[Credit to Emiliaok for the base and to strcssed for the outfit]
Vihaan was born in Greece into a family that, from the outside, appeared quiet and ordinary. His early childhood was defined less by the stability of his parents yet heavily on the absent side. HIs mother, completely and overly made a mess out of through work, through having a child into the equation and struggling to hold onto daily life. Around the age of about 4, this woman was taken away by social services, whilst Vihaan can't remember why, he knows that she didn't leave his life, she was simply taken from his grasp. His father dissapeared not long before. No body, no answers - only Vihaan and his mothers slow acceptance that he was gone for good. Rumours spread around this death, making it to the papers: unpaid debts, unfamiliar faces in the home, a life that Vihaan and his mother never heard a word muttered about. Nothing was ever proven, of course, and nothing was ever explained.
The foster home smelled like disinfectant and overcooked food. Vihaan remembered that more than anything. When the visitors arrived, they didn't look like social workers. They dressed better. Quieter. A man and a woman, both dark-haired, both smiling with teeth like a vipers next that felt far more practiced in a shattered mirror then it ever did like a warm home. On this specific day, they brought gifts, nothing too much though. The man bought Vihaan a small football, and a notebook. Things that suggested his own interests and his own thoughts about these topics without directly asking what he liked. The woman however, knelt to Vihaan's level and asked him about school, what he liked to eat, whether he missed the Greek beach in Athens. Not a single other soul had even thought of asking him about that. The man watched more than he spoke, his eyes drifting around the room, to the exits, the other kids, to the staff behind the desk. When he spoke, a rather thick yet gravelling Italian bass came from his lips, calm - yet discomforting.
"You don't have to answer anything you don't want to," he told Vihaan. The man let out a toothy smile as he almost chuckled at the woman, mocking her in a way. It stumped Vihaan, really did. No one else had said that to him before. When they left, one of the carers whispered that they were "good people" and that Vihaan should behave if they came again.
"You don't have to answer anything you don't want to," he told Vihaan. The man let out a toothy smile as he almost chuckled at the woman, mocking her in a way. It stumped Vihaan, really did. No one else had said that to him before. When they left, one of the carers whispered that they were "good people" and that Vihaan should behave if they came again.
The visitors arrived earlier than usual that day.
Vihaan noticed because breakfast wasn't finished yet. The foster home usually ran on routines so strict they felt carved into the walls, but that morning the rythmn slipped. Staff moved faster. Someone knocked over a chair and didn't even stop to fix it, stupid health and safety. Papers were laid out on the desk right by the enterance, then stacked, then spread out again as if this was a panicked decision on final order. Vihaan sat on the edge of his bed, shows already on, clutching his notebook. He had learned that being ready was far better than being late. When Deniro entered the room, he didn't smile immediately. He crouched down instead, bringing himself level with Vihaan. His eyes seemed to hold a weight of seriousness, a feeling of a tie within his intestines as he couldn't break eye contact from this man before him. Adults only do this when theres something important to be said.
"You've done nothing wrong," Deniro sighed from his lips, that gravelling edge to his voice being carried by the distinct smell of tobacco. Vihaan no choice but to nod, yet his chest tightened. Adults always say that when something horrific was going to happen anyway. The woman, his wife, Vihaan realised now, stood by the door. She didn't speak. Her hands were clasped tightly infront her, so tight your nails turn red and your knuckles white. "Things are gonna move quickly today, alright?" Deniro continued, his voice moving into a steadier, breathier tone with a sense of practice and placidity "I need you to listen to me carefully." In a sense of panic, Vihaan lost all breath, his fingers dug into the hardback wood of his notebook, his eyes widening with each word said and the sense of tears filling his eyes yet no water left in his system.
Deniro smiled, placed a hand onto Vihaan's shoulder and simply brightened his eyes "You're going to come and live with us, Vee." The words didn't land all at once. They came in pieces, like a sentence spoken underwater. Vihaan blinked. "Today?" he asked, that childish tone of joy lifting from his lips as his eyes eased yet still held that widened effect. Deniro seemed to hesitate, his eye darting around to the others, just long enough for Vihaan to notice. "Yes," he finally said. "Today." A social worker stepped into the doorway then, smiling far too widely for anyones comfort. She spoke about flights, documents, signatures. Vihaan stopped listening, his ears rang with a twang of a thousand metal pans being smashed at once. He looked past them all, down the hallway, towards the rooms of the other children, these kids that he barely even knew, kids he'd have shared his scraps of food with, kids who would still be here tommorow. Deniro noticed, obviously, where his eyes went. "You don't need to say goodbye to everyone, Vee" Deniro whispered with an edgy smile. "We don't want to make this any harder for you than it needs to be." That sentence stayed with Vihaan, for eons.
They packed quickly. Far, too quickly. Clothes folded by everyone but himself. Toys left behind. That football that Mues gave him was just slipped into Deniros own bag. In the car, Vihaan sat in the back seat, watching the building shrik in the read window, he expected relief. Maybe even excitement, yet there was nothing but a sense of hollow within his bones. "Can I ask you something?" Vihaan muttered after a while, his voice shaky yet his eyes holding a sense of curiosity. Deniro glanced at him through the mirror. "Of course." Vihaan looked directly into the rear mirror, his eyes holding a weight never seen before, "Am I... staying this time?" The car slowed at a traffic light. Red washed over the interior, painting Deniro's face with a dull horrific glow. He didn't answer immediately, his hands tightened slightly against the steering wheel leather. "Yes," Deniro finally said "If you wish." Vihaan swallowed. "And if I don't?" Deniro turned fully then, meeting his eyes directly, his sunglasses now in the compartment where drinks should lay, his eyes were a daring light blue yet his right one seemed to have a scar running directly down the middle. "Then we'll make sure you're safe," he replied "But I hope you'll stay." Vihaan looked back out the window. He didn't know how to explain that he didn't trust hope anymore, Deniro's eyes running through every cycle possible. That staying felt dangerous because it meant this man he built so much up with could be taken in an instant.
When they reached the airport, everything felt too big. The ceilings. The noise. The movement. Vihaan clutched his bag like it might disappear if he let go. As this plane leapt from the ground, he watched Greece disappear from the clouds, no closer yet only distance.
Vihaan noticed because breakfast wasn't finished yet. The foster home usually ran on routines so strict they felt carved into the walls, but that morning the rythmn slipped. Staff moved faster. Someone knocked over a chair and didn't even stop to fix it, stupid health and safety. Papers were laid out on the desk right by the enterance, then stacked, then spread out again as if this was a panicked decision on final order. Vihaan sat on the edge of his bed, shows already on, clutching his notebook. He had learned that being ready was far better than being late. When Deniro entered the room, he didn't smile immediately. He crouched down instead, bringing himself level with Vihaan. His eyes seemed to hold a weight of seriousness, a feeling of a tie within his intestines as he couldn't break eye contact from this man before him. Adults only do this when theres something important to be said.
"You've done nothing wrong," Deniro sighed from his lips, that gravelling edge to his voice being carried by the distinct smell of tobacco. Vihaan no choice but to nod, yet his chest tightened. Adults always say that when something horrific was going to happen anyway. The woman, his wife, Vihaan realised now, stood by the door. She didn't speak. Her hands were clasped tightly infront her, so tight your nails turn red and your knuckles white. "Things are gonna move quickly today, alright?" Deniro continued, his voice moving into a steadier, breathier tone with a sense of practice and placidity "I need you to listen to me carefully." In a sense of panic, Vihaan lost all breath, his fingers dug into the hardback wood of his notebook, his eyes widening with each word said and the sense of tears filling his eyes yet no water left in his system.
Deniro smiled, placed a hand onto Vihaan's shoulder and simply brightened his eyes "You're going to come and live with us, Vee." The words didn't land all at once. They came in pieces, like a sentence spoken underwater. Vihaan blinked. "Today?" he asked, that childish tone of joy lifting from his lips as his eyes eased yet still held that widened effect. Deniro seemed to hesitate, his eye darting around to the others, just long enough for Vihaan to notice. "Yes," he finally said. "Today." A social worker stepped into the doorway then, smiling far too widely for anyones comfort. She spoke about flights, documents, signatures. Vihaan stopped listening, his ears rang with a twang of a thousand metal pans being smashed at once. He looked past them all, down the hallway, towards the rooms of the other children, these kids that he barely even knew, kids he'd have shared his scraps of food with, kids who would still be here tommorow. Deniro noticed, obviously, where his eyes went. "You don't need to say goodbye to everyone, Vee" Deniro whispered with an edgy smile. "We don't want to make this any harder for you than it needs to be." That sentence stayed with Vihaan, for eons.
They packed quickly. Far, too quickly. Clothes folded by everyone but himself. Toys left behind. That football that Mues gave him was just slipped into Deniros own bag. In the car, Vihaan sat in the back seat, watching the building shrik in the read window, he expected relief. Maybe even excitement, yet there was nothing but a sense of hollow within his bones. "Can I ask you something?" Vihaan muttered after a while, his voice shaky yet his eyes holding a sense of curiosity. Deniro glanced at him through the mirror. "Of course." Vihaan looked directly into the rear mirror, his eyes holding a weight never seen before, "Am I... staying this time?" The car slowed at a traffic light. Red washed over the interior, painting Deniro's face with a dull horrific glow. He didn't answer immediately, his hands tightened slightly against the steering wheel leather. "Yes," Deniro finally said "If you wish." Vihaan swallowed. "And if I don't?" Deniro turned fully then, meeting his eyes directly, his sunglasses now in the compartment where drinks should lay, his eyes were a daring light blue yet his right one seemed to have a scar running directly down the middle. "Then we'll make sure you're safe," he replied "But I hope you'll stay." Vihaan looked back out the window. He didn't know how to explain that he didn't trust hope anymore, Deniro's eyes running through every cycle possible. That staying felt dangerous because it meant this man he built so much up with could be taken in an instant.
When they reached the airport, everything felt too big. The ceilings. The noise. The movement. Vihaan clutched his bag like it might disappear if he let go. As this plane leapt from the ground, he watched Greece disappear from the clouds, no closer yet only distance.
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