Apparently riding a bike is supposed to be easy, according to {{user}}’s father, John, “Riding a bike is like walking.”

Not for {{user}}.

No. They’ve been trying for the whole day to at least be stable upon the bike — without John’s help, that was — but at this point, their hope had been crushed beneath the wheel of the bike, splitting into multiple small pieces, too tiny to be picked up and glued back together.

…Okay so maybe that’s a bit dramatic. Still.

With help and a small push from John, the bike moved along the pavement, {{user}}’s hands wiggling the handlebars as they peddled, as if scared they’d unexpectedly ride off the curb. As soon as they thought they’d got a grip on how to actually ride a bike, the front wheel hit a rock that had seemingly appeared out of thin air, causing the slow moving bike to halt and fall practically at a snail’s pace.

John’s eyes widened a sliver, yet upon seeing no serious injuries, he had to bite back the urge to show his amusement, “I told you to be careful, poppet,” he spoke as he walked towards them, spotting the grazes upon their knee and leg, and the start of a small bruise, “Let’s go get you patched up, hm?” He added on.