#something missing

Getting a hold on himself he opened the window and slipped in. No point in bursting in and making a scene. There would be time for that later, but now was all about the stealth.

The room was small and dark after the brightness of the sun. He debated setting his hair on fire to get some light but decided against it. No point in giving himself away just yet; Noddle Boy could be along any minute.

Instead he contented himself in trying to find the best place for an ambush…even if there weren’t a lot of options. The room was a square with only two doors, one to a bathroom and one to the outside. He supposed he could hide in the bathroom, but that was beneath him. So he contented himself to wait right in front of the main entrance so he could be the first thing Noddle Boy would see.

No, it wasn’t enough to just be the first thing he saw, he was the son of the Demon Bull King and Iron Fan Princess. His appearance should shock and amaze. He looked around the room for a prop. The chair would do. He shoved it in front of the door and lounged on it like it was his throne. No, it needed more. He grabbed one of the Noodle Boy’s books and held it up so the first thing Noodle Boy would see was how not interested he was, all cool and collected like breaking-in had been a breeze.

Noodle Boy didn’t come.

And didn’t come.

And didn’t come.

Eventually he ran out of book. With nothing left to do he threw the book on the floor and went hunting for another one. Defiantly because his image depended on him having a cool book to read and not because he wanted to know what happened next. He didn’t care what happened next in a silly comic about the Monkey King. His hair caught fire at the lack of reading material because he was sick of waiting is all.

Noodle boy was still not coming. He sat back down on the chair, less interesting book on noodles in hand. His eyes started to wander around the room. Pictures of Monkey King (of course), a large poster of noodles (he should have expected that), a green dragon poster which caught the eye only because it was the only poster of its kind, lots and lots of Monkey shaped clocks.

There was something missing. He couldn’t place his finger on it but it made his skin crawl.

He widened his observation. The room was filled with clutter tucked into a semblance of order he was sure only made sense to the Noodle Boy. Dirty dishes piled on the counter (all noodle bowls, was this boy anything but on brand?). There were scattering of toys: some Monkey shaped, others for video games. Books were on the shelves, papers on the table, and a plant in the corner.

From the room he could tell Noodle Boy was messy, a gamer, and liked Noodles and Monkey King. But something was missing. Something that should be there that wasn’t. Some insight into Noodle Boy’s life that he shouldn’t already know.

Noodle Boy worked with noodles, he knew that. Noodle Boy was the new Monkey Kid, he knew that. Noodle boy gamed, Red Son already knew that from bumping into him at the arcade (because he was stalking his enemy and no other reason). And he knew Noodle boy was messy because his shirt had a stain on it he’d never bothered to clean. All that was spelled out over the house, but there was nothing new.

It was almost to perfect.

Had he been expecting him?

Suddenly on his guard, Red Son leapt to his feet and scanned the room again. There didn’t appear to be any sort of hidden cameras, but he could never be too sure. The plant was the most obvious place for a bug so he went over to it, sweeping its pot and leaves for any obvious abnormalities. Nothing. He ran his hands along the underside of the desk and the counter next, still nothing. He tried the bookcase. Still nothing.

He stepped back feeling uneasy again. So there were no bugs, none that he could find at least. Still, since he had begun to search, might as well finish. Reconnaissance and all that.

He sorted through the letters on the desk. Laundry bill, add for a local pizzeria, add for a local chain restaurant, rent, credit card bill, gas bill, water bill…wait. Noodle Boy had to pay for water? Wasn’t that like essential for survival? Who thought of that? It was so…evil. Red Son wasn’t sure if he was impressed or offended that he hadn’t thought of that.

He tried the waste basket below the desk next. A crumpled up add for the shop across the street with the rival owners face covered in doodles. Bills. A statement of credit stating…wow. Those numbers weren’t very high. He glanced over at the bills on the table and did some quick math. Huh. That was not good for Noodle Boy. It suddenly struck him that Noodle Boy might be poor. He had never thought of that before. It just, wasn’t something he really came into contact with.

Squashing the tiny flare of sympathy until he couldn’t hear it anymore, Red Son turned his attention to the bookcase. Most of them were about Monkey king. Monkey King the Comics, editions 1-10 (but no 12, blast) Monkey King the Animated Series: Guide to Characters and World. Myths Summarized: Rise of the Monkey King. Even Journey to the West itself. The last two books on the shelf were a bit more diverse. 101 Ways to Cook Noodles. Apartments and You! He put the book he’d been reading on the shelf next to the other noodle book, and as he did so something caught his eyes.

The tag line for Apartments and You! read “How to Survive on Your Own.” He picked the book and skimmed its yellowed pages, searching for a clue. The book was old, it must have been a gift. But from who? He let the pages fall to the front. There was no dedication. No note in the front cover. There was a stamp though he squinted and made out…

“Puti’s Second Hand Book Store.”

“Rrrrgghhh!” he slammed the book closed and threw it to the floor. He’d been so close, so close, to finding some clue about where the Noodle Boy came from!

He felt the anger leave him as quickly as it came and let himself fall back upon Noodle Boy’s bed without fear of setting it alight. Naming what he’d been searching for, even if the search had been subconscious, forced him to admit what had been bugging him so much.

There were no pictures of family.

Red Son’s house was full of pictures of him and his mom. They were all shapes and sizes, from black and white to instant selfies. His mom had covered their house with them ever since she first came home alight about this new thing she’d found called a camera.

When he’d been younger it had annoyed him, he’d hated posing for all the stupid pictures, but now as he stared around Noodle Boy’s life, he realized why it had mattered so much to his mom. At least he would always have something to remember her by, at least he would always have proof she loved him, at least he, even when he could barely remember his father’s voice, had one hand-painted portrait of his father’s face. He knew who he was and so much of that, even his name, was tied to his family. But Noodle Boy…

Noodle Boy had no one.

And it fueled the tiny part of him that had become vocal when he’d deduced Noodle Boy’s financial troubles. A small lingering part of him that looked at the troubles of another and wondered if mayhaps he was overly cruel for tormenting him.

And the small feeling needed to die.

He was Red Son, son of the Demon Bull King and Iron Fan Princess. Noodle Boy was the Monkey Kid, he enemy. He didn’t care what his home life was like.

And if humans didn’t care enough for their own cubs to leave a picture, a letter, or some sort of sign of affection, then it was just one more reason his family should be in charge. They never forgot who they loved or where they came from.

He heard a noise outside.

A laugh.

The Noodle Boy’s laugh.

Good.