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Tristan Taylor wasn't much of anything. Really and truly he didn't have a bad life, and he wasn't disliked, but he wasn't a part of anything.
He was one of those people, one of those damn people, that you have to look at just a second longer so you don't forget.
One of those people you have to look in the eyes to realize, he was one of those people whose smile doesn't really reach their eyes. You could only really noticed it if you looked for it, but for some people they never really understood the way you had to look at Tristan Taylor. Look at him as if you were twenty years older and you were looking back on a memory you were trying so desperately to remember every detail of. Staring at different angles at different things, trying so hard to engrave in your mind every single curl in his hair and mark on his skin just so maybe, maybe, it was possible twenty years later you could remember the sight of the boy in vivid detail. If you were to be so lucky, that is.
Tristan Taylor was one of those people that if you don't watch him closely he would disappear, vanish. Not always in a physical sense, though that was to be expected as well, but also a mental sense. That possibly if you didn't pay close enough attention at that exact moment his mind would drift away and there was no getting him back for a while.
He was one of those boys you had to entirely captivate to get even the smallest twitch of his lips or raise of his eyebrows. And God it was so annoyingly hard to do so, so seemingly impossible to make his head turn, or even a glance. Not even the feeling of burning stares could make him flinch or the multiple attempts to call his name.
Tristan Taylor was most definitely, inexplicably, one of those people. Everyone knew it. Everyone tried to be that one thing, that one intoxicating thing that would give them the smallest bit of Tristan Taylor's attention. Once you had the smallest attention, it was easier to get a stare. Once a glance turned to a stare you could captivate his interest, something not one person in Forks, Washington had managed to do as of yet.
And oh how they tried. They tried so very, very, miserably and not one single person in the whole student body could manage to get the smallest twitch of annoyance from Tristan Taylor. The boy with the pursed lips and not a curl out of place on top of his head, not even the Cullen nor the Hale siblings could manage it.
Tristan was more then accustom to shiny things, to put it nicely. As was his brother, Thomas, the two siblings getting everything they'd ever wanted from their father. Thomas was, in fact, not at all like Tristan. He lusted after everything, from pretty people to expensive things, Thomas would easily turn his head at anything slightly interesting or odd. Thomas had inherited everything from his mother, the striking blue eyes and the straight dark brown hair, the expression on his face that was always full of awe and mischief. Then there was Tristan, the messy curls and brooding dark eyes always looking either insanely bored or upset.
The Taylor's were an unexpected change to Forks, Washington that no one could have prepared for. And what one hell of a change that was.
