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CW: Outing, familial homophobia, forced out of home, description of injury to face.

The purple blossomed over Mehi's face in the photo, spreading from her eyebrow to the top of her cheek, eye already swelling to a vicious red. The gash on her cheek was half hidden by the grey fabric of her hijab, and her hand was blurred from flashing up to pull the cloth over her head.

Her eyes were half closed, only a tiny flash of grey and white visible. Her lip was busted and still bleeding, despite having been cleaned up beforehand. Red leaked down the side of her chin, a thin river of blood between a brown valley of skin.

A small patch of her hair had been visible, hanging over her forehead, but he had blacked it out in a photo editing app before he posted it. He had also blurred out most of her face with the exception of the wounds, for her protection.

The photo was the cover of the article.

Muslim Trans Woman Attacked at Local Mosque.

Not his best work in terms of poetic titles, but it caught enough attention. Or rather, far more attention than he'd ever considered.

He hadn't thought to change his Twitter settings – anything he posted to tumblr was automatically shared on his Twitter page – and by the time he actually remembered it, it had already been shared a hundred times.

He had taken it down immediately, but now there were several versions of the article circulating. All with his name on it.

Queer and Muslim youth have always been at risk of attack, but it is trans Muslims, women in particular, that face some of the worst persecution in today's society, particularly women of colour. A woman, who will be referred to as Jane Doe for her privacy and protection, was attacked on her way home from her local mosque only two days ago by an old schoolmate, who shouted slurs as he assaulted her. 'Terrorist. Tranny.' They're not uncommon to hear, even in day-to-day life in America.

However, Jane Doe was also hesitant to approach police about the assault for fear of further persecution. The police have never been a friend of LGBT+ or hijabji women, and Jane Doe stated that she didn't, 'want to go through all the deadnaming and humiliation just to have them tell [her] that they can't do anything'.

Unfortunately, this trend is common throughout America, and San Francisco is no exception.

He jumped when his phone rang, and his blood turned to the ice cooling the water on his bedside table, but it was Ryou's name that came up. Not his sister's.

He let out a breath. He was being overdramatic. Maybe she hadn't even seen it. The people sharing it weren't in her friend group, and she wasn't on Twitter.

He tapped the answer button. "Hello?"

"Ryou, give me the fucking phone!"

"Malik?"

"Ryou?" Malik blocked his other ear, struggling to hear the man. "What's going on? Is Mehi okay?"

"I- one sec, Mehi, stop! I'm trying to talk to him!" The voices faded for a second, and Ryou returned a bit clear. "Malik."

"Hey, what's going on?" Malik shook his head, but his heart pounded and the answer trespassed unbidden before Ryou responded.

"Malik, why did you post that?"

"She didn't want to go to the police, and something had to be done." He glanced back at his computer screen. Another five likes and two retweets. Shit.

"Yes, but that wasn't your place. It was hers."

Malik chewed his lip. "I didn't see anything wrong with it when I was writing it."

Ryou sighed. "Look, the main thing is you said she was trans. She's not out here – she was going stealth."

"But I didn't name her!"

"You had a photo of her, and everyone has seen those injuries over the past two days."

"Fuck." Malik dragged his hand down his face. "Ryou, I'm-" The words caught in his throat.

"I'm not the one you have to apologise to."  Despite the calmness in Ryou's voice, it wasn't soft.

"You're right, can I talk to her?"

Ryou hesitated. "I don't think that's a good-"

"If he wants to talk to me, put me on to him."

"Mehi-"

"Honey, it's fine," Malik assured him. "Please."

Ryou sighed again and the phone crackled as it was passed. "Hey," Mehi muttered. She sounded a lot calmer than she had only moments before.

"Mehi, I'm so sorry, I didn't- I just-"

"I know, you wanted to help," Mehi huffed, "but this didn't. You get that, right?"

He could feel his chest tightened and his head span. His eyes focused on the nothingness on the wall. "Yeah. I shouldn't have. I know."

"I get why you did it, just... don't do it again. Please."

"I won't. I-I've tried taking it down, but-"

"Eh. You taking it down won't change people seeing it. Just ask me next time, okay?"

"But you don't."

"Look, it's fine. The fuckhead deserves it."

He didn't even realise that he was shaking. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologise so much."

"I know but I-" He heard a door slam. "Mehi, I need to go."

"Is everything okay?"

He barely processed the concern in her voice. "Bye." He hung up and threw the phone onto his bed as Isis stormed in. "Is everything-"

"What did you do, Malik?" She hissed. Her eyes sparked like coal in the dim light of his room. He hadn't noticed the sun setting, and now the walls shone with a tint of red.

"I don't-"

"The article." Her jaw was clenched like his hands. "People were talking about it at the mosque today. Do you know how humiliated I was? I didn't even know what they were talking about." She shook her head. Her khimar was dislodged, locks of hair curling in around her face. "Why would you write that?"

"Because, I-"

"You're going to take it down," she decided. "I can't have people wondering if you're friends with someone like that."

"Isis-"

"Take it down. Now."

"I can't!" He snapped. "Too many people have shared it."

"Well find a way." Isis glared at him. "I have done too much for this family since we moved, and I'm not going to have you tarnish our reputation because you picked up a job at some magazine that made you write-"

"No one made me write it! I wanted to!"

Isis stared at him. "Why? Where did you even meet this man?"

"She's a woman," Malik corrected. "I met her online."

"You're going to cut connections with him immediately." Isis pulled her khimar back over her forehead. "Allah, forgive me, but I won't let him corrupt you. Why you would even make friends with such people is beyond me-"

"Because I'm one of them!" He yelled.

Isis stared at him again, but no questions spilled from her lips now, and the fire in her eyes was gone, leaving nothing but icy grey halls in place of crackling coal. "What?"

The ice spread to Malik's fingertips, bleeding into his veins and dragging it through his body. He almost managed to stop himself, but the cold spread to his mind like brain-freeze and stopped all coherent thought. "I like men."

"Take it back," Isis whispered. "Take it back this instant."

He spread his arms. Numbness began to replace the cold and he stared through her. "How? I can't change who I am."

"Then get out."

He faltered. "What?"

"You heard me." Her glare was back. "If you can't live by Allah's laws, I refuse to have you in this house. Leave now."

"I'm not going without my things," he muttered, hands shaking as he reached over to grab his bag.

"You have five minutes." She turned and left the room, much more slowly.

He picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Atem. Hey, sorry for the short notice, but can I spend the night? Isis is kicking me out and I don't have anywhere else to go rn.

He pocketed his phone and began shoving as much as he could into his duffel – clothes, a pair of shoes, his laptop, his chargers, one of his books, a brush, deodorant, toothbrush, wallet, credit card, teddy from when he was young, a photo-

"Time's up!" He heard Isis yell. "Go. Now!"

He yanked the zip closed, pulled on his shoes and stormed outside. Isis stood by the open door. He still held the family photograph in his hand - the day Isis had graduated. She narrowed her eyes and caught it, pulling it away from him. "Sister-"

"You don't get to call me that anymore." She held the frame by her side, knuckles white. "You can return when you admit your sin and stop this."

Malik's jaw clenched. "I guess I'm never coming back then," he muttered, picking up his coat. "Tell Rishid I said goodbye."

"Leave him out of this." Isis ground her teeth. "And leave your key."

Malik pulled his keys from his pocket and unhooked the house one from the ring, leaving only his motorcycle key behind. "Goodbye." He walked outside, and Isis slammed the door behind him.

His phone buzzed on his way to the elevator. A text from Atem. I'm not surprised – I would have too. Stay away from me, fag lover.

His eyes burned and he slammed his fist into the elevator button. It opened with a soft ding, gentle music playing inside.

He checked through his contacts as he walked in. Susan, Rishid, Isis, Atem; all useless now. He deleted Atem's number.

Ryou replaced him as his most contacted person. He hesitated. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. The music changed tracks just as the elevator doors opened. He could get a hotel instead.

He made his way over to his motorbike, but his duffel was too large for it. He groaned, his head falling back, and he pulled out his phone. He really had no shame.

Ryou picked up after a few dials. "Hello?"

"Hey, honey, I- I mean Ryou- I-" His throat closed. "I-I-"

"Are you okay?"

He let out a breath, trying to ease the heat behind his skull. "I jus- I just- Could I come stay with you for the night? I can take a bus, or-"

"Why, what happened?" Ryou sounded worried.

"I, uh..." He scoffed. "I outed myself, and Isis kicked me out."

"Oh, fuck, Malik- I- Yeah, come over. We're on San Bruno Avenue – three zero seventy. Bakura will meet you at the bus stop, okay?"

"Okay." Malik sniffed. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, Malik, just get here safely."

The bus journey was silent and numb. He pressed his forehead against the glass. It made him vibrate, but the pane was cool with condensation from the rain outside and it eased his headache. Fuck.

He gripped the strap of his bag as the bus pulled into the stop. Fuck. He dragged himself to his feet and managed to force himself off the bus. The door nearly closed on his bag behind him, and drove off.

He closed his eyes again as the rain pelted down on top of him. On the bus he'd felt like a hot mess of nothingness; at least now he felt cold and wet.

"Shit, get in out of the rain."

His eyes flashed open as someone grabbed his hand and tugged him in under the bus stop roof.

"Do you not have a coat?" Malik shook his head, and the other man pulled off his red hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Malik swallowed. "Bakura?"

His periwinkle eyes met Malik's. "Well who else would it be?" His profile photo must have been old - in it, he had short hair and only one small scar at the bottom of his cheek. He tried to grin, his scar curving into a crescent moon, stark against his dark skin. "Come on – Ryou has dinner on, and you look like you need a shower."

Malik just nodded dimly and shuffled after Bakura down the path. He shivered and pulled the hoodie closer to him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Bakura shrugged. He was shivering slightly too, now only wearing a t-shirt and jeans as a barrier from the weather, but he didn't object.

"I'm sorry about this." Malik switched the bag from his right hand to his left.

Bakura glanced up at him, eyes now obscured by his mop of silver hair. His roots were beginning to peek through, but with such a dark natural colour, it looked more like part of the aesthetic than laziness. "You don't need to apologise." He nudged him. "You doing okay?"

Malik shrugged, staring at his feet. His shoes squelched, as wet as his hair now.

Bakura just nodded and turned into a doorway. "Come on – we're up here."

The apartment was only on the second floor, and, thankfully, Malik's bag wasn't that heavy. It wasn't until the door opened that the empty feeling faded – when he smelled the kushari.

It was just too much – it reminded him too much of Isis. His eyes burned and he dropped his bag. Bakura closed the door. "Shit are you okay?"

"Yeah." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm fine, just-" He choked on the words and dug his nails into his forehead. "Fuck."

"Malik?"

He sniffed. "I'm fine-" A pair of slim arms wound around him and he blinked open his eyes. A cascade of white hair blocked his vision for a moment before he found a pair of brown eyes. He normally didn't like physical contact from people he didn't know too well, but his legs buckled, and he buried his face in Ryou's shoulder. "I'm s- I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ryou breathed, giving him a small squeeze. "God, it's okay." He gently brushed Malik's hair out of his face. "Do you want some water, or to sit down? Or a shower? You look like you're frozen."

"I gave him my hoodie," Bakura supplied, but was ignored.

Malik shook his head. "I- I just-"

"Here's a towel." He looked up to see Mehi holding it out to him. Her bruise was still sharp, but it was turning an ugly green.

Ryou slowly released him and he took the towel. "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank us for everything," Bakura commented. "But you should go and take a shower. It'll stop you getting a cold."

Malik still hesitated. "Come on." Mehi offered her hand. "Have you got some clothes?"

Malik nodded and glanced at his bag. It was wet, but the rain shouldn't have soaked through to the clothes.

"Grab a pair and I'll show you how to work the shower."

Another nod and he ducked to unzip his bag. He pulled out the first t-shirt and sweatpants he could find and stood again. Mehi's hand was still outstretched, so he carefully took it and allowed her to lead him to the bathroom by the kitchen.

"It's not too hard," she assured him, pulling a cord. "You just twist this knob in the front for water pressure, and then this one for temperature. Okay?" He nodded. "You can use whatever's in there."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be – this isn't your fault."

"Yes it is." Malik sniffed and rubbed his eye. "But I meant the article."

Mehi sighed and turned to him. "Malik, I'm fine. Okay?" Her voice was gentle. "Should you have asked? Yeah. Definitely. Especially about the photo." He opened his mouth to apologise again, but she cut him off. "But it's okay. You apologised. And I'm more worried about you than I am myself."

He shook his head and feigned a smile. "I'm fine."

"Well you haven't called anyone honey since you walked in," Mehi pointed out, "and I've never heard you go a full conversation without saying it. Even in the group chat." Malik looked down. "Just take a shower and leave your clothes outside the door, okay?" Mehi murmured. "I'll put them in the dryer. We'll eat when you come out."

"Thanks." He waited until the door was closed to turn on the water, and then stripped as it was heating. He carefully cracked the door open, hiding behind it, and slid them out before locking himself in.

He had to admit, the hot water helped. As much as the cold had eased his headache, the shower evaporated the lump in his throat.

He took his time, massaging a round of shampoo and conditioner into his hair before he even began with the soap. By the time he stepped out, he could hear the dryer whirring in the background and the three talking quietly.

He heaved a low sigh. The cold air stung once he turned off the water, and it was as if the numbness had only been temporarily warded off.

It crept back up on him as he rubbed himself dry, and the lump grew as he pulled on his clothes. His hair was still stringy and damp as he walked out, and he had left his earrings and necklace on the sink, but he didn't really want to turn back to get them.

Not when Ryou looked up with a smile as he set the last plate of steaming kushari on the table. "I was about to come and get you."

Malik swallowed and offered a warbling smile. "Thanks." He slid into the chair beside Mehi. "I'm... really sorry about this."

"It's okay." Ryou placed his hand over Malik's and gave it a squeeze. "We don't mind." He sat down as well. "The couch folds out – I hope that's okay. Sorry, I know it's not very big-"

"That's perfect," Malik assured him. "Thank you."

He took a bite of the kushari and nearly started crying again.

"Is it okay?" Mehi asked.

Malik quickly nodded. "It's great," he choked out. "Sorry. I just- Isis makes this a lot and-" He sounded like a child with all of the crying. This was his fault. He fucking deserved it. Own the fuck up to it and stop crying.

Mehi took his free hand and gave it a squeeze, and Bakura reached over, touching the top of Malik's wrist – just above Ryou's hand.

Malik sniffed. "Sorry." He shook his head. "It's great. Thank you."

"It's okay." Mehi rubbed his hand with her thumb. The calloused skin had a similar effect to the hot water – all of their hands did.

Ryou waited for a beat. "Do you have anywhere else to stay after tonight?" He asked gently. "Are we just the closest, or-?" -the only ones.

Atem was gone. Susan too – she was a pain, but she would have put him up. But knowing Isis, she called the moment Malik left. She probably called everyone, if they hadn't already seen the article.

The only ones.

He shook his head. "I can find somewhere-"

"Hey, no that's not what I meant." Ryou gave him a smile as Malik met his gaze. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Okay?"

Malik hesitated, glancing between him, Mehi, and Bakura. When neither of the two contradicted Ryou, he returned the smile, and it felt a little less fake this time. "Okay. Thanks, honey."

Okay so that was a relatively dark chapter but it picks up a little after this. Hope you enjoyed. Please vote and review because otherwise I get nervous about it being shitty. See you next week.