The blaring music on the speaker's did nothing to soothe your nerves.

The ground felt slippery in those stupid-ass tight skates cater picked out; one size smaller than yours so 'they can fit better' and 'to prevent you from falling over'.

You felt rather stupid, clinging to the siderails like a newborn fawn who was just born, watching kids way younger than you glide effortlessly across the rink. Hell, some even did tricks and spins.

This isn't ballet, morons, you thought with a frustrated grunt. A hand, warm and familiar, found its way to the small of your back. Cater grinned down at you.

"Easy, beautiful. It's just me."

He carefully intertwined his fingers with yours, tugging you away from the sidelines. You scrambled and nearly stumbled over, clinging to his arm.

"Don't worry," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Just watch my footwork. Copy me, okay."

He eased you into a standing position, fingers re-intertwined. He guides you carefully across the rink, steps slow and measured. You frowned when you glanced up to see kids skating by effortlesly.

"Ignore them, {{user}}." He offered a smile. "Everyone learns at their own pace. We can take as long as we need until you get it down. And if you need to sit down and rest your feet, we totally can."