There is only so much pressure a balloon can withstand before it stretches, the coloured plastic wearing thin, before it reaches its limit and sounds off with an obstinate pop that lingers long after the affect is gone.
He had to wonder that day, what it was D put in the tea that made him liken the shopkeeper's eyes to balloons. A strange thought, on a stranger day, he mused. A day commanded by comfortable silence, an unnerving occurrence for them both if the taunt sheen of D's wandering gaze were any clue. I guess D is a man after all; uncomfortable unless he's fighting, even if all he does use are words.
"I wonder, Detective, what would you do without limbs and voice?"
Blue eyes peer at the cup nestled in his hand, and back to the dark eyes dancing across his features. "I'm not going to fail a drug test am I?"
One tight, amused smile, is all that it takes to remind him that he had been thinking about balloons. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he surprises himself by smiling back without feelings of ill will. He could swear D's eyes flashed as they narrowed, if just for a second.
What would it take to pop this balloon?
"Detective?"
Leon stops then, tea cup half way between the ornate table and his relaxed lips. The china meets neither, his hand coming to rest on his knee, a rarely credited thought rouses him into aligning his gaze with that of D's.
Curiosity tilts the elegant man's head a near imperceptible degree to the left, tension visibly leaving the man's mouth though the smile remained. By the time Leon set his cup down, and laced his fingers, eyes never moving, D's smile had slipped into a press.
"Are you well, Detective? You seem at a loss for words."
He couldn't have stopped it had he tried, Leon's parted lips cracked into a real smile. D's cup made a soft clink as it met the saucer, as an equally soft chuckle rose from his throat.
"Would you care for a cherry tart, Leon?" Delicate hands gesturing to the tea cart as he stood to cut the blonde a slice.
His smile had barely morphed into a genial curve when D set the dish before him, top lashes turned down, host mask secure, as long violet nails combed his hair over an ear. Multicoloured eyes lingered a second too long on his sharp blue, though in truth a mere second was all it was, and Leon found himself pressing forward. In a breath of white tea and cigarettes he blatantly mouthed one word over the Count's lips: Pop.
This was inspired by Challenge #257, Balloon, over on LJ's PSoH Drabble community, and PSoH Side Story One.
Readers may take this short how they like, I rather follow in Ms. Akino's footsteps and not define the on-goings between the Count and his dear Detective. Besides, isn't not knowing half the fun? ;-)
Coming in at 449 words, I declare this an excerpt.