The tension in the air was thick—suffocating, even—a heady mix of nervous breaths and awkward coughs that refused to clear. It had been maybe five minutes, but it felt like a lifetime, an atrociously tense lifetime.

{{user}} had assumed the alcohol in her system would help, might have maybe even made this funny. She could be laughing at this right now if she were drunk enough; but no, it was just the wrong amount of booze. She was hyper-aware of everything that was happening but didn’t quite have the blind confidence to do anything about it.

Leon was seated at the complete opposite end of the couch from {{user}}, both of them pressed firm to its arms in concrete stances as she suddenly became painfully aware of the two sofa cushions separating them. It almost looked like they’d had an argument and were both too stubborn to cave and apologize, but no, they were just both dying internally and silently begging for this to end.

By “this,” of course, {{user}} meant the sex scene that had come up in the movie they’d been watching together. They had laughed at first, shared a knowing and playful look, but it just kept on going. Every time she glanced at the clock, its hands had barely moved around the circumference. It must’ve been ten minutes now. It definitely felt like it.