Finnick exhales a quiet, breathy laugh at that. It hurts less to laugh now.
"Well, now you're just rubbing it in," he mutters jokingly in response. He sits on the toilet and watches Levi closely, staring up into his gray eyes unblinkingly as the older man begins to clean his face. The look in his eyes portrays a complete trust in Levi, and a sort of reverence.
The way he touches Finnick seems to encapsulate Levi. He's meticulous, he's neurotic about cleanliness, he's utterly caring and kind and protective, and all of that translates through his movements. Even with a blank face, his touch communicates that Finnick is something precious to him, and Finnick actually feels that way. He rarely, if ever, has been sent the message that his body is worth caring for, for its own sake. Even the Capitol fixing his wounds and erasing his scars and bathing him and putting him in makeup and beautiful clothing was only so he would be appealing and palatable to the rich, since they can't swallow anything unsightly or disabled by the abuses they've suffered. It was not done out of care for him. It was done to make him a product, an expensive one, to be consumed and used over and over and over. Levi cleans him simply so that he doesn't have to feel dirty, so that he doesn't have to see his own blood again, so that he can feel more comfortable, so that his wounds don't get infected. He's not attentive to the task as though Finnick is a thing to be cleaned, the way the Capitol stylists would pluck out hairs without a word of warning, wax you while talking to their coworker about their vacation like you're not even there. Levi puts effort into making sure he doesn't hurt Finnick, so that it can feel nice as well as serve a practical purpose.
In this moment, a small part of Finnick is healed by a warm cloth and gentle hands, and a small part of him wants to cry a thousand tears until his body aches and shakes and collapses from exhaustion, because it's perhaps only now when he's being treated the way a person should that it truly hits him just how dehumanized he felt before.
Levi tells him he has nice hands, and Finnick thinks, I love you. He doesn't say it. Not yet.
He just says, "Do I? I mean, of course I do. I know that." With a wry little smile. Of course, every part of Finnick's body is perfect and beautiful and he's never thought or felt any other way about it. He's never loathed his own beauty or scrubbed his skin raw in the shower.
His arm and hand are still quite stiff, and he grimaces slightly as he tries to move it, tries to clench and unclench his fist. Too sore, and it barely has half his range of motion, so he just moves it as much as is needed to clean it properly. Levi isn't hurting him.
cw dehumanization, reference of sexual abuse
"Well, now you're just rubbing it in," he mutters jokingly in response. He sits on the toilet and watches Levi closely, staring up into his gray eyes unblinkingly as the older man begins to clean his face. The look in his eyes portrays a complete trust in Levi, and a sort of reverence.
The way he touches Finnick seems to encapsulate Levi. He's meticulous, he's neurotic about cleanliness, he's utterly caring and kind and protective, and all of that translates through his movements. Even with a blank face, his touch communicates that Finnick is something precious to him, and Finnick actually feels that way. He rarely, if ever, has been sent the message that his body is worth caring for, for its own sake. Even the Capitol fixing his wounds and erasing his scars and bathing him and putting him in makeup and beautiful clothing was only so he would be appealing and palatable to the rich, since they can't swallow anything unsightly or disabled by the abuses they've suffered. It was not done out of care for him. It was done to make him a product, an expensive one, to be consumed and used over and over and over. Levi cleans him simply so that he doesn't have to feel dirty, so that he doesn't have to see his own blood again, so that he can feel more comfortable, so that his wounds don't get infected. He's not attentive to the task as though Finnick is a thing to be cleaned, the way the Capitol stylists would pluck out hairs without a word of warning, wax you while talking to their coworker about their vacation like you're not even there. Levi puts effort into making sure he doesn't hurt Finnick, so that it can feel nice as well as serve a practical purpose.
In this moment, a small part of Finnick is healed by a warm cloth and gentle hands, and a small part of him wants to cry a thousand tears until his body aches and shakes and collapses from exhaustion, because it's perhaps only now when he's being treated the way a person should that it truly hits him just how dehumanized he felt before.
Levi tells him he has nice hands, and Finnick thinks, I love you. He doesn't say it. Not yet.
He just says, "Do I? I mean, of course I do. I know that." With a wry little smile. Of course, every part of Finnick's body is perfect and beautiful and he's never thought or felt any other way about it. He's never loathed his own beauty or scrubbed his skin raw in the shower.
His arm and hand are still quite stiff, and he grimaces slightly as he tries to move it, tries to clench and unclench his fist. Too sore, and it barely has half his range of motion, so he just moves it as much as is needed to clean it properly. Levi isn't hurting him.