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"Good afternoon, this is Ms Hannah Winter calling from BigHit Motors. Am I speaking to Mr Min Yoongi?" 

"Erm, yes?" I couldn't quite place the straight-to-the-point accent at the other end of the line. Neither did I have a car, nor had I signed up to any of their newsletters. How had they obtained my details?

"Wonderful, Mr Min. I'm calling you because of the job application you submitted on twenty-first August."

Immediately, I straightened my posture. "Um, yes, thank you for calling back." Someone really called me back! And shit! What type of job had I even applied for?

"I'm calling to enquire when you would be free for an interview?"

"Umm, I'm on the late shift this and next week, and could do either nine or ten o'clock?"

The line went quiet for a moment. Had I been cut off?

"What about Tuesday at eight-thirty am? Would that work for you?"

"I can do that," I agreed. 

"Wonderful, Mr Min. I shall schedule you in. Please be punctual and ask for myself. I'll be forwarding an email with all details."

"Thank you very much, Ms…" Fuck what was her name again? "I…look forward to it."

"Wonderful, Mr Min. I shall see you on Tuesday."

I hung up and immediately checked my emails. That lady's email, of course, had not come through as of yet. I hoped she also included a job description to whatever I applied for, because I really hadn't been picky.

I kept on refreshing my emails for thirty minutes, waiting for the email to come through but no avail. I checked my junk folder, but it wasn't there either. Had I potentially misspelled my email address? Had that lady misspelled it? Should I call back BigHit Motors? Or would that look too desperate? Whom was I even supposed to ask for?

Nevertheless, I texted Sookie with the good news, sure she would be just as excited as me. 

My phone ding'ed a second later. Sookie had sent me an emote wearing a bloody birthday hat as only answer. What the heck was that supposed to mean? Why could this bloody woman not use her words to communicate with me?

I groaned, whacked my forehead, then allowed myself to fall back onto my bed…only to be bit in my shoulder. "Ouch!"

"You are heavyyyyyy!" Complained Jimin who was squeezed underneath me. There was another bite, this time to my neck. 

"Stop that!"

"Get up."

"Nope!"

"Hyuuung!" 

"Make me!"

That had been the wrong thing to say. Jimin didn't hesitate for a second, and kicked me off the bed, so that I thumped to the floor and almost hit my head at the refrigerator. Jimin squealed in delight. "Hyung, you looked so funny. Do that again."

I rubbed my aching bum, "I rather not, thank you."

Jimin hopped up on the bed and started jumping up and down on the mattress. "This is how your face looked," he squealed, then dived off the bed. 

Then, everything happened just a little too fast. I tried to catch him. But before I had time to lift my hands, Jimin had already hit the fridge forehead first. There was a loud bang, then there was a loud scream and then, lots and lots of blood. "Jimin!" Shit! 

"Is okay." My brother nodded after having recovered from his initial shock. "I'm a headbang expert. I do that often."

"You shouldn't be doing this often. This is not healthy for you."

"The people at work give me chocolate when I bang my head."

I made a mental note to speak to those people at work. So that was the reason why I received a prescription for a soft shell safety helmet that Jimin was required to wear for work from now on. ₩975,000 out of my pocket for medical gear—to feed a chocolate addiction.

With a wet cloth, I carefully patted Jimin's forehead until the bleeding stopped. The wound itself wasn't very large, and I didn't think it would need stitches, so I put a plaster on top.

"Do I get chocolate now?"

"For hurting your head on purpose? Nope."

Jimin looked at me as if I just kicked a puppy, but I remained firm. Inside, I felt a volcano brewing, though. First the self-starvation for attention, now the self-injuring for chocolate… Was it…normal…for people like Jimin to go for such extremes? 

"But Yooooonglesss, it hurts soooo soooo much."

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it? I didn't ask you to jump off the bed."

Jimin's grin grew wide. "I bet I looked super-funny. The next time I do that you gotta film me, hyung."

I suppressed an eye-roll. "How about you're getting ready. Your hippy van is almost here."

"The driver is called Dok."

"Whatever. You're not even wearing your socks yet, so chop chop."

"I don't like wearing socks," Jimin protested, but put on a pair anyway. "I'm ready now."

"You sure?" I folded my arms and tilted my head, looking my brother up and down. Jimin mirrored the action. "I need to wear my raincoat?" 

"The sun is shining. Try again."

Jimin contemplated for a while…"My helmet!"

Jimin reached for the styrofoam cap that looked as puffy as a boxing helmet, and I helped him fastening the clasp. I really should paint something on the thing, or so. To make it look…to make Jimin look… I don't know… less orthopaedic? Disabled?  

Jimin waved, then left the apartment with a spring in his step. 

I no longer had to accompany him to the front door, as I had done during the first week. Somehow, this filled me with pride. 

I opened my emails again and pressed on refresh. Nothing from BigHit Motors yet. Just because I still had another half an hour before I needed to leave for work, I dialled my parents' number. It's now been over a month since I heard anything from them, but I had yet to file a missing person report. 

Darn… But the past few weeks had simply been so busy that it totally slipped my mind…. 

Which reminded me… Although it was most likely too late now to call the airport and enquire about Jimin's suitcase. It was mid September now. The accident had happened end of last year. 

As expected, my call went straight to voicemail. "Hello, it's me. Yoongi. Your son, in case you forgot. I'm doing well and so is Jimin. Your other son. You know, just in case your memory needs triggering. Jimin is working his second week at MOTS House's pottery and seems to enjoy it. He is flourishing. He brought a flower pot home last week and was so proud of his work. We had to go out and buy a plant for it the same day. I think…." 

I stopped, gulped, then took a deep breath. "I think Jimin is gaining some of his independence back. He is accustomed to spending a few hours alone in the afternoons, and is able to reheat his dinner and take care of his business. He leaves the apartment independently in the morning and waits downstairs for his pick up van. He's doing really well—just in case you decide to care at some point." 

I stopped, thought if there was anything else I wanted to add, but nothing came to mind. Without a goodbye, I hung up and threw my phone into my backpack. I lost count how many of those messages I had already left. I must have recorded a full fucking audiobook by now. 

According to the rota, I was on shift with Mrs Kang and Mike today. That would suit me perfectly. Mike was a wanker, but I needed to advise him that I might be running late next Tuesday, because of my job interview. 

I had googled BigHit's exact location, and I needed at least two hours to get there, and two hours back. Work was one and a half hours in the other direction. 

The way I knew Mike he would say no then come up with a stupid excuse why I couldn't be late, not because there was a reason, but because the dude was my senior and loved rubbing it in my face. So, I would tell Mrs Kang first, and get her on my side. Two against one works best on Mike. He didn't like to be pushed into a corner, or having to produce real, sound arguments. 

"Good Morning, Mr Min, how are you?" 

I turned my head to see who had greeted me the very second I left the apartment complex and inwardly groaned. "The name is still Marty McFly. I don't know who it is you're looking for, but you won't find them here," I barked at the stupid reporter, who was seemingly unable to take a fucking hint! Knobhead!

"Mr Min, this won't take more than ten minutes of your time," an oily grin was directed my way, and I increased my pace. 

"You're the…" The journalist started, and I broke into a run. Why couldn't the fucking press leave me alone? Fuck, I knew stealing the van to pick up my brother from MOTS house made a somewhat hilarious headline. But that dude wasn't interested in the desperation behind my act. He didn't want to know how fucking difficult it was to see relatives deteriorate in care homes, because they suddenly got cut off from family and didn't understand why. 

All he was interested in was a funny story about a crazy daredevil that people could enjoy over breakfast and forget the next moment. I won't be doing that. 

I heard fast paced footsteps coming from behind and turned in annoyance. "You know stalking is illegal. I could get you arrested."

The fake grin was back in place. "Mr Min, I know you won't do that. Your record with the police, is, … shall we say…."

I didn't wait to hear what we should have said, and instead pulled my mobile from my pocket and dialled Joon's number. But just like my parents, his voicemail was the only goddamn thing I reached these days. "Fuck my life," I barked onto his mailbox and ended the call. The reporter looked all the happier. 

I broke into a jog. At some point, the reporter must be getting sick of that shit. My stupid story couldn't really be worth all that hassle. 

But it seemed that thanks to being in the middle of a pandemic, news were really slow these days. The fucking weirdo entered the bus with me. Good thing I brought my headphones, and I blared some good shit on full volume. At some point, the guy finally gave up, and I sighed in relief. 

What a freaking nightmare.

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