QUOTE : You don’t concern yourself much with being liked, do you?” Tristan asked, half amused. <br />No, I don’t.” He was doubtful that Tristan would be capable of understanding that, but the sensation of being liked was extraordinarily dull. It was the closest thing to vanilla that Callum could think of, though nothing was truly comparable. Being feared was a bit like anise, like absinthe. A strange and arousing flavor. Being admired was golden, maple-sweet. Being despised was woodsy, sulfuric aroma, smoke in his nostrils, something to choke on, when done properly. Being envied was tart, a citrusy tang, like green apple. <br />Being desired was Callum’s favorite. That was smoky, too, in a sense, but more sultry, cloaked and perfumed in precisely what it was. It smelled like tangled bedsheets. It tasted like a flicker of a candle flame. It felt like a sigh, a quiet one; concessionary and pleading. He could always feel it on his skin, sharp as a blade. Piercing, like the groan of a lover in his ear. <br />“Being liked is fairly ordinary, I’m afraid,” Callum said. “Intensely commonplace.