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Everything hurts.
And yet everyone is smiling.
Khan doesnt quite understand it.
Whenever little kids cry out in pain, everyone is suddenly a parent to them. Whenever he cries, everything just hurts more, so he stifles sobs and twitches underneath the sound of everyone singing. His brother’s hand is clasped hard around his shoulder, fingernails digging into his bruises.
The wood of the pews is digging into his shins, and the chanting, praying and singing rings in his ears, not leaving him with a moment of peace. He’s gone to Church a few times before this. The first two times were the most memorable.
His mother had brought the family there, and he remembers her smiling bright at him, the sunlight shining through the stained glass could never compete with the likes of her. He remembers hearing her and his brother singing, as he looked up at his loved ones in awe, being encouraged to sing along. ‘it does not matter if it is not perfect, everyone is welcome here, including their mistakes.’
The second time he came with his older brother. Alone.
He was scared, and instead of being awed by the voices, he had felt shivers run down his spine as they shook deep in his bones. Caves and caverns, creepy crawlies could never compete to the fear he felt that day. He tried to sing lyrics he didn’t know with a wobbly voice, and his brother lectured him when they returned to an empty house. ‘If you cannot be perfect then don’t even try, we’re lucky to be welcomed there.’
This day may become a memorable one as well, Khan doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from this pain – his brother may as well be the only thing holding him up as his knees shake. He can’t wait to sit down, as he squints back tears.
The room finally grows silent, and Khan hold back all noises as there is a moment of peace he dares not interrupt.
Feet shuffle, and his brother shoves him back down into his seat, only now does he let out a soft exhale, until his brother continues squeezing his bruised shoulder. He winces, and his wrist gets gripped, a warning to shut up. He glances up at him, meeting his cold glare. He gets a bit squeamish, and looks down at their hands.
His are scruffy, dirty, he presses them against his black pants as to not dirty his itchy white shirt, which is digging into his hurts. There are little burns on some of the knuckles, one on each finger, so you would think it was just the skin wrinkling up, his brother is so smart. It still hurts though, its a buzzing pain, that makes him want to squirm in his seat.
His hands are warm though, at least, if you look closely you can see little pulses of an orange glow, a sign of his fire powers. His brother’s hands are freezing cold.
William’s hands are very neat, each finger positioned to perfection, nails well kept, one grips Khan’s one and the other is folded in his lap. They’re not clean, though, like they usually are. On the pads of his palms and fingers theres scraped red, blood. Khan misses it, he wants it back.
Really, he wants his skin back in general.
It never used to be this sore, this painful to simply live. His skin used to never be painted in purple and blue, his knees and elbows were never red tipped. He doesn’t like this anymore, because everything hurts.
And yet everyone is smiling as they stand up one more for another prayer, Khan stumbling over his feet. A mistake. He never should’ve, he knows better.
His brother thwacks his shoulder with his palm, backhanding him. Khan holds back a whimper, eye twitching, right hand shooting for the place of attack, and clutching it, trying to stop the blast from getting to him. He hiss through his teeth as the shock passes, the electric pain sinking into his skin and soon dulling.
He lifts his head. Nobody noticed.
Nobody's helping.
That’s good, perhaps. It means he was being bad, that’s good then. He got punished, and now he’ll learn.
He bites back tears, biting his cheek until some of the inside comes off, and blood pours onto his tongue. He sinks into the floor under his brother glare, and waits until he can sit down, because please, please just give him some peace.
He nearly topples over once his brother leaves, he looks up in confusion, and sees him and some other people walking up, to get blessed and eat or whatever. Khan is really hungry, he really wants some food, but his brother wouldn’t like it if he took some of the bread.
He finds his footing, before ducking behind the pew, curling up into a ball. He can’t do this anymore. He just wants to cry, he wants someone to help. He wants food and he wants everything to stop hurting and being sore, and-
He guess he really just wants his mum.
He shakes from his hiding spot, hissing through teeth and sniffling, wiping snot and tears from his face as he tries to regain his composure before his brother returns. Soon enough, dress shoes greet him, and a hand goes into his hair, yanking him up via the strands.
He stumbles to a stand, falling onto his brother who shoves him back, and Khan’s head rings in pain. His face feels disgusting, an utter mess that his wipes on his wrist, to which a shoe kicks him. He withstands the torture for then next few minutes, standing on pained legs, bruises getting painfully gripped.
As the event ends, people walk out, the halls no longer filled with strict noise or scary silence. William is able to speak to him.
“You ungrateful brat, crying in the house of God, you’re embarrassing me and yourself, learn to grow up.” He hisses, yanking on Khan’s hand, dragging him home.
Later on, they reach their messy house. He washes his clothes. He changes into the same blue shirt. He cries into his bedsheets, as he cannot find it within himself to relax, and he is sore for the rest of his life.