Lavender and Gold - Dante Reyes x Reader [Fast X]

Chapter 1: Meeting the Devil

✧.* -1997: Rio de Janeiro- ✧.*

You follow your father as he winds down the cigarette-stain yellow halls, dragging your diy-ed lavender colored hot wheels backpack behind you, and sighing loudly in the hopes he notices your displeasure, has mercy on you, and lets you go back home. You hate going to work with him, you're bored and tired the whole time. You often go with him when he works nights because you live in a dangerous neighborhood. When break-ins started becoming more frequent in the past few months your father decided it's not safe for you to be alone at night and now you've found yourself more often than not being drug along and sleeping in his 'office' for the night. His office is just a large broom closet with a heavy mahogany desk shoved against the wall but since your father is the janitor, the desk is probably more than most get.

He ignores your sighs and you stomp your lavender converse petulantly as you arrive at his office door. He pulls it open and you both walk in, he clears you a space at the desk and turns to you. You tug at the hem of your school uniform skirt boredly. He opens his mouth to say something and you beat him to the punch, you already know what he's going to say, because he's said it a hundred times now.

"Don't leave the room, I'll make sure no one sees or hears me if I have to go to the bathroom and I won't go unless I absolutely have to, it's a mental ward and even though they're my age they're still dangerous, you'll be around to check on me when you can, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I know Dad," you say with a half-amused smile.

You know he worries about you too much, and while it's sweet it's a bit stifling. He was always concerned but after your mother died his worry for you has gotten much more intense. He laughs at your recitation of his rules and ruffles your hair.

"Looks like you're all set, try to get some shut-eye." He smiles at you a bit guilty.

"Got it, I'll try," you respond with a smile, you can never be annoyed for long, especially with your father with how hard he works and how well he takes care of you.

He gathers what he needs to clean and leaves. You sit at his desk, throwing your backpack on top of it with a thump. His office smells of a mixture of different cleaning products and the must of a room not frequently aired out. You stretch out on the oversized office chair and take out your heavy bag of nail polish from your backpack.

During the long hours of the night you rarely get as much sleep as you should being a natural night owl and partially from the intense scent of bleach that makes your eyes itch. To combat the boredom you practice different nail designs and techniques or draw. Your favorite subject in school is art because of your love for all things creative followed by math because you find it easy and like peeling the 'good job' stickers off your homework to stick them in random places around the school or city.

It's been less than ten minutes from when your father left you when you hear the hurried footfalls of somebody running down the laminate hallway, coming straight towards the office. You only have time enough to look up with wide eyes when a boy about your age, if not maybe a year or two older barrels through the door, shuts it quickly, and leans against it catching his breath. He notices you, hand still poised in the air holding the nail polish brush above your hand, eyebrows quirked. His eyes widen in surprise. You open your mouth to ask him what he's doing but he cuts you off, rushing to speak, stumbling over his words.

"Don't yell, I won't hurt you I promise, I'm just... I needed to get out for a minute," he says.

You hum and then nod, going back to painting your nails. You don't look up when you speak next.

"Don't worry, I'm not a snitch. Get out of what though?" you ask, swiping another layer of lavender on your nails.

You hear the boy shift on his feet. You look up and meet his eyes again, this time to actually look at him rather than just reacting to his sudden entrance. He's taller than you by a few inches, looks to have what would be wavy dark brown hair if it wasn't buzzed short, green to hazel eyes, light caramel skin, and a couple of moles by his left eye. He is obviously one of the kids locked up at the juvenile mental ward your father works at from the fact he's in the uniform of all white cotton but you can tell from the way he shuffles almost shyly and looks at you with something like curiosity, he's no threat. You gesture to the desk as if to say take a seat. He's definitely a bit confused at your lack of reaction but he moves to sit on the desktop anyway.