Title: Orphic
Pairing: Sasuke-centric, KakaSasu
Warnings: Focuses on a touchy subject, self-injury. TRIGGERING.
Rating: PG (Teen on FF.net)
A/N: Hurrah! Version 2.0! Finally... just finetuned some little issues here and there, basically. My eternal love and gratefulness goes to agent420 for beta reading this for me. Honestly, I could trust no one else with it. I love you, sweetums~
Summary: A place where thoughts and emotions halted and his senses overrode every single component of Sasuke’s world, replacing it with a kingdom of blessed blankness and something more easily understood than anything, pain.


...

Sasuke thinks of his childhood sometimes now. He thinks of those days and wishes with a desperate, burning fervor for that naivety, that innocence, that stupidity. He knows things, now. He knows a lot of things. He knows what it’s like to watch a man dying and he knows what it’s like to have your bones bend and snap and break and your skin tear and your body bleed but you still have to keep on going, keep the mission going. Can’t fail. That much hasn’t changed from his childhood. He never wants to fail; he never wants to be swept aside. He craves validation, finds it to be his only source of any reason to keep on going.

When he doesn’t get that validation, Sasuke likes to hurt himself. Much like when he was young; Sasuke had a habit of picking and pulling at his scabs with small fingernails, peeling away what his body created merely to try and heal him. When he was young, scrapes and scratches came so easily, it wasn’t difficult to find something to distract himself when he was upset over this or that, juvenile injustices. He never really knew why he was doing it; it was no conscious attempt to alleviate any inner-stress, it was merely a habit. He grew out of the habit when he was seven or eight.

But often when old habits die, new ones replace them; now he doesn’t wait to be accidentally scratched. It had first happened upon the night of the four-year anniversary of his clan’s death. As he had sat, alone, wondering how this had happened to him, how any of it had happened to him, he had begun to feel a gradual pressure clamping down on him.

It was so unbearable, a weight on top of him which was crushing, almost like the sensation of needing to cry, but so many times worse, and Sasuke, he didn’t know how to alleviate this. Eventually, shoved on by desperation, he stumbled like a drunkard on the cobblestone to his small kitchen, fingers scrabbling at a drawer until they managed to pull it open; he rifled through it for a knife, any knife, please—Sasuke took a step backwards with a short serrated knife held in his grasp, eventually falling to his knees, staring at the glinting edge.

Not even sure what he was doing or why he was doing it, he placed the knife flat on the middle of his left forearm, pressing down and pulling.

It didn’t do much of anything.

It didn’t bleed. It hurt, though. It hurt and it left a pink, swollen line on his arm, the skin minorly scraped. But it was enough, it was just enough. Afterwards, the small knife clattered to the ground, falling from slack fingers; Sasuke blinked, getting up and placing the knife in the sink to be washed soon, just in case. It was just in case—just in case there was any skin on it. No one came into his apartment, but he just didn’t know, did he? Sasuke glanced around the kitchen. It wasn’t as clean as it could be, and that began to bother him immensely. Sasuke cleaned the kitchen, made it spotless, and then he worked his way through the rest of the apartment.

Just in case, if anyone ever showed up, it would be perfect, neat.

No one came.

…

He didn’t do it again at first, after that night, because it scared him. What if he actually broke the skin, what if he bled? Sasuke hadn’t known what he was doing, really, when he dragged those metal teeth across his skin, and he didn’t want it to happen again. And it didn’t, until one year later, on the fifth anniversary of the day his life collapsed to the dusty ground and never got back to its feet.

Once again, Sasuke found himself sitting alone, in an apartment now kept obsessively neat, staring blankly at his wall. Sasuke wondered; he wondered a lot. He wondered a lot how it might have been, how things could have been. He wondered if father would be proud of him; Sasuke was top of his class, beloved by boys and girls and teachers alike, said to be a prodigy, just like Itachi. But he still wasn’t sure if it would have been enough, and he just—he just needed to be better, much better. Slowly, the fingers of one hand tightened on the armrest of his couch, his other arm folded across his chest, other hand clutching his upper arm, and those fingers squeezed tight as well, until his hands were shaking and his knuckles were pale white. And he wondered if in the morning there would be bruises there.

That thought delighted him, for some reason. He wanted there to be marks. He wanted to be damaged. He wanted to look at those bruises and be reminded of just how ruined he was. Sasuke stood, hands falling to his sides like dead birds, walking to the kitchen again. He knew exactly what knife it was, because one year ago he placed the knife in the back of the drawer and stopped using it. He pulled it out then, and just stood, gazing at it. It wasn’t the sharpest or the nicest, and the metal was rather dull, but he liked it, somehow. It had—charm. Sasuke sat down at his kitchen table.

As he stared at that knife, he began to remember what it felt like, even just that halfhearted first swipe. He didn’t know why he had done it last year, but right then, in that moment, Sasuke understood. He understood that he needed to hurt, because he was just so overwhelmed with the thoughts, the emotions, running through his head in frenzied circles. It was too much one year ago and it was too much then, and Sasuke knew, knew with a crystalline perception, that he had to hurt himself if he ever wanted to clear the fog around his mind.

Sasuke once more pressed the knife flat to his arm—but this time, he pressed down hard. He pressed down as hard as he possibly could, and then he pulled torturously slow across his arm. Sasuke let out a gasp of shuddering pain, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. It hurt; it hurt more than he was expecting, but that was all right, that was what he wanted. And it resulted in ragged, torn skin, blood flooding the cut and trickling slightly down his arm. It wasn’t much blood, and that was fine with Sasuke. It was a rather dull knife, after all. He could try again. He could try it again, with a razor blade, with something new and sharp and glinting, threatening.

He had liked it, that’s what scared him the most. The act itself hadn’t scared him, it was just—it was something new. A new way of coping. Sasuke sighed, placing the knife down on the table and crossing one arm across the elbow of his left arm, the injured arm, lowering his head down and letting his eyes fall shut.

When he woke up the next morning, Sasuke decided not to go to the academy. He had already overslept, after all, and it was only one day. Instead, he stood, very sore from sleeping in such a position, and stretched, before going to the sink, washing the knife, and placing it at the back of his silverware drawer. Then he cleaned off his kitchen table until it was spotless, scrubbing at non-existent flecks of blood on the surface. After that, Sasuke showered.

He turned the water as hot as he could bear, the scalding temperature feeling somehow good to him. He scrubbed at his arm with a cloth until it bled anew, bled more than it had last night, streaming down his arm in crimson streaks, eventually becoming diluted ribbons falling down his drain.

When Sasuke stepped out of the shower, cleaned off but not feeling any less dirty, he bandaged his arm, and then just stood, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked overly pale, even for him, sunken and drawn and his eyes were flickering with that sort of introspective, thoughtful light. He still wasn’t sure what to think about last night. It was the second time he’d hurt himself, the second time he’d brought that particular knife to his skin, but he was no less confused. He didn’t understand what he was getting out of it, just knew that it had changed something, clarified his thoughts. Cleared his head.

That afternoon, Sasuke went out and bought razors. Expensive ones, the type that stayed sharp a good long while if you took care of them properly. He got a sick thrill when he thought of using them for the first time.

That very night, Sasuke did. He sat quietly at his kitchen table, holding the handle of the blade in his right hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this. A quick swipe? A slow drag? Would it hurt more than the knife? A thousand doubts and questions bothered him, but eventually he just let his instincts take over. He ended up with a quick, sharp slash across the middle of the underside of his forearm, slightly diagonal. Sasuke shivered as it stung, more so afterwards than during the quick motion, and blood beaded up on the surface, running in small trickles after only a moment. Sasuke stared, mesmerized, and decided he liked this razor much better than the knife. It was just easier, faster, and the pain was different, more stinging and slicing and less like something ripping, tearing its way into his flesh.

Unable to help himself, Sasuke made another cut, criss-crossing the other and making an X on his arm. Sasuke slipped his eyes shut, letting out a content hum. There. Just—there. That felt better. He felt satisfied. He got up and mopped at his arm until it stopped bleeding, eyes fixating on the way the blood looked on the paper towels, spots and smears and blobs of it, deepest red shade. A moment later, Sasuke’s eyes widened, a realization coming across him. He now had three marks on his left arm, marks that no one could possibly be allowed to see—they would know Sasuke did it to himself, they would know how pathetic he was. Sasuke stared vacantly at the stained paper towels held in a loose grip, and eventually he made a decision. He had needles and thread out of necessity, and he was sure he had some spare material somewhere. He’d sewn before, had to learn how because no one else was going to do it for him.

A few productive hours later, and Sasuke had made his armbands. He didn’t realize how characteristic of him they would become, how long it would be he was wearing them. Years upon years of hiding shames ahead of him, but he simply didn’t know that.

The next day, when he went to the academy, a group of his fans shrieked and swooned over his latest fashion statement and had no idea, no idea of the harsh realities hovering behind Sasuke’s dark, closed off eyes.

For the next year, Sasuke continued on like this, struggling on through life in the best ways he knew how. Again and again, he filled his arm—always his left arm, because he favored his right hand, no other particular reason—with shallow cuts that trickled sluggish streams of blood over his skin. It was a lot of blood, but it never seemed to be enough, never seemed like enough crimson fluids to sate that monstrous urge deep inside himself, a monster hiding within a monster. So he had to go deeper. He had to take it further. He had no way to deny it.

The deeper he cut, the more he felt he was appeasing someone, something, that hovered over his head. The deeper he cut, the more his mind came to a blank state, a place where a static buzz and the repetitive in out of his gasps filled his ears and a coppery taste inhabited his mouth, the scent of blood in his nose, his entire vision filled with scarlet, and he felt only a burning heat from where he’d last sliced open his skin. A place where thoughts and emotions halted and his senses overrode every single thing.

The deeper he cut, the more frightened of himself he became.

Then Kakashi entered his life. Being around Kakashi made Sasuke feel, all the more, ashamed of what he did to himself. Kakashi was so strong, so solid. And him? He couldn’t even get through a single day without taking himself to that blank world—where his loneliness seemed to fade, along with the rest of his feelings. Kakashi would probably laugh if he knew, and would laugh at Sasuke for needing it. Something about Kakashi bothered Sasuke, something about the way his eye landed upon him, gazed at him, and seemed to peer straight through the masks Sasuke put on and into the truth. Sasuke hated the thought of anyone knowing him like that, but Kakashi, it seemed, did. He was perceptive enough to.

It made Sasuke cut all the more.

A month or two after Kakashi took them in—shortly after their mission gone so awry and Haku, who died protecting the only person he had, the light fading from his saddened broken eyes as blood trickled down his chin—Sasuke realized that his left arm was getting full. There were too many scars, and it was difficult to cut over those. He realized one night, staring at his arms with the armbands off, one so destroyed, one so pristine, that he was going to cut elsewhere, and his right arm would have to be it. He already covered both of his arms with the bracers, so why not give himself reason to?

Sasuke took a small, determined breath in before picking up a razor, one he had just bought recently, and he made a quick, long slice with his left hand. Sasuke choked out a curse, clenching his eyes shut tight. He wasn’t used to his left hand, wasn’t used to cutting with a freshly sharp razor, wasn’t thinking properly, and he had cut far, far too deep. Sasuke watched as the red spilled out and kept on spilling out, a curtain blanketing his skin. He quickly got up and grabbed a hand towel normally used for drying dishes, pressing it hard against the gaping cut. It would stop. It had to. When several minutes passed by and it still hadn’t stopped, and his arms were trembling badly, Sasuke realized that he had to do something.

H couldn’t go to the hospital. They would know. They would know somehow, that it wasn’t an accident or whatever excuse he gave. Unable to go to a doctor, Sasuke decided to go to the next most responsible person he could think of.

Kakashi. Sasuke knew where Kakashi lived due to some of Naruto and Sakura’s childish antics, and he was certain the man could help, just certain. Sasuke pulled the armband onto his left arm, leaving the other one on his table, next to the towel he had accidentally abandoned, and he hurried out of his apartment.

He reached Kakashi’s home fairly quickly. There, Sasuke faltered. He realized how stupid this was, how foolish, and he stared silently at the door before him, never realizing how ominous a simple door could seem. But then he glanced at the blood seeping between the cracks of his fingers, his hand cupped over the cut loosely, and realized he had to do this. He raised his hand long enough to rap hard on Kakashi’s door a few times, wincing as some blood splattered on it from his fist, before covering the cut once more. He could hear someone approaching the door after a moment, and Sasuke gulped quietly.

When Kakashi pulled the door open, he looked somewhere halfway between surprised and not surprised, and more than a little intrigued. Kakashi raised his eyebrows at Sasuke, blinking.

“There has got to be a good reason for you to be here at midnight and—oh, hey, you’re bleeding,” Kakashi remarked absently, eyes lowering to Sasuke’s arm, watching the blood drops fall in spasming ruby orbs to the ground outside of his door.

“You know,” Kakashi murmured, sounding vaguely annoyed, eyes on the dark splotches on the ground, “I’m doing to have to clean that up.”

“I—I’m sorry to bother you, Kakashi, but you were closer than the hospital,” Sasuke said almost shyly, and it was true, somewhat. Kakashi was indeed around five minutes closer than the hospital from his own apartment.

“Can you do stitches?” Sasuke finally bit out, feeling queasy, and unsure whether it was the blood loss, Kakashi’s intense gaze, or both. Kakashi’s eyebrows raised even more, staring quizzically at Sasuke.

“Well, yes, but I’m really not sure it’s a question of distance. You should go to the hospital for these sorts of things,” he said, having realized the instant Sasuke said it that he wasn’t really that much closer than the hospital anyway. He could spot that lie from a mile away, but eventually he decided just to humor the pale boy, and he stepped back, pulling the door open wide enough for Sasuke to get in.

“Thank you,” Sasuke sighed out, nearly stumbling his way into Kakashi’s house. Kakashi was nowhere to be fount in the entry hallway, and Sasuke glanced about confusedly, but quickly his eccentric teacher reappeared, holding out a small dark blue towel.

“Please don’t get blood all over my nice floor, Sasuke,” Kakashi hinted, watching closely as Sasuke pulled his hand away. The wound was straight, long, and gaping, and Kakashi winced, but the towel quickly covered it and Sasuke applied firm pressure, as anyone who knew basic first aid would do.

“Come on,” Kakashi beckoned, leading Sasuke to the kitchen and sitting him down at the table. Kakashi left briefly to get the first aid kit, which was stashed under the bathroom sink, the bathroom being where he usually did all of his medical tending. But since he needed more room, he decided the kitchen table would do just fine. It wasn’t exactly the typical first aid kit, but that was probably because what Kakashi counted as treatable at home injuries were the types that only resulted in one pint of blood loss, not two. Once he returned to the kitchen, he pulled a chair close to Sasuke, sitting down and placing the first aid kit on the table.

“So?” he prompted quietly.

“Ah, what?” Sasuke blinked, focusing a bleary gaze on Kakashi, expression confused. Kakashi just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“So, what happened?” he asked flatly.

“Oh! Oh, right. I was training, I made a stupid mistake, and the kunai slipped,” Sasuke muttered, cheeks flushing with what could be presumed to be embarrassment. Kakashi made a noncommittal noise before he flipped the latches on the kit, pulling the lid open.

“I don’t really have the best stuff, you know, they save that for doctors. The anesthetics help, but they don’t completely numb the area, so you can feel the needle and shit, it’s creepy—the hospital option is still open,” Kakashi didn’t really care, it was Sasuke’s choice to make, but he figured he might as well take the effort. Sasuke just shook his head, trying not to seem overly vehement, because that would probably be suspicious.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, “I’m used to pain, it kind of,” Sasuke paused, eyes falling to the tabletop, “Comes with our lives.” Came with his life in particular, anyway. Sasuke glanced at his arm, unable to stop staring at the blood; it looked like it was everywhere, it looked like more than he’d ever bled before. Kakashi picked up the hand towel, wiping away the excess blood, though Sasuke’s skin was still caked with drying blood, his left hand completely sticky with it. Sasuke wanted to get up and wash his hands, but he was afraid to ask.

Luckily, Kakashi must have had a telepathic streak, because a few moments later, he suggested, “Why don’t you go wash that off?” Sasuke nodded, sliding out of his seat and going to the sink, turning the water on warm and rinsing off his hands as well as his arm. The cut had mostly stopped bleeding, but Sasuke winced, unable to bear looking at it. At the bottom of the cut he could see a grayish, vaguely yellow shade of white. He knew what that was; fat. He had cut into the fat beneath his skin, and that both disturbed and delighted him. Sasuke ripped his eyes away, returning to his seat after he had patted himself dry.

“This is going to hurt,” Kakashi said, partially apologetic and partially just in warning, as he opened a packet containing an alcohol soaked wipe. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they gripped Sasuke’s wrist, pressing the thin, pale forearm flat on the table. His unoccupied hand slowly, smoothly wiped the alcohol over the cut, and Sasuke let out a hiss of pain, fingers twitching slightly.

“Are you ready?” Kakashi asked softly, dropping the wipe to the side and pulling on tight latex gloves with a snap. Sasuke gave a jerky nod, though he wasn’t really so sure.

“Alright then,” and Kakashi pulled a readied syringe out of the metallic case, filled with clear liquid. It was a local anesthetic, but as he warned Sasuke, it wasn’t exactly the most effective available. It worked well enough, though, he supposed, and he pushed the needle in near the wound, pressing down and emptying the syringe into Sasuke. Sasuke let out a shaky breath as the needle was pulled out. Kakashi waited a few minutes for it to take effect before pulling out a thin needle and thick black, plastic-like thread. Kakashi mechanically went about the process of preparing everything, a process he was far too used to.

Kakashi got started then, Sasuke giving a shudder as the needle made its first penetration. It didn’t really hurt; it just felt odd, a tickling sensation as the thread pulled through his skin, sealing the lips of the cut. Kakashi was done in what seemed like a very short amount of time, mainly because Sasuke opted to focus on Kakashi’s face as he worked, concentration showing in his eye, rather than watch Kakashi’s fingers nimbly fixing Sasuke’s mistake. Sasuke always found watching this eye—the one telltale feature of the masked man’s persona—to be something mesmerizing, something oddly fascinating.

Kakashi sat back in his seat when he was done, stretching his sore muscles and tugging the gloves off with another snap, discarding them on the table. Sasuke glanced at his arm, at the fresh sutures. He knew how, now. He knew how to do the stitches himself next time. He wouldn’t ever need help with his own injuries again, and he was glad. It was his business; he’d hated letting even Kakashi near his cut, but it had been unavoidable.

“Thank you,” Sasuke finally murmured quietly, standing up. Kakashi nodded, getting up as well and following Sasuke to the door.

“Don’t let it happen again, yeah?” he softly asked even as Sasuke was turning away. Sasuke paused, sighing.

“Yeah. It won’t.”

The next day, Sasuke went out and bought all the medical supplies he might need in the future.

…

After that, things got complicated for Sasuke. Things got busy, things got confusing, and before he was even really certain how it had happened, he was there. With Orochimaru. He didn’t hurt himself much while he was away from Konoha, because he didn’t have his razors, and he was almost afraid to.

Eventually, though, the need for his blank world became too much. He almost died. Made too many cuts, too deep, and he nearly bled out. Kabuto found him and sneered as he saved Sasuke’s life. When Sasuke awoke, Kabuto laughed in his face, and Orochimaru just fixed him with a furious stare, so angry with Sasuke for nearly ruining the body he so wanted to take.

But things changed and years passed and Sasuke, eventually, found himself back in Konoha—he hated the village as much as he loved it, and his return was much as his leaving, too fast for him to really comprehend it happening; his memory was still hazy about him being brought back, he could just remember bright blue eyes boring into his with a sort of desperation that startled Sasuke. Things were still complicated and there were still things for Sasuke to deal with—his brother, for one, and the reality dawning on him that he would never, ever be strong enough to surpass him. But that was all right. He was home, to his apartment, with its antiseptic clean and glaring silence.

He got back a semblance of balance in his life. Tsunade kept Sasuke away from missions involving the Akatsuki, but otherwise, he was free to do as he pleased. Free to start his cycles again. Sasuke began cutting other places than his arms, for the first time. He loved to trace lines in red between his ribs and make long crosses on his hips and long, straight lines on his thighs.

He began to find it truly beautiful, beautiful as he had never seen it before.

Sasuke blinks, realizing he has lost himself in his recollections long enough for the blood pooling on his skin to dry and harden. He slowly unwraps his fingers, which have clenched tightly involuntarily, from the handle of the blade, placing it down. He sighs, shutting his eyes with a frown. Today, he had been on a mission with Kakashi for the first time in a long while. At one point, Kakashi had had to pull Sasuke out of the way of shurikens flying their way, and he had tugged Sasuke by the arm. Sasuke had let out a startled moan of pain, Kakashi’s fingers digging in to a fresh wound, and a slight amount of red had blossomed on the pristine white of his armband. They had both stared at the small spot for what seemed an endless amount of time, before Sasuke tugged out of Kakashi’s slack grasp, turning around and walking away. After the mission was done, Kakashi had tried to stop Sasuke to talk to him, but Sasuke had shook his head and left.

Thinking about it now worries Sasuke. He wants Kakashi to just think it was an injury he had gotten accidentally, but there was something off-putting about that eye of Kakashi’s as it stared at the spot of blood that had held a certain amount of comprehension.

Three days later, Sasuke sits quietly on Kakashi's couch, staring with a cold apathy at the wall. He hasn't been in the apartment since that night, years ago, and he wonders if he's changed at all—if Kakashi has. Kakashi didn't know, back then, as he had pulled together the lips of Sasuke's latest mistake with thread and needle, but now Kakashi does know, and it is something as yet unspoken between them.

So when Kakashi had gazed with quiet intensity at Sasuke and told him to come home with him after running into Sasuke on the sidewalk, Sasuke knew that he probably shouldn't, knew that he wasn't going to like it. He doesn't want to talk; he never did, not to Naruto with his burning interest in Sasuke—but Sasuke always shoved him away, because he wasn’t looking for friendship, and he was afraid, very afraid, that Naruto would figure it out, and he never wanted Naruto to know about his weakness, not when the other boy had been through so much and remained so strong—and not to Sakura with her quivering lips and concerned eyes. And not to Kakashi, just because Kakashi makes Sasuke feel, of all things, flustered. Sasuke glances up as Kakashi makes the slightest of noises stepping into the room, holding two cups.

"Coffee," he says flatly, "Thought you could use it." Sasuke doesn't really want it, but perhaps just holding something warm in his hands will help, so he accepts it, as Kakashi sits down next to him. Sasuke even goes so far as to sip tentatively at it, wrinkling his nose.

"You make terrible coffee," he mutters, but cups the mug in his hands like a precious gift regardless.

"Yeah, well, it's caffeinated, isn't it?" Kakashi shoots back, both of them speaking in low tones, secretive tones. Sasuke nods slowly, before silence settles over them, palpable and uncomfortable.

"How long?"

Sasuke raises his eyes from the floor slowly, fixing Kakashi with a gaze that is only slightly frightened, because Sasuke won't show anything more than that.

"Hmm?" If he feigns ignorance, just maybe, maybe Kakashi will believe it.

"How long have you been doing—" Kakashi pauses, visibly frowning despite the mask, "That?"

"Doing what?" Sasuke snaps, "Why don't you just say it?"

"Hurting yourself."

The mug falls from Sasuke's hands like he can't stop it, and maybe he really can't. Sasuke winces as it hits the carpet with a thump, coffee splattering warmly against his calves. He is about to stand, muscles flexing in preparation, but Kakashi stops him, reaching out with a solid grip and grabbing onto Sasuke's wrist.

"Don't touch me, let me go!" Sasuke hisses, angry, inexplicably angry.

"No," Kakashi says, voice low, just as angry as Sasuke, "I won't. I've looked the other way long enough. Just—stop this," his voice trails off, and his eye looks so sad, pitying, and that just makes Sasuke angrier. He hates hearing this, he doesn't want to hear this, because he likes to think that no one cares, and if Kakashi starts caring, Sasuke will have to face that. Somehow, Sasuke loses grip on himself long enough to be pulled into a tentative embrace, almost standing, bending slightly at the waist, as Kakashi buries his face in the crook between Sasuke's neck and shoulder. Slowly, very slowly, Sasuke lets himself rest on Kakashi, hands gripping with a violent desperation at his shoulders.

Kakashi doesn't really know what he is doing as his fingers move to one of Sasuke's arms, tugging at the top of one of those damned armbands that Sasuke never, ever removes. Sasuke shivers but allows it, because he isn't sure what else he can do, at this point. He is frozen, completely frozen, perhaps in shock, perhaps in anger, perhaps in compliance. Kakashi breaks the embrace so that he can look at what he is doing, sitting Sasuke down and sliding the armband completely off, letting it crumple abandoned to the ground with the coffee mug. Both of them let out breaths they haven't even realized they've been holding as Sasuke's arm is revealed to the light, to someone else's eyes for almost the first time. Sasuke shivers and Kakashi's brow furrows, expression troubled. He doesn't see how Sasuke can do this to himself when the boy is so—so perfect.

Sasuke's arm is something frightening, covered in scars, deep scars, old ones, and fresh cuts, and Kakashi feels himself practically crying over it, it just isn't fair. Sasuke bites his lower lip as hard as he can, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. He doesn't want Kakashi to see this, but he can't move, can't breathe, can't really do anything at this point, when he’s so far gone and practically desperate just to know what Kakashi is going to do next. Breaths hitching in his chest, Sasuke tries to tug his arm away, but Kakashi shakes his head slightly, one hand gripping Sasuke's hand, the other's fingers sliding feather light over Sasuke's skin, textured by years and years of pain.

“Oh—oh, please, don’t,” and it’s too close to begging for Sasuke’s taste, but he can’t help it, because the tickle of callused fingertips running over his scars is overwhelming him, no one’s ever touched him like this before. Kakashi’s fingers pause, hovering lightly over a fresher cut, wide and deep and ruby red, and Kakashi pulls away then.

Sasuke sucks in a quiet gasp as Kakashi pulls down his mask, leaning down and pressing his lips against the middle of Sasuke’s wrist like a subject kisses the hand of royalty, and Sasuke can't seem to stop his trembling, can't stop the queasy twist to his stomach, the continuing urge to pull away and run. But he doesn't. He can't fathom why, but he doesn't.

Kakashi pulls away, breathing in slowly. He should apologize, he shouldn't have done that, because Sasuke is too young for him and too damaged for him, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. He hates feeling useless, and Sasuke often makes him feel that way. For once, he wants to do something that will do Sasuke some good, and he doesn't think kissing him is it. He glances up into Sasuke's eyes, his own widening at the expression there, the tears gathering in them, eventually spilling over onto a soft, pale cheek. Sasuke's eyes are confused and lost and needy and altogether remind Kakashi, of all things, a puppy, begging for attention, starving for it.

"I'm—I’m sorry," Sasuke gets out between his shaky gasps, raising the hand that Kakashi isn't holding onto and wiping angrily at his eyes. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but he just hadn't been able to hold his tears, the moment Kakashi's lips connected with his skin.

"It's alright," Kakashi murmurs, eyes falling to Sasuke's arm once more. It is frightening, that is true, but it is also strangely elegant, strangely beautiful, and Kakashi bends once more, lips pressing with a rare gentleness to scars long healed though the pain is still there, trailing these soft kisses up Sasuke's arm, stopping where the scars stop.

Eventually, moving with a slow caution, Kakashi moves upwards, kissing at Sasuke's jaw, stopping to take an almost eager taste of Sasuke's skin, which is salty yet sweet, delicious. Taking so long neither of them can bear it, he finally slants his lips against Sasuke's. Sasuke moans quietly into the kiss, stomach still feeling like it has the fluttering of a hundred butterfly's wings in it, and his hands once more cling to Kakashi's shoulders. He isn't sure if this is right or not, but it feels right, and that is all he needs.

When Kakashi finally pulls back, only several inches, a shaky, "K-Kakashi," is all Sasuke can manage to get out, eyes fixed on Kakashi's face, seeing Kakashi for the first time--and not just physically. Sasuke is the one who leans forward then, lips close enough to Kakashi's that Kakashi can feel them trembling.

"Don't stop this," is Sasuke's quiet whisper, and as for what this is supposed to mean—perhaps it is the kisses, perhaps not—Kakashi isn't really sure, to be honest. But he complies as best he can, capturing Sasuke's young lips once more, licking along them softly. Sasuke parts his lips with an unbearable slowness, opens himself to Kakashi, who tastes sweet, tastes good, wholly unlike the crimson salty taste that almost always seems to occupy Sasuke's mouth. Neither of them breathes, neither of them moves, for the longest time, until Sasuke's head is practically spinning with it, how overwhelming it is.

And when it breaks off, and Sasuke's head clears, he finds that he doesn't regret it, he doesn't regret any of it. Doesn't regret coming to Kakashi's apartment and sitting on his couch and drinking his bad coffee. He doesn't even regret Kakashi seeing his arm, the physical embodiment of his anger, his pain, his shame. He feels like Kakashi knows him more than anyone else, knows him to his deepest core, simply due to stripping off Sasuke's armband, his defense, and pressing those gentle kisses to his scars.

Kakashi wraps a hand around to the back of Sasuke’s neck, pulling him forwards for another soft, slow meeting of lips, Kakashi’s tongue darting out to lick along Sasuke’s lips. Sasuke shivers as he parts his lips for Kakashi. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for this, he’s not even sure if he likes Kakashi in that way, but he’s desperate to be kissed, to distract himself from his mind, so he doesn’t pull away. Kakashi slowly pushes at Sasuke’s shoulders until he’s lying partially on top of Sasuke, supporting himself by one forearm. His other hand goes to Sasuke’s still covered arm, pulling off that armband as well, letting it drop to the floor, before running gentle touches to the textured skin. His eye bores deep into Sasuke’s, and Sasuke slips his eyelids shut after only a moment of this gaze, because it makes him feel like a child, and like rolling over and curling in on himself.

It isn’t just Kakashi Sasuke isn’t sure about. He isn’t sure he likes anyone; he’s never felt anything, for a boy or a girl. He was always distracted, too distracted by trying to pull himself along in life to worry about any other. He was, he supposes, selfish. However, his feelings towards Kakashi—a mixture of fascination, respect, and more trust than Sasuke bestows on any other—are more close to romantic than he feels for any other person. So maybe that—maybe that is something.

Sasuke just isn’t sure, and he opens his eyes, betraying all the confusion held in them, his brow furrowed. Kakashi sighs, leaning down to press one kiss to Sasuke’s forehead and one more gingerly to Sasuke’s arm, before standing up, holding out a hand for Sasuke. Sasuke accepts it, pulling himself up off of the couch, careful not to stand in the spilled coffee.

“Stay with me,” Kakashi pleads eventually.

“I—I will,” Sasuke answers shakily, because he’s not even sure if he can possibly get home after all this.

“I don’t mean just tonight,” Kakashi clarifies.

“Oh.” Sasuke freezes up almost completely, staring tensely at his armband, lying flat and wrinkled on the ground. He can’t. He can’t possibly stay here. He needs his privacy, needs his space. He hasn’t lived with anyone since he was—very, very young, and the thought of it now makes him nervous, makes him frown. Because at home he is very different from what Kakashi might be expecting, and he’s not sure if he wants anyone to know him that well. He’s not sure if he’s brave enough to let someone in.

“I just want to help, Sasuke. You don’t have to worry about rent or food or anything, you just have to stay here,” Kakashi cajoles softly.

“I’m not, not really sure if it would be a good idea,” and Sasuke tries to cover his panic. The regret that was so remarkably missing earlier begins to creep in now; because of course Kakashi is going to want to help him. But Sasuke doesn’t want help. He’s been dealing with this all on his own for ages, albeit poorly, and in his mind, he doesn’t need Kakashi. He’s never needed anyone—or, so he’s attempted to convince himself over the years. Truthfully, there is a longing tug in Sasuke that has always wanted to reach out and let someone help him, to let go of that pride which was always Sasuke’s downfall.

“At least think about it,” Kakashi asks, and Sasuke nods, unable to look Kakashi in the eye.

“Good. Now, come on,” Kakashi turns and Sasuke, gulping, follows him to a bedroom, neat and seeming very warm—and not just in temperature, but everything. Without bothering to change clothes or much of anything else, Kakashi leads Sasuke to the bed, sitting down on the edge. Sasuke reluctantly follows suit, finding himself suddenly struck by a terrible shyness. He’s not sure why he agreed to this in the first place, and he opens his mouth, about to voice a plea for Kakashi to just let him go home. But Kakashi pulling him into another slow kiss, this time a simple, chaste brush of lips interrupts him. When Kakashi pulls away, Sasuke leans against Kakashi’s side, resting his head on Kakashi’s shoulder.

“I don’t really know about this, but—but I never really know anything, so I—” Sasuke shakes his head, unsure of what he’s trying to say. Kakashi gets it, though, and he twists around in order to pull down the covers, slowly pulling Sasuke down to lie with him. Sasuke allows all this. He’s allowing Kakashi a lot, tonight, things he’s given no other. He can’t quite say why. It seems right; it seems comforting, and Kakashi’s chest moving in gentle breaths against his feels good.

Sasuke stiffens, though, almost against his will. It’s a natural reaction, because he just doesn’t let people this close to him, doesn’t normally touch anyone. He’s not really sure what to do, as Kakashi pulls the covers over them and leans over to switch off the bedside lamp that was the room’s only source of light.

“Just go to sleep, Sasuke,” a hushed voice breathes inches away from his ear. Kakashi’s arm goes around Sasuke’s midsection and a kiss is pressed to his brow, before silence overtakes the room. He doesn’t fall asleep right away. It doesn’t happen the way it does in the movies, with the hero and heroine drifting off pressed close together, limbs entwining. Rather, Sasuke is entirely too uncomfortable. He gets sore from lying in one position for too long, and once he’s certain Kakashi’s breaths have evened out enough to be sleep, he slips out from under a heavy arm, moving slowly to the edge of the bed, where he lays, staring into the dark.

He has never found it very easy to get to sleep under the best of circumstances, and sharing a bed just makes it worse, because then he doesn’t have the freedom to move about as he pleases. Sasuke lets out a soft sigh, staring at his arms. They look odd, in the dim light the window provides, bare. He never keeps his arms bare unless he’s showering or putting more razor kisses on his skin, and it’s odd to have had them naked for so long now. It almost feels good, though, because he thinks he knows where Kakashi stands. Kakashi wants—Kakashi wants to help him.

Sasuke rolls over so that he’s facing Kakashi. A question is stuck on the edges of Sasuke’s mind, a looming worry, but he doesn’t want to give it any thought, any clarity, because he doesn’t like what it suggests. Sasuke can’t stay this close to Kakashi, though; he’s starting to feel choked. As slowly and quietly as he can manage, Sasuke climbs off of the bed, padding out of the bedroom, surprised at how down Kakashi’s guard is. Once Sasuke makes it to the hallway, he lets out a breath of relief. He wanders out to Kakashi’s living room, glancing about and looking the part of a lost child. Kakashi left the mug and coffee where they were, and Sasuke frowns, picking up the mug and bringing it to the kitchen.

Kakashi’s kitchen is clean enough, though not as clean as Sasuke would like, and he washes the mug in the sink. Sasuke forces himself not to clean anything else, though. It’s not his business. He does return to the living room with a pile of paper towels, mopping up the cold coffee, pushing his now coffee stained armbands off to the side. He has more than one pair of the armbands; it is hard to keep them clean when they are so—so white. On more than one occasion, Sasuke has accidentally bled on them; so he’s learned to always have a spare ready. Not with him, though, unfortunately. Sasuke sighs, getting up from the ground, carrying the armbands in one hand and the handful of slightly dripping paper towels in the other, dropping the towels in the trash and laying the armbands over the edge of Kakashi’s sink to, at least, dry.

Satisfied, Sasuke glances about the room nervously, pulling open drawers until he finds where Kakashi’s knives are kept. Sasuke lets out a shaky, frightened breath before rifling through the drawer for one that looks as if it would be the most effective, slipping it into his pocket. Then he leaves, slowly walking to the living room and flopping down on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest and biting fitfully at his lower lip. He’s still confused. Still confused about a lot of things, and wanting very badly to bring himself some sweet relief. A hand slips into his pocket, feeling guiltily at the knife now concealed there. He sighs, pulling it out and holding it soothingly in his palm, gazing at it. He unfolds it after a moment, staring at the knife for only a second. A second is all he needs to decide that he needs this, no matter how guilty it may make him feel. He glances quickly at the hallway leading to the bedroom before extending an arm before him and digging in. Sasuke lets out a short breath and moans quietly, shivering briefly.

It feels good. That’s what’s most twisted, in his mind. He really does enjoy it, still. It’s not that the pain feels good, but seeing blood and the endorphin rush that comes with the pain do. Sasuke drags a finger through the slippery drops of blood, absentmindedly slipping the finger between his lips. Sharp and bitterly salty and the taste reminds him of standing in the rain and screaming. Something unstoppable, something ancient.

Sasuke frowns. All while lost in vague strands of thought, he’s added five more cuts to his left arm, and he’s not sure when. He hates feeling out of control, but at the same time loves it; it gives him an escape from the crushing responsibility that seems a constant burden. Sasuke glances down at Kakashi’s couch cushion; light tan in color, now splattered with closely grouped drops of blood.

“Sorry,” Sasuke speaks to the silence, because he doubts he’ll ever actually apologize to Kakashi. Kakashi deserves it, though. An apology. Not just for the blood, but for everything. All the trouble Sasuke has put him through, just—all of it. Sasuke’s hands tremble as he switches the pocketknife to his left hand and marks his right arm up to match the left. Symmetry has become very important to Sasuke, over the years. He wants to be perfect, he thinks. Every mark must have an opposite, and everything must fit. Sasuke has devised a set of rules to follow in this game he plays, this game of self-punishment and hiding and quiet places no one would ever chase him to.

Sasuke sighs as the blood rolls down his arms, more getting on Kakashi’s couch. He feels bad, but he also feels reckless, tonight. And he’s tired, tired of being confused, tired of not having a clue what to do or say to Kakashi. Sasuke adds one more cut crossing each wrist before letting the knife drop to the floor, blood contrasting beautifully with the silver gray of the blade. He’s tired, very tired, and he doesn’t even bother to bandage his arms or anything, curling up into himself and finally falling into a fitful sleep. Two hours later, a hand pressing down on his shoulder wakes him. Sasuke jolts awake, pulling away by instinct, nearly scrambling off the couch entirely, but clamping down on his instincts.

“Why’d you leave?” Kakashi asks blearily, clearly still sleep addled.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sasuke says slowly, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“And—” Kakashi’s eyes glance at the knife, at Sasuke’s arms smeared with dried blood, “Why did you do that?” He looks a lot more awake now that he’s noticed what Sasuke has done. Sasuke shrugs.

“I just wanted to,” he says, before adding, “Had to.” Kakashi rubs his forehead, looking tense for a moment, before he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” and he turns, heading back towards the hallway, returning with the ever familiar first aid kit. He pulls out a few prepackaged packets of the alcohol soaked wipes, sitting down next to Sasuke and tugging one arm across his lap. Kakashi’s fingers are quick and not as gentle as they could be as they wipe away the dried, flaking blood and clean off the cuts before wrapping Sasuke’s arm with bandages, then moving on to the other arm.

“There, now you can be matching fashion buddies with Lee,” Kakashi jokes feebly. Sasuke, who had sat apathetic and silent as Kakashi tended to his arm, doesn’t smile, but rather seems to suffer a sudden breakdown, face losing the carefully crafted blank mask. Sasuke’s lower lip quivers slightly, eyes tearing, and he curses under his breath, dragging a shaking hand across his eyes, blinking back the tears.

“I don’t—I don’t cry normally, ever,” Sasuke affirms shakily, looking angry with himself.

“Have you ever considered,” Kakashi suggests softly, “That’s part of the problem? Everyone cries, Sasuke. Everyone gets upset and has breakdowns, especially in the profession we have.”

“But it’s pathetic,” Sasuke insists, though he can’t stop the tears, rolling steadily down his cheeks and dripping from his chin.

“It’s not,” Kakashi breathes, reaching out and brushing gently at Sasuke’s cheek.

“It’s a lot more healthy than what you’re doing now, Sasuke.”

Sasuke doesn’t respond for a while, but eventually, he speaks, “I bled on your couch. I’m, I’m sorry about that. And all of this.” Sasuke gulps, never realizing how difficult a simple apology can be. It’s the most sincere he’s ever offered.

“So, back to why you left the bed. Is it really that you couldn’t sleep, or could it be that—that you really don’t like me?” Kakashi asks tentatively, having been bouncing back and forth between stages of regret and gladness that he kissed Sasuke, and now in the regretful guilty stage. Sasuke can’t help himself, and his eyes flick to Kakashi’s lips, licking his own slowly.

“No, it’s not that. I mean, I didn’t mind it,” Sasuke admits, voice quiet, vaguely shy.

“So you’re comfortable with me, but you couldn’t sleep in the same bed as me. Right, I don’t get it, and I’m too tired to puzzle it out,” Kakashi sits down on the couch next to Sasuke, offering a hand to the boy. Sasuke stares at the proffered appendage for a few seconds as though it were a dead fish being casually offered to him, before he finally understands what Kakashi means, and he blinks, hesitantly letting his hand rest on Kakashi’s. Kakashi entwines their fingers, giving Sasuke’s hand a gentle squeeze. Sasuke can’t stop staring at the delicate way their fingers look, threaded together.

“Why are you doing this?” Sasuke blurts after a moment of silence, “Is it that you like the thought of having someone to rescue? Someone to help? I don’t need your pity, or your rescue.”

“Is that what’s been worrying you? Is that—is that what you really think?” Kakashi asks gently, the thumb of the hand currently holding Sasuke’s stroking at Sasuke’s wrist lightly. Sasuke nods slightly.

“It’s not like that. I wasn’t kidding with those kisses, you know. I really do like—no, more than that, I have feelings for you. I don’t know what it is, but they’ve been there for a while, and the reason I want to help you is that, not pity,” Kakashi confesses softly, raising Sasuke’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. Kakashi wonders why Sasuke hadn’t figured out that much yet; normally, Sasuke is oddly perceptive when it comes to the people around him and their emotions. But perhaps Sasuke has been comparing himself to others for so long that he’s lost the ability to truly see himself, and with that, the ability to see himself as someone to be loved. Sasuke blinks, staring at the way Kakashi’s lips connect smoothly with his skin.

“I just don’t get how you could be interested in someone as, as messed up as I am,” Sasuke mutters.

“You’re not messed up, Sasuke. You’re perfect as you are; you just need some help coping. It’s amazing you’ve made it even this far without—well, without getting yourself killed.” And Kakashi does consider Sasuke perfect; from the hair draping slightly over his eyes to the nervous tremor in the hand that Kakashi holds. Sasuke is flawed, but in a way that Kakashi finds to be drawing, beautiful. When Sasuke was younger, Kakashi used to see much of himself when he was the same age in Sasuke, but as Sasuke grew, the more Kakashi saw the differences between them, differences that slowly endeared Sasuke to Kakashi.

“I almost died. When I was with Orochimaru. I almost bled to death,” Sasuke says blankly, eyes lost in memories.

“Well you didn’t. Obviously you were strong enough to get through it, because you’re here now,” Kakashi encourages. Sasuke just shakes his head.

“I’m only alive because of Kabuto. I would have died if I had been here, on my own,” he murmurs, frowning.

“You won’t be on your own anymore, though. I’ll be here,” Kakashi suggests almost fearfully, afraid he’s going to get turned down. Sasuke just pauses, lost in thoughts for a moment.

He doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to stop hurting himself because it’s the only way he knows how to cope, the only way he has known how for a long while. But then, what Kakashi is offering is something almost too good to be true. Help, support, someone to go to. Sasuke has never had something like that, not for his entire life. And Kakashi has already shown that he’s willing to put up with Sasuke messing up, from the way he sat down and bandaged Sasuke’s arms and didn’t even admonish him for it.

And above all, Sasuke thinks that maybe he can trust Kakashi. There is certainly something there, something in him that connects the two of them. He can see similarities between them, too obvious to ignore. And Kakashi is warm, so warm. Kakashi’s lips on Sasuke’s had made him feel brilliantly alive, more so than even the cutting did, even if he had felt awkward and shy and unsure about all of it.

Kakashi is different, is different from everyone else, and for that reason, maybe Sasuke can let this work. Maybe.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you will be. And I’ll be here.”

And that was all that needed to be said. A slow, soft touch of lips was all that was needed to seal the agreement between them.

Tags: angst, kakasasu, naruto, pg, self-harm