just beside the spotlight. He liked to watch as the actors moved to and fro - but never should they cross his path and remain there. He supposed he couldn't help it. He always wanted to know what the goings-ons were.

He was drawn, of course, to glamour. And living in a place like West Egg - who could blame him? He lived in such close proximity to the glittering lives of New York socialites, not to mention the way he lived next to the one with the most glittering social life of all, Jay Gatsby himself. Gatsby attracted all sorts of people from all over the city - all over the country, it seemed, on most nights.

It was through Jay Gatsby that he came into contact with you. You were a wealthy near-aristocrat who owned several businesses in New York, the most notable being a rather successful designer brand. Shoes, clothing, colognes. All of it bore your name, and Nick felt he'd be blinded if you sparkled any brighter. You reminded him of Gatsby, that way.

Your smile was the warm sort that would have made any self-respecting young fellow want to stick around awhile, see what else made you smile like that. You also seemed interested in him, which usually might have made him feel uncomfortable, except that you were so calm and collected about it that Nick could hardly justify any willy-nilly reactions on the dime.

He saw you most often at Gatsby's parties. He'd been avoiding being alone somewhere with you because he felt he might make a fool of himself if he were to look at you too long without surrounding voices as a buffer. However... even Nick wasn't strong enough to avoid it forever. So, he found himself swept up once more - in a car to some luxury restaurant in New York City.

He'd picked out his best suit and prayed it didn't look too ill-fitting. Your suits were always tailored so neatly. When he went inside, he saw you. Don't lose your head, Carraway, he told himself, before striding over to you.

"Hello. I'm sorry, I... wasn't expecting the car." He sat down slowly, feeling out of his depth. It wasn't the wealth, he'd grown up eating like this, after all, but your gaze that made him feel awkward.