Under the Grit

BLOW

Evangeline turned the key in the lock, the soft click of the door echoing in the quiet hallway as she stepped into the apartment. The dim glow of the living room lamp was the only light illuminating the space, casting long shadows across the walls. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment, letting the soft hum of the silence wrap around her. The tension that had been building up throughout the day seemed to cling to her shoulders, refusing to ease, even now that she was home.

Her eyes swept across the room, taking in the familiar surroundings—the warm tones of the wooden furniture, the plush throw draped over the back of the couch, and the faint scent of vanilla from the candle she had forgotten to blow out earlier that morning. Everything looked exactly as it always did, and yet there was a different atmosphere tonight. The apartment felt heavier, as if the air had thickened in her absence.

She slipped off her shoes, setting them neatly by the door, and ran a hand through her hair, still slightly tousled from the wind outside. The dull ache in her feet reminded her of how long she'd been out. Her meeting with Arthur had stretched on longer than she anticipated, and as much as she tried to focus on the details of the interview—his insights about local gangs, the way he spoke about the dangers in the area—there was something about his presence that had a way of lingering. She shook the thought away, knowing now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Ben was sitting on the couch, his tall frame illuminated by the soft glow of the television, dressed in a worn gray t-shirt and a pair of dark sweatpants. His socked feet were propped up on the coffee table, a stark contrast to his usual polished appearance when he came home from work. The casual home clothes did little to soften the tension in his posture, though—his shoulders were slightly hunched, his arms crossed loosely across his chest as he stared at the screen, the faint flicker of the television reflecting in his eyes.

He glanced up briefly as she entered, his gaze lingering on her for just a second longer than usual before shifting back to the TV. There was a tightness in his jaw, the telltale sign that something was bothering him, though he wasn't saying it outright. The usual comfort of seeing him at ease in their apartment was missing tonight.

Evangeline stepped further into the living room, her bag slipping off her shoulder and landing quietly on the floor. She could feel the weight of Ben's silence hanging in the air, the soft hum of the television the only sound in the room.

"Hey," she said gently, walking toward the couch. "Sorry I'm late... The interview went longer than I expected."

Ben didn't respond right away. Instead, he pressed the pause button on the remote, the screen freezing mid-scene. The abrupt silence that followed felt heavier than before. He turned his head slightly toward her, but his expression was tight, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Yeah, I noticed," he said, his tone clipped. "It's pretty late."

She winced internally at his words, the irritation in his voice clear. "I know, I didn't mean for it to go so long," she explained, trying to keep her tone calm. "Arthur and I—"

"Arthur?" Ben interrupted, finally turning to fully look at her, his eyebrows raised. There was something sharp in his gaze, though he quickly masked it.

Evangeline blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. "Yeah... the guy I told you about. The singer? He's helping me with the project." She felt a small knot form in her stomach, unsure of how to read Ben's reaction.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his arms still crossed, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "I get that. I just didn't expect you to be gone this late because of him." His voice wasn't angry, but there was an edge to it—something simmering just beneath the surface.