"I love your eyes, but I love mine more. Without my eyes, I can't see yours." – Unknown

P.S. Guess who wins the award for the lamest cliffhanger ever which makes no sense? *Points of self* this gal! Hope this chapter clears your confusion up.

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Tristan's POV

"But she says that it's your turn," Tristan said in a dramatic voice, as 'your turn' seemed like the most dramatic line in the history of unnecessarily dramatic lines.

Even though he had absolutely no flippin' idea what the hell was going on- hey, it seemed fitting to put his drama expertise to use. Though it made him seem like he and Retina had committed a crime together, maybe got rid of a few dead bodies, some James Bond kind of stuff going on, but they couldn't be heroes all the time, okay?

"My turn? What turn?" Retina asked dubiously, sounding just as mystified as Tristan felt. "I don't know what you're talking abo- oh." The pitch of her voice suddenly rose a full octave from nervousness; or being hit in her nonexistent balls.

It was probably the latter, to be honest.

Totally the latter.

"Retina? What are you suddenly so quiet?" Tristan asked slowly, mystified but also worried at the abrupt change in her tone.

The last thing he heard from Retina was a barely coherent blabber of the words, "gotta go, ciao!" before the familiar beep emitted from Westerden Optometrist's rather old-fashioned phone- telling him that she had proceeded to hang up.

He had roughly twenty seconds to collect his thoughts and regain his composure, before a melodic chime rang out through the store. Glancing up interestedly, he immediately noticed that behind the polished glass door stood none other than Fletcher Parker. And what was he doing?

Well, ladies and gents, he was doing the usual immature nearly-twenty-year-old thing to do- which was to watch himself pull grotesque faces in the reflection of the glass and burst into peals of laughter each time. It was normal for Fletcher to make fun of himself, but Tristan couldn't believe that Fletcher hadn't figured out that the door was not a mirror yet.

Tristan amusedly watched Fletcher push the tip of his nose upwards while crossing his chocolate brown irises, before waving his arm and shouting, "yo! Porkie Pie! Are you trying to show the whole planet the stuff that's currently up your nostrils?"

But he actually did appreciate Fletcher's childish behaviour, since he really needed some more fun in his life. Even a week and a half after the stupid business party, Tristan was still trying to recover from the excessive amounts of alcohol adults had offered him- and even though he protested that he was underage, adults didn't take no for an answer.

By the time stars were beautifully glimmering in the sky that night, he and Emily had had about twenty sips of different drinks and were just about ready to jump onto a preferably unsteady table, strip most of their clothing layers, and do an irish jig while singing the American Star-Spangled Banner national anthem.

And even though Tristan hated alcohol as much he hated people who continuously asked for free samples eye drops without buying the full product, he had had fun that night. Partially due to Emily's fun yet down-to-earth personality, but mostly the alcohol.

Here's a lesson, kids: you only live once, so when you're over the legal age, get drunk at least once and every struggle of yours fades away for a while. Live in the moment, bro!

Yep, Tristan was definitely a President-of-the-United-States level motivational speaker.

Meanwhile, Fletcher had heard Tristan's muffled shout through the glass and fully glanced at him, as though he had just realised that Tristan was there. It wasn't as though he wasn't in Fletcher's line of sight, it was just due to some psychological thing that if you were extremely focused on one thing, everything else faded away.

Woohoo, learning stuff!

Not.

Slowly pulling open the clearly transparent doors, Fletcher's expression was a vision of sheepishness and mortification. "Uhh, you saw that?"

"You mean when you mortally humiliated yourself by not realising that glass doors are see through? Because if you mean that, then yes," Tristan teased, eyebrows raised at the blushing Fletcher. Knowing him, he would calm down a second, so Tristan spent the glorious moments of Fletcher-barrassment looking as judgemental as possible.

"Nah, of course glass isn't see through! Besides, I'm so sexy that the glass just likes to keep the image of me to himself, you know?" Fletcher said airily, strolling into the spacious room. "Jeez, it's colder here than outside! And that's saying something, since it's winter."

His shoulders visibly hunched up a little, as the cold draft from the air conditioning caressed his bare arms. Tristan endured this kind of temperature every day, so he was more than used to it. He actually quite liked the cold, as it reminded him of Retina's chilly attitude and her frigid comebacks.

Wow, was he whipped, or what?

"Apologies that this room isn't a furnace," Tristan retorted sarcastically. Ever since he had met Fletcher, he discovered that he was becoming more and more sardonic by the day, contrasting like fire and ice with Fletcher's personality.

"Damn, your insults are colder than this room," Fletcher deadpanned, his tone affronted but expression humoured. "So, I'm guessing that you know what I came here for, right?"

Tristan's sarcasm was seeping through every syllable. "You came here to eat some ice cream, right? No wait, you came so we could go bungee jumping with Emily and jump into the crater of an active volcano with Retina! That sounds fun, doesn't it?"

Fletcher's eyes widened. "That would be fun!"

"Okay Satan, calm your sushi," Tristan rolled his eyes at Fletcher, who continued blabbering about the ethics of jumping into an active volcano with his best friends. "Go sit in the chair, dude. Just sit in the chair and shush."

Fletcher obediently made his way over to the cushy patient chair and settled down, muttering under his breath about how the chair should have an option to recline- along with installing an option to have a chair massage. Tristan let out another deep sigh, their frequency always increased when Fletcher was around.

Tristan bustled around, grabbing various bottles of eye drops, glassy microscopes, and eye stainers- yes, those actually existed and no, they didn't turn your eyeball neon pink. As he wiped off the fine dust that had settled on the lens, his thoughts slowly drifted back to Retina and the peculiar message she had received from Emily.

It's your turn.

What was Retina's turn? What did they do together? Go on a sexy date? Commit a bloody murder? The words themselves screamed ominous, and Tristan didn't like the sound of them. Their intentions were most likely perfectly innocent, but the annoying cells of Tristan's brain were screaming and wailing and running around holding mini guns.

And then there was Tristan's own dilemma...

Fletcher seemed to have read his thoughts, as he asked, "have you told your kind-of-not-really-but-yes-really-at-the-same-time girlfriend about- you know, your small-but-not-really-small problem? Because the longer you don't tell her, the more hurtful it'll be when you actually do. Like sticking a chopstick in your stomach and slowly twisting it."

Tristan's right hand began sweating; the lens that he was holding slipped out of his hand like a slithering eel, shattering on the linoleum floor. Sighing, he grabbed a dustpan and a brush to sweep up the pieces. "How did you find about that? I thought only Emily-"

"Emily, who tells me everything because we're an honest, loving, and adorkable couple?" Fletcher countered with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, have you even met me? I can weasel anything out of anyone, I could be like, James Bond! Or a Charlie's Angel! Pew pew!"

He clasped his hands together with long index and middle finger sticking out in the typical gun position, pretending to shoot at the vase of flowers that stood in the corner. Tristan played along and jumped back, hands flying up in surrender, though he was really just fighting the urge to laugh at Fletcher's overall childishness.

"All right! Don't kill me! Anyway," Tristan's tone reverting back to a serious one. "Firstly, you know the drill- look into the lens with your right eye, use the apple analogy. Secondly, what do you think I should do about my problem, then?"

"I dunno, I'm no good at this advice crap," Fletcher mumbled, keeping his eyes open as wide as possible. "But I say that you tell her soon, otherwise she may either burst into uncontrollable tears or blow your head off with some well-placed dynamite."

Tristan's frown must have been more prominent and grotesque than he meant it to be, as Fletcher's whole face contorted in confusion. He quickly let his facial features rearrange into a relatively neutral expression, though he didn't respond to Fletcher's advice, only saying, "other eye now, keep it just as wide."

Fletcher obeyed his request, keeping his mouth shut and letting Tristan slowly collect his thoughts. It had been a good two weeks since he had gotten the call, and it was something that had nagged at him during both his waking and sleeping hours, no matter whether it was sunlight or moonlight shedding its rays on the situation.

Maybe at the beginning, Tristan wouldn't have minded so much. It wasn't like he actually had friends, being an early graduate. But the problem was that meeting Retina changed his perspective on everything, it was as though he was truly alive when he talked to her. He had grown so attached to not just her, but Fletcher and Emily- all of them!

How risky would it be to... no, it wouldn't just be risky. It could have fatal results on all his current friendships and possible to-be relationship (Emily and Fletcher's words). How could he stand to throw that all away? Even though the details were unsubstantiated, the tone that the words were spoken in were firm and robust.

Besides, his life was nothing like those perfect Wattpad stories!

"Ow! Dude, stop poking me in the eye!" Fletcher exclaimed, snapping Tristan out of his thoughts and causing him to realise that while peeling back his eyelids, he was so distracted that his finger's target seemed to have switched to Fletcher's brown iris.

"Oh crap, sorry," Tristan apologised. "I was kind of out of it."

"Kind of?" Fletcher asked dubiously, but let the matter slide. "Anywho, what the sushi are you going to do about your problem? It's not like it's a mouse that we can just let scurry away. This problem is the equivalent to a fat buffalo. Are you going to tell her or what?"

Tristan's eyes flickered like a candle, before he managed to regain control of his composure and reply, "Patience is a virtue, Fletcher-san."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Fletcher retorted.

"It means that you're correct- she has the right to know," Tristan said in an defeated tone. "I'll tell her soon, Fletcher. And she won't be happy about it."

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Faith's POV

"But she says that it's your turn," Tristan said, obviously unaware of what the message actually meant but trying to make it sound as dramatic as possible- because it just seemed like something he would do.

"My turn? What turn?" Faith asked, confused. What did she ever ask of Emily to warrant a dramatic 'it's your turn'? "I don't know what you're talking abo- oh."

Realisation crashed upon her like an ocean wave as she remembered the favour she had asked Emily to contribute to. It wasn't like it was anything that important or illegal- it wasn't like they were dealing drugs or gasp shock horror- throwing away sushi! But it was crucial that Tristan didn't hear a peep about their plans, as the surprise was for him.

And as for her turn? Little did Tristan, Fletcher, and everyone who worked at Waffle Cones know, but Emily had been doing some sneaky spy work and collecting information about all of them so that none would interrupt the preparations. She had done her part, and now it was Faith's turn to convince Tristan to attend her dance recital.

Tristan?

Dance?!

What a ship that was.

"Retina? What are you suddenly so quiet?" Tristan asked after several moments, sounding slightly worried but also very bemused.

Faith's breathing became more and more shallow as she gnawed on the skin of her lip, wondering whether to continue the conversation or abruptly hang up. Deciding to end the conversation in a normal way, she hurriedly said, "gotta go, ciao!"

Tapping the 'end call' button, she haphazardly tossed her phone onto her cushy bed, indentations created in the sheet from the pressure of the phone's contact. Biting her lip, she leaned back in her office chair, rubbing her temples gently.

First and foremost, it wasn't like her and Emily's surprise was anything important- but she thought that it might have been sweet to plan, you know, a little surprise party or something! Emily had mentioned to Faith that Tristan's birthday had been two months ago, after some sneaky spy stalking and lots of casual eavesdropping.

Faith decided that they needed to celebrate Tristan's birthday- which he didn't even mention to her, stupid peanut. She and Emily were planning an small birthday bash, hosted at Waffle Cones, ice cream free of charge, but of course. It was crucial that Tristan didn't find out anything, otherwise their whole plan would be ruined.

It wasn't easy to keep secrets from Tristan, she admitted. She knew her fair share of secrets about the population of her school, but that was different. It was easier to not tell people stuff when you didn't actually care about the people- but the problem was, Faith did care about Tristan, as much as she was unwilling to admit it.

She would not want to be a pretty little liar, that's for sure.

And not just because of the brutal murder and all.

Speaking of secrets, Tristan did seem to be acting pretty strange lately; avoiding the subject at any mention of his father. Father's Day, anything about his father being an optometrist, even pizza! Who the frick avoided talking about pizza? Faith didn't ever touch pizza because- well, it was unhealthy, but even she was shocked at Tristan's aloofness.

Faith couldn't help feeling worried, but as much as she tried to pry the secrets out of Tristan, he was more stubborn than any person she had ever met. Did being an optometristan give him some kind of magical fresh perspective on life? Was he trained to not reveal secrets? Was he a spy of some kind?

Disconcerted at the thought of Tristan being a bald Asian spy, she was at first unaware of the knock on her front door, until the doorbell rang five times. Snapping out of her trance, she listened attentively to someone shouting, "Knock knock?"

Faith shook her head but smiled to herself; she would recognise that voice and slightly obnoxious personality from a mile away. Pushing herself up from the chair, she let her loose golden curls swish from side to side as she made her way to the front door. The knocking ceased as she approached. "Who's there?"

"It is I, Emily Makayla Jenner! I am an occasional helper at Waffle Cones, girlfriend of Fletcher the Flip-Flop Parker and you, the person living in this house, told me the address and bade me come whenever the hell I want!" recited the sarcastic voice of Emily.

"All right, no need for the dramatics," Faith muttered under her breath, unlocking the door with a sharp snap and revealing not one, but two girls. They looked like they could be sisters, with the exception that the other girl was blessed with strawberry blonde waves and glimmering hazel eyes.

Emily looked offended. "I am not dramatic!"

"Are you kidding? You're as dramatic as Fletcher is irritating," the strawberry blonde haired girl snorted, before extending a hand to Faith. "Hey, I'm Erin. I work at Waffle Cones with Fletcher and Emily and have first hand experience with how irritating they are."

"Then I guess we already have something in common," Faith laughed, clasping Erin's hand for a moment and shaking it, before letting her hand drop back to her side. "I'm Faith, it's a pleasure to be able to make fun of Em and Fletcher with you."

The snipe made Emily glare at them, though they both ignored her. "So, are we done with the mushy introductions or what?" she asked. "Because I'm freezing my ass off in this biting December wind. Actually, this damn December wind is biting my own ass off!"

"Oh, gross," Faith and Erin retorted in unison.

"Jesus, you guys are siamese twins. I need some food to get over the shock," Emily said cuttingly, before tromping into the kitchen and opening up the nearest cupboard. "Got extremely unhealthy junk food?" she caught Faith's skeptical eye. "Oh, of course you don't. What are we going to do without good food?"

"Lucky for you, smart people come prepared," Erin said smugly, unzipping her black and white skull patterned bag. From the depths of it came endless boxes of buttery, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies, sausage rolls wrapped in flaky pastry, and aromatic red velvet cupcakes smothered in generous layers of sugary, cream cheese frosting.

As Emily dived into the mound of food with no hesitation and promptly began stuffing her face with cupcakes, all Faith could do was gape. "How did you even-"

"Shh! Hush, child," Erin put a finger to her lips with a wink. "It's a well kept secret."

"By the way, did you just call me dumb?" Emily asked from the pile of sweet treats, glaring accusingly at Erin. The latter just shrugged, claiming that she didn't call Emily dumb, she just said that she wasn't smart. After that, the matter was dropped.

The trio spent the next few minutes setting out plates of caramelised baked apples, piping hot and served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, which Erin had also magically produced. Each of them held a mug of steaming hot chocolate, topped with a swirl of fluffy whipped cream; Emily and Erin also had sugar-coated marshmallows scattered among the concoction. Faith was allergic to them, so she had sprinkled pumpkin spice on top instead.

By the time they had settled down on the cushy sofas, Erin and Faith perched on one and Emily buried in an equally snug armchair, an hour had already passed. Faith cautiously blew on her hot chocolate before taking a sip, antagonistically thinking about how many calories hot chocolate contained. Yeah, she'd have to Google that later.

Go Google, saving diets everywhere!

Erin took a large bite out of a gooey cookie, completely ignoring the crumbs that were dotting her cheek. "So, what's the plan for Tristan's party?"

Faith frowned. "How do you know about the party?"

"I- mff- fell fer everyfing," Emily clarified, mouth filled with baked apples. "Ahh, hot hot!" She frantically fanned her mouth with her hands, before Erin scooped up some ice cream and shoved it into Emily's mouth. The latter's contorted expression relaxed instantly as she shot her friend a grateful look. "Fanks!"

"Er, I hate to ruin the moment, but can we get back to the whole party thing?" Faith asked, though she couldn't hide the amused smile on her face.

"Why don't we create a checklist?" Emily suggested, grabbing a nearby piece of paper and a blue ballpoint pen, her neat handwriting inscribed on the page within seconds. "Date? December twenty-fifth. Time? Right after your dance recital."

She nodded towards Faith, who confirmed the detail with a noncommittal jerk of the head. Erin set her mug of hot chocolate down, saying, "Emily and I can take care of decorations. Piece of cake, right?" She winked knowingly. "Pun intended, by the way."

Emily leaned forward and set her pen down on the glass table, the embodiment of seriousness now. "But, planning the party isn't really what we came here to do, little-miss-oblivious Faith.

"What do you mean?" Faith asked slowly.

"It's your turn," Emily simply replied.

"My turn?" Faith asked, feeling as through she was spiralling into a towering tornado of confusion. "I know I need to convince Tristan to go to my recital, but you don't need to keep repeating the same instructions over and over again! I'm not a frickin' robot."

This time, it was Emily's turn to look mystified. "Wait, you think that that was what I meant?" Her dark blonde waves swished mesmerisingly from side to side as she shook her head pitifully. "Faith, hun- I meant that it was your turn for you and Tristan to-"

"To what?" Faith interrupted.

Emily turned to Erin, a knowing eyebrow quirking up at the sight of Faith's apparent obliviousness. "You feeling the déjà vu too?"

"Considering I've played Cupid both times- hell to the yeah," Erin responded with no emotion, as if being Cupid was her full time job and she wanted to become a ninja waiter instead. "Faith, how do you feel about Tristan?"

"How I feel about Tristan? I don't understand what you're trying to..." Faith trailed off as Emily and Erin's matching exasperated looks silenced her- and it was then that she finally realised what they were asking her. "Oh. That's what you're talking about."

It was inevitable, she supposed, that her friends would want to know whether she was in love with Tristan or not. As Faith perspired under the imploring gazes of the duo, she felt as though her heart had imploded and was beating twice as quickly- the impacts of either love or eating a helluva lot of spicy food.

Tristan's words rang in her ears as her eyes drifted out of focus, thinking about all the entertaining phone calls they had shared together. You think so? Well, Miss Retina, we accept the love we think we deserve... not that he knew, but Faith had heard him when he said those words, heard him utter the sentence she had never expected him to say.

Was it possible that she had actually fallen in love? Faith didn't know what it was like to fall in love- the guys she dated were either tools, or she was socially obliged to date them. Remember the captain of the football team and head cheerleader stereotype? Caden, William, Hunter. All football superstars, but none of them had any chemistry with her.

Not that she was a chemist, but her eye was sharpest when looking for love. Figuratively of course, since she was as blind as a bat with her actual eyes.

Was it possible to fall in love with someone whom you hadn't even met? For all Faith knew, Tristan was a roller skating circus clown with a fetish for the optometristan field of work, but something told her that that was completely ridiculous.

What was it about Tristan that captivated her? Oh, she could list so many. He was intelligent; the conversations that they had all floated around in her mind, unable to be erasable because they were just that memorable. He was funny, and could make her life like no one else could. He was kind and generous; he was her opposite.

And opposites attracted, right?

But then again, opposites could also repel...

Emily looked at Faith sadly, as if she knew exactly what she was thinking. "It's obvious that you're in love with him. Don't deny it like I did. Tell Tristan before it's too late."

Her words had an underlying tone that Faith could not discern, as though Emily knew something that Faith didn't. The latter gave Emily a strange look. "And what do you mean by 'before it's too late'? Too late for what?"

Erin looked equally confused. "Yeah, now you've lost me too, Em."

"Nothing! It's nothing," Emily said hastily. She stood up suddenly, leaving her mug of hot chocolate steaming on the table. "We should go now, Erin." Erin started protesting, but relented at Emily's pointed glare. "Just know that time is of the essence, Faith."

"Yeah, thanks," Faith replied absentmindedly. "I know."

But truthfully, she was the furthest emotion away from comprehension.

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Why is everyone in this chapter so confused? I don't even know how many times I used the word confused or some synonym of it in this chapter.

School's recently started for me, which means that I'm a hella lot more lazy and have less time to write. If I skip an update or something like that, imagine that I've fallen asleep over a paper at 3:00 am after eating a ton of sugary crap. 'Cos that's what I probably did.

Hope you guys liked the Erin cameo! And by the way, happy Valentine's Day. Let me know if you're bae-less like me, because I'll totally be your bae! <3