#or like a few years in the future when they're in seattle with bosco's siblings

[phrynewrites]

42 just screams blind date au

It truly does and tbh It's given me the opportunity to write one of my favorite scenes from blind date au. Idk if you were expecting the cooking class scene and a touch of insecuresco (tm), but here we are. Enjoy!

42. This is where you impress me, right?

___

Seeing Bosco’s cold stare at the onion on the chopping board, Jasmine thinks the vegetable had personally wronged them. 

She’d asked them “could you at least dice the onion?” throwing in, “this is where you’ll impress me with all your secret cooking knowledge, right?” before turning back to the stove, adding oil to the pan before turning the heat to medium. 

But it’s as though Bosco hadn’t heard, or really wasn’t capable of hearing. The only thing keeping Bosco out of their own world was the slight glances Jasmine could see them paying the other couples, their hands and their knives practically flying compared to Bosco’s somber and still grip on the chef’s knife. 

Jasmine sheds the garlic of its skin and gives it a rough chop, waiting for Bosco to follow her lead. 

“Sco,” she says, though it sounds like a warning. 

And Bosco breaks their languid trance, meeting Jasmine with wide eyes, grip on the knife still white knuckled. 

“Are you going to chop that onion, or…”

It takes a moment, but scanning over them, Jasmine can see that something bigger is at play here. Their skin is pale, flat, like they’ve encountered some great terror that they couldn’t snark their way out of. And their breathing— it was usually punctuated by sharp laughs, especially when Jasmine had let out a groan upon seeing Bosco come up from the subway a block away from the cooking school, following their irritating joy with a dancing brow and “after you, my love” as they held the door open for Jasmine, both of them acutely aware that their meeting here was not coincidental, but rather the work of their friends and their incessant flinging of these two together. 

But that was gone, and its place stands a recoiling Bosco. 

When their lips finally part, they let out, voice small, body smaller, “I don’t know how…”

They set the knife down, wrapping their arms around their waist, like they could fold into themself in a moment’s notice and be eaten up by the air around them. 

Jasmine settles the wooden spoon against the lip of the pan. It made sense, the more she thought about it. She’d never seen Bosco cook, and though they had espoused their abilities while they grabbed their aprons, had looked up at the instructor showing the final product and announced, “oh, it’s just fucking rice,” had hip checked Jasmine as she was gathering the vegetables, causing her to drop a squash, it was all lacking. It was as though Bosco’s confident, glossy sheen had been stripped away, leaving only something stark and matte and frankly, sad. 

As annoying as Jasmine found overconfident Bosco, insecure Bosco, staring back at Jasmine with a flat little smile, just waiting to be slain by her words, was heartbreaking. 

She brings her hand up, resting on their shoulder, noting the flinch as she comes closer. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jasmine keeps herself measured, scrunching their shoulder. “Not everyone knows how to do this.” 

“Everyone but me seems to be doing just fine.” It was a snap, a whip lashing against bare skin. Jasmine would be offended, if Bosco’s facade weren’t already cracked. 

“Well no one ever taught you is all.” Jasmine lets her hand trail down their arm before taking up the knife. “Here, let me show you.”  

With that, she rounds Bosco, settles in behind them. But as she goes to hand them the knife, she comes to the conclusion that it won’t work. She can’t see over them. 

“Here, switch,” She says, though she’s already fitting herself in front of them, between their arms. “You’re stupid for being tall.” 

“I’m stupid for not knowing how to chop a fucking onion,” Bosco quips back, letting out a quick breath through their nose. Jasmine’s hairs stand at attention. 

She whips around, poking Bosco in the chest. “You’re not stupid, you just haven’t learned.” 

So Bosco grabs the knife, Jasmine taking a deep breath before wrapping her hand around theirs. And she narrates the movements, keeping the tip of the knife on the board, the knife bobbing, cutting through the layers of the onion like a boat at sea. Once they fall into a rhythm, Bosco’s chin falls upon her shoulder, and all Jasmine can think about is how close their lips are. 

It brings her back to the picnic date. To Bosco’s apartment. To Bosco’s wet leather jacket falling from her shoulders, landing in a heap. To Bosco’s harsh words and soft lips pressed against her neck. Just a turn, just a few inches of distance, and Bosco could do it again. 

Caught in her thoughts, idly chopping, she doesn’t register that Bosco’s let go of the onion, wrapping their arm around Jasmine’s waist instead. 

Jasmine swallows and cleans the knife with her finger, looking over the even cuts. Looking over Bosco’s fingers under hers, how cool her hand feels against all their rings, winding like silver vines. 

“See,” Jasmine tries, but her voice is choked. “That wasn’t that bad. Now you could probably do it on your own.” 

But as Jasmine turns to move, Bosco’s grip stays firm. Jasmine’s stomach feels hot under their touch. 

“Could we maybe try one more.” Their voice had grown stronger, though Jasmine could see they were still on unsteady ground. “I, um… I still need your help.”

And when Jasmine dares turn back, glance up at their face, capture the flush of embarrassment paired with a weak smile, she nods and brings a teasing hand up to cup their cheek. “Of course, babycakes.”  

The laugh Bosco lets out at the cloying nickname rang sweet in Jasmine’s ears, though it’s ruined in an instant when Bosco rolls their eyes and spins Jasmine back around. 

“Don’t touch me with your onion hand.”