Chapter Text
Chapter 1
20 hrs. 9 minutes. 23 seconds.
Adrian shoved his hand into a cabinet, grasping onto air until his hand got in contact with a container. He pulled it out and assessed the details.
S249A Surfboard Laminating Resin.
Turpentine. The consequence of not having an epoxy covered board. Usually a day out in the Cali weather was something Adrian knew would soften the wax but solvents were less effective on turpentine.
S249A Surfboard Laminating Resin. He quickly read through the jargon until his eyes landed on methyl ethyl ketone. He quickly sighed a breath of relief, knowing that this alcohol solvent would counteract the difficulty of the turpentine residue.
Adrian rubbed his eye with his free hand, frustrated that the irony didn’t fall short to his dismay. What a fucking waste.
He was awarded a new board in his last tournament; FCS fins. It was a relatively short gathering, prizes were worthy of his time and attention. Despite it being a short gathering, it caught sponsors’ attention. He was well aware of the fact, even after being in the game for a relatively short period of time, that talent was recognized and seeked for in obscure competitions and FCS fins was not as unknown, relative to others he participated in. It was someone’s pot of gold to becoming one step closer to being recognized.
It was a way for him to get recognized despite his conscious reluctance to not be recognized, since he spent the last couple of months couped in , leaving time to be ready available for-
20 hours. 11 minutes. 8 seconds.
Fuck.
Adrian pushed himself off of the ledge, closed the cabinet shut and turned to place the resin beside the board. He paused for a slight minute, momentarily playing with the ghosts of the board, grazing his fingers over the board without actually touching it.
God. He tossed his head back and sighed.
He knew that there was this fucking cosmic enigma to surfing that he didn’t have the words to use in order to articulate his feelings but when his body wasn’t in the water, as it wasn’t that moment, he was more cognizant of the euphoria he-oh-so-ever itched for.
Too bad it’s a fucking loss. Fucking turpentine.
Adrian sauntered through the room and stopped short of the fridge. He leaned his head in and grabbed a beer, nudging the cap into the corner of his mouth and using his top canines to create pressure, before using his bottom teeth to unclasp the lip.
Despite the alcohol content flowing through his throat, the somewhat malty bitterness, did nothing to reroute his thoughts.
Turpentine. Water. Surfing. Work. Wax. Turpentine. Water. Surfing. Work. Sleep. Wax. Turpentine-
Fuck.
20 hours. 12 minutes. 11 seconds.