Warnings: non-con, shota.
A/N: I used all four, yes. (Er, for you FFnetters; the prompt at the LJ community Copycock was "umbrella, a can of soda, telephone pole, and a general air of hopelessness", using as many as you wanted.) I think that means I IS A WINRAR. -ZIPS IT UP- :3 Thank you for the lovely challenge, my dearest of dears, Fukkafyla! It was a joy to write. Though I partially feel like I just keep on writing the same fic...I dunno. This is all kind of bare bones; there's so much more I have to say regarding this certain plot. But yet I don't want to continue it...ahhh, I have no idea. Guess I'll just see what you all think of it. PS: This is completely and utterly uneditted. I know. I'm a lazy cunt. I'm sorry. D: I just don't have the willpower. You know the deal; spot a mistake, point it out.

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He doesn’t sleep well. Never had, even as a child, needing the warmth of his brother or mother next to him in order to drift away. And after everything is ripped away from him, there’s no more of that, no more warm comforting bodies to sleep next to. (Only bodies left are cold and dead and—gone.) So sleep is difficult; impossible sometimes.

Which isn’t so bad, when he’s still at the academy, because he can get through a day of that droning on no sleep. But once Team Seven is formed it becomes infinitely more difficult. It’s so hard, so hard to get through sparring and training and chasing down damn cats when he feels so hazy and—drifting. He finds new ways of getting to sleep, though, sometimes effective, sometimes not. He likes to take walks, late at night (often, rather, early in the morning), wandering around dark and empty streets until his legs ache and his head is starting to finally quiet so he stumbles back home, to bed, and sleeps. He rarely sees others on these walks, Konoha having shut down and gone to sleep by then.

Tonight, though, Sasuke actually comes upon someone—an older man, glasses, graying hair, looks civilian, so Sasuke doesn’t bother raising his guard, feeling far too tires. He wants to go home now, feet dragging just enough that he’s sure if he lays down he’ll get to sleep. And the man’s face is just so common, for forgettable, Sasuke can hardly focus on it. A light drizzle starts, the thick droplets oddly warm, and Sasuke wanders if he’s just fallen asleep in the shower again.

“Why are you out so late, young man?” he’s asked, Sasuke’s lips curving down slightly in a bemused frown. Young man. Him? A young man? Oddly polite; too used to being treated with callous or worship, never in between.

“I—just taking a walk,” Sasuke mumbles sleepily.

“You shouldn’t be out alone so late, it’s a dangerous world.” Sasuke shrugs, uncaring. He’s been walking around for a month now and hardly even seen anyone else, much less anyone dangerous. Besides, that’s his job, isn’t it? Doing dangerous things. Pain makes him stronger and he needs that.

“It’s alright,” Sasuke responds, “I can take care of myself.” He has been, for a long while now. He’s unsettled by how close the man suddenly seems, a large hand settling on the small of his back. The rain, getting harder, seems colder now, jolting him awake slightly, though his muscles still feel sluggish and uncooperative. He’s a shinobi—a shinobi—he should be pulling away and running but by the time the thought comes to his mind an arm is wrapped tightly around the front of his waist and another is clenched in his hair and he doesn’t know when or how (or why) but the man has pulled him to the side of the street and Sasuke’s pressed up against a telephone pole, gasping, the metal moist and cold. He doesn’t know why he’s letting this happen, he’s so much damn better than this.

The man is deceptively strong but nothing he couldn’t handle and yet Sasuke is just staring ahead of him blankly, cheek pressed hard against unforgiving metal, arms now wrenched painfully behind his back, both thin wrists held tightly in one large hand, the other hand tugging his face to the side, neck aching and straining and the man cranes over him and shoves his lips against Sasuke’s, tongue invading when Sasuke’s sucking in a desperate breath and it feels odd, bad, slimy and thick something wriggling in his mouth like a poison eel. Tastes bad. Cigarettes, ashes, burning, pushing, against his tongue.

Sasuke’s not crying. Not crying even though he can feel something hard pressing against his back. Not crying and not begging for it to stop and not slumped limply, hopelessly, against the telephone pole.

And then the weight bearing against him all over pushes harder momentarily before falling away entirely and Sasuke takes the opportunity and scrambles away, nearly tripping, eyes clenched shut tight since he doesn’t want to look behind him, doesn’t doesn’t doesn’t. Then there’s a hand gripping his forearm, halting him, and the rain (has developed to almost pouring) which had been unmercifully pounding against pale skin stops very suddenly and Sasuke allows his eyes to slide open, gaze cautious, finding Kakashi standing there hunched over him, holding a blue umbrella.

“K—Kakashi,” Sasuke stammers, trembling all over but definitely from the cold, not fright. Sasuke glances back at where he’d run from, what he’d run from, and the man is lying on te ground, blood visibly seeping from his head, even in the dim night.

“Is—is he—?” Sasuke asks, eyes wide. Kakashi shakes his head slightly.

“Just unconscious. Someone will come take care of him, it’s alright.” Take care of him? Sasuke realizes blearily that he has no idea what Kakashi’s saying, unable to comprehend a thing. Kakashi’s free hand extends, gently wiping away the moistness that’s sliding down Sasuke’s cheeks, which is rain, not tears, because Sasuke’s not crying.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Kakashi says, standing up straight and letting go of Sasuke. Sasuke nods, quickly, because he can’t really think anymore, and he wants to let Kakashi make the decisions for him.

He’s not sure how long they’re walking, Kakashi holding the umbrella over him, shielding him. He drifts away, body moving mechanically, legs like pumping pistons, while his mind is elsewhere. He blinks when Kakashi stops, in front of a soda machine beneath a streetlight, the two standing bathed beneath a flood of light that’s too bright for Sasuke’s tastes. There’s a bench next to the machine, covered by a scratched worn glass roof, dry.

“Do you want a soda?” Sasuke asks nonchalantly, hand slipping into his pocket. Sasuke nods. Needs to get that taste out of his mouth, now. The taste of that man.

“I don’t care what,” Sasuke mumbles; doesn’t really like soda, doesn’t drink it regularly, doesn’t know what he prefers.

“Alright,” Kakashi says easily, pulling some change out of his pocket, stepping closer to the machine and choosing something, handing a cool aluminum can to Sasuke before going to sit down on the bench, Sasuke forced to follow, since he doesn’t really want to stand around in the heavy rain. Sasuke settles down on the bench, keeping a careful measure of space between them. He opens the can with small nimble fingers, gingerly taking a sip. Sweet. Fruity. Infinitely better than the taste that was in his mouth.

Sasuke drinks the soda in a matter of a couple of minutes, the way he swallows the sugary liquid almost desperate, uncontrolled.

“You want another?” Kakashi asks, both hands in his pockets now, sitting with a lazy slump, though Sasuke can feel discomfort radiating from the tall man. He shakes his head mutely. Lets the soda can drop to the ground, the clatter muffled by the noisy rain. Doesn’t usually make a habit of littering but just can’t care, right now.

“I want—to go to sleep, please,” Sasuke mumbles, small frame sagging tiredly like an old house. Can’t keep himself up straight.

---

Sasuke ends up going home with Kakashi. Doesn’t know why. Kakashi had stood and started walking and Sasuke had followed and this is where they end up. Sasuke normally would have been taking in the place curiously, but he’s just so tired, feeling so absolutely listless, that he just kicks off his shoes and lets Kakashi lead him down a hallway, into a bedroom. Looks very—lived in. (A bit too messy for Sasuke’s tastes.) Not a guest room, then. Kakashi’s. Doesn’t know why that makes him feel so—twisted up, his stomach tightening into a quivering knot. But it feels good, knowing that Kakashi’s willing to let him in here. Kakashi doesn’t seem to be the sort who trusts easily.

Sasuke gazes up at Kakashi quietly as he sits Sasuke down on the edge of his bed. Kakashi’s lips part for a brief moment, looking as though he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t, instead just places his fingers on the hem of Sasuke’s shirt. Sasuke panics absolutely for a moment before realizing that his clothes are soaking wet and Kakashi’s just helping him out of them, tugging the shirt over Sasuke’s head. He’s grateful when Kakashi averts his eye from a pale, trembling body. Not trembling from the cold; he can’t even pretend anymore.

“Lift your hips,” Kakashi says very quietly, awkwardly, his cheeks flushing the slightest bit. Sasuke obeys, biting his lower lip, and Kakashi pulls off dripping white shorts. Silence, stillness, tension, for just a moment, before Kakashi clears his throat. He turns, going to a dresser whose top is hopelessly cluttered, and rummages around in one of the drawers, offering Sasuke a long, loose shirt. Sasuke slips it on, the shirt coming to halfway down his thighs. Kakashi leans over the bed, pulling the covers back, and Sasuke lies down, head tiredly dropping to a cool pillow.

He hasn’t been tucked in like this since he was very young, and it vaguely embarrasses him, angers him that Kakashi would think he needs this, but he pushes down those feelings, because he knows that he does. Kakashi is about to pull the covers up over Sasuke when the boy shakes his head gently.

“Don’t go,” he pleads. Because he wants to feel it again, a warm body next to his to snuggle up against; knows he’ll be able to sleep well for the first time in who knows how long. Kakashi sighs, expression seeming conflicted, but he eventually turns away, stripping off his vest and gear (and then Sasuke looks away, figuring Kakashi had offered him the courtesy; but the real reasons Kakashi had to look away are so entirely different, Sasuke couldn’t possibly imagine them) and returning to the bed wearing loose black cotton pants and a black t-shirt—and the mask, as always. (Sasuke can’t help but think that Kakashi must not usually sleep with it on; so he’s not trusted that much, not yet.) Sasuke moves over, making room for Kakashi, and he settles down next to Sasuke, sighing.

“Only once, Sasuke,” he murmurs, though his tone isn’t very firm or convincing. Silent, for a few moments, just breathing, that carefully placed measure of space still between them.

“You’re going to have to talk about it eventually. Not with me, but—someone,” Kakashi speaks, glancing sideways at Sasuke. Sasuke just shakes his head slightly. Doesn’t want to. Is already blocking the event out of his mind, because after all, nothing really happened. Nothing. Nothing at all, and certainly nothing to talk about. He rolls over on his side, sliding a bit closer to Kakashi, clutching at the front of Kakashi’s shirt with shaky fingers. Kakashi breathes out slowly, nervously, and lets his arm settle on Sasuke’s side, holding the boy close to him, a small head nuzzling against the top of his chest.

It’s warm and comforting and Sasuke’s been craving this for so long, sleep comes rapidly. So easily. And it’s a soothing sleep, calm, nothing like the restless sleep he usually gets.

Kakashi watches as Sasuke’s breaths even and slow, reaching up carefully to slide his mask down. His own breaths, gentle in and out, cause slight stirs in messy black hair, and—

Kakashi kisses the top of Sasuke’s head very softly.

Only once, he tells himself.