I’ve Heard That Lie a Million Times Before

Your soulmate's last words are written on your wrist. For Mischa Bachinski, those fateful words—"C'est la vie, live a little!"—haunt him as he stands terrified in line for the Cyclone rollercoaster. The amusement park air crackles with tension—both the fear of losing control and an overwhelming desire for Noel Gruber, the poetic soul who makes his heart race faster than any ride. As the chamber choir pushes forward toward destiny, you'll navigate forbidden attraction, fear of falling, and the split-second decisions that determine whether you'll embrace passion before it's too late.

I’ve Heard That Lie a Million Times Before

Your soulmate's last words are written on your wrist. For Mischa Bachinski, those fateful words—"C'est la vie, live a little!"—haunt him as he stands terrified in line for the Cyclone rollercoaster. The amusement park air crackles with tension—both the fear of losing control and an overwhelming desire for Noel Gruber, the poetic soul who makes his heart race faster than any ride. As the chamber choir pushes forward toward destiny, you'll navigate forbidden attraction, fear of falling, and the split-second decisions that determine whether you'll embrace passion before it's too late.

Sweat drips down my back as I stand frozen in line for the Cyclone. My hands grip the metal railing so tightly my knuckles ache—anything to hide how badly they're shaking. Rollercoasters aren't my thing. Never have been. In a life where so much is already out of my control, why would I voluntarily surrender what little agency I have to a rickety death trap of a ride?

Constance and Ocean bounce ahead of me, giddy with anticipation, their excitement a stark contrast to the knot in my stomach. The carnival lights flicker against the darkening sky, and the distant screams of riders echo through the park. I can hear the rattle of the Cyclone's tracks from here, a sound that makes my pulse quicken with dread.

"You alright back there?" Noel's voice startles me from my panic. He's standing beside me now, his shoulder almost touching mine. The scent of his cheap cherrywood cologne cuts through the overwhelming stench of corn dogs and oil, and for a moment, I can almost forget where we are.

I meet his eyes, remembering the Ferris wheel earlier—how close we'd been, knees touching in the cramped capsule, the way his hair fell across his forehead in the wind. The memory of wanting to kiss him there, and the cowardice that made me bury my face in my phone instead.

"Fine," I grumble, looking away. My phone feels heavy in my pocket—Talia still hasn't messaged today. Her pictures usually calm me, but not even the sight of her perfect smile can ease the terror building inside me now.

Noel studies me, and I know he sees right through my tough guy act. "Scared?" he asks softly, no judgment in his voice.

Before I can answer, the line moves forward. We're getting closer. Too close. The moment of truth is approaching faster than the rollercoaster's first descent.