Virulent ~ VMinKook ~

Impeccable

If you had to use one word, if someone really twisted your arm for it, to describe Park Jimin it would be...

Perfection.

He woke up three minutes before his alarm every day. He would sit up, immediately alert regardless of the amount of sleep he'd managed to finagle, rake a hand through his glossy, black hair and check the time. Instead of flopping back down into bed as the rest of us might, he would fold back the covers and shuffle his way to the built-in closet and collect the neatly folded clothes he had picked out the night before. Clothes in hand, he would move in near silence, his bare feet cushioned by the rough, practical carpet of his shared bedroom to the small tiled bathroom connected by a slightly ajar door. 

The only notification of his passing was a stealthy snick as he closed the door, handle turned so the metal latch was pulled politely back from the strike plate. It was only once he was safely ensconced within that he flipped on the bright overhead fluorescent, so as not to disturb his mercurial roommate, Yoongi, and use the facilities. Jimin never just went to the toilet, he was fair too pristine for such a base thing. No, he excused himself and visited the amenities. He would lower the lid when he was done but would wait until he had started the shower before flushing.

As steam built up in the small, tiled room, he would unbutton his pajamas; soft cotton flannel in the winter, lightweight organic bamboo in the summer and silk for the temperate spring and autumn months. Regardless of the season they were always blue, some might have called it navy, but they would be wrong. It was federal blue. A distinction anyone with a hint of class and breeding would know. It was also one of his signature colours according to his image stylist. He would then place them neatly in the basket provided by the school laundry service, put a cap on his head if it wasn't Sunday or Wednesday, and stretch his hand under the cascading water to check its temperature.

His showers never lasted more than five minutes. He would get out, sling a white, fluffy towel made with the finest Egyptian cotton around his narrow waist and stand in front of the fog resistant mirror above the tasteful white basin. Toothbrush jutting from his mouth, he would give himself a once over, running his smooth hands over his damp face, feeling for the slight sensitivity that heralded a breakout. He would look over his body, twisting this way and that, ignoring the healthy ripple of carefully cultivated muscle to focus instead on the way his folded abdomen would crease, and a resultant roll would form. He pinched the skin between his fingers critically before looking away from his reflection with a disappointed huff to spit into the sink.

He would then dry himself thoroughly with the towel and, since he had invariably used it the night before, place it in the separate laundry bin specifically for non-clothing items. Finally, he would dress. His sweats, which cost more than most people's weekly rent, would hang off his body loosely, hiding the hard-won physique from his dissatisfied gaze.

Grabbing his prepacked gym bag, he would slip from the shared room silently. The soft click of the door closing behind him would often cause the still slumbering Yoongi to stir a little before rolling to his side and nestling further into his covers.

A brisk eight-minute walk led him across campus to the on-site gym just as it should have been opening. Instead he found it dim and empty, the sensor above the door blinking red at his presence, denying him entry. He waited outside the closed glass doors for almost ten minutes, careful to mask his impatience with a friendly wave at the uniformed staff member he finally spotted hurrying into an almost-jog along the footpath toward him.

"Jimin, hey." One of the few females he spoke to on a regular basis at his exclusively male boarding school greeted him with a bright, toothpaste smile. She gripped the keys dangling from a dark blue lanyard, the words 'Saint Benedict's Academy' reiterated in white that most staff at the school sported, in one hand and an opaque paper cup in the other; a wide straw spearing it's flimsy plastic lid.