Since their arrival on Earth there was no hope even for a shower; there was no question of a bath. But here he was, Bellamy, sitting in a bath of warm water.

The bath was a little rusty, but that was something.

“Careful,” he grumbles, voice gruff as when you accidentally brushed against the fresh scar on his shoulder.

He's not incapable and could've easily washed himself even with a wounded shoulder, but you insisted.