They’re on the eleventh deck, in the seating area at the back of the boat, stretched out on loungers in their dinner outfits. Draco is wine-warm and happy and relaxed, the sea-air ruffling his hair, kissing his skin. Earlier that evening, when he inspected himself in his bathroom mirror, he’d stared curiously at the fan of freckles across his nose and cheeks. They’ve deepened and spread a lot since his arrival on the cruise. He can’t remember the last time his skin took on such a nice colour.