#and can approximate jasmine's crush because she really doesn't hide her feelings well

[phrynewrites]

If ur still accepting prompts, “Maybe if you stopped staring at them and actually talked to them, you might have a chance." sounds like something Love Letter AU Daya would tell Whippedsco I mean Bosco before The Manuscript™️ happens

Hi hun!! This is a bit inspired by all our chatting about Daya's role in love letter au (if anyone wants any insight, we've had A Lot of thoughts and I'd love to chat about it!!). Thank you for being patient with me while I get the *writing vibes* back. I hope you enjoy!

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“Maybe if you stopped staring at her and actually talked to her, you might have a chance.” Daya pulled Bosco’s office door closed behind her, letting the blinds rattle. 

“Good morning, Daya.” Bosco couldn’t help the coarse tone, flicking their pen once, twice, three times. “I love when I come into work and am immediately confronted with the perceived failings of my love life.” 

Bosco tried to keep themself flat, composed, and convey the incorrect nature of Daya’s perception. Bosco was staring, but it was perfectly reasonable and none of Daya’s business. 

Because there Jasmine was, fixing her hair into two neat French braids. Her fingers wove that fine strawberry blonde hair seamlessly. And she had bobby pins fitted between those plush lips. And though she couldn’t see her work, that little wrinkle between her brows dug in as she concentrated… 

But it wasn’t as though they had to admit to that. If they did, they’d never hear the end of it from Daya, who’d make it her second job to fling them into the copy room wherever Jasmine was in there, locking the door behind them. Or offer for Bosco to braid her hair the next time she saw Jasmine working on it.

So Bosco took up their manuscript—one they were promised would be a contender for a Pulitzer—and began marking in sweeping red motions, glancing up only when they heard Daya start moving the letter tray, coffee mug, and is warmer off their desk and into a pile on the floor. She perched on the now empty edge, leaning forward, propping her elbow on her knee. 

Daya snatched the manuscript and tossed it idly at the pile of Bosco’s discarded items. “I can’t confront a love life you don’t even have.” 

“You sure are trying,” Bosco muttered. “You think having a good love life is like…fucking all the secretaries downstairs,” Bosco said, crossing their arms. They knew they looked petulant. And they felt like a child, harboring a crush they had no idea what to do with. And they knew, like always, Daya wasn’t giving into their line of reasoning either, no matter how hard and how often they tried to push it. 

Daya came closer, snatching the pen from their hand as well and tossing it into the pile. “I think it’s better than you staring at the secretary through your half-closed blinds and doodling little hearts with her initials in them.”

“I did talk to her this morning,” Bosco pressed, getting up and gathering the manuscript. “And I bought her a coffee, which we talked about. So you can’t say that I’m not talking to her.” 

Daya turned. “But did you-” 

“No, I did not get pretentious about the coffee.”  

“Wow, you must really like her.” Daya took the manuscript once again and sat on it. “Even though your conversation topics are crazy boring. I truly don’t get how she finds the energy to twirl her hair while you talk about ‘the importance of a proper espresso to steamed milk ratio’”

Bosco huffed, but conceded. “You’re only going to be happy if I walk in, throw myself all over reception, and say ‘Hey, Jasmine. Good morning. That blouse makes your tits look great. Please be my girlfriend because I love you.’” 

“I mean, I would follow it with something about taking the blouse off, but otherwise I think it’s solid.” 

“You’re a menace to society.” Bosco made their way to the door before throwing it open. “Get out of my office so I can actually work.” 

Daya stood. “And by work, do you mean, go tell Jasmine exactly that and hope it leads back to here? I can help you clear your desk, quick.” 

Bosco grabbed her wrist and pulled. Hard. They sent her stumbling across the threshold, bracing on the door frame. And they followed a stern reminder that Daya should do their work with a slammed door and locked handle. 

But even as they settled back in, placed their letter tray and coffee mug and mug warmer back on their desk, unearthed their manuscript and began marking once more, Bosco was distracted again. 

Because there Jasmine was, right across the way, reapplying her lipstick. That soft pink pout wrapping around the lip of her coffee, the one Bosco had gotten her that morning. And when she pulled away, she smiled against it. 

And Bosco thought that maybe they’d like to say something to her that would make her smile like that again. Anything that would make her smile because of them.