It’s coming and coming back to each other, it’s those last few thrusts before his orgasm topples after her. He pulls out and collapses to the mattress, lying on his side to face Gwenaëlle and simply look at her, taking her in, adoring, memorising and re-memorising the angle of her cheek and turn of her mouth and glint of her eyes. Their legs are entwined, a knee against hers, another complicated sticky tangle of limbs and ensuring he’s out-of-the-way. Lying together afterwards, pleasantly warm and pliant; the sunlight’s still dappling through the houseboat windows, fracturing through her wings.

Stephen leans in and kisses her shoulder, lingering and content to linger. It’s a holiday. Maybe they’ll wind up together again later; maybe she’ll start trying to tinker through the puzzle-box and he’ll settle his mouth between her legs to cheekily distract her from it. It’s simply nice; to feel more like themselves again, and to know that things both have changed and haven’t changed.

It’s a good morning. They’ve got time.