"Morning," I grumbled as I entered the office. My colleague, Mike, glared at me for a moment but then turned to focus on his work. I guess I wasn't the most popular bloke around these days. 

Thanks to my stupid spreadsheet, another two people had been made redundant from this branch alone. I wish I'd never created that thing. 

And now, there was this email in my inbox. It had been sitting there for ages, and I tried my best to ignore it since. But today, the deadline ended, and I needed to send the reply to head office. It was their request for yet another spreadsheet. The one with an even more efficient staffing rotation. The one that would cause more people to lose their job. And apparently I was self-absorbed arsehole enough to actually have created it—but not enough to hit the sent button. Companies were sacking their employees left and right these days. Sometimes I thought this pandemic was a simple excuse for some spring-cleaning: Out with the old, who got health care and pension plans, and in with the new who were desperate enough to work for minimum wage with no benefits. My finger continued to hovered over the button. Was I turning into a shark? Or was I one of the good guys?

Had it only been me, I knew exactly what to do. But there were so many bills to pay. Until I figured out the whole Jimin situation, I simply couldn't afford not having a job. And this was exactly what would happen if I didn't deliver what they wanted.

The phone rang. 

"Min Yoongi speaking."

"Good Morning, Mr Min. This is Nurse Kang from MOTS house."

"Hello Nurse Kang, how are you? How is Jimin?" I got out of my chair and paced the dingy little office I shared with the other supervisors.

"Jimin is doing okay. He has woken up and is adjusting to the tube well."

"When you say adjusting well, are you talking mentally or physically?"

Nurse Kang sighed and I had my answers then and there. "Physically. Mentally, there hasn't been any change, I'm afraid. He's still apathetic and deteriorating."

"I…" I gulped. "I'll come and visit him after my shift today." I had visited Jimin twice since his tube was inserted. Both times, he had been lying in bed, eyes open, but staring straight ahead as if he didn't even notice any life around us. Antidepressants, the doctor had advised. Apparently, he only needed some time to adjust. 

Somehow, this didn't sit right with me though. I still wanted a second opinion and had scheduled a meeting with another doctor. But the earliest appointment I could get was in three months' time. 

"This is the reason for my call, Mr Min." Ms Kang interrupted my mental diarrhoea. "I'm afraid that due to another resident having tested positive,…"

I thought a train was running through my head because I couldn't really have heard the words I thought I had heard. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr Min. I'm not any happier about this than you are, but as per government restrictions, we all have to quarantine and no visitors will be permitted for the foreseeable future." 

"But that patient… resident… whatever. Is he on Jimin's group?"

There was a little pause. "Yes, Mr Min. I'm afraid so."

"But, but…I can't NOT visit Jimin. This would kill him. He's in the state he is due to this fucking isolation. There must be some way to make an exception."

"I wish I could, but every contact person I have phoned so far was asking me the same question."

Of course, they had. I sagged into my chair, utterly frustrated. I took my phone, threw it against the wall, screaming. I could hear Nurse Kang's tinny voice asking what happened, but I didn't respond. Instead, I pulled my hair and kicked my stupid desk. Who cared if I fucking broke my toe again. Not me, for sure!

Fear was wrapping itself around my stomach like a fist, squeezing tightly. Jimin. Another month of isolation, not seeing any family, not seeing any perspective, nothing… Would he… I bit my lips. I didn't want to allow my thoughts to drift in that direction, but I couldn't hide their ultimate truth. 

Jimin might not survive another four weeks like this. 

I knew it. I felt it in every single bone. 

I ran to my phone, picked it up and barked "hello," but Nurse Kang had already hung up. Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the bridge of my nose then dialled MOTS house's number. I wasn't supposed to make rash decisions. I was supposed to think things through, but there was no time. I couldn't. I…

Fuck…. I needed the Yoongi from last year back, who would have said 'screw 'em all,' went with his gut instinct, and trusted in the fact that things would work out one way or another. But that dude didn't know the meaning of the word responsibility even if he got hit over the head with a dictionary. 

"Good Morning, this is…"

"I need to speak to Ms Eli. Urgently."

"And who is call…"

"NOW!"

Annoying holding music came on, and I took a deep breath, trying to form the mess in my head into coherent sentences. 

"This is Ms Eli speaking."

"Hi Ms Eli, this is Yoongi… Erm… Jimin's brother."

"What can I do for you, Yoongi?"

"I…I need to hand in my resignation…erm…Jimin's resignation. He can't stay there. It's not right for him. I know that now. He can't fucking isolate any more. It would literally kill him. I'm picking him up."

There was a small pause. "I understand, Yoongi. The timing couldn't have been any worse. I wish the whole situation would have been a different one. I would suggest we have a proper sit down and talk about Jimin's needs and requirements and what's the best way to move on from here. Have you ever taken care of a feeding tube yourself?"

Of course I hadn't, and of course, there was now a completely different list of medical requirements attached to Jimin's care. What was I thinking?

"I…I can learn, can't I?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. 

"This is my brother. I'm his guardian. I have rights. And I'm picking him up. I'm on my way now." I hung up the phone, then rushed from the office and I poked my head into the sorting room. "I gotta go for the day. Sorry," I barked, but didn't wait for Mike's response. I ran from the building. Outside was a delivery van. Technically, my licence's suspension ended yesterday. Granted, I still needed to pick it up from the station, but I didn't have time for that shit. I threw the door open, jumped behind the wheel, then turned the ignition. So what if people had to wait for their stupid letters a few hours extra. Everything was messed up these days anyway.

I pressed the pedal, and on screeching tyres, the van rushed to MOTS house—or at least I tried to. It was nine am, and traffic was a freaking nightmare. But worse were the images circling my mind. Other than worrying about my brother, I couldn't stop seeing Scooter-dude and the elderly lady. Their mangled bodies, hearing them wheezing out their last breaths… Without realising what I was doing I stepped on the brake. Hard.

I just tried to catch my breath when there was a crashing sound and the van jerked forward. There was the blaring of a horn. Someone had crashed into me. Shit. 

I should get out, check if anyone got hurt. I needed to get to Jimin. Fuck, what was I supposed to do?

Sweat dribbled down my forehead as I turned the ignition again. With a shaking foot, I pushed the pedal into submission and sped forwards. I needed to get to MOTS house, I needed to get Jimin, and then I would return and would sort out anything else. Once I had Jimin, I would be able to think straight again. 

The van jerked around the road as if driven by a chimpanzee on crack. I used to be a good driver, but I had lost that skill somewhere along with my sanity. What the fuck was I even doing?

Somehow, without causing another accident, I made it to MOTS house, jumped out of the car, and rushed into the building. 

"I'm here to pick up my brother and you can't stop me," I barked at Banana-boy who was already coming my way, ready to lecture me that I shouldn't be here. 

I ran up three flights of stairs, not feeling out of breath whatsoever. Adrenaline must have a party inside my body.

"I'm here to pick up Jimin," I barked again as I entered the group. Ms Eli stood, waiting for me, and next to her was Nurse Kang, her dimples hiding behind a frown. In front of them was a wheelchair, and in it sat a slumped, phlegmatic form with glassy eyes and drooling lips. I almost didn't recognise my own brother. 

"I emailed you a guide with care instructions," Nurse Kang said. 

"I'm still hoping for a proper catch-up, Yoongi. So that we find the best possible long-term option for your brother. For now, I would need you to sign the release papers, here and there," she pointed at a document that I didn't bother to read. "Please, feel free to call whenever you have a question. Just because you take your brother home doesn't mean you're alone in this. We still care about his well being."

I looked at my brother and bit my tongue as not to blurt out what I thought about their care for my brother's wellbeing. In the end, nothing had been their fault. It was this fucked up situation. If I wanted to blame anyone, it would have to be incompetent politicians who didn't think about a person's individual needs before they rolled out rules and restrictions, only so they could tell themselves they did their job.

I grabbed the wheelchair handles and rolled Jimin towards the lift. Ms Eli and Nurse Kang followed, carrying Jimin's belongings as well as some medical equipment he would need. I could probably expect to find a salty bill in my inbox soon. How come they never sent one of those to my parents in error?

Thank hell, everything fitted into the delivery van, and I was soon on my way home. Jimin, now on the passenger seat with the wheelchair stored in the back between boxes, bills, and birthday wishes, remained stoic and quiet, and I wonder whether he actually realised what was going on. 

Where would I even put him? My studio was too small to fit the chair left or right. I would have to get rid of my bed for my brother to be able to move around. What had I been thinking?

Well, I hadn't. I hadn't been thinking at all. 

A siren blared behind me and I drove to the side to let it pass. But it didn't. Instead, It took over, signalling me to stop the car. 

Shit. 

For the second time, I found myself in the interrogation room of Joon's precinct. Just this time, it wasn't my friend interviewing me, but a random, sour-looking officer, who didn't want to hear any explanation for my behaviour. 

"You stole a mail van. Property of the mail office," he insisted for the third time, not interested in my side for the story. 

"At least tell me where you put my brother. In case you haven't noticed, he isn't well." I snapped. 

"Your brother is being looked after. Now, if you comply, so we can get this issue sorted—and can all go home soon."

I huffed and glared at the dude. "Fine. I took the van. I shouldn't have. I will apologise to my employer and get this fuck-show sorted. Happy?" I crossed my arms. 

"You had a hit and run on Hill Road…."

"I'm aware, thank you."

"… On a suspended license."

I jumped up. "My license is no longer suspended. I only hadn't had the time to pick it from…"

"As long as it hasn't been collected from the correction office, it's a suspended license," the officer insisted and scribbled something on a paper. Paper… who still used this shit in the time of tablets?

"Fuck my life," I muttered under my breath, hoping against hope officer stupid hadn't heard me. 

In the end, I had another criminal record, an extension on my license suspension, a fucking fine. Work had called me, and now I also had a formal invitation to a meeting with HR and the big boss tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, Jimin was lying on my bed, and I tried to attach the liquid food to the feeding tube with help from a YouTube tutorial. Jimin had yet to speak a single word. But he still didn't look like he was mentally here. 

"You deserved better than this," I told him, fully well aware that it was my fault he was in a situation as horrendous as this. Mine, and this fucking pandemic's.

How foolish we had all been, thinking this would be over within a couple of weeks. I barked a laugh. 

*

For the first time, I felt karma was actually on my side. Yes, I got reprimanded at work, and yes, I would have to pay for the damage caused to the delivery van, and yes, big-boss had literally bit my head off three times over, but the punishment I received was the best thing that could have happened to me. A two-week suspension. 

It wasn't that I didn't want to go to work. But with Jimin back home, this came in more than handy. 

I cowered and I bowed and I apologised to everyone within the meeting profusely, but at the same time, did my best to hide my smile. In the end, they had done me the biggest favour. 

With a spring in my step, I got back home, almost stumbling over Jimin's wheelchair which was parked just outside my door. I was glad that Jimin didn't really need it often. "He might need it occasionally still, so you better keep it still," Ms Eli had advised me. "But Jimin will hopefully make a swift recovery, now with the help of the tube."

Swift recovery meant gaining weight and going to therapy. It meant being fed through the tube twice a day.

I opened the door. Jimin was still on my bed, but awake, and busy staring at the wall. I dumped the mail I had picked up on my way over, and sat down on the bed's edge.

"Hi Jimin. How are you?"

Jimin looked at me, blinked. Then went back to staring at the wall. 

I knew to expect that, but it hurt nevertheless. Biting my lip, I reached for my phone. Ms Eli had advised me to call her to discuss things with Jimin further, and I guess it was in my brother's best interest if I didn't let any time go to waste.

The phone rang twice before Ms Eli picked up. "Yoongi," she said. "How lovely to hear from you."

"Hi, Ms Eli. You asked me to give you a call."

"Indeed. I wanted to discuss with you Jimin's further care and adjustments."

"I know now how to clean a feeding tube. I watched the YouTube tutorial Nurse Kang had recommended."

"Jimin's care is more than looking after his feeding tube. In fact, I hope he won't need it for that long."

"But it's a permanent thing, isn't it? If you didn't want to install a feeding tube permanently, you'd shove it down the patient's nose." I read up on this.

"See it has a little helper in place, whenever Jimin becomes depressive and non-responsive. But the aim is to get him to eat his meals normally whenever possible." 

I nodded. I had had my own share of depression to fight in my younger years, and I guess kinda had some ideas about what it might feel like. I felt useless, not worthy; I was adopted, never good enough, and like Jimin, I had trouble articulate what bothered me. I had been rather aggressive at the time, always in the principal's office for one thing or another. Because I started a fight because I dunked another kid's head into the toilet because I threw a classmate into the dumpster. Half of the time I hadn't even known why I did those things. There had been this unexplainable anger within me, and leashing out helped me getting it released. 

It was only when one of the older kids took me along to an after school rap-battle, that I found a new hobby and a new way to deal with shit. Writing lyrics helped me identifying and articulating my worries. 

But Jimin…He may have been a journalist once, but these days he struggled with his own name. He wouldn't write lyrics to express what's wrong within. 

"It doesn't have to be lyrics writing. It's great that you discovered this skill for yourself, Yoongi, but perhaps your brother might be interested in playing an instrument, or perhaps he likes to draw and paint?" Ms Eli's voice brought me back to the present day. "Is there anything, in particular, he likes doing?"

"Well, he was painting at MOTS house, wasn't he? And he got into that state anyway." Jimin had been painting bees and ladybugs on flowerpots, which were sold to a local garden shop. I daresay he had enjoyed his work while it lasted, but thanks to the situation, the little pottery could keep taking any MOTS house workers, and Jimin had to remain in the group home day in and out. 

"If he hadn't lost his job…," I trailed off.

"Jimin hasn't lost his job." Ms Eli said. "The pottery will be able to accept a small group of people coming back from next month. I'm happy to put Jimin's name on the list."

"But…Jimin doesn't live at MOTS house any longer?"

"One doesn't have to live here to join our day group activities or work in one of our placement groups, Yoongi. That's what I was trying to talk to you about when you came to pick up Jimin."

"So… you're saying, Jimin can still come to work, and basically have supervision throughout the day, and will come home… to my place every evening?"

"Exactly. There are meals provided during working hours. If needed, there are staff able of assisting with the feeding tube."

"That…actually sounds like the best of both worlds."

"I'm glad you think so, Yoongi. Would you like me to submit Jimin to the work unit?"

I wanted to say yes. I really really did. I wouldn't need to find supervision for Jimin. He still had the chance for a life of his own, it was just… "What are the working hours there?"

"The pottery opens at nine. The employees work until ten-thirty when there is time for a toilet break and a little snack. They resume at eleven and work until twelve-thirty when there will be lunch. Lunch break lasts an hour. From one thirty to three is either another work session or therapy, depending on the employee's personal development plan."

I bit my lip, watching my brother who was sitting on the bed, listlessly turning pages in a random magazine that had been shoved through my mailbox this morning, amongst some other junk mail and two bills I still didn't know how to pay. This sounded exactly like the thing Jimin needed. Heck, it had been one of the reasons why I took Jimin to MOTS house in the first place. Care, therapies… they could provide all the things I had no clue about. And for a moment, there had been a way to have all of this while living with me. 

"Darn…" I cursed. "This would have been perfect for him, but…" With the additional months added to my suspension, there was no getting Joon's car, and no quickly driving around town. And I didn't think Jimin was able to transfer between three different busses to make the journey by himself. "I don't think I'll be able to take him there and pick him up every day. Is there a change, he comes, like once a week or so?" All Jimin had done for the last few hours was either staring at a wall or looking at the same stupid magazine over and over again. I hadn't been able to get him to do anything else. And in all honestly, with my own shitload of trouble, hadn't had the patience required for the task.

"You need not worry about this. As I've mentioned, several people within our work programmes live at home. There are two pick-up vans in the morning, that collect them at home, and drive them to the workplace. The address we have on file for you is within our district."

"So Jimin would be picked up at my place every morning. And driven to work?"

"Indeed. We have a similar service in the afternoon. Jimin would be brought home, depending on the driver's route, between four and four fifteen."

"That would be awesome! If that can be arranged, this would be the best!"

"Sure, Yoongi. I'll get Mr Kwon to send through the paperwork, and Jimin can start from September. By then, he should have recovered enough."

I thanked Ms Eli, hung up the phone, then turned to my brother. Jimin seemed to be done with the magazine for now, and was instead of pulling on a loose thread on my pillowcase. He was dressed in a pair of red pyjamas—currently his favourite colour, the feeding tube out of sight. He almost looked…normal. His cheeks were a little too gaunt for my liking, but Jimin had started to drink his tea again. And I guess this evening, I would try to get him to eat a few spoonfuls of rice. 

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