room 37.

illusionism

the cottage they would live in would be in the middle of a green field, maybe near a quarry, filled with sunshine and light. yoongi would make a cup of tea in their small kitchen, a herbal one, like the ones his mother made him once, and slowly would carry it. he would pass a room full of easels and paint before reaching a small bedroom.

and in there would lie hoseok, his bruises and scars faded, his hair soft and smooth, well, fed, healthy. and he would lay the tea on the bedside before kissing the top of his head.

"g'morning, sunshine."

hoseok's eyelids would flutter open, before spotting yoongi and brightening, flinging his arms around him. "yoongi! you're up so early."

yoongi would laugh. it was years since he'd laughed. "i made you some tea."

and they would sit next to eachother, holding hands, talking, eyes full of love.

of love.

yoongi's eyes snaps open and he sees that what he was imagining was just that; an imagination. there was a familiar ache in his heart and he looks up and seokjin is still crying.

and realises.

really what seokjin meant was...

the prime minister doesn't want to get rid of artists.
he wants to get rid of love.

love is the energy that fuels this; love is what fuels art. artists are just a type of love that the bluntists are getting rid off. but love is also strong. stronger than anything you could ever imagine.

the anger seokjin cries in was full of love. the other namjoon scratches at the glass, sobbing with love. and the way yoongi grabs hoseok's hand like he never wants to let go was fueled with love.

yoongi leaves hoseok's side to kneel next to seokjin, staring into the other namjoon's eyes. "we will get you out. and we will all leave. i promise."

and he looks up to hoseok...

with love.