Promise me no promises

Don't you promise me nothing

- Cheat Codes, Demi Lovato – No Promises

Soma took a deep breath, before reaching for the door handle. He had only just opened the door and entered the house when the noise enveloped him. It was strange. In a way, these voices and noises were familiar to him. Then again, they weren't, because it was a new day.

On the couch, inside the huge, luxurious living room, sat his father, surrounded by various women. But not just women that were unknown to Soma. His mother as well. Soma bit his lip, not daring to disturb his father's doing (whatever it was he was doing).

He thought it sad how his mother still tried to regain her husband's affections, instead of just getting a divorce. Soma wasn't even thinking of himself when he thought this. The damage had been done to him already, and he didn't blame his mother for it. Instead, he blamed his father.

And someone else. He blamed Tamal, his oldest brother, for leaving everything to him, the youngest. Expect for Tamal none of the brother's had moved out by now.

Soma suspected because living in an estate was an easy life. But he knew very well that, as soon as he turned 18, he'd be out of here.

Soma made his way to the kitchen, not paying attention to the sounds emanating from the living room.

The kitchen had been pretty empty ever since his dad fired all the cooks. Old Mohini had been the only one to stay. And Soma knew that she had only stayed because she feared for the well-being of her "wards", how she called Soma and his brothers. Soma was truly thankful for Mohini. She was the least bit of normality in this extremely mad household. Next to Ranjit perhaps.

Ranjit always acted like his smaller brother, even though he was actually a year older. But Ranjit had never really gotten over the negligence of his father. Other than Soma, who'd just learned to accept it over the years.

So the purple-haired boy had started caring for his older brothers, because, so he'd said, it helped him forget how lonely he actually was.

"Namaste, Mohini," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

The old cook shot him a smile. "Namaste, Soma. What? You haven't brought handsome with you?"

For a second, Soma was extremely startled, until he realized whom Mohini was talking about. "Oh," he sounded almost horrified, "Oh, you meant Ranjit."

Mohini, taking the pot from the stove, lifted a brow. Though she didn't look at Soma, the teen blushed. "Well, whom did you think I was talking about?"

But Soma dodged that question. "Can I take some of the curry upstairs?"

"Little fella, aren't you supposed to eat downstairs?" Mohini didn't sound angry. She rather sounded amused. But without giving so much as an answer, she filled a bowl for Soma and gave it to him.

"You know," she said, while he was already leaving the kitchen, "You really should start eating more diverse food. Aren't you sick of curry already?"

Soma was silent for a bit. He simply stirred his curry, staring at it in an almost forlorn manner. Then, without turning back and already having half-left the kitchen, he answered, "It reminds me of ma."

Not wanting to see Mohini's pitying expression, he left.

"Mr. Iyer, could I talk to you for a second?"

Arshad nearly groaned. Internally, he did. But instead he flashed his best fake smile and turned around to look at the black-haired headmaster. Arshad really did like Mr. Michaelis, though there was something about the man that made him choose his words very carefully when talking to him.

"Mr. Michaelis. Yes, of course. What's u-…Uh, what's the matter?"

Michaelis crooked a brow at the familiar expression, but he didn't say anything. He probably had stopped bothering with Arshad's speech manners a long time ago.

"You're little ward appeared a bit…well, reluctant at the cricket team's practice today."

Arshad was dumbfounded for a moment. It wasn't that he didn't know how to answer, he simply had no clue whom the man was talking about. Until, suddenly, it clicked.

"Ward? Oh, you mean Kadar. Yeah, well, I think he was reluctant. But is it really that much of a surprise?"

"Actually, it is."

When hearing this, Arshad had to admit he was a bit surprised. He had always thought that it was just the way of the teen. That 'not caring' was his way of living. But it seems like he'd been wrong all this time.

"Kadar has rather been a good student throughout the years. I don't suppose you know, and it's not my place to tell, but he's in a bad familial situation. Though it seems as if that hasn't affected his grades a bit."

Well, I did know, Arshad thought, but didn't say. Instead he only nodded, listening to what the headmaster had to say.

"I know from your records that you had rough teen years yourself, so may I…"

Arshad cut him off, "We're already in contact. I'm not so keen on making friends with annoying teens, but Kadar's a nice one. All he needs is some…steadiness. I dunno how much help I can be, but I'm trying."

Michaelis obviously wanted to answer. Just in that moment, Arshad's phone ringed. A look at the display confirmed his assumptions.

"Speaking of the devil…," he muttered, looking up to Michaelis, "Sorry, it's our beloved. See you tomorrow."

In front of the school, Arshad picked the call up, leaning against one of the bike racks.

"Kadar. What's up?"

There was some unintelligible blabbering. Then, silence.

"Kadar?", Arshad asked again. He bit his lips, unsure of what to say. He decided then, that straightforward was the best option he got. "I meant no harm. I...It was...I should've asked, sorry."

Arshad heard a faint chuckle at the other end of the line. "It's alright. But I already told you there wasn't anything remotely similar to the bleach incident."

Said incident had been the very reason why Arshad had looked at Soma's records. He had wanted to know how bad it really was. If the teen had tried something similar in order to kill himself.

The words were out before Arshad had thought them over.

"How 'bout stayin' at my place?"

Stunned silence.

At least Arshad hoped it was stunned silence and not that the purple-haired teen had ended the call.

"Sure?" Soma finally answered, "It's...a little complicated here right now, anyways."

In that very moment, Arshad thought he'd had heard the breaking of glass.

"Kadar? Are you fine?"

"Yeah, sure." Arshad heard another breaking sound. "I ain't got your address."

So Arshad gave it to him.

It took Soma barely fifteen minutes to get to Arshad's place. And it wasn't really anything like he'd imagined it.

It seemed like a totally ordinary place. A totally ordinary building, with kids playing in the yard.

Apartment No. 25 was written in the message he'd received from Arshad. He produced his phone from his pocket and called up the older man. It only ringed once until Arshad picked up.

"I'm not sure I'm at the right place," was the first thing Soma said.

At the other end of the conversation, Arshad was currently standing at the stove, stirring a soup in the pot. Upon the comment of the younger one, he opened the curtains.

"You are," he answered, "I can see you down in the yard."

He bit back a laugh. "You stand there looking extremely lost."

"I am," Soma confessed, huffing a breath. He craned his head, trying to figure out which window was Arshad's.

"Come on up," the white-haired man said into the phone, "Take the front door. Third floor, far left is my door. Don't ring, just knock and I'll open up."

Said and done. Soma was surprised that he found the apartment rather easily. Like he'd been instructed, he didn't ring the bell but simply knocked.

And it didn't take long until Arshad opened up. He wore only a plain black shirt, which hung loosely on his frame. Soma didn't want to know if he wore boxers underneath or didn't.

"Welcome," was the only thing that escaped the older man before he stepped back and re-entered his flat. Soma started, but soon followed after him, shutting the door behind himself.

"Your flat's so clean," the teen murmured to himself. The living room was decorated in saffron and earthy tones, long curtains dimming the sunlight. An old black leather couch stood in front of a flat screen, which towered above piled up boxes.

Perhaps 'clean' was the wrong word. Old newspapers lay spread out all over the floor, years of smoking had dyed the white walls a nasty shade of yellow and unsmoked cigarettes lined the couch table. But still, it was way cleaner than what Soma had expected.

"You know, if your plan is to just bicker about everything I do and am, you're very much welcomed to leave." Arshad had re-appeared with a bowl in hand and was now standing in front of Soma.

"Sorry," was all the teen answered.

Arshad nodded slowly. It seemed like he was processing the word. "Come on," he said and gestured for Soma to follow him. He did and Arshad led him to a room at the end of the hallway. The room had plain white walls and was, expect for a not-made bed, unfurnished.

"This is gonna be your room," Arshad explained, "Feel free to use it to your liking."

Soma shot him a glance. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful or happy, it was simply that he couldn't fathom a reason why the white-haired man was doing this.

Arshad noticed his look. "What?"

"Why are you doin' this, anyways?" Soma asked what was on his mind. He got not real answer but a simple shrug from Arshad and that was all there was to it.

"Dinner's in an hour," the older announced before leaving Soma alone in the room.

"I already ate," the teen answered.

"Your bad."

Smiling, Soma shook his head. Perhaps he didn't even need a reason. Perhaps he didn't even want one. His temporary stay wasn't a promise that things were going to work out, but it was a chance he got to try.