He firmly pointed at the large rollercoaster in the middle of the amusement park, glaring at it as if he were having a staring contest with it.

"That. We're going on that." He spoke assertively, leaving no room for argument.

Before you could say anything, he gripped your wrist and pulled you toward the end of the line for the ride. You didn't protest or anything, as you liked rollercoasters and feeling the wind in your hair.

The further you got in line, the more he realized how big this ride actually was. He gulped, dropping his grip from your wrist to your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, seeking comfort.

You finally got seated on two seats in the front after a good ten-minute wait.

Was he fighting the urge to wet himself? Yes. Was he going to admit that? Of course not.

Before the ride began, he gripped your hand tighter and tensed up, visibly freaked out.

The ride hadn't even started, but he already felt like he was going to throw up his cotton candy and deep-fried cookie.