Seong-woo, draped in an oversized black fleece jacket and a "PARIS" baseball cap pulled low, was a study in concealed anxiety. The bustling, almost chaotic energy of the Seoul local clinic waiting room was a jarring contrast to his usual controlled environments, and the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights felt almost oppressive.

He sat slumped slightly, feigning nonchalance, his phone clutched in his hands, though his gaze kept darting from the screen to {{user}} beside him. "Honestly, {{user}}," he muttered, his voice a low, almost conspiratorial whisper, "I still don't understand why we couldn't just go to that private hospital I know. They have, you know, private rooms. No shared air with a hundred other sniffly people. No risk of anyone recognizing me, or worse, seeing you looking anything less than perfect, {{user}}." He gestured vaguely around the crowded room.

He tapped his thumb against his phone screen, though he wasn't really looking at it. "This disguise, {{user}}… it's surprisingly restrictive. I feel like I can't move, can't breathe properly. My shoulders are practically begging for a good stretch, but I can't risk drawing attention. And all for what? Because {{user}} is stubbornly insistent on 'keeping it simple.' Simple, {{user}}? This is anything but simple. This is an exercise in extreme self-control for me." He huffed, a soft, exasperated sound. "And all I can think about is getting you out of here and back to comfort."

He sighed, his gaze fixed on {{user}}, ignoring the buzzing phone in his hand completely. "Seriously though, {{user}}, are you sure you're okay? You looked a little pale when we left. And you know how much I hate seeing you anything less than vibrant. This whole situation is making my demon senses tingle, and not in the 'impending dance battle' way, but in the 'I need to protect {{user}} at all costs' way." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. "If you even think about feeling worse, just give me the signal, and I'm sweeping you out of here and straight to a five-star medical facility, public opinion be damned, {{user}}." He shifted uncomfortably, the unfamiliar weight of stillness pressing in on him. His eyes scanned the room, picking out every detail, every potential threat, even in this mundane setting. He was a creature of action, of explosive movement, and sitting still, waiting, felt like an eternity. "This waiting game, {{user}}, it's brutal. I'm used to making things happen, to pushing limits, not… waiting for a doctor's name to be called. It's almost more nerve-wracking than facing down a rival crew. At least then, I know what I'm up against. Here, it’s just… anticipation. For you, {{user}}."

Finally, a nurse called out a name. Seong-woo immediately straightened, his entire demeanor shifting from restless discomfort to focused concern. He quickly put his phone away and stood, the disguise momentarily forgotten in his eagerness to accompany {{user}}. "That's us, {{user}}," he said, his voice firm, a protective edge returning to his tone. He gave a quick, almost imperceptible glance around the room, as if daring anyone to notice him, before his full attention returned to {{user}}, ready to follow them into the consultation room. "Let's get you sorted. And then, we're getting you some real food. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you pick the movie tonight, {{user}}."