Potemkin is right. Ky knows Potemkin is right, but that doesn't keep him from childishly pouting scowling at the prospect of doing this. He remains quiet as he tenses, bracing himself for the inevitable sting of disinfectant. His breath hitches for a moment, his hand gripping the edge of the sink to steady himself, as he's hit with burning pain. Well, now he's well aware of the injury.

Ky keeps his lips sealed shut, refraining from letting any sound of protest slip out. Potemkin's hands are gentle and caring; Ky could at least be gracious for the help, no matter how much it stings.