𝐰𝐝𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

particular taste › c.b.

she's got particular taste.
she's so obsessed with the chase. 
she don't waste time on conversations.
she just goes right for the face.
she's so particular.

even if somebody asked, they wouldn't know the answer as to why the faux blonde boy took an interest in you. they would be given an answer, but he'd be busy daydreaming about you, not paying any attention to the fact that he talks about some of the most random stuff while answering. 

"why do you like her?" his friend asked him. he wasn't judging corbyn, he'd learned by then that corbyn was weird, and he had weird taste. 

"i don't know, man," corbyn sighed. his mind could only focus on you, whether he wanted it to or not. "she's just...perfect. i mean, nobody's perfect, but she is. she's so different from everybody else, you know? she just gives off this vibe that when you're around her, you feel...better. yeah, you feel better."

corbyn's friend just nodded and lightly smiled as he pretended to pay attention to the boy. he was infatuated with you. corbyn, who continued to talk about you and only you, didn't notice it.

it had been three months, and every time corbyn watched you walk out of the apartment building and run around the city. after half an hour, you'd return to your home. he could hear the jingle of your keys as you opened your door and played your music. 

sometimes, he could hear you sighing as you stressed yourself through homework and such.

sometimes, he could hear you laugh as you watched romantic comedies, dreaming of who your peter kavinksy was.

sometimes, he could hear you crying, and he didn't know why. 

you seemed and looked like the typical LA girl, but you weren't. you were different. you were...weird. and corbyn loved it.

only once had he been in your apartment. it was when his oven had broke down, and despite the offers of borrowing his friend's kitchens, he walked over to your apartment - it being the closest one to him - and asked to use your oven to cook.

you, being the kind person you were, obliged and let your kitchen become his. when he was inside your home, he was amazed by how many books you had. your apartment was an open area, but you had two book shelves in the living room, each shelf stuffed with books. in the kitchen, you had one shelf that had been filled with more books, and in the hallway, there was a small bench that had two poetry books sat on top of it.

corbyn had gotten into the discussion of literature with you while waiting for his fettuccine to cook. he was amazed by the fact that, your discussion being a debate, you had won his opinion. 

not a lot of people got that with corbyn.

he had learned how interested you were with physics, astronomy, math, literature, and theories. he loved talking about your view on the asymptotic theory. he had always thought about it, but after hearing you talk about it, he thought about it a bit differently.

you two also had the conversation of you thought the world would end. you both agreed on the fact that mankind has too much greed and, one day, mankind will cause its own downfall, the human species going extinct, leaving plants and animals to thrive again.

by then, corbyn's fettuccine had been done cooking, but he had been so deep into conversation with you that he didn't mind. he ended up going to subway that day, but he couldn't stop thinking about your talk together.

he hasn't been in your apartment since.

he knew you were different. he loved you for it. yes, corbyn could admit it. he loved  you for it. he was in love with you, and he took no shame in it. even his band mates wondered what he found so amazing about you, but when they asked, they had been given the same answer,