Itachi didn't know how long it took him to break out of the lethargy and move. He'd been looking at his shriveled toes, then realized he was shaking because he was cold, not because he was afraid. Itachi pulled the damp towel closer around him, but it didn't warm him. He slowly crawled out of the bathtub, feeling tired and beaten. His head ached. Drying his hair felt like an act of torture.
Itachi left his damp towel on the floor and dragged out another one. He kept dabbing at his hair, shivering until his teeth chattered before he got up to find some clothes. Something warm. Soft.
Itachi walked by Shisui and rummaged through his assortment of clothes. He didn't have much that was warm. Long pants and a sweatshirt. Socks. Itachi pulled his wet hair over his shoulder.
He still felt unsettled by what had happened. He didn't know why he'd done most of what he'd done. He didn't like the way he'd flown out of control, because he hadn't been in control. Not even a fragment for a while, and now he just felt hollow. Terrible and sick, like some kind of poison had soaked into him. Itachi didn't know if the feeling would go away, or if it would stay. If it would grow or lessen.
All he really knew was he he was cold, aching, and he wanted to feel safe. There were no safe placed in the world, but he could pretend. He knew it was a lie, but he could pretend right now, because he was so tired.
Safe meant Shisui (or it always had). Itachi pulled his hands inside the sweatshirt and turned to Shisui.