Hi guys! Happy Pride (Pride is June 30th here)! This fic was meant to be posted ages ago but exams took ages. So here you go! This is mainly self indulgence but I never see any fics about LGBT+ Muslim characters. I wanted to do something about a character coming to terms with their sexuality/gender and faith since Islam is seen as a really LGBT-phobic religion. I'm not Muslim, but I had people check it over and I did research, so hopefully I got things right but if I did something wrong, PLEASE message me or comment and I will fix it. Okay, this is going to get weekly Saturday updates until it's finished. Thanks to sitabethel for looking over it for me! Enjoy.

CW: Homophobia, child abuse, murder, light gore.

I See Heaven Inside You

Chapter One

When Malik was little, he used to see prayer as his refuge. He would be at the mosque whenever he got the chance, enamoured by the coloured tiles in intricate patterns and the texts in a delicate, scrawling language he was still learning to read. He was the only legitimate son, so he was taught early while his brother was left to work at home.

By the time he entered school at five, he was reading at the average adult's level and had combed through the Qur'an several times.

Then his father was made a local imam, and everything changed.

Prayers became a strict chore, the requirement dousing any joy Malik had initially felt when he mumbled the words under his breath. His schooling took a harsher turn as well, with teachers expecting more from him than ever.

Isis began facing tougher rules as well – she left school at fourteen and began working at home, only able to study in what little free time she had after her brothers and father went to bed.

Malik was never quite sure what Rishid did. His father had been civil to his adopted son after his wife's death, but since he had received his new position, Malik returned home several evenings to find fresh bruises blossoming over his brother's face.

"What happened?"

A smile always followed the question, no matter how severe the wounds were. "I just fell, Malik; I'm fine."

It was always the same, no matter how many bruises were there, or where they were. Then it was a cut, and he got careless when cooking, even though it was always Isis who made their meals. Malik never took too much notice. He trusted Rishid.

One day, Malik left school early, sick with a stomach bug. He didn't remember much of the day. He knew from what Isis told him that he had walked in to see his father beating Rishid with a belt.

Apparently, he had screamed at his father to leave his brother alone, and when Rishid was hit again, he panicked and grabbed the poker from the fireplace.

The spike had pierced his father's skull and he bled into the floor that Isis had only cleaned that morning.

He couldn't recall anything but what his father had told him after he screamed.

"He's not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be."

After the funeral, they left Egypt. America had been hard to adapt to, especially the language. Malik was placed a year behind where he should have been to catch up, and Isis went back to school, staying back two years.

Rishid had already grown too old for high school and decided against college until he learned the language well enough. Now, he was in his first year of an online social science course, Malik was about to go into his second year in a journalism course, and Isis had received a degree in law three months prior.

She was due to sit the bar in September.

Both he and Malik had grown somewhat accustomed to American society, but even after thirteen years, Isis struggled.

Prayers were her only salvation, as they once had been for Malik, but she assumed that they were still important to him; without asking, of course.

She dragged him to the mosque whenever she could, but Friday prayer was never a choice for either him or Rishid, no matter what was on or due.

Malik let out a breath as he touched his forehead to the ground, his shoulders tense. Even an act of submission to Allah didn't sit right in his body. The whole ra'kah didn't feel right to him.

He's not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be. He detested the man and everything that he stood for, and he hated him for warping how he viewed the prayers he once adored.

"As-salāmu 'alakyum wa rahmatu llāh," the others in the mosque chanted, turning to their left and right. Peace be upon you, and Allah's blessing. Malik mimicked their actions and murmured their words under his breath alongside them.

The worst part of Friday prayer was possibly standing outside and talking to Isis' friends. Atem went to a different mosque, and Rishid always had to get the car, so he never had anyone else to chat with.

Just Susan.

"Did you hear what happened in Cairo?" She asked, leaning closer to Isis almost immediately after leaving the building. "At the concert?"

Isis nodded, eyes hard. "The homosexual flag? I heard."

Susan clicked her tongue, and Malik did his best not to let it grate down his spine like keys on a car door. "They're looking for the person who had it. Hopefully he'll be arrested."

Isis hummed. "I don't know. It's quite a harsh crime." Malik's eyes flickered to her. "Even for such a sin." He looked down again. "Besides, I've heard what the guards in those prisons do. If there was any justice, more than half of them would be behind bars as well."

Susan sniffed. Her brother was an officer. "I suppose you're right, but it's better than nothing."

Isis opened her mouth to reply, but Malik saw the bumper of their blue Honda round the corner and he grabbed her arm. "Rishid has the car, sister, we should go." He began walking without her, and after a quick farewell, she hurried to catch up with him.

"Malik, what was that about?" She hissed.

He let out a breath, forcing himself to relax as they neared the car. He usually had slightly more restraint. "Sorry. I have some homework left to do that I just remembered, and I don't want to leave it until next week."

Isis sighed. "Alright, I understand," she muttered, opening the passenger door, "but don't do it again."

Rishid raised an eyebrow as Malik climbed into the back, catching his gaze in the mirror, but no one spoke for the ride home. Isis left the car before Rishid had even properly parked, storming into the once-white building.

Rishid turned to Malik, arm dangling over the back of the seat. Burn scars mangled his hand – to this day he insisted that it was his own doing. "What happened?"

Malik focused on the streaks of dirt, climbing and clinging to the building like ivy, spreading to every section as time wore on. "Susan."

Rishid sighed. "I know you don't like her, Malik, but-"

"She was saying that people should be arrested for being gay." Malik clenched his fist. "No, actually, homosexuality."

A pause, and another sigh, much slower than the first, as though all of Rishid's energy was drained by the sentence. "I know you're angry," he murmured, "but you'll be out of here in a month and living in San Francisco for your year out. Right?" Malik nodded. "You can do whatever you want there. Date boys or girls or both or neither."

"Isis won't approve, whether I'm here or there."

"But you'll be safer there." Rishid reached out, gently placing his hand on Malik's shoulder. "Just trust me, brother. Lay low for the next month. You'll thank yourself for it."

Malik glanced at Rishid's hand.

He's not your brother, and according to Allah, he never will be.

"Okay," he mumbled. "Sorry, 'akh."

"Don't apologise." Rishid gave his shoulder a squeeze before pulling away. "Come on, we should go inside before Isis begins to wonder where we are."

Malik nodded and followed him in, toeing off his shoes at the door. Isis hardly spared him a glance. "Go start on your homework. I'll call you for lunch."

"Thanks, Isis," he murmured. Rishid cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry for pulling you away."

A curt nod. "Don't do it again."

"I won't."

Once he reached the safe confines of his cream-walled bedroom, he pulled his laptop out from under his bed and checked up the incident on Google.

Egypt arrests seven after raising gay pride flag at concert.

Malik's teeth clenched as he scanned the article. Promoting homosexuality and gay art, inciting immorality, blasphemy.

He slammed his laptop shut, taking a few deep breaths. After a minute, he opened it again and pulled up tumblr in a new tab. It was the only website that he felt safe on.

Atrocities against the LGBT community happen time and time again in Egypt, he wrote , in the name of religion, but no religion preaches against homosexuality, and nor should the laws of any state or country. I've lived in Egypt, and my family and I still suffer from the effects. Stop arresting people for being different, and start arresting the ones who kill people for diverging from the norm. Until this happens, Egypt will forever remain excluded from the developed world, as it cannot claim to be a first world country when hundreds are living in fear and pain.

Even as he finished, Isis called him. "Malik! Lunch is ready!"

He hesitated for only a second before hitting the post button, leaving it without tags. "Coming."

Ryou hummed as he scanned through his tumblr feed – a well deserved break from five minutes of study. He glanced at the book, and back at his phone.

It just wasn't working for him today. Better to leave it and go back to it the next day.

He paused again and picked up his poetry book. Maybe just Robert Frost - he was relatively easy to learn.

As he read, the words bled together, sentence by sentence word by word until all that was left was amassivejumblethathecouldn'tunderstand.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe the break was more deserved than he thought it was.

He picked up his phone again and began flicking. Before long, an article came up, and he frowned. He followed a few independent journalists, but this was a New York Times piece.

He glanced up at the username. EgyptianPan.

Oh, it was what's-his-name that wrote the article on hijabi women having to deal with the brunt of insolence. Ryou had only begun following him recently.

He scanned through his writing, frown deepening. His tongue darted out over his lip and he clicked into EgyptianPan's profile.

An image of a Ducati shone up at him, and one of the barest bios Ryou had ever seen followed it.

Egyptian, pansexual, second year journalism student.

Nothing more.

After a few seconds, Ryou tapped the message button. Hey, he typed, pausing between letters. You don't know me, but I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay. I saw your post about the seven arrests in Egypt and you seemed really upset.

He nodded and set his phone aside again. Okay, now that he had done that, maybe he could try to concentrate for a while.

Just as he picked up his book, his phone beeped with a new message.

He clicked into it. EgyptianPan had already replied.

Thanks, I'm okay. I appreciate the concern though.

Ryou smiled. It's no problem. He paused again. I love your articles. I've read a good few recently. The second he hit send, it occurred to him that he sounded like a stalker.

EgyptianPan didn't seem to care all that much, for he replied as quickly as before. Really? I'm glad you like them.

I love them , Ryou decided. They're always really empathetic I guess? I just don't see a lot of that in journalism nowadays. He paused, teeth worrying at his lip again. He typed much more slowly this time. I'm Ryou, by the way.

Malik , he replied, and thank you. That means a lot to me, especially right now.

Ryou's fingers hovered over his screen. Want to talk about it?

While he waited on a response, he sent a link to the post to Mehi and Bakura.

"Ryou, you're meant to be studying," Mehi called from the next room as the message sent.

"Can't." He settled back into the couch cushions.

She wandered out and sat next to him. "What is it?"

"An article," Ryou mumbled. "A journalist I follow called Malik shared it."

Mehi frowned. "And now you're…?"

"Messaging him to see if he wants to talk."

"This is going to end badly."

"It mightn't," Ryou challenged.

At that moment, Malik responded. Thanks for the offer, but I think I'm okay at the moment. If you want to talk though, I'm always here.

Ryou's smile caught on his face and wouldn't drop. I'm the same for you.

"So, so badly," Mehi continued, but she opened the post. "Oh, this guy. Okay, yeah, I know him – maybe it won't end badly."

"You know him?" Ryou looked over at her.

Mehi shrugged. "I mean, apparently I follow him already on tumblr, so yeah."

"His writing is amazing. You should read some of his articles."

Mehi smiled. "I will." She leaned in and kissed Ryou's cheek, stealing his phone away. "Now study. You'll get this back in forty minutes."

Hope this is okay so far! Please comment and let me know if you like it. See y'all next week.