Angel Face |Stan Pines|

5

𝔾ℝ𝔸𝕍𝕀𝕋𝕐 𝔽𝔸𝕃𝕃𝕊, 𝕆ℝ𝔼𝔾𝕆ℕ
𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟚

Stan sat across from Evangeline at her small kitchen table, the TV light was casting ominous lights and shadows cross her face and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. She was also half his size, he could 100% take her down if needed. The room was warm, a faint scent of cinnamon lingering in the air from whatever Evangeline had baked earlier. But despite the coziness, a thick silence weighed between them.

Stan's eyes roamed the room absently, landing on nothing in particular but seeing everything at once. His mind raced. Ford wasn't the type to get close to people easily, and yet here he was, practically living at this woman's house—this small, quiet house that didn't seem like his brother at all. He couldn't picture Ford in this space, and yet the signs were everywhere. A physics book left open on the arm of the couch, a New Jersey printed coffee cup that used to be in the cupboard of their childhood home. How long had this been going on? And why did he feel so betrayed when they hadn't even spoken in a little over a decade. The thoughts convoluted in his head, making him angry all over again and feel guilty for being upset. Were they even actually together or was he overthinking? 

Across from him, Evangeline sat perfectly still, her hands clasped in front of her on the table. Her green eyes flicked up to meet his once, briefly, before they darted away again, her fingers tightening slightly. She didn't know why Ford had never mentioned his brother. That realization was unsettling. Ford was a man of many mysteries, she knew that much, but for him to have a brother—a brother this... rugged and bristling—and not say a word about him? She didn't understand it. It made her feel like an outsider in a way that she hadn't before, like maybe she didn't know Ford as well as she thought.

Her gaze drifted to the window, watching the snow fall softly outside. She could feel Stan's eyes on her, heavy with questions, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was thinking. Her throat tightened slightly as the silence grew, and yet she couldn't bring herself to speak. What would she even say?

Stan cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. He glanced at her again, trying to figure her out. She was beautiful, he'd give her that. But there was something more to her than just her looks, something that kept Ford coming back. She seemed soft, but not weak—there was a quiet strength in the way she carried herself, a steadiness that even now made him feel like he was the intruder here.

And he hated that.

"So," Stan finally muttered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was low, rough from disuse. "How long have you known Ford?"

Evangeline blinked, the question breaking through her thoughts. She turned her gaze back to him, surprised that he'd spoken at all. "A little over five years," she replied softly. "Since I moved here." Her voice was calm, but Stan could hear the slight edge of uncertainty beneath it.

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. A few years. That wasn't long. Not long enough to know Ford like she seemed to. And still... why the hell did Ford get so close to her?

Neither of them spoke again after that. The silence, thick with unspoken questions and quiet tension, settled back in, heavier than before.

And somewhere in the back of both their minds, the same question echoed in different voices: "Why didn't he I know about you?"

Evangeline shifted slightly in her chair, her hands now resting in her lap. She could feel the air in the room changing, thickening with the weight of Stan's unasked questions, and her own confusion. Her mind was racing, though she fought to keep her outward composure. What was Ford hiding? The question gnawed at her, threatening to crack her calm demeanor. She had gotten used to Ford's secrets, to the walls he put up, but Stan was different—louder, more forceful. He wouldn't let things sit in silence for long. It was only a matter of time.