saints | bts

007 » acedia

❝ — SLOTH, in latin known as acedia, can entail different vices. While sloth is sometimes defined as physical laziness, spiritual laziness is emphasized. Failing to develop spiritually will lead to becoming guilty of sloth. In the Christian faith, sloth rejects appreciation of God's gift of life. Sloth has also been defined as a failure to do things that one should do. By this definition, evil exists when good men fail to act. ❞

          His life was an unimportant cycle within the spectrum of things. Nothing he did held any deep importance in the rest of the world, that is, because whatever he did do he kept to himself. Either his work wasn't worthy of others' eyes, or others' eyes weren't worthy of his work. He wasn't sure himself what the case was.

Min Yoongi was, in his own words "a not-very-aspiring writer," which is still quite a broad term, because what did he write? Novels and novellas, or songs and poetry? Some days he felt like writing research papers and others he wanted to write children's books.

If anyone asked him what he did, he shrugged and told them he didn't subscribe to one thing because he didn't like being one thing at a time. But people didn't ask him very often. In fact, he hadn't even seen another human being in almost two weeks.

In Japan, hikikomori was a noun, a word created to describe an abnormal avoidance of human contact, a reclusive person who chose to stay within the confines of their homes as hermits — eating, sleeping, wasting away. It was a growing trend in the country popular among young adult males with shitty corporate jobs or nothing going for them. And as much as Yoongi would have liked to say that this wasn't him, he fit into the definition perfectly, like the mug of hot cocoa in his hand.

There wasn't much to his life. If not for the cycle — sleep, eat, play, read, write, repeat — his life would be devoid of anything at all. It's not like this was how he wanted his life to go, but he was tired of living in the cruel outside world. So he retreated to his very own interior shell of four white walls, and he found some sense of contentness there.

The phone rang.

Yoongi jolted, not used to the phone going off very often. He stared at it for a time, vibrating across from him as he wrote, until he finally picked up the device and saw the caller ID.

He sucked in a breath.

"Hello?"

"Are you on your way to the interview? You're running a bit late and they're getting impatient."

Yoongi looked at the calendar and cursed under his breath. It was indeed the fourth of February.

He ran a hand through his matted, black hair and sighed. Another promise he'd broken, another let-down. Another standard. He hated it, but he hated letting loved ones down even more. And he wasn't sure how to explain it to him, to his father, because he was so afraid to do it again.

"Interview?" Yoongi fibbed, "O-Oh, that. I'm sorry, I completely forgot."

And if disappointment was a real sound that you could hear, Yoongi heard it then. It sounded like an outward breath, uncomfortable and awkward background noises, shifting, rearranged papers.

He took his lip in with his teeth, like he always had whenever his father called. At times, he wished that his father would call to ask how his day had gone, or just to talk about eomma and his little sister. He hadn't seen any of them in five months. He missed them.

The least he could do was tell him what he wanted to hear, right?

After much ado, Yoongi shut his eyes.

"I'll still go if you want me—"

"It's fine. It's fine."

Sometimes, the silence could be deafening.