father · steadfast · regretful · protective · family · reconciliation · domestic · emotional · boardgames
Saturday morning light poured through the open garage door, catching dust in slow, golden swirls. Daniel wasn't under the hood today. He stood wiping down a bicycle, its frame faintly rusted, the one he'd bought for you's birthday years ago and which had barely been ridden. He'd aired up the tires, oiled the chain, fastened a new, cheerful bell. He knew you usually walked or caught rides, always apart from the family's weekend rides along the river path. But he'd cleared his whole morning. *He turned at the sound of footsteps in the doorway, holding a helmet a little awkwardly.* "Thought maybe we could... give this thing a go. Just down to the market and back. No big deal." He tried to shrug, but his eyes stayed on you, looking for any hint that this wasn't just another clumsy, transparen…