Title: Not In Love With You

Author: Enaty

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Leon and D.

Claimer: Their thoughts are mine.

Author's Notes: There's a great difference between being in love and feeling love towards someone. So please remember to read this carefully. ;-P

Not In Love With You

I'm not in love with you. It may look and sound different sometimes, but I am not in love with you, nor have I ever been. You do sometimes look enticing, but of being in love there can't be talk. I enjoy your company, without any doubt; "being in love", however, isn't what I feel for you.

I'm not in love with you either. People think that I am, like right now, because we're strolling down the street, and I'm again carrying your stupid picnic basket, but I'm not doing it because you're so fragile or look so pretty, or whatever stupid reason people usually think up, I'm doing it because you again beat me at cards. I hate that you can always beat me at cards, and I hate your damn smirk every damn time even more, but overall, it's okay. I can carry your basket; after all, you once again fed me from it although you don't have to.

People look at us as usual; but they're not only looking at me lately, they're looking at both of us. It's mostly the girls who start beaming seeing us, but there are others as well who aren't as happy as they are. Some are appalled, I can see it in their eyes as we continue our way back to the shop. The dear citizens of Chinatown aren't used to their gods befriending humans, much less American humans, and they're appropriately – well, you'd say "pissed", just because you know I hate that vulgar language of yours, but in this case, it's fitting. They're pissed because they think there is more between us, that we are in love with each other, without realising that we aren't.

People keep watching us wherever we go these days, and the look on their faces says all. Some think we're a cute couple, and some are pissed as hell that we're spending so much time together. Yesterday, when I was grabbing a bite to eat at some take-away, I overheard two girls talking in a corner. They were fawning over your "raven hair" and "mysterious discoloured eyes" and your "amazing clothes" which "hug your figure just right". Then they giggled like anything, and continued, this time with me. They talked about my "sun-kissed skin" and "strong embrace" in which you "just have to feel safe", 'cause it happens that you're twenty centimetres less than I am. Girls are so full of romantic shit, though I'd bet anything you'd find it cool. You like romance, you little girl. And you like creating images in their minds, but I have stopped wondering why I'm playing along just so you can have your fun; I've started to find it funny as well, the rumours and looks.

There are whispers behind our backs as we walk by the shops in Chinatown, down the sidewalk, and finally reach my doors. You seldom understand what people are saying, because they're talking Chinese, and if you would, I bet you'd be embarrassed. Especially the girls are all head over heels for you, because of your blue eyes and blonde hair. They envy me for being able to touch it, to touch you like I want to. At least, like I want to in their imagination. I have actually touched your hair, once, because you had managed, however you did that, to get bubble gum into it, and I had to cut it out. You were angry at me for days afterwards because I had to cut off so much, but that really wasn't my fault at all. It was your own disability to watch out for yourself, and at least in this they're right, because I do like to watch out for you a little bit. You're such a big baby sometimes, you almost trigger my maternal instincts, like a little pup. I like being able to help you, whether with your cases or with daily life, and without knowing it, you reward me with a gift as precious as it can be. I am seldom able to believe I have earned it, but it's not what they whisper about. Being in love.

There's it again, this whisper that I know. I can't understand a word of what they're saying, but the meaning's crystal clear to me nevertheless. They like us. "Us" as in "Count D and Leon Orcot as a couple". I can barely suppress a snort. If I were to describe our relationship, it's more of a owner-pet thing, although I hate to admit that you're treating me like a pup sometimes. Like that time when that bastard smeared bubble gum into my hair and you bitch cut almost half of it down. I needed half a year to grow it back to the old length. Or that time when I was running late to work a whole week because my alarm clock stopped in the middle of the night and I couldn't get it working again, and you started calling me every morning. Wake-up call, so to say. I almost wish you hadn't done that; Jill was at my ass for weeks about that, saying this was ultimate proof that there's more between us than what we let on. Luckily I know she's wrong. Sounds mean, perhaps, to destroy her hopes, but hell, am I to fulfill her wishes just because she's infatuated with the idea of us being a couple? I don't even know how you'd react should I try to kiss you, and I'd feel more'n awkward, truly, so there's no point in giving that a go. Although I think you'd look funny; just because you'd know it's not what it looks like. What people think it looks like. Yeah, being in love, like hell. They just can't tell the difference.

I glance to the side as I unlock the door. You have a sparkle in your eyes, and the corners of your mouth are twitching as if you're thinking funny thoughts. I think I can even hear you chuckling quietly, and the sidelong glance you give me tells me why. I cannot help but smile, too, as I open the door fully to allow you to step inside, accompanying it with words. "Please, Mr. Detective, do come in. I have ordered several new teas which I'd like to try. If you'd care to join me?" I can see a glimpse of one curious girl that has followed us enough to be able to watch us descend, and I flutter my lashes at you, just for her. It almost makes you burst with laughter, but you're able to keep yourself under control until you're inside and I have closed the door to curious eyes. They're going to talk about it today evening, the whole of Chinatown. At every dinner table we will be the topic, we and the fact that you again stepped into my "trap of love", as they call it, for lack of knowledge of what's really going on. "D, you really are a bitch," you say, amused to no end, as you set down the picnic basket on the sofa. "Why are you so intend on everyone thinking that you're gay, anyway?" I smile and do not answer; I don't have a special reason for that, apart perhaps from the fact that I like the quiet amusement this behaviour causes in you. I like you laughing at the stupidity of others, because you have so few to laugh in your job and everyday life. I like seeing your heart lighten, and I try to do what I can to ease it. Your gaze meets mine, and I read in your eyes that you understand why I do this. Why love in our case will never mean "being in love".

-End-

Author's Notes: After a long(?) time a life-sign from my side... I don't want to go into details, just that much: I am working again on all of my stuff now, but was, for several reasons, unable to work on anything for the past two months. So yeah, there is a sequel planned for the ICP series, it even has come as far as getting a name (that being "Unchangeable"), but please have patience with someone who's had a few tough weeks.

As for further information about anything, consulting my profile page is always a clever idea ^^