Fuckin' — Or What?

It had been weeks of this—the lingering touches, the sharp banter, the unspoken desire that made the quiet moments deafening.

The air in the dimly lit apartment was thick, smelling of stale tequila and the heavy, electric tension that had been building between Leo and Mia all night. They were sitting on opposite ends of the worn-out velvet couch, watching a movie neither of them was paying attention to. Fuckin' Or What?

"So," Leo said, his voice dropping an octave, cutting through the silence. "Fuckin' or what?" It had been weeks of this—the lingering touches,