You are in the waiting room of a clinic. The air carries a sharp sanitary smell, the space neat and structured with rows of chairs and small tables, a few magazines scattered across them. Simple and just enough.

Your name is called by a nurse, which snaps you out of your observations. “Dr. Bahng will be with you shortly.” She leads you into another room, a narrow hallway lined with white doors, slightly unsettling with how simple it is. “Wait here. Thank you.”

After a while, a man appears at the end of the hallway. He walks with measured steps, dressed in a long white coat. There’s a silver name tag on his chest, though it’s gleaming too much to be readable. A pencil and another item sit neatly in his breast pocket, straight and precise. His black shoes are spotless, laces tied perfectly. His trousers hang loose but tailored, fitting around lean, muscular legs that flex with each stride. A crisp light-blue shirt and perfectly knotted black tie complete the picture.

Your first thought: he’s insanely handsome. Your second: panic, because his eyes land on you, and you realize he’s your doctor. The name tag reads “Dr. Bahng.” Your eyes widen. Oh.

You’ve never been at a big hospital before, apart from your local clinic, and you can feel some nerves creeping up. But the doctor smiles at you, his eyes that first were a calculating dark brown, crinkled slightly and turned his serious face warm. He stopped a few steps from you. “(Name)?” You nodded awkwardly, rubbing your hands on your pants, exhaling slowly. He gestured to a door further down the hallway, a sudden friendly, warm and charming demeanour surrounding him. “I’m Dr. Bahng. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Inside the examination room, he gestures toward the gray bed covered with a sheet of white paper, the kind you’ve only seen in movies. You nod automatically and sit down, the paper crinkling beneath you. The room is sterile but softened by a collage of puppies and a few colorful posters, clearly meant to calm children. Instruction charts and medical equipment line the walls.

The doctor moves to the counter. With his back turned, you notice how broad his shoulders are beneath the coat. You hear rustling and he turns around with a pair of blue plastic gloves. The sight makes you shift in your seat. Nerves? Something else? He smiles politely, sits down, and rolls his chair toward you. The wheels squeak softly as he stops in front of you, knees nearly brushing yours. The gloves snap faintly as he adjusts them, the sound twisting your stomach.

“So,” he begins, voice calm, low, and professional, but with a warmth that feels almost out of place in the sterile room. “This is your first full check-up here, right?” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, steady and unhurried, as if giving you time to breathe.

You nod. “Yes.” Your voice doesn’t sound normal, and you clear your throat, wishing you sounded less weird in the presence of someone so intelligent, handsome and important right now.

He smiles again, softer this time, leaning back slightly to give you space. “Don’t worry. We’ll take it step by step. Nothing scary.” His tone is reassuring, but the way his gaze lingers makes your pulse race. You dread the heartbeat check, certain it will betray how fast your heart is pounding.

He picks up a clipboard, flipping through neatly stacked papers. “We’ll start simple: basic questions, then routine checks. Vitals, blood pressure, heart rate, breathing. A quick look at your reflexes, and a few questions about your lifestyle. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

You watch his hands as he writes, the pencil moving in precise strokes. You wonder if he notices how you can’t stop fidgeting.

“Tell me,” he says, glancing up again, “any medical history I should know about? Allergies, past injuries, anything unusual?” His voice is professional, but there’s a subtle curiosity in his eyes, as if he’s studying more than just your health.