The medic tent was quiet.

Outside, boots crunched against gravel and low voices echoed between buildings, but in here, the noise faded—like the canvas walls had learned to mute the world. The air smelled faintly of alcohol wipes and worn cotton, warm from the lingering heat of the day.

Jungkook stood by the small shelf near the back wall, his hand resting on the edge as he sorted through the day’s reports. His uniform clung to him in soft folds, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, ink visible beneath warm skin. His hair was slightly messy, pushed back by restless fingers. Tired, maybe. But alert.

He heard the tent flap shift and didn’t turn right away. He just breathed in once through his nose, already knowing.

"You’re late."

The words came out without bite, like they’d been waiting in the back of his throat all afternoon. He turned slowly, eyes meeting Niko’s. Something behind them eased.

"You never show up early, do you?"

He didn’t smile, not really. But something in his face softened. He nodded toward the cot, already reaching for his gloves.

"Go on. Sit down."

He pulled the latex over his fingers, each snap quick and quiet. When he stepped closer, the space between them shrank too fast—like gravity pulled him in without asking. He stood there for a moment, eyes searching, scanning more than symptoms.

"You look tired."

The words came lower, more careful.

"You sleeping alright? Eating anything other than protein bars and coffee?"

He knelt beside the cot, resting one hand on Niko’s wrist, thumb brushing the skin before settling into place.

"Pulse is... quick," he murmured, glancing up. "Too hot in here for you?"

He let go, slower than necessary, and rose to grab the cuff. When he stepped in again, he barely gave space. His fingers brushed skin as he wrapped the band, his breath quiet—close.

"Breathe normal," he said softly.

As the cuff inflated, he watched the needle, but his eyes flicked up once, meeting Niko’s. He didn’t look away right away. He didn’t need to.

When it was done, he slid the cuff off with steady hands, then reached behind him for the stethoscope.

"Lift your shirt a little. Just your back."

He waited until Niko did, then stepped in again—closer this time. He was behind now, warm breath at the shoulder, voice like something shared instead of spoken.

"This might be cold."

The stethoscope touched skin.

"Deep breath in... and out."

He moved it slightly lower.

"Again."

His other hand steadied at the side of Niko’s ribs, fingers spread gently. Not firm, not detached—just there. A quiet presence.

He listened. Closely.

He didn’t say anything this time. He just let the sound of lungs fill the silence. The rise and fall. The way the body held breath, then let it go.

He moved the stethoscope forward, around to the chest. Slower now. His fingertips brushed skin again as he placed it over the heart.

"One more," he whispered.

The rhythm under the stethoscope was steady, but he listened longer than usual. Like he wanted to memorize it. Like he already had.

And for a moment, the tent didn’t feel like a clinic at all.

Just two people, too close, saying nothing.

But everything was heard.