Breathing was hard. But it had become an habit in Jiyong’s life, so he didn’t really cared anymore. Everything was just automatic: the way he checked any weird noise coming from his lungs, the way he listened to his heartbeat, even the way he was careful how his voice sounded to his ears. It was his everyday, and people around him were way more scared about his health than he was. They were always asking him how he felt, if he wanted anything. Some also told him he shouldn’t be that carefree about how bad his condition was, that it wasn’t even normal and fair for someone as young as him. Most of them pitied him, Jiyong could see the glances, the stiff jaws, almost feel the ghost touches some dared to apply on his skin. His mom cried a lot. Seungri too. His father never once showed him the sadness he was fighting against inside but Jiyong knew it too well. They all wished him to be fine, to get over his illness and have a life like everyone had, with a healthy body.
But Jiyong never knew what a healthy body was. So he couldn’t figure out what he missed.