Minseok frowned at the sheaf of accounts papers in his hand, Yixing watching him carefully for a response.

“These have been fiddled,” Minseok declared eventually, scooting his chair back over to his desk and logging into his computer.  “The end result doesn’t tally with the investment and profit that they’ve pulled in over the course of the year.”

“I thought so,” admitted Yixing.  “But the problem is, where do you think the money might have gone?”

“You mean, are the accountants aware or oblivious?”  Minseok yawned, glancing at his watch.  It had been a very long Friday, and he and Yixing had both pushed the boring stuff until last.  Fraudulent company accounts, as Minseok put it, wasn’t even where the fun was at if you were going to commit fraud, and he was speaking from experience.  “I’m honestly too tired to even hazard a guess.”

After a moment or two, Yixing started chuckling.  “We should really stop diving straight back into office work after completing missions, shouldn’t we?”

Minseok gave him a mock glare.  “Yes, Yixing, we really should.  I’ve always thought you were part machine, but I really think it’s time to get you DNA tested to prove you’re actually a cyborg.”

Yixing’s laugh became full blown.

“I don’t understand how you can be so happy when you nearly got blown up this morning,” Minseok grumbled, rubbing his eye with a tired hand before absently starting to file the papers away for the next day.  “It’s creepy.”

“He’s always been like that, though,” commented Jongdae’s voice from the doorway.  “Knock knock,” he added as an afterthought.

Minseok yawned.  “I know he’s always been like that.”

Yixing laughed again before turning to the newcomer.  “What’s up?  I thought you clocked out at seven today.”

Following the arrest of Minseok’s blood brother Luhan eight years previously, Lay had been promoted rapidly to the deputy chief of police in Seoul, but he’d subsequently been head hunted by the police department in Busan to become their chief.  Thinking it would be nice to get out of Seoul for several years, he’d taken it up, and Jongdae had come with him because they’d both insisted they were a package deal.  It had also made it much easier to keep an eye on Minseok’s wife, Semi, who had been relocated to Busan as the final stage of the witness protection programme that had rather unconventionally allowed Minseok to meet her in the first place.

“Daehyun wasn’t feeling well, so I sent him home instead.”  Jongdae wrinkled his nose.  “Minseok, Seulgi says she’s planning to drop by next week.  And, er, well, I had a phone call from Ryeowook just now, and we have a problem.  Two problems.”

Yixing sobered up at once.  “What are they?”

“Problem number one,” Jongdae glanced at Minseok, “is that there are apparently rumours that the Sangchu person from Mighty Mouth is back in Korea, and he’s searching for something.  We don’t know what.  But it’s probably not good.”

Yixing also glanced at Minseok, who took a deep breath.

“It’s more likely to involve Luhan than me, if it has anything to do with that,” Minseok said, “but it’s not good, and it would do Asia a favour if he could be taken out.”

“What’s the other problem?” Yixing asked.

This time, Jongdae gave Minseok a much longer look.

“Luhan’s escaped from prison.”

It was almost eleven when Minseok got back home, practically dead on his feet.  He only got as far as half-loosening his tie before he just gave up, forgetting to take his shoes off as he yawned his way through the front hall, by-passing the kitchen in favour of going straight to bed.  The house was a nice one located in suburban Busan – after hearing Semi’s stories about the places her friends had lived during her nine months in the States before they had got married, he had insisted they have a proper space to raise a family.  Semi hadn’t seen the issue with living in an apartment in the city centre since they only had one five-year-old child at the time, but Minseok had won the argument with a pointed “imagine three Jaehwans and imagine them all at fifteen”, and two months later, they were moving house.

Minseok was still just about awake enough to stop off in the bedroom of his oldest child, who was now eight.  He couldn’t exactly classify his relationship with Jaehwan as awkward, but it definitely wasn’t as smooth as it could have been.  He’d barely known the boy at all until he’d hit five, and Jaehwan had reached the age where all children were asking awkward questions, and the boy wanted to know where his father had been for the first five years of his life.  It had been difficult enough giving him the honest answer of “prison”, but explaining why was something Minseok still didn’t have the courage to do, even though he insisted that it had to be him rather than Semi.  Deep down, he was ashamed of his previous way of life, and the prospect of letting his children in on what he had been scared him.  It somehow felt even worse since Jaehwan was so proud of telling his friends that his father worked in the police force.

Jaehwan had fallen asleep with his supposedly confiscated Gameboy across his face, one arm over his chest and the other flung out to the side.  With a soft, fond sigh, Minseok went further into the room and removed the electronic device, plugging it into its charger and setting it down on the boy’s bedside table.  Semi was much stricter about upholding punishments than he was, and he knew that Jaehwan wasn’t supposed to have it back until Sunday morning because Semi had caught him playing on the Gameboy at two in the morning two days previously, so the boy must have found the box under his parents’ bed where Semi normally hid the things she’d confiscated.

Stifling another yawn, Minseok carefully pulled the duvet out from under Jaewan’s sleeping form and tucked him in, pushing his hair back from his forehead to plant a soft kiss there, and then quietly left the room.  Just one door down was the room that he shared with Semi.  The light was already off, so he pushed the door open as quietly as he could.

A small nightlight by the cot of their two-year-old daughter Jaera ju