[he bends forward into Quentin's space like cattails in the breeze, the hand not touching Quentin's cheek moving to lightly rest on his shoulder. Jin Guangyao's eyebrows quirk a fraction of an inch higher at that response and justification, decidedly unconvinced, and then an additional fraction higher at that question. he smiles, closed-mouth and knowing, and lets his fingers glide into Quentin's hair.]
I think, [he begins softly, a bit coyly,] that Quentin-gongzi is trying to change the subject.
no subject
I think, [he begins softly, a bit coyly,] that Quentin-gongzi is trying to change the subject.
[pot, kettle, black, etc.]