"She's a mess of gorgeous chaos. And you can see it in her eyes." - Unknown

DEDICATION: This one goes out to sarcastxcangel because your votes and hilarious comments seriously make my whole damn life, girl! xoxo

Hola, mis amigos! On a scale of argh to arrrrRRGGGHHHHH, how was that cliffhanger? Some of you guys did suspect that he was moving, though no one specified Italy. Anyway, I'm reversing the POV order this time- Faith first, then Tristan. Hope you likey! <3

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Faith's POV

"Retina, I'm moving to Italy."

"WHAT?!" Faith shrieked down the phone, heart suddenly pounding with the intensity and pace of an enthusiastic marching band. Tristan was moving? To Europe?!

No no no, there was no way that he could- could he? He had to be joking. It wasn't possible that Tristan, the immovable rock of hers could just shift to another country- where Faith would never meet him, to lose herself in his irises. The words that she wanted to speak to him would never be spoken. It just wasn't possible. Was it?

"Wha- how- why- when?" was all that she managed to choke out, as it seemed as though her throat had mysteriously closed up, a layer of something covering up a veil of nothing.

"The flight's in two weeks," said Tristan miserably. "Did I ever tell you why my dad went to Italy in the first place? It was because he wanted to get a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity business deal. Guess what he ended up getting?"

"The once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity business deal," Faith answered the rhetorical question, a sonorous ringing pounding her ears- the thudding beat that never stopped, constant and increasingly painful by the second. "Gosh, I should've-"

Her sentence was left hanging on a unsatisfactory note as the familiar 'beep!' of the phone indicated that Tristan had hung up on her. Usually, Faith would be angrily screaming into the speaker by this point, but now she fully understood that Tristan needed his space- because this, this was such a huge thing to take in.

Tristan was moving to Italy.

Transit saw moving to laity.

Nope, it didn't sound any better as an anagram.

Clenching her fist until her knuckles were the same shade as snow, she tried to keep her breathing under control. Slow breaths- in, out, in, out. Just breathe, Faith. It's not that hard. You've been doing it for eighteen freakin' years. Come on, you became a legal adult earlier this year!

She abruptly stood up, snatching up her cell phone from where it had previously been slammed carelessly on her desk. It took a whole minute for her to realise that the constant beats which filled up the empty carcass that was left of her previously well-functioning mind, was the sound of hot blood thudding behind her ears.

Hmm, now who could Faith turn to, to rant about changing the unchangeable, to fix the unfixable? Delilah, Aimee- no, that couldn't work. Those two had no idea who Tristan was, let alone that Faith had been secretively chatting to him for the past seven months.

Heck, if they found out, they'd probably try their hardest to separate the two! But it was probably for Faith's own good, she assumed. They always knew what was best for her.

Right?

So Delilah and Aimee were out of the question, Faith concluded, her hand clasping the phone with a loose grip. Thick, relentless annoyance bubbling within every vein of her body, she was about to angrily chuck her phone on a soft or hard surface- she didn't care anymore- but it suddenly buzzed, accompanied a chiming twinkle that was the sound of her ringtone.

Gazing at it in surprise without registering the caller ID, she tap the vivid green 'answer' button in a robotic manner and brought the phone to her ear. "Um, hello?"

"Hello? Erin, is this the right number?" A completely unrecognisable voice answered her half-hearted greeting. Faith frowned in confusion and tapped a long nail on her desk, its rhythmic rapping creating a calming accent to her jumbled thoughts.

But before Faith could even think about asking who was on the other side of the line, another voice cut in. The startlingly different tone, sarcastic yet amiable, bore a large contrast to the previous tranquil voice. "Jeez, I told you that you input two fours instead of a four and a two! I bet you're chatting to some bitchy old lady now!"

"My bad, Your Royal Highness," the other voice retorted cuttingly. "How was I to know that I was-"

"Um, I hate to interrupt this very entertaining argument- and I sure would like to be watching this with popcorn and 3D glasses," Faith interrupted the duo's spat. "But I'd like to know who I'm talking to. Other than you, Erin, I know it's you."

"Aw, how did you know it was me?" Erin asked disappointedly.

"Because you always sound like you want to slit someone's throat and strut away in slow motion while something explodes behind you," the other person put in. Faith heard a sharp thump noise in the background, followed by a shout of pain. "Ow! God, you're such an abusive girlfriend!"

"Anyway," Faith said pressingly. "Back to the kind of minor problem-o of me not knowing who you are?"

A sharp crackle that strangely sounded like a whip sounded in the background, and Faith instinctively jerked away from the speaker. It took a few moments before the white noise abruptly ceased, and she tentatively brought the phone back up to her ear. What the heck was going on in there? Was Erin committing a murder or something?!

Well, actually, that option was surprisingly plausible.

Never mind.

"Hey, I'm back!" the voice that was not Erin's, announced. "Sorry about Erin, she's a madwoman. Though you already knew that, you've met her, haven't you? Woah, so you guys are girlfriends- but in a platonic way... I'm not making this any better, am I?"

"Huh? I mean, yeah," Faith said distractedly.

The dude's voice was smoother than silk and had the calm intensity of an experienced therapist. Was Faith chatting to a therapist? Better yet, why was Erin even friends with a therapist? But before Faith's train of thought could travel any further, the tracks of said train were ripped out from beneath her. "Earth to Faith?"

She blinked in surprise, slowly returning to reality. "Yeah, I'm here. Who are you, exactly?"

"I'm Alex. Erin's awesome boyfriend, if you didn't know," he responded.

Faith could almost imagine the guy smiling with a winning smile that could charm any lady and annoy every male. He just seemed like the Mr Perfect type- and yes, she was aware that it was awful to judge someone by their physical appearance and/ or vocal appeal, but it was a trait that was pretty much infused into the majority of natural human instincts.

"You mean, my awesomely lame boyfriend?" Erin was back with a sarcastic vengeance, voice was distinctly fainter than Alex's. A peculiar swooshing noise accompanied with a splash of water sounded in the background. Faith scrunched up her face. Was that-? "Yep," Erin confirmed. "I'm mopping the floor."

"Just call her Cinder-hella annoying," Alex informed Faith, who was growing more bemused by the second. "She's as bad as Fletcher and Emily combined."

"Wow," Faith laughed. "She didn't seem that bad when I first met her."

"And you haven't seen the last of meeeeeee!" Erin sang in the background, her energetic vocals ringing in time with the continuously swooshing mop. "But our boss is screaming at me to mop with a passion- whatever the fuck that means- so I have to go. Stalk ya later!"

"Bye, Erin!" Faith almost held up a hand to wave, except that she realised at the last minute that she was alone in her quelling room. So she would have been waving at thin air, which most definitely did not have the anatomy or motive, to wave back.

"See ya later, bitchigator!" Alex called out to his girlfriend, his voice a lot more crisp and clear than the latter's, which was slowly fading. A rustling noise filled the speaker once again as he presumably moved away from Erin's overly enthusiastic mopping.

"In a while, fuckadile!" came Erin's muffled reply.

"Did you guys know that you are 100 percent relationship goals?" Faith asked Alex, a hint of longing and envy tinged in her voice as she spoke.

Of course, she had had boyfriends in the past, but none of them had any lasting chemistry with her. Inside jokes were shared with the twenty or so people that formed the School Bee Colony. Sweet kisses were virtually nonexistent, or quickly escalated to steamy make out sessions. Hugs were quick and emotionless, or faked to brag to the single Pringles.

It wasn't like Faith had agreed with any of those traditions in the past, but she had never been opposed to them either. Was it because she was an awful person? Or just scared? Yes, scared. She was terrified of toppling down the social ladder, once again living her life as a mundane girl who contributed nothing and stood out to no one.

She was scared of commitment, afraid of what would happen if she differed from the traditions. Every time she ripped up a junior's test paper with feigned pleasure and gusto, she felt an emotion well up inside of her. What was it...? Remorse. Remorse for the torment of her old selves, reproachingly glaring at her with smouldering irises.

Irises...

...Tristan...

And Italy.

Why did it always go back to this one topic? Why could Faith never stop thinking about Tristan ever since that first day he picked up at Westerden Optometrist? From day one, she had been infatuated with the unique boy that had changed her perspective on life. He was encouraging, kind, pure and well- he was Tristan. What more could she ask for?

It was hard to believe that she would lose the gem that she had just obtained.

It bore a resemblance to spending months working in a workshop to chisel and polish the perfect diamond, only for a machine to run amok and smash the perfect creation into fragmented pieces. They still existed, of course, just like Faith's memories of Tristan. The problem was that the shards could never be pieced back together, the damage too severe.

"You're thinking about him."

It wasn't a question.

Alex had seemed to read Faith's mind, his naturally sympathetic tone becoming increasingly useful as the mood dampened. She felt like she was a mourner at a funeral, Alex being the barely-blood-related relative who felt sympathy for the loss she had witnessed. This just proved her point! Alex was totally a therapist.

"And who's the him that you're talking about?" Faith countered as an attempt to avoid the subject, but she somehow knew that the looming despair was unavoidable; the furious wolf at her heels, snapping at her feet. She was always one step ahead, running, sprinting, racing, but she would also quickly tire and slow down. The wolf, on the other hand, would not.

"I know who he is, but do you? He can't be sushi, that's saved for Emily. Flip Flop? Totally Fletcher. That leaves you, or the supposedly unknown him." His tone stayed nonchalant.

Faith had enough experience to tell that Alex was good at getting in the chinks of people's armour, lowering their guard. When the time was right, he would go in for the kill- or rather, the therapeutic crap that he spoke.

"Him, who's moving to Italy in two weeks," Faith said, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into her voice. "Alex, what do I do?"

"Um, I don't think I'm eligible to any questions that aren't ice cream related," Alex replied.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I wanted to hear, you idiot," the snap escaped Faith's mouth before she could contain it. She reprimanded herself for losing her temper at Alex, the one person she had no right to get mad at. Goodness, she had just met the guy! So much for a good first impression, right?

"Um, wow, thanks for that." He sounded unruffled to the untrained ear, but Faith could hear the underlying hurt under his nonchalant words, which made her feel as though ten thousand hunks of metal were crashing down onto her heart.

"I'm sorry," Faith apologised glumly, raking a hand through unusually messy blonde curls. "I don't know what came over me."

"You could have been possessed by a ghost, a squirrel, a sushi, R2D2, hit with the Imperius Curse, or converted by a bald Asian monk, but whatever it was, it's not your fault." Alex's voice oozed empathy.

"Jeez, I can keep up with that about as well as I can keep up with the Kardashians," Faith managed to joke. "But forget about Italy for a second, I need to focus on my dance recital. I know you're not an optometrist, but do you have any-" her voice hitched, tone verging on sheer desperation. "-Any solution at all?"

"You know, you could always get an understudy," Alex said quietly.

Faith shook her head determinedly. "I refused to have one when I first agreed to dance the lead, and I'm not changing my mind now. I have to do this, I need to set an example for future dancers, okay? I have no choice, Mr Therapist Ice Cream Dude."

His sigh was probably audible to the Asian monks that were constantly listening to Faith's conversations. "I guess it's not my position to tell you what- or what not- to do. But you do not have Alex-of-Waffle-Cones' seal of approval, I can say that."

He was silent for a count of three, leaving Faith alone with her thoughts. The problem was, Faith was scared of exactly that. By that, she meant being trapped in silence, struggles and worries that had snapped at her heels when she was focused on something else, catching up, consuming her. It snuffed out the flickering candles of happiness within her.

"Alex?" she asked tentatively, unsure if he was even listening anymore. "Even though I barely know you, thanks for being there for me."

"Well, if you ever need ice cream coupons and a shoulder to dramatically cry on, you know where to find me."

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Tristan's POV

"Retina, I'm moving to Italy." Tristan kept his tone as level as he could, so that she couldn't hear how much the news truly affected him.

"WHAT?!" The shrill screech that he had expected came delayed by half a millisecond, but was infused with a shot of zesty shock and topped off with a swirl of cynical disbelief. It was pretty much the exact word Tristan had anticipated when he had relentlessly rehearsed the conversation in his head, which went something like this:

Retina: Hey Peanut! Just a lovely reminder that I hate you! What's up?

Tristan: Yeah, there's kind of something I need to tell you that is completely unrelated to you hating me, but I hate you too, princess! Guess what?

Retina: Huh?

Tristan: Say 'what'.

Retina: Ha! I'm not that gullible!

Tristan: I know you are, but what am I?

Retina: What?

Tristan: What?

Retina: Oh, stop being such a tease, you adorable, sexy and handsome hunk of an optometristan whom I now love with all my being!

Hey, it was his imagination speaking, okay?

Tristan: As much as I like being called that, I'm not buying it.

Retina: Oh, and by the way, cure my freakin'-

Tristan: I'm moving to Italy.

Retina: WHAT?!

But of course, in reality, it went nothing like the conversation Tristan had oh-so-carefully prepared in the depths of his imagination. Except for that last part, that was pretty damn accurate. He could almost see Retina's expression, the epitome of despair. Her plush, baby-pink tinted lips opening like a sweet blossom to stutter, "wha- how- why- when?"

"The flight's in two weeks." Tristan couldn't keep the resentful misery from slowly creeping into his tone. "Did I ever tell you why my dad went to Italy in the first place? It was because he wanted to get a once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity business deal. Guess what he ended up getting?"

"The once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity business deal," The raw listlessness in her voice was enough to make Tristan feel as though his heart was collapsing in on itself. Ponderous rocks tumbling, crashing on his heads as though he was at fault, problems weighing down with the mass of solid gold. "Gosh, I should've-"

He couldn't bear to hear her resentful tone- although elation was infectious, as was the equally strong emotion of despondency. He quickly pressed the 'end call' button and set the blandly coloured, dirty ivory optometrist phone back in its rightful place on the stand.

The phone remained silent as it did throughout the whole season of fall, but now seemed to be as downcast and reticent as Tristan felt. As though the other inanimate objects sensed his misery, one particular pair of Hannah Montana glasses decided to choose that moment to swiftly plummet off its stand and land on the ground with a loud clatter.

He felt annoyance seeping through every inch of his body- couldn't the damn glasses just let him wallow in his own freakin' misery? But against his better judgement, he heaved himself up and forced his legs to take long strides towards the fallen lenses. As he went, he couldn't help but reliving the moment when he himself, found out that he was moving.

A chilly fall day had become even chiller when his father had directly called his iPhone. Picking it up and frowning at the Caller ID, Tristan had answered, "hello?"

"Tristan!" his father had sounded like he was pointing a leaf blower at the phone from the amount of random static was in the background. "How are you? How's the store?"

"Hi dad. I'm good! Yeah, the store's- um- great. It's doing fantastic!" Tristan fibbed.

He was sure that his father would be able to see through the onion-transparent lie. It might have been due to the fact that the latter was particularly distracted or something, because his voice remained cheerful; Tristan could almost imagine him bouncing with each step.

"That's terrific, Tristan!" his father said warmly, in a tone so delighted that Tristan made a pact with himself to not burst his bubble- yet. Besides, even he found trouble admitting that Westerden Optometrist's sales were dropping like Kanye's 2016 mixtape. Where was the flaw in that?

Oh right, that mixtape was nonexistent- as were the customers who got their eyes checked at Westerden Optometrist.

Did he just give himself a third degree burn?

Jeez, how sad was it that Tristan was perfectly capable of roasting himself? Not that he knew much about teenage slang, but he was sure that 'roasting' these days did not include turkeys or stuffing. Nor were ships related to boats of any kind, and bae was not a slang version of babe. This generation was so screwed up.

"I have news," Tristan's father had brought him back to Earth from dreams of crispy turkey and thick, luxurious stuffing. Unless, of course, you were a vegetarian or a vegan. Then maybe not. "I got the job, Tristan! I got the job! We're moving to Italy!"

Tristan leapt to his feet in surprise, exclaiming, "that's awesome, dad! Wow, you got the job! But that means- wait, WHAT?!" his pacing abruptly paused as he registered the final sentence his father had uttered. No- no wait- did he just say-

"We're moving to Italy." A calmer tone flowed out the speaker, but did nothing to alleviate Tristan's panic. In fact, it just worsened the damage. "Tristan, I know it'll be hard, but this is such a big opportunity for us! Please."

"I'll-" Never had he paid attention to the pestiferous cracking of his voice when overcome with strong emotion, but now he found himself roughly clearing his throat before speaking up. "I'll think about it, dad."

And he promptly hung up.

What choice did Tristan have but to accept his father's decision? Sure, he could do the rebellious teenage thing and oppose his dad's wishes, run away from home or something. To be honest, Tristan wanted his dad to be happy. But at his own expense? If only he hadn't met her, or Fletcher, or Emily, Erin and Alex, maybe it wouldn't have been so hard for him.

Was he resentful?

Maybe.

But did he regret meeting them?

Not a chance.

The towering whirlwind of emotions consumed his very mind, although the outside was vexatiously ordinary. The angry honks of cars, the scurry of human footsteps as their teeth shivered and chattered out of their own will. Birds, soaring above in a meticulous formation, clouds scraping the top of their feathery heads.

It was all so ordinary- and for once, that wasn't okay with him. The world was meant to be in tears, wallowing in their misery with him! If only he could chuck a few bald Asian monks in there, that would make the situation a lot more worthy of attention.

"So, have you told her yet?" Tristan jumped as though shocked with a thousand volts of electricity, as the all too familiar voice behind him spoke out of nowhere. Tristan-the-spinning-top spun around to face the questioning expressions of Emily and Fletcher.

"Jesus, how did you two sneak up on me?" Tristan asked, half-laughing from shock.

"Because we're ninjas!" Fletcher said enthusiastically. "We're like, frickin' samurais, bro! Besides," he nodded at the Hannah Montana glasses, which had once again succumbed to gravitational force and fallen on the ground. "You seemed distracted."

Emily, being more observant and sympathetic than her boyfriend, read the expression on Tristan's face. "You told her, didn't you?"

Tristan did not immediately respond, but the silence that followed the query was thick enough to cut through with a butter knife. He didn't need words to explain how he felt, but decided to speak up in a transparent attempt to fill the void that had opened.

"I- yeah," he answered, absentmindedly running a hand through chocolate brown locks. "I did, and she's not happy."

"Of course," Fletcher's tone was a sardonic masterpiece. "Because she's delighted that you're packing up and moving to Italy in two weeks! I'm jumping around with joy, stuffing my face with celebratory ice cream, and tossing rainbow confetti everywhere. Aren't you?"

"What, so you're actually going to miss him?" teased Emily, her shoulder nudging his in a gentle manner. "Do I see the bromance ship sailing?"

Both Tristan and Fletcher shot her scathing glares. "Shut up."

Emily's mischievous expression melted into an irritated one. "Jeez, I'm just trying to lighten the tension. It wasn't like- well, you guys need to stop acting like you're both attending a funeral! Look on the bright side, at least Tristan's not dead."

"Yeah, I'm so delighted about being alive like the other eight billion people on this planet," Tristan said sarcastically, before turning his attention to the numerous files and forms that sat on the desk in the form of a towering stack.

He was now reconsidering the fact that he was going to miss Fletcher and Emily, especially since they were acting so lighthearted about the fact that was moving to Italy. Italy, of all places! Though there was nothing wrong with the country itself, of course. How could he condemn the country that created pizza? Mmm... delicious pizza...

But deep down, he knew that he would miss Emily and Fletcher. He would miss their endearing attempts to brighten his day, he would miss their chemistry as a duo. He would also miss the delicious ice cream that they provided him with. Even though Italy was associated with refreshing, tangy gelato, they could never compare to Waffle Cones.

Was he truly going to let that shrivel to pieces in two weeks?

"I spy with my little eye, an optometristan who looks as though he's a kid whose ice cream just fell off the waffle cone," Fletcher's remark sliced through Tristan's internal conflict.

"That was surprisingly accurate, Fletcher!" Tristan commended him with a round of applause.

"Guys?" Emily interrupted in a small voice. Both boys turned towards her, eyes resembling spotlights as they widened- shining rays of light upon the thin pieces of paper she was holding up. "You need to see this."

"What is it?" Fletcher asked, picking his way through an obstacle of outdated newspapers, house magazines, and small bits and bobs; which were the remains of children's toys that had been scattered aimlessly or abandoned in the past. Tristan followed agilely.

"I don't know," Emily said slowly, flicking through each page and scanning them with keen emerald eyes. "But look where I found them. Did you know about this, Tristan?"

Her hand found a latch which Tristan had not in his two years of working here. She pulled the secret drawer out to reveal folders, with ominous stickers labelled 'Italy' and '2016 Business Deal'. Tristan grabbed the nearest folder and disbelievingly started reading the first page that he pulled out, Emily imitating his actions.

Fletcher's mouth fell open in indignation. "Your dad knew you guys were moving for ages! What the fuck? Dude, who knows how long he was planning this for?"

"November last year," Tristan said faintly.

"And how the sushi did you know that?"

"Because this is the exact date that my dad accepted his business deal," Tristan answered. He felt like the floor beneath his feet was yanked away, leaving him to do an Alice in Wonderland and tumble down a never-ending hole. "November 13th, 2015."

"Black Friday?" asked Emily darkly, leaning in to gawk at the fine print. "Yeah, that's not ominous at all. Also, look at this!" she said furiously, brandishing another file at the duo. "This one states that Tristan's dad recently filed a transfer request!"

"But guys, do you know what this means?" Fletcher's eyes were alight, luminescent lights reflecting in chocolate irises. "Bro, if your dad recently filed a transfer request, doesn't that mean the paperwork would be sitting in a random drawer at Westerden City Centre?"

Tristan struggled to comprehend Fletcher's implied meaning. "But that means that we'd be-" his eyes grew wide as he caught onto Fletcher's plan. "No freaking way."

The corners of Fletcher's lips twitched up into a mischievous smirk. "Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"

Emily laugh broke Tristan's damp mood. "If you guys are thinking what I'm thinking, I'm going to say that what we're going to be doing is damn crazy. Breaking into Westerden City Centre, sabotaging Tristan's dad's transfer request? Madness."

"Yeah, but it'll be fun!" Fletcher protested. "Can we do it? Come on guys, let's sing that Team Rocket song!" Catching Emily and Tristan's strange looks, he relented with a disappointed droop of his shoulders. "Fine, be party poopers. But are you guys in?"

Fletcher stuck his hand out with his palm facing down. Emily shot an exasperated look at Tristan, who shrugged helplessly at her. A sigh escaped through pinched lips, before she reluctantly placed her hand on top of Fletcher's. "We're going to get in so much trouble, but I don't see why not."

That left Tristan-the-sceptical, the duo's expectant looks bearing down on him. What was the benefit, what was the risk? He needed time to think! But it wasn't like Tristan's father had given him an option either. He needed to do something now, otherwise Tristan would never get his Westerden life back.

That sealed the deal.

He slapped his hand on top of the pile. "I'm in."

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GUYS WE ARE #5 IN SHORT STORY AND THAT'S SO AMAZING! ILYSM! <3

So, whaddya think of the Alex cameo? I hated Faith's POV because nothing happened the whole damn time, but the whole point was for her to brood. And if you haven't realised already, this story is set in the near future. Anyway, any guesses on what's going to happen next? I'd love to hear them!

P.S. This is the final long chapter before the actual finale, so make 'em last, people!

Best wishes,
Yilei