#jasco

Jasmine’s never been drunk before, but she thinks it must feel something like this. Breathless laughter; stumbling backstage; lingering in the parking lot after asking the other girls if they want to get slushies; sitting in each other's laps, braiding each other's hair; not wanting the moment to end anytime soon even though it's almost three in the morning.

She spends the entire night eating Takis from Willow’s hands and resting her head on Angie’s shoulder. Even Daya, who usually either ignores her or pisses her off, spends some time with her head in Jasmine’s lap. After practicing and practicing and then putting that to the test, all that adrenaline comes crashing down, leaving room for only exhaustion and elation.

If this is what being drunk feels like, Jasmine thinks she understands why people chase that feeling every weekend. This is fucking gorgeous. So are her friends.

“Jas, pass me your slurpee,” Daya giggles from her lap, looking up at Jasmine before sitting up and making a grabby motion for her slushie, “I wanna see if I can make my tongue purple.”

Actually, Daya is being way nicer to her tonight. Most times, Bosco has to physically force her best friend to be civil when she’s talking to Jasmine. It’s different. It’s nice. Not that it wasn’t nice before– Jasmine always appreciates Bosco looking out for her.

(Bosco, who never seems to care when Daya harasses anyone else, looks out for her. That’s nice, too.)

“Ewww,” she responds, already leaning to pass the drink over. “It’s gonna look like we kissed, loser.”

Jasmine isn’t the kind of person to think really hard about what she says before she says it, and she’s even less of that kind of person right now.

“See, I told you guys Jasmine’s mean,” Daya announces to the group. “Why’s kissing me ‘ew’ when you’re the loser, loser?”

Daya’s getting an attitude again, but there’s no Bosco chiming in yet. It makes Jasmine take a second to make sure the older girl is still there with them. She is, she’s sitting off to the side with Camden, but she’s close enough to listen. Still. No chiming in.

“Because you slobber too much, you’re like a dog.” Jasmine laughs when Daya scrunches her face up in a frown.

“And how would you know that?” Angie questions, voice taking on something teasing. “Let me check your tongue; if it’s purple, Jasmine, you got some explaining to do!”

And– ew! Well, not ew, Daya isn’t ew, she’s just… Daya. She’s Daya and Jasmine’s never thought about that before. She has no reason to, and, in fact, she has no desire to. Daya isn’t her type. If she was to go for anyone in this group, it wouldn’t be her. It would probably be–

“Stick out your tongue, Jas, show us!” Willow starts again. She’s sitting next to Angie, they’re probably conspiring. God. “Show us or we’re gonna assume the worst.”

“Yeah, Jasmine, prove your innocence,” Camden laughs and earns an elbow from a terminally nonchalant Bosco beside her. Jasmine’s eyes linger on the unreadable blonde, ready to hear another teasing comment, but no such words come.

Daya fiddles with the lid of her slushie, looking at her like a shark. Jasmine can already hear the Jaws music. “Just open your mouth and prove that you really think kissing me is ‘ew’, c’mon.”

(Dun dun. Dunnnn dun. Dundun dundun dundun dundun–)

With all these eyes on her, it’s hard not to fold. And that’s exactly why Jasmine folds, she’s not a very strong person when she’s under the spotlight. With a sheepish laugh and a roll of her eyes, she opens her mouth wide and sticks out her tongue for the group to see.

The shark attack happens in the blink of an eye: in seconds, Daya rips the lid off of her red slushy and pours the last bit of slush into Jasmine’s mouth, successfully mixing the blue dye on Jasmine’s tongue with the red dye of her own. Purple. Fuck.

Jasmine closes her mouth immediately, coughing and making sounds and whining. “Daya, what the fuck! Oh my god, I hate you!”

While the other girls start teasing and accusing some more, Daya just rolls around on the ground exclaiming, "I'm sorry! I’m sorry!” in between bouts of laughter. Jasmine doesn’t have it in her to be mad, so she just crosses her arms and pouts.

“You’re so awful, ugh,” she huffs.

And then, for absolutely no reason at all, she glances up at Bosco again. Beside her, Camden is almost crying laughing, clutching onto Bosco’s shoulder in the process. But Bosco herself isn’t laughing, the most emotion she expresses is a shake of her head and an exasperated sigh. It doesn’t mean anything.

Jasmine wants it to mean something, though.

“Bosco, tell her to stop torturing me, please!” It’s whiney. It’s not much of a request, more of a command. Jasmine’s not drunk, but she thinks maybe she’d be a babyish, bratty drunk. Or y’know. Whatever that means.

That inspires some emotion. Bosco smiles at her very briefly. “Daya.”

Slobbering dog was an understatement. Daya drops the slushie and turns to Bosco right away, like she didn’t even have to think about it. “Hm?”

“Stop torturing her,” Bosco says to Daya, who groans out an ‘ugh, fine,’ and then she turns to Jasmine. “How’s that?”

“Thank youuu,” Jasmine says, sending a wink her way.

Then, something flickers across Bosco’s face. Something earnest. Something Jasmine never thought she’d be able to inspire. It makes her think that, even though Bosco’s unreadable, she’s not unplayable. It gives her an idea.

“Okay, Daya, now that you have to be nice to me…” Jasmine scoots to the side and drapes herself over Daya’s lap, effectively reversing their positions from before, “...be nice to me!”

Daya reacts exactly how Jasmine expects her to (groaning and trying to protest), but it’s not Daya she’s trying to get a reaction out of. After getting comfy, Jasmine tries to subtly flick her eyes up and check if Bosco’s looking at her.

She is. Bosco’s seeing Jasmine acting like this, and, more importantly, she’s seeing Jasmine check to make sure she’s seeing her act like this. But, of course, this doesn’t mean anything– that is, not unless Bosco wants it to mean anything, that’s what Jasmine’s decided.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t encourage it.

“Dayaaa,” Jasmine pouts again, and by now the other girls have restarted their hyperactive chatter and laughter. She’s hardly the centre of attention anymore, unless your name is Daya or Bosco. When Daya looks down as if to say ‘what?’, that’s when Jasmine hits her with it. “Play with my hair.”

“Excuse me?” Daya exclaims. “Sorry? Repeat that?”

“Play with my hair, c’mon, be nice to me,” Jasmine turns her head to the side, putting her entire head of soft orange hair on display. “You have to, c’mon.”

And Daya, ever the loyal, rule-following type, actually does it. Jasmine’s really good at this whole whiney drunk thing. Even though she isn’t drunk.

But the best part is that, from a few steps away, Bosco actually flinches. She shifts a few times in her seat, unable to remove her eyes not from Jasmine, but from the place where Daya’s hand interlaces with Jasmine’s hair. The motion actually feels nice (Daya’s hands are surprisingly soft), but not as nice as the sight of Bosco looking as uncomfortable as she does right now.