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You’ve had time to get used to the ache of heartbreak.
Skillfully hiding the pain you feel behind a taut smile, you turn away from where he was dancing and sweep your eyes along the extravagant ballroom before you. It really is a wonderous sight; the crystal chandeliers are polished and sparkling, lavish satin drapes are held open by golden ropes, and the musicians upon the raised lift play beautifully to set a magical mood.
You’re no stranger to these elaborate parties, yet this is the first season you were truly allowed to partake in the events.
The first ball of the season is an important one; suitors want to be the first to try and claim the affections of their hearts desire-or, just claim stake in any favorable young lady they could.
However, you have been groomed your entire life for an event such as this, and you were hardly in any position to complain. Yet, that isn't to say you were happy with the idea of being in a loveless, arranged marriage. You so desperately wanted a love-match. Alas, you weren't in any position of the sort, were you? Not while his attention was on her.
“These are such a bore, are they not?”
You are shaken from your thoughts, locking on emerald eyes that brimmed with amusement, and you can’t help but grin at the sight.
“Why, My Lord, dare say are you not entertained by all the ribbons and ascots?”
“I would say not–I prefer a plethora of feathers and exuberant ruffled fronts. Much more fashionable items.”
You share a laugh, the tension melting away the longer you were in the presence of your childhood friend: Izuku Midoriya. The Earl is and has always been a very kind soul, one who you would once spend countless hours with playing in the gardens, and even more so hosting tea and forcing him to attend. As a child, he was always rather timid and shy, easy to persuade into just about anything. Perhaps that is why you and Katsuki always got away with your harmless teasing–well, some teasing more harmless than not.
He was always nearby, conceding you to put him through the girliest of activities, and yet he never complained. He often returned the favor by forcing you to study, presenting you with books on subjects you couldn’t even begin to understand, and allowed him to rant on about every and anything he found of interest. He was often your escort to most events–with the proper chaperone, of course–and force you to listen off as he rattled endlessly over different theories he came up with from his travels abroad.
Katsuki wasn’t as fond of listening to his rambles as you were, and often would shut him up with a fencing match or something similar–anything that could have Katsuki physically overpower him to get him to, ‘stop talking for more than two bloody minutes.’
Yes, you three were once as thick as thieves–however now…
Your attention flickered back over to the Marquess; his blond locks wild and untamed, even though he was at such a prestigious event, and the endearing sight squeezed your heart as it was so him. He now stood off to the side, chatting away with the miss that has held his attention all night. She was rather beautiful, with long juniper locks and stunning sage eyes; it is no wonder Katsuki would be so bewitched.
“May I?”
You glance down, seeing Izuku’s expectant hand, and grant him the remainder of your dances on your card. You try to smile, but it falters at his knowing look as his attention goes between you and his other friend.
He leads you to the dancefloor, holding you tight as you both being to waltz a varsovienne. You allow the music and his soft gaze to consume you, laughing and jesting as the night went on. Katsuki ends up in the furthest parts of your mind, almost forgotten.
“Pardon–”
Almost.
“Miss (l/n), a dance?” Katsuki stands before you, a friendly sneer on his face as he stares at your dance partner. “A real dance, anyways. Seeing as the ever graceful Izuku may as well have two left feet.”
“Oh, most amusing, Katsuki.” Izuku rolls his eyes, yet stays holding onto you.
You miss the quick glance of Katsuki’s eyes as they sweep over Izuku’s grip on your waist–instead, you offer a silent thanks for his comfort before giving a polite bow of your head.
“Of course, Lord Bakugou.”
You take his outstretched hand and allow him to guide you away; he spins you once, then brings you back into his embrace.
“How are you this evening, (y/n)?”
“Very well, My Lord.”
“Now why are you acting with such formalities? Have I not won over your friendship after all these years?” His brow furrows as you turn your head downward. “Tell me, what is it that troubles you?”
“It is nothing, Katsuki.” the upturn of your lips does little to put him at ease, “I am merely feeling the effects of dancing–that is all.”
“Why? Izuku and you had only danced a measly three times–and you know you have to dance with me.”
You let out a snort of amusement, remembering the promise you made to both men before the season first started of saving them at least one dance.
“Yes, of course, I always make sure to save one for you, do I not?”
“You do.” He chuckles, before smiling at your head. “May I say, your hair looks lovely tonight–alstroemerias again? It suits you.”
He spins you around once more, slower than the first, and you spot Miss Setsuna from across the way. Her frown is prominent as she watches the waltz continue, and in some twisted way, you feel triumphant; you know she’s after his status, and his good looks didn’t hurt either. That’s what every woman was chasing, after all. That’s what you were supposed to be chasing–but that’s not what you want.
You’ve been in love with Katsuki since you were both children. You loved the little boy who would take you on adventures throughout the grounds behind your estates. You loved the kid who used to pick you alstroemerias for your tea-parties–it is now why they adorn your gardens and your wardrobe. You loved the young man who would–begrudgingly–let you practice various dances on him until you got it just right. You loved the teen who would bring you various trinkets from his studies and travels, just because. You loved the man who never failed to make you feel worthy and respected in the highest regard of the meaning.
You loved all of him.
“Yes. They are my favorite flower, after all.”
The dance ends, and you both dip low in respect, and for a fleeting moment, you expect him to stay.
But that hope shatters the second he loses focus on you and gives it to her. You muster the strength to look away.
“Thank you for the dance, My Lord. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”
Without waiting on a response, you turn and swiftly make your leave. All you want to do is find your mother and go home, your heart unable to deal with any more pain. On your hasty exit, you end up crashing into someone.
“I, I am sorry,” you gasp, hoping that they said nothing in return so you could continue and get some fresh air.
Why was it so suffocating in here?
“(y/n)? Are you alright?”
Izuku places a firm grip upon your arms, holding you steady as your chest begins to rise and fall in quick breathes. He takes your form in worriedly and quickly moves to escort you to the balcony, where there is no crowd and fresh air.
Leaning against the railing, you focus on the lush gardens below–on anything to get your mind of Katsuki. Yet it all is in vain, as the pin in your hair comes loose, and an alstroemeria falls right onto the back of your hand.
Your bottom lip grows unsteady the longer you watch the flower, and you have to blink back the moisture that has begun to collect on your bottom lashes. You don’t understand why it all hurt so much–you’ve known from the start that receiving his affections was slim to none, yet you still held onto the dim idea that he could also return affections.
You had been watering this seed–this notion–every day, and it only grew stronger and stronger; its stem growing as if it were a vine, seizing every part of your being until you were helpless to the damage it had caused. You are tired–your body, your heart, it all hurts and you want to give up, but you keep pushing for this flower to bloom because something good has to come of all of this hurt, right?
And something does, but what you thought was a beautiful flower of love, strength, and devotion, he only saw one of strength in friendship.
He may not realize, but it’s killing you that you two are seeing two different sides of the same coin; the opposite sides of the looking glass, unable to get to the other, only able to present a false front instead of the entire truth of feelings as a whole.
You don’t even realize the tears have started to fall from your face until you notice you were no longer staring down to the darkness below, and had begun to soak the coat of your companion. You pull away, just enough to look into his eyes, and you see the concern and care he holds for you. Leaning back into his embrace, you don’t give yourself another moment to think how scandalous it must look to be held so fondly by a man you weren’t wed to–you need this hug more than anything right now, and that’s enough reason for the both of you.
Izuku mumbles soothing words of endearment, stroking your clothed back softly–and while you can’t feel his bare skin against yours, you still shiver at the touch. He’s warm, comforting, and you find yourself calming down in his hold. You pull back, creating enough distance to be acceptable, and grant him a watery smile.
He stares back kindly, a gaze of adoration, as he pulls another of your beloved alstroemeria from the clip behind your ear.
“What are you–”
Izuku sets it on the balcony ledge, then unclips the flower from his breast pocket, delicately placing it in the same spot.
“A primrose–I think it suits you quite well.”
You bring a hand up, briefly brushing over the soft petals before searching his expression for an answer. His smile only grows fonder, and he takes your hand away from the primrose and raises it to his mouth for a tender kiss on your hand.
“Izuku…”
“If the Lady is willing to accept, may I be so bold as to call upon her tomorrow?”
One hand starts to fiddle with the fabric against your waist, suddenly feeling rather nervous as he continues to hold you other as he awaits your response. Your tongue darts out to lick your suddenly dry lips, a bashful smile forming right after.
“Of course, My Lord.”
“Fantastic,” he whispers, letting your hand fall back to your side as he stares with disbelief at your agreeance–you laugh at his wide-eyed look, “Then let me escort you inside, I do not wish to keep you any longer than you would like.”
You consent, taking his arm as he walks you back into the ballroom. For the first time that night–for the first time ever in fact–your mind is far from the Marquess, and you’re not concerned about it.
So much so, you don’t notice the distraught-looking man leaving the balcony right before you both, nor the falling alstroemeria right after.
—–—–—–—–—–—–
Primrose: These flowers are seen as representations of young love and of feeling as though you can’t live without your lover.
“…is the most overlooked flower when it comes to romantic flowers…”