Warm Hands (Ice Cold Heart) | Jimin x Reader

Two

"You never told me you were high school sweethearts!" Mrs. Leung feigns outrage as she gives your arm a squeeze. "I love these stories. You'll have to tell me everything now, my dear. It's only polite."

"There's... ah... Nothing to tell!" You give a brief bark of awkward laughter, feeling caught off guard. A feeling you absolutely despise. "Really. We only went to the same school for a few years. That's all. I didn't even know he noticed me until just now."

Her eyes squint, a frown pulling at her lips. "But how could that be? You've never talked about it?"

Damn, you shouldn't have let that slip. Rookie mistake, and now she's bound to be suspicious.

"Oh, that's my fault." Jimin's still smiling. "I was saving that little bit of knowledge for the right moment to tease her. Since..." His voice grows ever so slightly in pitch, in amusement. "She also doesn't know that I remember the time she went head to head with a teacher for falsely accusing a kid of stealing lunch money. She was only, what, thirteen? Pointing her finger and arguing so furiously that even I was scared!" He gives a twinkling laugh as he lifts the champagne again.

Under your foundation, your face is burning with embarrassment. To have such an old memory dug up, excavated like some fascinating fossil and exposed so casually is... But to his credit, it worked. Mrs. Leung is distracted by the story, now gleefully speculating about your childhood and reminiscing with Mr. Leung about how adorable their own kids were at that age. You can only nod along while contemplating the easiest way to murder one's husband and get away with it. They always suspect the spouse first, after all.

"Oooh, dear, there's Charles!" Mrs. Leung suddenly bats at Mr. Leung's arm, her eyes zeroing in on the couple that has just entered the foyer. "I have to go congratulate him on his new grandchild. We'll have to catch up later, you two. Have fun! Eat the shrimp things!"

Jimin chuckles when you find yourself left alone again. "Honestly, I never thought those were any good. The quiches are way b—"

"Why the hell would you tell her the truth?" You hiss, though you try to tamper your voice down as much as possible while keeping annoyance at the forefront. "She didn't need to know any of that."

"Aren't we trying to be romantic and in love? It's easier to lie if there's some background there." He sets his empty glass on the table, tucking his hand under his chin with infuriating ease. "And it saved your ass, didn't it?"

You glare at him, never wanting to concede the point, especially not to him, but you're forced to relax when a waiter swings by to offer you a tray of appetizers. "Thank you," you say as you accept the plate, knowing food always has the incredible ability to make you calm down (or at the very least, distract you). Resisting the urge to stuff the first of the tiny hor d'oeuvres right into your mouth, you remind yourself to remember where you are and instead take a nibble. But you definitely can't stop the groan of pleasure as shrimpy flavor bursts on your tongue, perfectly seasoned by one of the best chefs money can buy. Worth it. Totally worth coming to these events. You devour the thing and go for the next, slipping into a private heaven all of your own for a few seconds until you realize Jimin's looking at you, not even bothering to hide his utter amusement at the faces you're making, looks you've definitely never let him see before.

"What? It's good," you defend after you've swallowed the mouthful, washing it down with the last dregs of champagne. "Wait. So, you seriously saw that argument back in high school?" You didn't think anyone, especially the upperclassmen, paid attention to you. You had a few close friends, and that was enough.

Jimin steals a bacon-wrapped something from your plate. "Heard. The entire cafeteria heard. Your yelling isn't exactly subtle, babe."

You roll your eyes at the mocking pet name. "God. Just. Forget about it. Please." That incident is directly responsible for the only time you were scolded for nearly an hour straight by your parents, who weren't even that mad — more terrified that you would be kicked out for getting yourself involved in something that shouldn't have mattered to you. Scholarship kids, of which you were one of only two, were already walking on thin tightropes at the private school. It was only because Jimin's dad did yours a massive favor that you got in at all. But how could you just stand by? Watch as an innocent kid was berated for something he didn't do?

"I couldn't forget even if I wanted to," Jimin says with a snicker. "It's one of the highlights of school. Especially when that awful teacher turned tomato red trying to refute your points and still couldn't."

"Serves as a lesson to you then," you grumble. "Don't cross me."

In lieu of reply, Jimin takes two steps and slides over the side of the table to you. You don't know what he's doing, wasn't expecting it at all but then he's pressed right against you, slipping his warm arm around your waist, tugging you in so tight that the scent of his cologne suffuses your space, your dress, and your air and for a moment, all you can focus on is him. "I'll think about it," he whispers into your ear, truly a bad habit of his and not only because it makes your overworked brain stutter but before you can ask him why, he's raised an arm in greeting. "Hey, Nikita!"