GILDED, daniel larusso x reader

9 | a test of patience

Something about standing in front of him makes it feel out of place, like I'm about to do something I can't take back. So I push the smile down and go straight to business.

My books rest heavily in my hands as I plant myself in front of his desk. He looks up, and I'm hit with that familiar, laid-back look—the one that says he's more than comfortable in his own skin, even if it's an hour too early for any of this.

"Hey, Jersey," he says, the teasing edge in his voice almost a little too smug for my liking.

Jersey.

Of all the nicknames he could've come up with, he stole mine. And I get it—it fits me. But it still feels like I should be a little annoyed, and honestly, I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted.

Maybe both.

I push the thought away. "What'd you get on the test?" I ask, a little sharper than I intended. No pleasantries today. No more dancing around the question.

"Well, hello to you too," he shoots back, his smile growing even more mischievous. The usual cocky LaRusso attitude is there, and I roll my eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. It's impossible to stay mad at him.

"Seriously, what'd you get?" I press, now leaning over just enough to shake his arm, just a little bit. He chuckles under his breath, a deep sound that doesn't quite match the intensity in my tone.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Then, in that same half-smirk, half-grin that I've started to recognize as his 'I'm about to say something I'm secretly proud of' face, he answers, "I got an A-."

For a split second, my entire brain short-circuits. An A-.

I blink a couple of times, because I'm not sure if I heard him right. This is Daniel LaRusso, right? The guy who used to trip over his own shoelaces in class? I lean back, eyes wide, my breath catching.

"What the hell?!" I blurt, unable to contain myself. "That's incredible! Oh my God, I'm so proud of you!" My voice goes a little higher than usual, but I can't help it. It's like I'm suddenly overflowing with pride for someone else's success.

Daniel's grin widens, and I swear there's a flicker of something real in his eyes for just a moment. "You are?" he asks, as if he can't quite believe it. There's something hopeful in his tone, like he's unsure whether or not he deserves my excitement.

"Of course I am!" I practically explode, my grin stretching across my face. "This means I'm getting a B in history! I can finally breathe, LaRusso! I freaking did it!"

But the moment my words hang in the air, I see it—the way his grin falters just a touch, just enough to make me pause.

It's so fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it's there. A crack in the veneer, like something else is happening beneath the surface.

Before I can even try to analyze it, the classroom door swings open, and the others start filtering in. I feel the sudden pressure of normalcy return, like the moment is already over. The bell rings, and the teacher enters, moving through the room with that sense of purpose that only teachers seem to have.

I slump into my seat, still basking in the afterglow of our exchange, and I can't resist the urge to glance over my shoulder at Daniel one last time. Without thinking, I flash him a thumbs-up, a goofy gesture I can't quite take back but that somehow feels just right in this moment.

The rest of the class passes by in a haze. Rhetorical analysis? Easy. Too easy. The words blur into the background as my mind keeps circling back to that one simple truth: Daniel LaRusso passed the test.