Chapter Text
On quiet evenings past Mathilde's bedtime, the Bonds have taken to sharing languid baths, limbs intertwined until long after the water has grown tepid. Glass of wine within reach, she will usually come to rest her head in the crook of his neck and offer her sensitive skin to his calloused fingers, or he will pillow his cheek on her breast while she strokes his chest from the tip of a nail. They talk about childhood memories needing healing that only the other can provide; about their daughter and what new ways she has found today to include her father in her adventures; about plans for the future (she wants to try for a second child; even though he’s concerned he might be getting too old, he craves the idea of another and finds himself imagining a little blond and curly head answering to Félix). And sometimes they don’t speak at all, and that's when they are the most crystal clear to each other.