It feels like a small victory, having gotten her to come with him to this thing. Stephen thought he was the antisocial one, but it turns out any social gathering is vastly improved with your girlfriend by your side: a chance to close his eyes and try to turn off his brain (to negligible success), relax and listen to the comforting susurrus of the waves, the occasional laughter in the background. It’s not the lush tropical beach he’d taken her to on Earth, but at least there’s some sun, some drinks, and the admittedly beguiling sight of Gwenaëlle stretched out beside him, all long legs and barely-there fabric and bare skin. Listen, he’s only human.

“Okay, you probably need less of it,” Stephen admits with a faux world-weary sigh, grudging, “but you should still apply some protection. Haven’t you ever gotten sun-burned out on a ship or when you’ve been swimming too long? It’s a literal burn, you’re damaging your skin long-term.”

And he deploys the next two words with the tactical precision of an attempted strike, all portentous doom: “Premature wrinkles.”