Finnick is precious to him, in a way hadn't expected to experience so easily, so quickly. In spite of the way he'd been abused, there's still an incredible air of confidence about him, a warmth and brightness and a passion that Levi feels drawn to. It doesn't hurt that he's nice to look at, but that sort of thing he's never really noticed in most people, except for after the fact. If it was maybe a less grim of a situation, he might be noticing it more, now.

Cleanliness is not just a matter of trauma and neuroses for Levi. It's also about dignity, and scraping back what has been taken away in whatever way you can. Everyone in the underground had been condemned to live in filth, but he refused. Finnick has had his body used for the base pleasure of others, suffered pain and injury and even death to claw for the survival of people he loved. The very least Levi can do, now, is to help him wash the grime and filth away.

It's clear that the arm is stiff, so he goes slow. He flicks a glance to his face at the little quip, the corner of his lips quirking up just a little.

"Of course you do," he echoes back, voice a touch wry with amusement. There's a small pause, and then he presses a very brief kiss to the middle of Finnick's now clean palm.

It's the last thing he does before stepping back to the sink to rinse and wring and rinse and wring the cloth out and then steps back again, closer this time. One hand settles tenderly at the back of Finnick's neck as he passes the cloth back over his shoulders, drawing in large, slow circles over his back. Perhaps without realizing, his thumb traces a small path back and forth over his skin...just holding him close.

I don't want to lose you. A tiny thought lodges in his heart, but Levi doesn't say that, either. It's a silly hope, in the end. It always is.

But he'll hold onto him while he can.