"I'm sorry, Mr Min."

I clenched my teeth, utterly sick of that phrase. Everyone felt sorry for me these days, but no one planned to do anything about it. I only wanted to vomit every time I heard the word 'pandemic'. 

"Listen, I don't wanna come inside. All I'm asking is for Jimin to join me outside and we go for a little walk."

The carer rolled his eyes—literally rolled his eyes—and repeated the speech of no visitors allowed in the current climate. 

"I have a fucking negative test result. We will be fucking outside. I even keep my fucking two-metre distance and my fucking face muzzle on. What the fuck is supposed to happen?"

"Mr Min. You don't understand…"

"That's right, I don't. Because there is no rhyme or reason to your stupid rules. Perhaps try to implement a healthy dose of logic next time?"

"Mr Min, perhaps you would want to phone your brother instead?"

No, I didn't want to phone my brother. I wanted to see Jimin. I had tried phoning him for three weeks now, but every time he was put on the call, he never said a word. I needed to know if he was okay. 

I tried to push past the potato-shaped care worker, who jumped back in surprise. I was halfway up the stairs before he grabbed me by the elbow. "Mr Min, I will call the police, if you don't stop this instant. We have rules and guidelines to adhere to, for the wellbeing of all of our residents."

Well, that is exactly why I did that stupid test, wore that stupid muzzle, and offered I'd be staying outside with Jimin—despite the rain. My eyes rolled on their own without the need of any prompting

I glared at the no-longer-so-fresh Bangtan Bar in my hands. We underwent that journey three times now, and always got the same, stupid answer. This had been enough! With one swift move, I jerked my elbow up—right into the idiot care-workers nose. There was a satisfying cracking noise, a yelp, and I bolted up the stairs. I heard another yell of "Mr Min," but I couldn't have given less of a fuck. 

Jimin's new home had looked warm and welcoming the last time I visited him. There had been a cosy looking living room, decorated in random clusters and gimmicks. None of that was to be found now. The place looked as sterile as a laboratory during summer break. 

Even the two bright yellow sofas were now covered in a plastic wrapping for more effective cleaning. I understood the reasoning—but who the fuck wanted to live like that?

Before anyone could spot me and sent me away, I rushed down the corridor to Jimin's room, where I halted for a second, pondering whether I should knock.

It would only be polite, right?

I extended my hand, knocked briefly, but didn't wait for an invite. I swung open the door and stamped inside, still out of breath from my unexpected morning exercise. 

Jimin sat cross-legged on his bed, his back to me, staring out of the window. Was it my imagination, or did he look a little frailer? 

"Jimin—hi," I stammered. It had been over a month since I'd seen my brother, although none of this had been my fault. I remembered how happy he had been to see me during his stay at the Seaside Therapy centre, but apparently, things were different this time. Jimin showed no reaction to my voice. 

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry, they wouldn't allow me to visit any sooner. The stupid virus, you know." I hesitated, then came closer as if I was approaching a wild animal. "Jimin?"

There was still no reaction. Jimin's gaze remained firmly trained on the window. 

I hovered next to him, scratching my ear. "Erm… I brought you something." But Jimin didn't even show any reaction towards the Bangtan Bar. 

"I'm just gonna place it on your bedside table then."

Jimin's bedside table held a small framed picture of the two of us, one of our parents, and a black and white shot with a bright red telephone booth in the middle. I thought I recognised the London Eye in the background but I couldn't be sure. It was too blurry. 

The photos were covered in a sheer layer of dust as if they'd send the cleaning stuff into furlough—because developing an allergy to dusk was preferable over potentially spreading the stupid virus. I patted my trousers and found an unused tissue in one of my pockets. "Better than nothing," I mumbled as I carefully wiped the table, then placed the chocolate bar between the pictures. 

There was still no reaction whatsoever from Jimin. 

I kneeled down in front of him, took his hands into mine, removed my mask, and looked him in the eyes. "Jimin? Are you okay?" 

Nothing. Jimin's gaze didn't flicker my way even once. I wondered whether he had been given the wrong medication. I checked whether his pupils were glazed, but thought he looked…well…normal. "Jimin?" I tried again, squeezing his fingers.

"Jimin, are you ignoring me?"

The first-ever reaction. A slight nod. I held his fingers a little tighter. "A-are you upset because I didn't come to see you sooner?"

Jimin's gaze shifted to the whales painted on his wall. Otherwise, there was no reaction. I sighed, got back up, "listen, buddy. I wanted to visit you sooner. I have been here on all of my off days. I tried, Jimin. But the pandemic…they wouldn't allow me inside. They still don't…I'm probably in massive trouble as we speak, because I pushed past a member of staff to get here." 

Darn…I'm probably going to be chin-deep in shit. What if they remove my visitation rights until long past this pandemic—because of violent behaviour? Shit, Yoongs…What the fuck did you think?

"I had asked to speak to you on the telephone," I pressed on. "But you never said anything. So I wasn't sure whether there was an issue…or you couldn't hear me…" 

I might just as well have talked to the wall. "Okay then," I deflated. "I guess…I will leave you alone, okay…I will try again another time." I turned to leave and was almost out the door when I threw a last glance at my brother. "I…left the chocolate on your bedside table."

With those parting words, I closed the door behind me, sighed, and slumped my shoulders. I should leave. Sneak out of there, before anyone but the potato-shaped care worker spotted me, but my feet wouldn't budge. Instead, I slumped down and hugged my knees, pondering what I could have done differently. "Fucking fuck! I…" I only wanted what was best for Jimin. Why the fuck was this so hard?

Footsteps approached from the other end of the corridor. 

"Here he is!" 

I thought I recognised the voice of potato-carer, but I couldn't be bothered looking up. "Arrest him!"

Yeah, go ahead and arrest me. See if I care. 

"Mr Min?" The other voice sounded familiar, too. I sighed and looked at Joon, who did his best to remain nonchalant, his eyes urging me to do the same. There was a second officer—his partner I guessed, who wore two masks, a face shield and rubber gloves. He'd probably bubble-wrapped himself too, if this would comply with uniform standards. I moved my own mask up to cover my nose and mouth and scratched myself off the floor. I did, however, glare at potato-carer, and was satisfied to see that he cowered ever so slightly. Deserved the fucker right. 

"Mr Min, I will have to ask you to come with us." Joon continued in his overly formal police voice. So, apparently, today was the day I not only got ignored by my brother but also arrested by my best friend. I wondered what the afternoon might have in stock for me. I had my doubts that this day could get any worse. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I grumbled. "I'm sorry I committed the crime of wanting to see my own brother,…"

"You have the right to remain silent," Joon pressed on, the tone of his voice slightly changing. You better keep your fucking mouth shut now, his eyes translated. 

I bit my lips, wondering if he'd really put me in handcuffs, but I was spared this embarrassment. Instead, Joon grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me down the stairs without uttering a single word. Darn, how does this goof manage to look so menacing?

Joon motioned for me to sit in the back of the police cruiser, behind the plexiglass wall. He then climbed into the driver seat and turned the engine, before his colleague had time to fasten his seatbelt. The two didn't exchange a word, and I couldn't be sure whether this was to keep the intimidating atmosphere, or whether they simply didn't get along. Perhaps I could ask Joon at another time. 

Funny though that the first time I was actually arrested, was also the first time I got a ride in Joon's cruiser without the sirens blaring. I guess I wasn't a dangerous enough criminal to merit flashing lights. 

The ride to the precinct was short. I'd never noticed how close Joon's workplace was to MOTS house. I mean, he had been the one recommending it, but I had never really made the connection. 

Joon grabbed me by the elbow again and I got the impression he secretly enjoyed manhandling me. We walked past a few policemen—who wore mandatory face coverings but otherwise didn't seem to have heard of social distancing—towards an indistinguishable, white door to my right.

"I got this," Joon told his partner with and raised his eyebrow. The other man trotted towards another door with the words 'staff canteen' written on it. 

I had thought Joon would cut the crap once the other police offer had left, but he pushed me into the interrogation chamber and motioned for me to plant my backside into one of the metal chairs. 

Although I wouldn't admit that out loud—not even if I was thoroughly drunk, or my life was on the line—but I was kinda scared of my best friend…and had Joon always been this freakishly tall? My heart started to pound loudly and I hoped Joon didn't hear it. 

My friend plonked into the chair across from me and folded his arms. His face was a blank slate and it couldn't tell how mad at me he truly was. 

"Fucking sake, all I wanted to do was to see Jimin," I blurted. Still, he showed no reaction. What was it with people ignoring me these days? I was growing sick of it rather swiftly. 

"You've been reported for breaking and entering." There was no hint of emotion in Joon's voice. 

"I didn't break anything," I complained, although it wasn't quite true. There had been a cracking sound when I smacked my elbow in potato-carer's nose. "The guy was a wanker," I blurted.

"The guy was doing his job," the same, toneless voice.

"Bullshit!" I sprung from my chair as if someone had set it on fire then smacked my stupid, useless negative test result—which I had paid for with my cold hard cash—on the table. Joon flinched. 

"I got fucking tested, I wore a mask, I wanted to take Jimin for a freaking walk outside. What the fuck was supposed to happen?"

Joon sighed, "I agree and so does Mr Song."

"Who the heck is Mr Song?"

"The carer whose nose you almost broke." Joon rubbed circles into his temples. "What you must understand, Yoongi, is that those guidelines are advised by the government. Even if we all agree that nothing could—or should—have happened if you took Jimin for a walk, allowing it would have been a breach of law, and Mr Song could have been in serious trouble."

"Would have, could have, should have…" I grumbled. "Can't we just focus on facts instead?"

"You don't have to tell me—or the people at MOTS house. Do you think they want to turn family away? That they want to try to explain the situation to the residents? Trying to make them understand why they cannot see their loved ones? Most residents are severely mentally disabled and have no concept of pandemics or government regulations. They simply notice a lack in visitations and feel forgotten." Joon looked at me. "This wasn't the first time I was called to MOTS house. You're not the first relative trying to force their way in. It's a horrible situation for everyone. Mr Song has no interest in pressing charges against you, but you were in no state of mind for him to try and continue reasoning with you, which is why he had to call us."

"So I won't be charged with anything?"

"You won't be charged with anything. But I do expect you to seek out Mr Song and apologise. That's the right thing to do, and you know it."

"Yes, mum."

"Talk to those people, Yoongi. It's not you against the world. You're a reasonable dude—well, most of the time—and if you don't let your temper get in the way, you'll find a lot of people actually see your point."

I bit my lip, knowing exactly what was coming next. 

"You remember when we talked about the anger management course the police is offering? We're restarting the programme in August, and…"

"But you agreed that I got a lot better," I protested. "I'm no longer the idiot who is solving every argument fists first."

There was a small smile around Joon's lips. "You got better, hyung. I wouldn't have been able to have this conversation with you a year ago and I think you're doing really well—that is, as long as there is no Jimin involved. He's your emotional TNT"

"You should see the amount of pea-brained, utterly compassionless, self-absorbed little shit-headed parasites I have to deal with. Do you have any idea how Jimin got treated? There are people in this world who are in dire need of a good, hard plonk to the head. In fact, they would benefit from it, the way I see it. It may restart some broken cogwheels."

"Contrary to popular belief, people don't usually act like idiots because they're rotten eggs, but because they don't know any better. If we tame our own tempers for a moment, and listen and educate before we argue, a lot of conflicts would get solved before they escalate."

I huffed. "Shove those big words where the sun doesn't shine."

Joon grinned. "You know I'm right."

I crossed my arms and glared at the wall behind Joon. Just because this nerd and his big words could make anything sound plausible didn't mean he automatically was always right. 

"People like you are the precise reason why some of us prefer to argue with fists," I told him. "You and your sesquipedalian word diarrhoea could convince Aristoteles that the world is flat."

Joon raised an eyebrow, his grin growing even wider, "coming from the person who is using words like 'sesquipedalian' I daresay you invalidated your own argument."

I glared at my friend. "If potato-carer isn't pressing charges, that means I'm free to re-arrange your face."

"Potato-carer?"

"Mr Song. You've seen the guy. He looks like a sack of potatoes and you know I'm bad with names."

Joon looked at me with an unreadable expression. "Sometimes I can't decide whether you're a complete dunderhead or too smart for your own good."

"You and my mum both."

Joon grimaced at the comparison. "You should work on that. Your stupid nicknames might come to bite you in the arse one day." He got up and walked to the door, "come on now. Let's get your lousy arse out of here." He turned, "and I'm signing you up for the anger management class."

I opened my mouth to protest but as we were now back in the corridor and surrounded by uniform-clad police officers with grim expressions, I decided it might be better to swallow my tongue—for now. 

"So…I'm free to leave?"

"You're free to leave," Joon confirmed. "Although personally, I'd have loved to lock you in a cell for a night or two."

"Why don't you? It's my weekend off, and as I can't see Jimin I have nothing else to do anyway." I shrugged.

"That kid is back," Joon grumbled. 

"What kid?"

"I told you about him. The self-destructive rich kid with more DUIs than common sense."

"I thought you are off his case?" I didn't know why Joon was whispering but I did the same.

"Officially, I am." My friend's appearance shifted from menacing bull to drowned poodle in the span of a millisecond. 

It was my turn to sigh. "What did you do?"

"I…just talked to him." He scratched his ear. "I only want to understand what's going on in his head. There is something, I feel it. But whatever it is that he's hiding, he's guarding it like a pit bull would guard a steak. If he'd only open up to someone…"

I shrugged. "I guess you need to accept that this someone isn't going to be you, and move on."

"woiejriojdnds!"

"What?"

"I don't want to let people down. It's not in my nature."

"No, your nature is to sacrifice your sanity to the last drop. That's not any healthier. If I'm to be signed up for anger management training, then you gotta find a self-help group for aspiring Mother Theresas."

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