A handtowel goes into the warm water, sinking until it's completely submerged, then Sizhui's free hand reaches to shut the faucet off. He drapes the bathsheet over one shoulder, lifts the smaller towel from the sink, wrings it out and begins using that to wipe Vincenzo's face first, followed by drying him clean with the larger towel. Back and forth every moment or two for more water makes it seem tedious, but Sizhui doesn't falter, stays wholly focused and even extra meticulous by looking Vincenzo over for any noticeable marks.

Fine, fine, his husband insists and although Sizhui wants to say he's expecting a better answer, he accepts this (for now). His hand holding the damp towel continues wiping, off-colored pinkish stains spreading, and the only reason he hesitates is because Vincenzo stops him.

There it is again, he ponders, fingers cinched tight around the rag while he's examining Vincenzo's expression for any reluctance. He's well-aware Luca could come to take him right home, and yet...

He opens his mouth, closes it, makes a soft, thoughtful ‘mmn’ during his consideration of the same things then shakes his head. An indescribable sensation tells him to and rather than turn against his gut feeling, Sizhui goes back to cleaning up the blood, gaze downcast. Albeit, the momentary lingering silence is awkward, his tone at least manages to convey some levity when he asks, “Will you let me see your bruises or am I going to have to fight you with this as well?”