Well, if the jig is up, you might as well get yourself some comfortable breathing room anyway.
With some clever rotating, you push yourself out of the young man's sleeve and out into fresh air, landing right on a very nice mahogany desk.
The young man is currently staring very hard at the open window and avoiding the gaze of the person who you assume is Fo-ye.
You spin yourself around to get a better look at the man called Fo-ye (and isn't that a strange name? Master Buddha? You wonder what he did to earn that title).
Your first impression of him is that he's intimidating.
Dressed in an olive vest over a white buttonup and a neat dark tie, Fo-ye has a handsome, severe sort of face, all clean lines and sharp angles, softened only slightly by the shape of his eyes. His brows are straight, his nose high and defined, his jaw strong beneath neatly kept dark hair.
Much like the young man, his eyes attract your attention; but where the young master's eyes are ink-dark and carry mischief, Fo-ye's eyes are steady and deep, like a quiet winter night filled with stars.
Fo-ye: ...Youheng.
The young man looks back at him slowly, and you realise that this is his name. You've learned your young master's name!
Fo-ye arches a single brow at the young man -- Youheng, at Youheng, you correct yourself mentally.
They hold each other's gaze for a few more seconds, during which you take the opportunity to roll around and explore the table a bit more. Despite not breaking the stare-off, the two of them are still able to accurately block you from rolling off the table or onto Fo-ye's documents whenever you attempt to do so.
Eventually, Youheng relents and raises his hands in surrender.
Youheng: I found it on the street! It was so miserable in that rain. You know I can't bear to see others suffering.
You spin yourself in agreement. Your young master has been very nice to you so far, even letting you mooch off of his yang energy.
Fo-ye gives him A Look again. It's an expression filled with partial disbelief, partial resignment, and partial I-know-you're-not-telling-me-something.
Youheng: ...Okay, and maybe it feed off of yang energy.
Fo-ye: I suppose that's why you look more tired than usual.
Youheng: I may have let it feed off of my yang energy, yes.
Fo-ye: ...
Youheng: That's really it, Qishan. Anything else would be family matters.
They hold each other's gaze for a while longer, long enough that you start debating the pros and cons of attempting to leave the room on his own.
Fo-ye exhales slowly and extends a hand towards Youheng, palm facing upwards. A myriad of emotions flutter across your young master's face (none of which you're able to catch) before he takes Fo-ye's hand with a chuckle.
Youheng: Offering yourself up? I'd worry about my health first if I was you, Fo-ye.
Youheng: If you keep leaving your window open on rainy nights, you're going to catch a cold.
Fo-ye: It's no trouble for me.
They remain like that for a while longer, Youheng quietly drawing warmth from Fo Ye's palm. Neither seems particularly conscious of the way their hands are joined. To them, it seems no more intimate than offering a coat against the cold.
When they eventually part, Youheng lets out a soft breath and rolls his shoulders back. The nearly-undetectable tension in his features has disappeared, leaving him looking almost languid with relief, like a pleased fox.
Fo-ye: I had the servants prepare your usual room for you.
Youheng: Am I not the one who usually just barges in to stay here? My worldview can't stand these many changes in one night.
Fo-ye: You didn't really think I was the type to throw you out when you were sick, did you now?
Youheng: Mmmm...
Youheng drags out that hum for a while before laughing, presumably at some sort of miniscule change on Fo-ye's face that you didn't notice.
Youheng: Of course not!
Youheng: I suppose I'm just used to being the one running around.
Fo-ye: ...Hm.
Youheng scoops you up from the table and starts to exit the office.
Youheng: Well then, good-night, Fo-ye.
Youheng: By the way, I named this little one Xiao Qiuqiu.
Fo-ye: ...Little ball?
Youheng: Yep! Don't I have a great sense for names?
Fo-ye: If it makes you happy to hear that.
Youheng: Now, what's that supposed to mean, hm?
Cradling you in his hand, Youheng steps out of the office, face still contorted in mock-offence.
[tbc]