A radio on the front counter played an upbeat tune as Mako ducked under the entryway curtains and paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimness.
Narook's Seaweed Noodlery was as small inside as it had looked from the street. But it managed to feel cozy, rather than cramped. Little booths ran the length of the wall to his right matched by a second row of tables down the center of the floor, most of which were occupied. The kitchen stood near the back, sectioned off by a high counter and a ring of curtains, but he could see it steaming away behind them. Somehow, even with that going on and the weather outside, the dining area was impressively cool.
The whole place was decorated in Southern Water Tribe style with tribal patterns in blues and whites accenting the walls, and the owner—a middle-aged Water Tribe man unsurprisingly named Narook—presided over the establishment from his seat beside the radio.
He straightened up when the boy came in, taking an immediate interest in his unfamiliar customer.
"Can I help you?" he asked directly.
Mako cut his survey short, his vigilant eyes making a final pass over the patrons as he crossed the room and laid his coins on the counter with a dull thunk.
"I need some soup," he said in an undertone, cringing as he pulled his hand away. "Something that's good when you're sick."
The owner frowned down at the money for an uncomfortably long time. Then he raised a quizzical look in Mako's direction.
He didn't say anything, but that look told Mako all he needed to know.
With a sigh, he dropped his gaze to the floor, fists tightening at his sides as he shrank from scrutiny. Ragged, dirty, underfed and tired, he knew he was a sorry sight and certainly not the kind of customer any self-respecting businessman would want hanging around. The longer the silence dragged on, the more certain he was that he would be turned away and braced for the inevitable.
But to his surprise, Narook let out a slow breath and swept the coins noiselessly off the counter.
"I guess you want to take that with you," he surmised, getting up from his seat. He was halfway to the kitchen before Mako even processed what he'd said.
"I—uh—yes, sir. Thank you," the boy fumbled, trailing a doubtful half-step after him. But that was as far as he dared to stir.
Kindness was, in his experience, a rare and fragile phenomenon. One wrong move, one careless word and he could end up back in the street soupless and flat broke. Just to be safe, he stuck uncertainly where he was, following the proprietor with wary eyes.
When he reached the little set of steps that led to the back of house, Narook seemed to consider something and turned back, rattling Mako's money in his fist.
"Hey, I don't suppose I could interest you in some work," he mused.
Caught completely off guard, Mako opened his mouth and closed it again, raising a bewildered hand to his forehead.
"Really…?"
He was steeled against disappointment, but he wasn't at all prepared for good news.
"It would only be for today," Narook amended. "And I can't afford to pay cash, but I could trade you a couple free meals, if you think that's fair."
As if to seal the deal, he held out the handful of coins.
A job—any job—sounded amazing to Mako after the day he'd had, even one that didn't pay in cash. A yuan saved was a yuan he didn't have to earn back. And the prospect of fresh food was an excellent incentive on its own.
Reclaiming his coins and slipping them into his pocket, he shook the owner's hand with an appreciative smile.
"That sounds great…! I promise, sir, you won't regret it."
The work wasn't hard. He straightened shelves and restocked ingredients in the kitchen until close. Then after the last customer had gone home, he cleaned the tables and swept out the dining room. It seemed like no time at all before he was sitting in the empty restaurant, with the kitchen silent and the chairs turned up for the night, finishing a plate of cold noodles and waiting on the other half of his pay.
Alone for the moment, he smiled almost imperceptibly to himself. For once, he was glad his plans hadn't worked out. He could never have imagined, when he set out that morning, that he'd end up where he was. He was running a couple of hours late, but it was worth it.
Narook emerged from the darkened staircase with an insulated metal soup canister in one hand and flipped out the lights on the back half of the shop.
"What do you think?" he asked genially, nodding toward Mako's empty plate.
"I never had Water Tribe food before. It wasn't bad."
"That's what I like to hear." With a laugh, the owner set the container on the edge of the table and rapped the side of it with his knuckles. "Here's the soup you wanted. If I was sick, this is what I would eat."
Drawing the container toward him, Mako stood up, channeling a flood of relief and gratitude into a formal bow.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "I know you didn't have to—"
"I don't want to hear it. You earned every drop," Narook interrupted good-naturedly, giving him a rough slap on the back. "You bring that back and I'll give you a refill, huh? Then we'll call it even."
"Call it even," Mako echoed with a grin.
Staying out of the way as Narook took his dishes and finished closing up, he loosened the carrying strap and slung the canister over one shoulder, offering one last nod of thanks to his benefactor, and headed out into the cooling night air.