bikers & beaches | tk ✓

❧06

❧ A Familiar Warmth ❧

"Three fifty." Taehyung smiled and took the five dollar bill from the middle aged man, pressing the button for change on the register and exchanging the cash for the amount needed to be paid back. The customer accepted the bill and two quarters, grabbing the two soda bottles and cookie from the counter before walking away.

The artist rocked back and forth on his feet, lazily resting his chin on his palm while he gazed around the dining floor of the restaurant.

"Doing alright, son?" Mr.Tuan's voice faded in with his exit of the kitchen, patting the younger's shoulder from the other side of the drink counter.

"Perfect, sir," he grinned and stood straight. The elder smiled back at him before turning and sauntering away with the large black tray balanced in his hands, plates of food atop it.

"Too hot." Taehyung sighed to himself, breaking character to roll his stiff neck. He hadn't slept much the night before. Similar to the previous four nights.

It was midday and that was usually when he'd be cooling off in the water or inside his air conditioned bedroom staring at blank canvases.

"Too damn hot."

The diner's open back doors were letting the humid weather swirl in and soak his clothes in ticklish sweat. His hair was clumping like straw and made him grimace when it fell into his eyesight.

Why was the beach so useless without the water? There was no way that was all he'd ever done at the shore for years on end.

It was suddenly unimaginable how bored he had become without water activities and his hyungs (entirely because of his dismissal towards their wishes to stay with him).

He spent his time in the diner, working so he wasn't just sitting on his ass all day, sketching what he could muster without clear inspiration for his project, and sitting on the sand watching his hyungs surf.

It was all becoming monotonous and he was beginning to understand how reliant he had been on surfing for enjoyment.

It left him miserable and desperate.

"You look pale." Mr.Tuan returned from his rounds of delivering meals. "Surprised that's possible in the heat."

Taehyung hadn't realized his body had gone sickly cold in the heat, a strange sensation that turned his sweat clammy. "I'm alright. You mind if I steal a stool and sit for a bit?"

"Don't need to ask, Taehyung." The elder grabbed the chair himself, the metal bars slippery in Taehyung's palms as he took it and rested it down behind the counter. His legs were relieved with the nice break.

Taehyung looked around to see all the current customers chattering away and unlikely to get up to ask him for something. Thus, he grabbed his bag from the floor and pulled out the fabric covered book, thick pages worn on the edges.

His pencil was tied to the binding and he slid it out, peeling the pages open to fan through the graphite smeared paper. Wiping down his right hand on his shorts, the artist ran his dry fingers down the center to crease the cream paper open.

The pencil wandered mindlessly, leaving the sketchbook only to wipe his hand down on the clothing covering his skin for the nth time. He scribbled in raw boxes and spheres, indecipherable templates of elementary shapes, before the pencil marked defined curves and sharp edges, pressing harder with every certain line in the structure of his sketch.