“So. Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi slumps in his chair, studiously looking anywhere but at the uniformed man sitting across from him, thumbing through an enormously thick manilla folder. He does his level best to project an air of nonchalance, as much as the handcuffs attached to a thick ring on the edge of the table will allow him. Under the table, though, his right knee is bouncing a mile a minute.

The man is taking his time looking through every single piece of Yoongi’s extensive file. Finally, with a deep sigh, he slaps it closed.

“Min Yoongi,” he says again.

Yoongi lifts his eyes lazily, eyeing the officer silently.

“You’ve had… quite a career here, if you can call it that.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond. The man opens the folder again with another sigh.

“Theft. Fraud. Fraud. Fraud by deception. Fraud. Conspiracy with the intent to defraud. Bribery. Tax evasion. Forgery. Identity fraud. Fraud. Fraud. Fraud.” The man rattles off the list as he flips over each thick, clipped sheaf of paper.

“And that’s just what we can prove. Seeing as the oldest incident here is over 10 years old, I’m sure you pulled off a lot more before we caught on and started tracking you.” He closes the folder again and rests his hands on it.

“You know as well as I do that if we hadn’t caught you in the act this time, this list would have kept going. Before too long, you’d have gotten yourself into some real serious trouble.”

Yoongi smirks. All right. This guy was going to play the buddy-buddy role.

“Isn’t it great that we’ve caught him now. I bet a good talking to is all this young man needs to turn his life around. This arrest has given him a good scare. We’ll just let him go now. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.”

The man smirks, too, and leans back in his own chair.

“Nice try, son.”

Yoongi blanches, eyebrows shooting up, then composes himself quickly.

The officer - Officer O’Sullivan, Yoongi can read on his name tape now - laughs lightly and angles his body so Yoongi can see his shoulder. The patch displayed on the upper right arm of his uniform is silver, embroidered with a shield.

“You don’t think we’d send just anyone in here to deal with you, not when we’ve got a file four inches thick on your activities over the last ten years? Your tricks won’t work on me.”

Yoongi grits his teeth. A Men Def officer. Of course. He curses himself internally for his rookie mistake. This arrest has given him a good scare, but he’ll be damned if he lets this guy know it.

“Besides,” O’Sullivan continues. “Why do you think we have your hands chained down? It’s certainly not because I’m afraid of you.”

O’Sullivan is six feet tall if he’s an inch, and to Yoongi’s eyes, looks nearly as broad. His biceps strain the confines of his shirt.

“No wonder I didn’t suspect Men Def,” Yoongi thinks. “They’re usually willowy little nothings.”

“I know for a fact, Mr. Min, that you’re not strong enough to pull off what you just tried, even if I wasn’t a Mental Defender.”

Yoongi’s chin shoots up in defiance.

“Not without putting your hands on me, anyway,” the officer continues, pulling a small notebook from his pocket and flipping it open. “I’ve got a whole list of you can’t do.” He shakes his head, tsking. “You’re weak, Min Yoongi.” He stares dead across the table at him and Yoongi stares right back, both legs bouncing now. “You’re weak, and it was only a matter of time before we caught you. Do you know, you didn’t even have to slip up for us to catch you. No, that’s how we catch the pros . You left a bright red blazing trail right behind you. We let you keep going, just for fun . Just to stack the deck and bury you like a tent spike.”

Yoongi’s teeth are grinding now, the sparkle in the officer’s eyes driving right under his skin.

He forces boredom into his tone as he finally responds. “So? You caught me playing some tricks. Big deal. Surely that doesn’t warrant all of this.” He gestures to the cold grey interrogation room with his head, encompassing the two additional officers posted at the door, and probably more behind the two way mirror directly across from him. He considers yawning, but figures it would be overkill.

“Some tricks.” O’Sullivan snorts.

“I’m adorable and people like me and want to give me things.” Yoongi bats his eyelashes.

O’Sullivan rolls his eyes. “You and I both know that’s not your game.”

“Do you?,” Yoongi asks, eyes innocently widened.

The officer sighs again. It seems to be a habit with him. “You and I both know that’s not your game, but if we could prove you were using your powers for these tricks , we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“So why are we having this conversation?,” Yoongi asks, bored. He pretends to examine his nails.

“Because we have an offer for you, Min Yoongi.” Officer O’Sullivan stands and raps twice on the two-way mirror. “Even without solid proof that you used your powers to pull off these crimes --”

“Gifts,” Yoongi interjects. “Gifts for being adorable.” He leans down to the edge of the table so he can frame his face with his hands and bats his lashes again.

“Even without solid proof,” O’Sullivan continues, louder. “We have enough evidence of minor crimes to take you off the streets for quite a while, when it’s all added up. And wh