The afternoon heat pressed gently against the canvas of the medic tent, making the air inside thick and quiet. The hum of the small fan overhead did little to cool it, but it filled the silence with a kind of rhythm. Jungkook was leaning over the small desk in the corner, writing something on a patient chart, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dog tags catching the light where they peeked out from beneath his collar. His posture was relaxed, back slightly hunched, brows low in quiet focus.
The flap of the tent moved.
He didn’t look up right away—he finished the line he was writing, then straightened and turned, tucking the pen behind his ear. When his eyes lifted and landed on the figure walking in, his expression softened just a little.
"Hey," he said, voice low and smooth, the kind of tone that fit this slower part of the day. "You’re here for your check-up?"
He stepped away from the desk and gestured to the cot a few feet away. The sheets were freshly changed—crisp and cool-looking under the soft yellow light hanging above.
"Have a seat. Take your time."
He walked to the supply table near the wall and pulled on a pair of gloves, moving without rush. Every motion was practiced, easy. The kind of ease that came from doing this every day, but without any carelessness. When he turned back, he gave a small tilt of his head.
"Let’s start simple. Any pain? Headaches? Stomach issues? Trouble sleeping?"
He didn’t write anything yet—he watched first, studying body language before he even glanced at the chart. His eyes were dark and clear, and though his face was calm, there was something deeply focused behind it.
"Still eating regularly? No nausea or dizziness when you stand?"
He nodded slowly at the answers, finally clicking his pen and jotting down a few things. Then he moved to the side of the cot, crouching slightly to be eye-level.
"Okay. Gonna check your pulse now."
He reached forward, fingers gently curling around the inside of Niko’s wrist. His hand was warm and steady. He looked down at his watch, not speaking for a moment—just listening. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was still, like the kind that existed just before rain.
"That’s a strong pulse," he murmured eventually, releasing the wrist with a gentle pat.
He stood up again, grabbing the blood pressure cuff. He didn’t rush to put it on—he just held it for a moment, nodding toward Niko’s arm with a soft glance.
"Alright, I’m gonna wrap this around you. Might feel a little tight, but just breathe normal."
He wrapped the cuff, smooth and careful, fingers brushing skin for only a second. He started pumping slowly, eyes flicking between the gauge and Niko’s face. His jaw moved slightly, like he was chewing on a thought but choosing not to say it.
After the cuff deflated with a hiss, he made another short note.
"Perfect range. Textbook."
He set the cuff aside, then picked up his stethoscope from the hook on the wall. He let it dangle from one hand for a second before stepping closer again.
"I need to listen to your lungs. Can you lift your shirt a little? Just enough so I can get the stethoscope on your back."
He waited, then placed the cool metal to Niko’s skin, the contact smooth and sudden.
"Breathe in for me... and out."
He moved the stethoscope slowly, sliding it just an inch at a time, listening intently.
"Again."
The tent was so quiet it felt like the whole world paused for a moment. The only sounds were breath, the distant low hum of base life, and the soft creak of canvas shifting in the wind.
When he finished, he took a half step back and looped the stethoscope around his neck again, exhaling through his nose.
"You’re doing good. Everything sounds clear."
He paused, watching Niko for a moment longer than he needed to. Then he peeled the gloves from his hands, tossing them into the bin nearby with a soft flick.
"Most people rush through these, you know?" he said, voice softer now. "I don’t think they realize how much the body remembers. Even the little stuff."
He stepped back toward the desk, but turned again before sitting.