He needed to be held, so Itachi held him.
There was no compassion in it. It was normal Itachi, and Deidara was crying, hard, into his shirt, but he felt nothing. Deidara needed to be held, so he held him. It was simple.
There were no intricate feelings for him to battle with. He felt nothing for the blonde in his lap, a teen who was a few years younger than he was, that he had been sent to check up on. The boy had no partner to check up on him, not anymore. That was the reason he was crying, so they sent Itachi.
Tears were slipping through his shirt and down his chest. Deidara was shaking, his fists clenched into the sheets to try to stop the trembles wracking through his body, and Itachi thought numbly that he wouldn't stop any time soon. It was extremely unlikely for someone as unstable as the blonde, even with how hard he was trying to regain control.
Itachi pitied the boy, if nothing else. Deidara had been close to his partner, to lose him must be agonizing, and he was to be pitied, either way. But Itachi felt nothing for his own situation. He lived with it, and the pain had faded over time, but the blonde's wound was fresh. And he needed to be held. So Itachi held him.
Deidara's sobs were unbearably loud. Itachi wanted to lean back, away from the warm wetness between his shirt and Deidara's face, but he didn't. He leant forward instead, resting his chin on the blonde's head and his hands on his back. He looked around the room, swaying his eyes from place to place to hide his obvious boredom with the task at hand. There was nothing to keep him busy.
He almost gasped at Deidara as he took a fistful of Itachi's shirt, placing his other hand on the bed to push away from the Uchiha, but he didn't. He gasped at the blonde only when their eyes met, Deidara's tear-streaming ones and Itachi's own blank unreadable ones, and as Deidara leant up, connecting their lips in a light kiss.
The blonde pulled away almost instantly, avoiding eye contact now. He buried his face back in Itachi's chest, the Uchiha's open cloak covering any expression he might make. Itachi returned his hands lazily to Deidara's back, patting him at intervals.
He licked his lips.
His mouth wanted to curve upwards, but he killed the sensation immediately, because he never felt anything. He didn't have any feelings for the blonde in his lap, just a sense of his chest being damp and of a person's weight on him.
Deidara needed to be held, so Itachi held him.
And that was all there was supposed to be.