Balconies are fascinating to you. Balconies and doorways, the hour of midnight, the smell of a flower at its peak of blossom, wedding nights and men who lean over the railing to have a more intimate contact with the world they observe.

He's still engulfed by his tuxedo, while you've taken off your jacket already and your tie is loose around your neck. In a mirror, you can see your white entering and fading out of its frame which holds the black room. Advancing towards the balcony's threshold, if you trusted your steps to be quiet enough, you would walk over to him, peek over his shoulder and instantly love whatever it is that Orlando is watching, guessing at the beauty he finds in it.

You never once told him how much you admired the bravery hidden in his laughing, through the pains he's had to deal with. You've never spoken of strength, but you know his merit when he insists that your love is worth the risk and the effort, that he can take on the world and deceive it if that's what it takes, stretch the borders of truth into areas you dare not call by name. How could you protest in the face of his smiling reassurance that he can deal with such matters?

You've taken it upon yourself to devise new ways to worship him every time you get the chance. You aren't always as successful as you hoped to be when you were planning your surprises, but then you're confronted with that laughter, ringing in its amusement over your attempts and in a way, it is a reward, hearing him laugh and finding delight in it and awe, seconds before the full gravity of your desire is unleashed and there is no space left for any laughter in the thickness of your bedroom.

Much like your half-failed attempts at ingenuity with clich? romancing, you're also running out of ways to tell him of your adoration and dedication. He tells you bits of stories, the leftovers of difficult times he's been through and you let it sink into you, changing your flesh, listening on while you kiss his, starting with the juncture of his arm and shoulder in much the same way that wild winds uncover untouched lands in the middle of a desert and carry the golden sands with them, wherever they may drift. When you know he's had enough of the memories, you chase them away from his mind by encompassing him into a hug that's anything but friendly, his raw nakedness again your own.

You taunt the points where muscles ripple beneath the skin, where he can't remain calm and unhesitant, unrepentant as you lead him with your tongue, your lips, the persistence of your hands towards shouting out, begging for mercy and in some ways, for the showing of none. You travel down his body, deeper into kisses, fiercer with your licking and sucking, more intently fucking his mind into the blessed oblivion you can offer him. You want to tell him that he has changed you, but words are lost to you as well.

In the sweaty, panting aftermath of love, when skin cannot be told apart from skin, you once whispered something about the beauty of the night, you're not sure what, most likely some mention of Orlando's fondness for open windows on top floors, where silvery light can break into your bedroom, mingling together with the mint-scented breeze.

He simply hummed contentedly in agreement, maybe he hasn't even heard you, his fingers in your hair and he was cradled in your arms. When he's with you, he doesn't have to be strong. He's safe.

That question has dwelled within you long enough. You blurted it out, stating your love and asking of him what you could not imagine him turning down and couldn't bear thinking he would. What you remember from that moment is how much wider and deeper than usual his eyes looked, smooth and velvety. He didn't get too excited, but his voice was lower than ever when he whispered in your ear his consent. It's a musical key you've never heard played out in him, one of longing he didn't dare utter and some greater sense of security in the reality of your communion.

You only hugged afterwards, each filled by it to the brink of explosion. Like everything that you've ever been to each other, this hug was more than enough.

Standing in front of a row of different officials, legal and religious ones, on the verge of commitment materializing, you couldn't believe how precious, fragile and easily lost it all seemed to you. Fear was clutching at your heart that now, some invisible wheel will turn and you will find yourselves thrust upon the rocks of reality, grains dropped from the wind.

But it is done and now he stands on the balcony of your suite while you, at its glass-door threshold, feel blessed that he has given you his strength and are grateful for having trusted in him.

Thoughts fall away and all you are is a want to feel him in your arms. Your steps lead of their own accord to his side. In a second, he'll look up at you and smile like only he can, only at you. Whatever he'll need this night, this life, you will – as always – do your best to give him.