《The Final Project》Chapter 46

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We all have that voice in our head, that nagging voice that makes you question every decision you've ever made. It makes you overthink to the point of spiralling out of control. Fear is what that voice is called.

It takes the driver's seat while you sit helplessly beside it. Sometimes, you get enough courage to tell it to go down a different path, to stop travelling through the same broken roads, but it shuts you out. It ignores you. No matter how much you yell, and cry, and reason, it ignores you.

It's like a helicopter parent, constantly nagging you to do things its way. Sure, it can be destructive, but it cares for you. It makes sure you never get hurt. It wraps you in an embrace so tight, so warm, so comfortable.

But someday, it'll betray you. Whenever I'm with him, it betrays me.

I watch as Liam runs his hand through his hair, his shirtless body on full display. I study the jagged muscles enveloping his skin, the outline of his sculpted frame. Gosh, he's beautiful. The droplets of his wet hair cascade through the room, and he leans slightly forward to get any remaining water out of his head.

As he goes to put his wet towel away, I watch his body moving fluidly with him. It's so effortless, so serene, so attractive. He even makes walking look like an art.

His eyes find mine as he comes toward the bed I'm currently setting up. I awkwardly fluff the pillows lined in the middle, and I hear him snicker.

"Fucking hell. I think that's a big enough barrier."

"Yeah, I uh-I just thought we should have our own spaces." He nods, sort of smirking to himself. I've noticed he does that a lot nowadays, smirking and snarky comments, something I'm not used to coming from him.

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I sit on one side of this sort of pillow wall I built, and a question runs through my mind. "Are you gonna..." I can't find the words to complete my sentence.

"Am I gonna..." He mocks my tone.

I gesture to his naked torso. "Wear a t-shirt?"

"Nope." He lays on his side of the bed, hands under his head, and a smug look on his face.

I hate this boy. But somehow, I trust him—my helicopter parent does, at least.

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