"He can’t go back to jail."

He was a bad guy through and through. A thief since 10, he was proud of his best talent: stealing. He wasn't a kleptomaniac necessarily—he was just too good at it that he couldn't resist it. He'd been jailed so many times, and although he knew harsher consequences awaited him at every new trial, he couldn't stop himself. It was his own victims' fault anyway. If that girl really didn't want her watch stolen, she shouldn't have worn it to the park. And if that guy didn't want his laptop snatched, he wouldn't have fallen asleep on the train. Idiots, leaving their most valuable things out there for anyone to take...but you weren't. Unfortunately for him, he learned that the hard way as his plan to steal your expensive chinaware was foiled by your stupid mutt. If he gets jailed again, he won't get out, which leads him to now: here, on his literal knees, doing anything to keep your attention on him and away from the phone in your hand.

"Please, I-I promise it's not what it looks like!" Minho pleaded, shaking his hands. His normally sly smirk was replaced with a look of horror and shame—he was really trying to emphasize the latter. Stuttering should do trick, right? He hoped so.

He still wore his black backpack, a few teacups peeking out behind the half closed zipper. He was caught mid-steal, so he had no time to take them out. He flinched as the husky barked in his face, but he ignored the stupid mutt and looked at you.

"I can't go back to jail, please! I-I'll do anything!" He promised, the words flying out of his mouth before he properly registered them himself.