Theo leans against the pillar, the darkness surrounding them except for the silver hue of the moon casting some light on his delicate features. A blonde-haired woman, whose hair is tied back in a small bun and wears a navy dress, almost like she was trying to copy the royal attire, kisses his neck, leaning against him.
His hand is on her breast, beneath the material, while his eyes are shut, brows knitted together. The light casts him in an almost gloomy mood, but he touches her while she kisses him, both getting dishevelled.
Is he enjoying this? I cannot tell. My gaze follows the woman's hand movements, and surprise rises on my brows. I shouldn't be surprised. Not when it is known for couples to take balconies for themselves. Couples, not lovers.
