"Lucky for you, I've got two." There's enough deadpan in his tone that it's likely that is meant to be funny. But without any further ado or especial fussing, Levi sets the cover over the toilet (using a bit of toilet paper so that he doesn't have to actually touch it), and then a towel over that before ushering Finnick to sit and taking the cloth from him. He takes a minute to wash his hands, and then lets the cloth soak up some warm water before wringing it out again. A step brings him back over, standing between his legs.

Finnick had already done his face, but Levi starts there again anyway. Nudging his chin upward, gray eyes linger on aquamarine, and it's a little like looking at the sea on a bright, cloudless day. It's not hard to see how tired he is yet. Really, the man could do with a proper bath, but it's not possible yet with some of those wounds yet healing. This will have to do.

"Let me know if it's too hot," he mumbles before starting. Perhaps surprisingly, he's gentle - but there's yet a thoroughness and a method to his movements, ensuring he can clean as much skin as he can reach. One hand cleans, the other carefully guides Finnick to move his head from side to side, chin up and down. There's tenderness in the way his touch lingers, tracing softly over an eyebrow or along a cheekbone, moving over a scar on his throat.

Erasing scars, as though they could erase the horrors they'd inflicted on him.

He sets the thought aside, moving the cloth to trace over the curve of one shoulder, then the other, before stepping back to the sink to rinse and wring. The arm comes next, and Levi starts with Finnick's hand, wiping down the palm, then each finger, cleaning under the nail and around the nailbed. Even in these moments of focus, he flicks his gaze towards Finnick's face every so often, to check for signs of pain, or if holding himself upright is getting to be too much.

"...you have nice hands," he says quietly, before moving on to his upper arm. At least he's got one left.