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The party is lavish as always. Crystal chandeliers compliment the dark mahogany furniture, floors of chequered marble finishing the impression of luxury. Expensive champagne flows freely, served by waiters clad in black and white, their professionalism mute and expressionless. The guests make merry like it’s their job, and in a way it is. Socialising is the lifeblood of many who frequent the nightly celebrations at the labyrinthine mansion, even if that often is just another name for gossiping and backstabbing.
Izuku walks through the rooms at a leisurely pace, nodding at the other regulars when he discovers them. He knows the rooms well by this point, and doesn’t hesitate as he searches the house for a particular guest.
Finally, in the oval-shaped ballroom, his eyes catch blond hair and broad shoulders. While that description could at first brush suit any number of attendees, Izuku would know from a mile away that these particular traits belong to Katsuki.
The person he has been looking for.
They don’t say a word to one another, not really even acknowledging each other’s presence. But they meet at these parties every night, and every time a conversation without words takes place.
The flowers pinned to their lapels were always meant to be more than mere decoration. High society in the days of old used them to craft messages that could not be spoken aloud, often those of love and attraction and illicit affairs.
Izuku and Katsuki also use the flowers for conveying things they can’t risk putting into words—but the language is different, and known only to them.
The white peony sitting on Izuku’s chest a week ago—person of interest discovered .
The crimson carnation that Katsuki wore a couple days later—false lead, stand by for new intelligence .
Sometimes, an exchange of more detailed information is in order. In those cases, they orchestrate a chance to do so—arranging themselves between two conversing groups back to back so that it’s easy for one to reach for a note stuck inside the sleeve of the other’s suit. Sometimes, they simply brush against one another while passing in a corridor so a hand slips a tiny microfilm inside a pocket. Always without notice, always free of suspicion from other party guests.
For any outside observer, the two are nothing but two ambitious bachelors who happen to frequent the same high society events.
Today, Izuku has chosen his flower with care, the strikingly blue cornflower against his smoke grey suit containing a specific request. He sees Katsuki’s gaze stop at his chest before rising to his eyes, brows rising with interest.
Izuku maintains eye contact for a short moment before turning away to greet someone utterly uninteresting. He knows his message was received, and he has Katsuki’s attention now.
After about twenty minutes, Izuku decides it’s time. He traces the rim of his empty champagne glass three times with his finger, seeing from the corner of his eye that Katsuki is watching him closely, and then abandons the glass on a side table. He knows a place that’s well suited for what he has in mind.
Katsuki sees Izuku leave the room, and he can already picture where the other is going. However, he can’t follow right away so as to not attract attention. Instead, he takes a tour around the room, casually popping a canapé into his mouth and savouring the luxurious taste of foie-de-gras melting on his tongue. He allows himself to be seen on the opposite side of the room and exchanges greetings or at least polite nods with several people so they will remember him being there.
Then, he slips away as quickly as possible while seeming unhurried. He leaves the ballroom for the long corridor lined by lush floor-length curtains. There are no other people around, so he backs into a spot where he knows the curtains hide a narrow alcove, and swiftly disappears between them.
As soon as the heavy velvet obscures the glittering lights from his vision, he feels calloused hands around his face pulling him into a kiss. He gives in to the contact, melting against the warm mouth giving him such a nice welcome.
When they finally pull away, both need a moment to even out their breathing.
“So, what you got?” Katsuki asks.
“The…the duchess is the target of the next raid,” Izuku whispers back. Katsuki frowns.
“You could’ve said that in a note.”
Izuku gives him a sheepish look.
“I guess. But it’s just been so long since we could meet like this.”
Izuku presses a hand softly against Katsuki’s chest, feeling the ring that he always wore in a chain under his fine dress shirt. Out of sheer habit, Katsuki’s hand mirrors the gesture, running his fingers over the ring and enjoying how firm the metal feels even when obscured by the layer of clothing.
He would much prefer to see it dangle in the air as Izuku watches him from above, sweat clinging to bare skin. Or on his finger for everyone to see when Katsuki brings said hand to his lips to kiss Izuku’s knuckles.
They have to pretend to be strangers, uncommitted young men making a name for themselves in the world.
The sound of fireworks erupts outside. It’s the perfect moment: the guests are distracted, and the two would be able to slip back into the crowd without being noticed. Just as Katsuki is about to leave the safety of the curtains, Izuku stops him. When faced with Katsuki’s questioning look, Izuku produces a tiny orange rosebud from the inner breast pocket of his suit and slides it next to the sweet william on Katsuki’s lapel.
Katsuki scoffs at the sentimentality, but cannot leave the gesture unheeded. Before Izuku can take his leave, Katsuki detaches the sweet william and places it in the same concealed pocket where the rose had been, almost as close to Izuku’s heart as the ring.
Something to remember the evening by.