O Is Not For Orphan [On Hold]

Two || Noodles

It is around four o' clock when the shaggy looking boy steps out of the comics shop, empty handed as always. The jingle of a little bell rings somewhere above him as he pushes past the glass door and out into the sidewalk.
Outside, the shadows of shops and trees hang low. People stroll past, going casually about what's left of their day.
The boy shoves his hands in his pockets and walks south in a steady pace. His destination is only two blocks away and he is in no real rush.
He strolls past the shops on the same street, glancing briefly at each of their storefronts. He doesn't know why he still bothers. He's seen them hundreds of times, enough to tell them apart with his eyes closed.
The boy likes the sounds of commotion around him. The chatter of people as they stride past. The honks and beeps of the cars. It comforts him.
The smell of salt and baking bread  fills the air around him. He inhales deeply and smiles to himself.
It is the smell of baking pretzel dogs coming from a small building a few feet ahead of the boy. He knows this just by the scent.
In fact, he was beginning to pick up a lot of good scents. The smell of pizza. A whif of garlic. The aroma of sizzling hamburgers somewhere.
And if he concentrated hard enough, he could detect the smell of fresh baked cookies.
The boy's stomach suddenly let out the battle cry of a Humpback whale.
This was the price to be paid for passing through the restaurant part of the city without any money.
The smells would just have to do.
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The door to the apartment, with its peeling black paint and crooked number 1, is unlocked when he arrives. It always is.
He takes hold of the tarnished knob and turns it, stepping into the interior of the apartment.
The cramped living room, with its faded, old sofa and equally old television is dark and empty.
The boy closes the door behind him.
"Filip?* You there?", a voice calls from the lit kitchen.
The boy makes his way towards the voice, stepping into the yellow kitchen where he can see the woman seated before a plain, wooden round table.
"I'm here, Pat.", he sighs, taking the seat opposite her.
The woman is Filip's aunt, Patricia. She is no taller than her nephew and shares his same skin and hair color. Filip simply calls her 'Pat'.
"What are the papers for?", he asks, plucking one up from the messy stack. It has words like 'statement' and 'fees'.
Patricia sighs.
"Bills, bills and more bills. Nothing big.", she manages to smile. It is a strained, forced smile.
Filip nods and replaces the paper back into the stack.
Patricia let's out a heavy sigh and reclines back into her chair, stretching her arms over her head.
"What's today?", she asks, looking blankly up at the ceiling.
"Saturday."
Patricia lets out a swear.
She promptly stands up from her chair and redoes her dark ponytail.
"Put the water on for a Ramen, will you? I've got to go get ready.", she sighs.
Filip nods and stands from his chair while his aunt disappears into her room.
Patricia leaves every Saturday at five in the afternoon for her shift at Señor Schmumber's Taco Temple. Filip has heard her swear and curse the Mexican food restaurant countless times before, saying things like 'minimum wage' and 'cut hours'. He often listens to these rants, all the while munching on the tacos or burritos she brings back home in a carry-out box.
Filip pours tap water into a small pot and places it on the stove top, turning the gas on. He can hear his aunt swearing in her room as he sifts past the bottles of spices in one of the overhead cabinets.
The Ramen noodles are hot and ready in bowls by the time she emerges in her Señor Shmumber's red and black uniform. Her hair is neater and her face looks fresh. The bags under her eyes are almost unnoticeable.
The two sit and tuck into their spicy shrimp noodles in silence.
Filip is replaying the plot twist he read from the latest Shmumberman comic in his head while Pat stares blankly at the beige tabletop, chewing slowly.
It isn't long before their forks scrape the bottom of the bowls, which now hold nothing but noodle water.
Pat sighs and stands from the table, glancing at the cheap watch on her right wrist.
"Got to go. It's almost time.", she says.
Filip nods, swishing his fork around in the bowl.
He feels a hand awkwardly pat the side of his head and looks up. A tight smile is plastered across his aunt's face.
"You're a good kid, Filip.", she says simply.
"Thanks."
"Do you want anything from Señor Schmumbers?"
He thinks about this and furrows his eyebrows.
"No. Not today.", he manages to reply.
She leaves without saying anything else.
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*Okay. I hope using the actor's name isn't too weird. I have a reason for this though, so it'll make some sense soon.