Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It starts with little things.

Galinda tells herself it’s nothing. A fleeting fascination, a spark of admiration that will fade with time.

--

EVIDENCE N.1

It’s the scent that gets her, first.

Galinda would never admit it, but she can’t help herself. It’s subtle -- a strange combination, unexpected and not at all what she would have imagined for her. But, there it is, and once she catches it, she can’t stop noticing it.

Here, enters the incident.

The first time it happens, Galinda swears it’s involuntary. A reflex, like blinking or breathing. She’s sitting at her desk, quill in hand, when Elphaba walks into their shared room after a bath, her hair still damp and pulled back, her skin faintly glistening in the candlelight.

That scent -- mint and jasmine -- fills the space instantly, heady and clean. She’d felt it before, but it’s fresher then, sharper. It must be some kind of moisturizer, she reasons. Something expensive, probably, though it’s hard to imagine Elphaba spending any money on herself, let alone on luxuries like that. Still, the way it clings to her skin -- smooth and even, without a single dry patch -- makes Galinda wonder. 

Galinda doesn’t even realize she’s done it until she hears the faint, mortifying sound of her own sniff.

She freezes. The quill hovers midair. Her cheeks burn hotter than the summer sun.

Elphaba, for her part, pauses mid-step, turning her head sharply toward Galinda with a look that’s equal parts suspicious and bemused.

“Did you just…” Elphaba begins, her voice slow, like she’s trying to decide if she’s imagining things. “Sniff me?”

Galinda snaps her gaze back to her parchment, scrambling for a response. “Of course not!” she blurts, a little too quickly, her voice pitched an octave higher than normal. “Why would I do something so absurd?”

Elphaba narrows her eyes, lips pursed, debating whether or not to press the issue. After a beat, she shrugs and turns back to her own side of the room, but the side-eye she gives her as she does it is anything but subtle.

Galinda exhales shakily, gripping her quill so tightly it might snap. She keeps her head down, feigning intense focus on her writing, but her mind is elsewhere, spiraling into a panicked analysis of what just happened.

Because she had sniffed. Not on purpose, of course, but she’d done it all the same. 

Does she mix it herself?, Galinda wonders, biting the inside of her cheek. The scent is so specific, so precise, it doesn’t feel like something you’d buy in a bottle. 

She forces herself to keep her eyes trained on her parchment, determined not to look up again, even as the scent lingers, wrapping around her like a silk ribbon. It’s nothing, she tells herself firmly. Just passing curiosity. A detail to file away and forget.

It’s a quiet thing, really. Apart from the incident. She doesn’t show it, doesn’t let Elphaba know how much she’s paying attention. Because she’s supposed to hate her, isn’t she? They’re supposed to be enemies, locked in this unspoken rivalry that neither of them can quite shake. 

--

EVIDENCE N.2

Galinda notices it for the first time during a lecture.

Elphaba sits two rows ahead, angled just enough that Galinda can see her hands moving through her hair with quiet precision. Her fingers flit between the microbraids, tugging and adjusting, smoothing one strand here, tucking another behind her ear. It’s subtle, instinctive, but there’s a rhythm to it, like she’s done it a thousand times before.

At first, Galinda thinks it’s just fidgeting, the way people tap their quills or bounce their legs. But then she watches a little longer--just long enough to notice the care in it, the way Elphaba’s fingers linger on certain braids, shifting them into place with a kind of practiced deliberation. It’s not fidgeting, Galinda realizes. It’s maintenance.

The sheer number of braids makes Galinda’s head spin. There are so many of them, each one thin and perfect, and it must take ages to get them looking like that. Galinda, who has never braided anything more complicated than a single plait, can’t imagine the effort it must require.

But Elphaba doesn’t seem bothered. She just works through them little by little, a few at a time, like she’s chipping away at an endless task in manageable pieces. Galinda supposes it’s practical, in its way -- better to fix them as she goes than let them fall into disarray and have to start over from scratch. There’s something oddly mesmerizing about it, though -- the way Elphaba’s hands move so easily, like she knows exactly how to make everything fall into place.

And yet, for someone who prides herself on being so low-maintenance -- who seems to go out of her way to appear like she doesn’t care about her appearance -- Elphaba sure does look after her braids. It’s an a-ha moment that makes Galinda sit up straighter, her lips parting in faint surprise. She’ll get her. She files the thought away for later, though she isn’t sure why it feels important enough to remember.

Elphaba’s hands pause briefly, and Galinda thinks she’s done, but then Elphaba picks up her quill and scribbles something in her notebook. It’s quick, almost dismissive, as though the act of writing is just another task to check off her mental list. She’s seen Elphaba do this before, as well -- usually when the lecture drags on too long, like she needs something, anything, to keep herself from spiraling into irritation.

She’s probably read the assigned texts three times over already, and the professor’s words are just background noise to her. So, instead of sitting idly, she manages her time. Fixing her braids. Jotting down notes here and there on things she already knows inside and out, ten steps ahead.

Galinda exhales through her nose, rolling her eyes. How very Elphaba -- If she’s not learning, she might as well make use of her time.

The realization doesn’t make Galinda like her any better, of course. It’s merely… an observation. Nothing more. And if her eyes keep drifting, if they keep catching on the practiced movement of Elphaba’s hands, on the smooth line of her throat as she tips her head -- well. What else is she supposed to look at? The professor?

Hardly.

--

EVIDENCE N.3

It happens during one of their arguments – one of many, really. The topic is unimportant; it always is. Tonight, it’s something about -- and just thinking it already has Galinda’s blood boiling -- Galinda’s presumed tendency to monopolize class discussions with her expertise on subjects Elphaba swears she hasn’t read up on. 

“I have read the material,” Galinda snaps, her voice climbing higher with indignation. “Just because I don’t memorize every dry, dusty detail like some people doesn’t mean I don’t understand it!”

Elphaba, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her ever-present notebook in hand, raises a single brow, unimpressed. “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t realize that understanding meant reciting half-baked opinions like they’re gospel. My mistake.”

Galinda’s jaw tightens. “You’re an absolute trial to anyone with a shred of patience.”

“And you’re predictable,” Elphaba counters, her tone maddeningly calm. “I could set my watch by your tantrums.”

Galinda gasps, scandalized, and points an accusing finger at her. “Tantrums? Oh, forgive me for having emotions while you sit there being infuriatingly placid!”

But Elphaba doesn’t let her finish. Instead, she laughs.

It’s a sharp, sudden sound, like she can’t quite believe the absurdity of this whole situation they’ve found themselves in. Elphaba’s enjoying this, the fool, enjoying her frustration, thought of it makes Galinda’s patience snap. She stares at her, utterly flabbergasted, as though Elphaba’s finally lost her mind. And then it deepens, softens into something warmer. Her head tilts back slightly, her eyes glinting with amusement, and, well, there’s no way around it, Galinda sees it: the small gap between her front teeth.

The sight of it is so unexpected, so charming, that Galinda’s retort dies on her lips. Her words evaporate into thin air, leaving her staring at Elphaba of all people, all ruffled.

“What?” Elphaba says, her laughter subsiding as she notices Galinda’s sudden stillness. Her lips curve into a teasing grin, the gap disappearing again. “Cat got your tongue, Miss Galinda?”

Galinda snaps her mouth shut, heat rising to her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, but the words come out weaker than she intends.

Elphaba leans forward slightly. “You were saying something about tantrums?”

“Well--” Galinda starts, but she falters, her thoughts spinning as a wave of vertigo hits her. 

Elphaba tilts her head, watching her curiously now. “You’re staring,” she says, her voice lilting with mockery. “Careful, Galinda. Someone might think you actually like me.”

That snaps Galinda out of it. “‘I’m not falling for that. I see right through you,” she retorts, turning sharply on her heel and retreating to her side of the room.

But her heart is still racing, and she doesn’t even bother pretending to focus on her hairbrush or her books. Instead, she sits on her bed, trying--and failing--to shake this whole thing off.

Elphaba doesn’t press the matter, which is somehow worse. She just watches Galinda retreat with that same infuriating smirk, like she knows exactly what’s happening and has no intention of letting Galinda off the hook.

The silence returns, save for the methodical scratching of Elphaba’s pen on the page.  Galinda busies herself by rearranging her vanity, shifting bottles of perfume and other trinkets, each adjustment more forceful than the last.

She glances over her shoulder, just for a second, to see Elphaba still sitting cross-legged on her bed, scribbling away. Her braids fall over her shoulders in uneven layers, and her lips are curling at the edges like she’s still half-amused by Galinda.

It’s unbearable.

“Are you done?” Galinda blurts, the words sharper than she means them to be.

Elphaba doesn’t look up. “With what?”

“With whatever… whatever it is you’re writing.”

Elphaba finally raises her head, one brow arching in that infuriating way of hers. “Why? Do you need me to explain it to you?”

Galinda scoffs. “No! I just--” She stops herself, floundering for an excuse. “You’re distracting me with this incessant noise.”

Elphaba snorts. “I’m distracting you?” She gestures vaguely at Galinda’s vanity. “You’ve been waging war on your jewelry for the last ten minutes.”

Galinda straightens her spine, refusing to rise to the bait. “Some of us have better things to do than sulk around all day. Not that you’d understand.”

Elphaba’s smirk returns, softer this time, like she’s indulging a child. “Oh, I understand plenty.”

There’s something in her tone -- something knowing, something that makes Galinda’s skin prickle. She looks away, focusing on her vanity, ignoring the weight of Elphaba’s gaze.

--

EVIDENCE N.4

One night, it’s how Elphaba’s nightgown slips off her shoulder, the fabric whispering against her skin as she moves, and then -- there they are. Freckles. Scattered across her cheeks, dotting her collarbones, trailing down the slope of her shoulders like little secret constellations, each one a story Galinda hasn’t been told.

She’s seen Elphaba a thousand times, but never quite like this. It’s different somehow -- softer, quieter. The light catches at just the right angle, casting her freckles in stark relief, and Galinda feels something tighten in her chest, sharp and unsteady. It might be because of the freckles. Or maybe it’s how intimate it feels to see her like this. Elphaba sits with a book resting on her lap, her head tilted into her palm, elbow braced against the chair’s arm. Her hair tumbles over one shoulder, a few loose strands curling around her fingers. She looks peaceful. Unburdened. There’s a stillness to her, a rare kind of ease that Galinda sees only in the quiet of night.

She just watches. The space between them, the curve of Elphaba’s shoulder, the light clinging to her skin. Something about it makes her stomach twist, a slow, unfamiliar pull that settles deep. Has anyone else ever seen her like this? She wonders; this hushed and soothed, with her guard slipped just enough for the edges to blur. The thought should mean nothing, should drift past like any other observation, but it doesn’t. It catches, lingers and takes root in a way that feels dangerous.

--

The sound of their laughter carries easily over the low hum of the common room, bright and sharp. Galinda keeps her expression carefully neutral as she flips the page of her book, though she’s hardly reading a word of it.

“I wonder,” Shenshen says, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, “does green rub off? Or is it just permanent grime?”

Pfannee snickers, leaning in. “Maybe it’s envy. They do say it’s a shade that clings.”

Galinda doesn’t look up. Her fingers press just a little firmer into the edge of the page, but her expression stays serene. She lets their words settle, lets them hang in the air a beat longer than she should, before she finally exhales.

“Honestly,” she says, tone easy, just shy of dismissive. “Don’t you two ever get tired of this?”

The laughter stops. It doesn’t fade or trail off -- it just stops, like someone’s yanked the cord. She doesn’t have to look to know they’re staring at her.

“What?” Shenshen blinks, caught mid-smirk.

Galinda sighs, waving a hand as if brushing away a stray thought. “It’s just… so repetitive, isn’t it? The same jokes, the same jabs. Aren’t we all bored of it by now?”

Pfannee recovers first, his lips curling into something sharp. “Well, excuse us for trying to have a little fun.”

Galinda hums, finally looking up from her book. “If that’s what you call fun, maybe you should work on your material.” Her smile is polite, razor-thin.

The silence that follows is thick. Pfannee and Shenshen exchange glances, puzzled. Galinda feels it, this twinge of uncertainty somewhere low in her stomach, but it’s quickly eclipsed by something else entirely.

Because when she glances up, just for a second, her eyes meet Elphaba’s.

She is standing at the edge of the room, half-hidden in shadow, her usual scowl replaced by something unreadable. Her gaze flicks from the others back to Galinda, lingering there, heavy and searching.

Galinda’s pulse quickens. She swallows hard, turning back to her book as if she hasn’t noticed, as if words on a page could compete with the chaos she stirs.

Pfannee mutters something under his breath, and Shenshen shifts awkwardly, but Galinda doesn’t listen. She doesn’t care.

It’s nothing, she tells herself firmly. She’s just tired of the whole thing, that’s all. The antagonism, the drama -- it’s exhausting, and she’s done with it.

--

The thing is. 

Galinda’s been giving things some thought. How, perhaps, she and Elphaba haven’t exactly been the picture of harmony as roommates, and maybe, just maybe, Galinda has a role in that. But, as a mature and reasonable individual, she’s opted to rise above it. Not that she’s obligated to, of course. She’s perfectly capable on her own, but -- well, grudges aren’t really her style, are they?

So, she decides to do something nice. Something thoughtful. Something that doesn’t scream look at me, I’m being nice. Just a small gesture. It’s not like she’s trying to make a big deal out of it. It’s just tea.

Its tea because it’s just one of those things that she notices that Elphaba is very particular about. 

Each time Elphaba makes her tea, Galinda watches. Not directly -- just out of the corner of her eye, careful, calculating. She takes in every detail: the way Elphaba measures the honey, the way she lets the tea steep just long enough but never too long. A little more than a teaspoon of honey. A thin slice of lemon, just enough for that sharp, bright edge. Galinda tells herself it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just tea. She’s just curious. That’s all.

By the fourth day, she’s sure she has it memorized. She sets an alarm -- 5:15 PM, exactly fifteen minutes before Elphaba gets back, because Galinda has learned that Elphaba, too, is a creature of habit. She heads to the cafeteria, moving deliberately, measuring the honey with a steady hand, slicing the lemon with precision.

She brings the tea back to the room and places it on the other girl’s bedside table, as inconspicuous as possible. 

When Elphaba walks in, she doesn’t immediately glance at the tea. Galinda tries to appear absorbed in a book, flipping through the pages with focus, pretending it’s no big deal. But she can feel Elphaba’s gaze shift to the cup, and she knows she’s waiting for some kind of explanation.

“What’s this?”

Galinda glances up, doing her best to look casual. “Oh, that? Just tea.”

Elphaba pauses, a frown tugging at her lips. “Why’s it on my bedside table?”

Galinda takes a breath, briefly meeting her eyes before glancing away, her tone unaffected. “Because it’s yours. You’re welcome.”

Elphaba’s eyes flick to the cup, then back to Galinda, her brow furrowing slightly. “You made it?”

Galinda shrugs, like she hasn’t been planning this for the past week. “Why, yes, I made it. One can be rather gracious, even if others fail to recognize it.”

Elphaba studies her for a moment, and Galinda tries not to squirm under her gaze. But then Elphaba just takes the cup, raising an eyebrow.

”Well, I didn’t ask for it,” she says, but there’s no real bite to her words. She takes a cautious sip, and Galinda keeps her in the corner of her eye.

Elphaba’s eyes flick to her again, and Galinda keeps her cool, pretending like she’s totally unfazed by the whole thing. 

Elphaba lowers the cup slowly, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “What, did you poison it?” she asks, suspicion sharp in her voice.

She scoffs. “I did not. But, if you’d prefer a little extra something next time to spice things up, I’m sure I can redeem myself.”

Elphaba sets the cup down after a moment, this glint in her eyes that hints she might be biting back a laugh. Her lips press together as she considers the situation. Her gaze lingers on her for a moment, but Galinda doesn’t let herself get nervous. She holds her ground, keeping her expression neutral.

“It’s drinkable,” Elphaba mutters, taking another sip. “Could be worse.”

When Elphaba finally sets the cup down, there’s no fanfare, no big reaction. But Galinda notices how Elphaba’s fingers linger on the edge of the cup, how she seems… content.

Galinda purses her lips, trying to hide the pure satisfaction she feels. “Mm. If you say so.”

Elphaba clears her throat, turning away to hide what the blonde suspects is the faintest blush on her cheeks. Elphaba doesn’t say anything more, and the silence stretches between them. With barely a moment’s pause, she walks toward the bathroom, a burst of energy bubbling beneath the surface as she quietly shuts the door. She leans against it, letting out a soft breath, the rush of satisfaction making her grin in spite of herself.

She’s won this one. No question. Elphaba might not have said it outright, but Galinda saw it. She got through to her, just a little. A small, subtle victory, but it’s hers to savor.

--

There’s a ruckus somewhere below her, faint but persistent, carried up to her balcony on the morning breeze. Galinda hardly spares it a thought, focused instead on winding the last roller into place, her fingers precise and practiced. The world can wait until she’s ready to greet it.

But then she hears it. The word that cuts through everything else, makes her pause just long enough for her hand to falter. Soon enough, she reads it. A prince. Big news. Important news. The kind of news that ripples through the halls of Shiz with a life of its own, filling every corner with whispers and speculation.

A prince. Young. Eligible. The thought lands in her chest like a spark, and she inhales sharply, a squeal blooming before she can stop it.

Her pulse quickens from the sheer newness of it all. She straightens her shoulders, her chin lifting a fraction higher. Yes, this is what she needs. Something fresh. Something exhilarating. Something to remind her of who she is. A prince is perfect -- tailor-made for her plans, her future, the life she’s envisioned since she first learned how to wield her charm like a weapon.

It’s almost too easy to imagine: the introductions, the subtle tilt of her head, the effortless way she’ll draw his attention without ever seeming to try. She can already feel the rush of it, the chase, the satisfaction of knowing she’s won before the game even begins.

And isn’t it a relief? To have something to focus on, something that doesn’t twist her thoughts into knots, no second-guessing, no messy emotions, no wondering if she’s imagining things that aren’t there. This is clean. Straightforward. The way things are supposed to be.

--

She does it. She offers the hat, her voice light and airy, her smile carefully practiced. She feels the weight of the moment, the way it hangs between them, and for a second, she almost expects Elphaba to refuse. But then--

That spark.

It’s in her eyes, the same one Galinda’s seen when Elphaba’s lost in a thought, when she’s challenging everyone around her with that sharp intelligence no one else has the courage to match. It’s fiery, and bright, and unguarded. And it’s directed at her.

It’s unbearable, that look, because it’s not supposed to feel like this. She’s meant to feel triumphant, smug, not… this. Instead, her edges start to fray, and her resolve slips away. She wants to take it back, to undo whatever this is, but she doesn’t. She simply stands there, caught in it.

Instead, she smiles wider, perfect and polished, and watches as Elphaba takes it. She pretends not to notice the warmth creeping up her neck, how her heart stutters when Elphaba’s fingers brush hers.

This is what she wanted, she reminds herself. To forget. To feel something else.

As Elphaba walks away, clutching the hat like it’s something precious, Galinda knows she’s failed. Whatever she thought she’d accomplish, whatever she thought she’d feel--it’s all wrong.

--

The ballroom glows, warm light flickering over polished floors, laughter and music swirling together in an easy, effortless current. Galinda stands at the center of it, right where she belongs, draped in warmth and admiration. But it doesn’t feel the same. Everything is too sharp, too loud, like the air has thinned around her, leaving her off-kilter, unsteady.

Elphaba did this.

Galinda grips the stem of her champagne glass too tightly, barely aware of the pressure, of the slight tremor in her fingers. The conversation around her rolls on, laughter cresting and falling, but she can’t catch hold of it, can’t keep up. Her own voice feels distant in her throat, hollow in her ears.

Elphaba did this. Convinced Morrible. For her.

She swallows, but it doesn’t go down. The whole night tilts on its axis, a slow, sickening spin. The heat of the room presses in, thick and suffocating, as if the walls have drawn closer, as if the chandelier’s golden light has turned oppressive, too bright, too much. The edges of everything blur.

She needs to sit down.

But she doesn’t move. She stays right where she is, spine straight, chin high, a perfect picture of poise. She laughs at something -- she doesn’t know what. Her lips curve, her voice lifts at all the right moments, but she feels like she’s watching it from somewhere else, untethered, floating.

It just doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit.

It splinters through her, splinters and lodges and refuses to be ignored. Because if Elphaba isn’t her adversary, if she isn’t the barrier between Galinda and everything she deserves -- then what is she? And worse -- what does that make Galinda?

The thought curls low in her stomach, tightens around her ribs.

She can’t do this here.

--

Elphaba’s face is a wreck of emotions, but the only one Galinda can process is the betrayal. It’s everywhere -- cutting through the her eyes, catching on the edges of her sharp profile, and Galinda’s feels it everywhere. It’s not supposed to be like this. Elphaba isn’t supposed to be here, and she definitely isn’t supposed to be looking at Galinda like that, like she’s --

The room shrinks. The music gets louder.

Galinda’s heart beats in double-time to the waltz. She knows how to control a crowd. She knows how to hold the room in the palm of her hand, bend it to her will. But she doesn’t know how to fix this. 

Her chest aches, and aches, and aches.

Elphaba turns, and for a second, Galinda thinks she’s leaving. She should. She should disappear back into the shadows where she belongs, should stop making this harder than it has to be. But instead--

She starts to dance.

Alone.

Galinda watches, detached, like she’s outside her own body. The room swirls around her, golden and muddled, but Elphaba is sharp in the center of it all -- too angular, too wrong, but still… something. Her movements are unpolished, clumsy, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t fold under the weight of everyone’s stares. Doesn’t let any of it break her.

Galinda doesn’t understand it.

She feels untethered yet unbearably weighed down, suspended in the space between falling and floating. The music refuses to slow, unaffected by the way her breath stumbles, by the thread inside her that finally frays and gives, sending her forward --

Her hand finds Elphaba’s without thinking.

Momentum takes over.

The music swells. The room moves with them.

And for the first time all night, Galinda feels like she can breathe.

It slams into her with no warning, every single thing she’s ever felt, all at once -- shame, guilt, exhilaration, longing, terror. It rushes through her, hot and unbearable, like she’s drowning in it, like it might consume her whole.

--

The hat bobs with every movement. Galinda can barely stand to look at it. 

Elphaba’s head tilts slightly, just enough for Galinda to see the tension in her jaw, how her lips press together like she’s holding something back. And then Galinda sees a tear, barely there, slipping down the sharp line of Elphaba’s cheek.

Her chest swells.

Galinda’s hand lifts. Her thumb brushes the tear away, the touch impossibly gentle, as if even the smallest pressure might undo her.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, so soft it’s barely there.

Elphaba exhales, a shaky, uneven thing that Galinda feels more than hears. She tilts her head slightly, her face still half-turned away, but Galinda doesn’t let her pull back. She stays close, her hands steady, her heart pounding with something fierce and protective and wholly unfamiliar.

Galinda doesn’t know what to do with the ache spreading through her chest, the sharp, clawing need to protect this woman from everything; every sneer, every laugh, every cruel word. Herself included.

When the song ends, Galinda doesn’t let go. Instead, she takes Elphaba’s hand, her grip firm and steady, and speedily tugs her toward the door.

“Come on,” she murmurs, her voice quiet but sure.

Elphaba hesitates for only a moment before nodding, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. Galinda leads her away from the crowd, out into the quiet of the night.

--

Galinda shifts uncomfortably, her fingers twisting together. “I owe you an apology, Elphaba,” she says, voice small but sincere. “I was… insufferable. Truly dreadful to you.”

Elphaba raises an eyebrow, leaning against the bed, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Oh, no question about that.”

Galinda winces, her lip caught between her teeth. “I know. I was just… I didn’t know what to do with you. With this. With your magic. And Morrible--she adored you, and I… I couldn’t stand it. I was just so jealous. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Elphaba sighs, her gaze drifting away. “Well, it’s about time you figured that out.”

“I really am sorry,” Galinda presses, quieter now.

Elphaba glances at her, her tone softening just a touch. “It’s fine. I mean it.”

A long beat of silence.

“Really,” Elphaba adds, gentler this time, “thanks.”

Galinda’s smile is all dimples. “You’re welcome.”

No more distance, no more pretense. She will be near her, and it , whatever it is, will pass. This is a temporary indulgence, one that will vanish as quickly as it arrived. She knows that once the haze clears, she will see things clearly again, as she always does. There is nothing here worth dwelling on -- just another fleeting whim that will dissolve with time.

She knows it will.

--

“Elphie, dearest --”

“Must you?” Elphaba cuts in, her voice already edged with the kind of exasperation that suggests she’s not asking for the first time.

Galinda tilts her head, her eyes wide in mock-surprise. "For sure, yes. Naturally," she replies, lashes fluttering.

Elphaba sighs, long-suffering. “It makes me sound like a poodle.”

“Well,” Galinda says brightly, entirely undeterred, “you do have that scruffy sort of charm.”

Elphaba pinches the bridge of her nose, her lips moving in what could only be described as a prayer for strength.

--

“All right,” Galinda says, her voice bright and determined. “Tell me everything. What were you like as a child? Did you have hobbies? Did you do… sports?”

“Sports?” Elphaba repeats, deadpan.

“Yes, sports! Were you athletic? Did you, I don’t know, play Quadlingball or something?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, what did you do?”

“I read.”

Galinda groans. “You can’t just say ‘I read.’ That’s not a personality, Elphie.”

“It was mine.”

“Fine,” Galinda says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “What did you read?”

“Everything.”

“Elphie, I swear to Oz --”

“History. Philosophy. Science. The occasional novel, if it was good.”

Galinda narrows her eyes. “Hm. What about friends? Did you have any?”

“No.”

“Not even one?”

“Not even one.”

Galinda gasps, clutching her chest. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“I didn’t need friends.”

“Everyone needs friends.”

“Do they?”

“Yes!” Galinda leans forward, pointing a finger at her. “Which is why it’s a good thing you have me now.”

Elphaba snorts. “Lucky me.”

“You are lucky,” Galinda says, ignoring the sarcasm. “Now, next question. Did you ever have a crush on someone?”

Elphaba raises an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“Because it’s interesting! Come on, who was it? A neighbor? A classmate? Someone scandalocious?”

Elphaba sighs. “No one.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Galinda stares at her, then shakes her head. “You’re lying. You have to be lying. No one goes through life without a single crush.”

“I did.”

Galinda flops back dramatically. “You’re so boring.”

“Thank you.”

Galinda sits up again, her eyes narrowing. “Do you work out?”

“What?”

“Do you work out? Exercise? Lift weights? Run?”

Elphaba blinks. “A little.”

“A little?”

“Yes, Galinda, a little. Are you always this repetitive?”

Galinda studies her, her gaze trailing up and down Elphaba’s frame. “That explains the arms.”

Elphaba crosses her arms. “What about my arms?”

“They’re… nice,” Galinda says, waving a hand vaguely. “For someone who claims to only read.”

Elphaba smirks. “Jealous?”

“Maybe,” Galinda admits. “Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To ask me something!”

Elphaba raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize this was a two-way interrogation.”

“It is now. Go on.”

Elphaba thinks for a moment, then asks, “What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done?”

Galinda grins. “Define ridiculous.”

“Anything that would make me question your sanity.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” Galinda taps her chin. “There was that time I tried to dye my hair pink.”

“Was this an accident or a cry for help?”

Galinda gasps, swatting her arm. “Pink goes with my complexion, Elphaba. Obviously.”

“And?”

“It turned orange.”

Elphaba laughs, a real, genuine laugh that makes Galinda blink in surprise.

“Don’t laugh! ” Galinda protests, though she’s already giggling. “It was horrific. I looked like a pumpkin in a petticoat.”

Elphaba presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? I wore a hat for a month and cried every time I passed a mirror.”

Elphaba exhales, shaking her head. “That is painfully on-brand for you.”

“I resent that.”

Elphaba chuckles. “Your turn.”

--

Galinda is already tucked into bed, her hair hanging loosely in a smooth, carefree fall, face glowing from her nighttime routine. She lies on her side, facing Elphaba, who’s flat on her back on the other bed, pulling the covers back with a resigned sigh,  settling in like she’s bracing herself for battle rather than rest.

“You know,” Galinda starts, her voice lilting in the dark, “I think I’m going to start journaling. I read that it helps with self-discovery.”

“Mm,” Elphaba murmurs, eyes closed, already trying to detach herself from the conversation.

“What do you think I’d discover about myself?” Galinda presses, her voice bright despite its sleepiness.

“That you talk too much,” Elphaba mutters.

Galinda gasps, not offended in the least. “I do not! I am a wonderful conversationalist.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe I’ll write about you in my journal.”

“Please don’t.”

“I could dedicate a whole section to you. The Elphaba Files.”

Elphaba groans, dragging a pillow over her face. “Galinda, go to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“You sound tired.”

Galinda ignores this. “Do you think you’ll ever take up journaling? You seem like the type. Brooding and introspective and all that.”

“I don’t brood.”

“You’re brooding right now.”

“I’m trying to sleep,” Elphaba says through gritted teeth.

“Same thing,” Galinda says with a giggle. She pauses for a moment, then: “Do you think you’ll dream tonight?”

“I hope not.”

“I always dream. Last night I dreamed I was riding a giant bumblebee. What do you think that means?”

“That you should stop eating sugar before bed.”

Galinda giggles again, softer this time. “Do you think I’d look good with wings?”

“Sure,” Elphaba says flatly, desperate to end the conversation.

“You don’t mean that. You’re not even looking at me.”

Elphaba lifts the pillow just enough to peek at her. “Yes, Galinda. You’d look fantastic with wings. Now, please, go to sleep.”

Galinda hums, satisfied. 

“Goodnight, Galinda.”

“Goodnight, Elphie.”

Silence falls over the room. Elphaba closes her eyes, lets out a slow breath, and starts to let herself relax.

“Elphie?”

“What?”

“…Do you think yawns are contagious for Animals too?”

Elphaba doesn’t answer. She pulls the pillow back over her face and vows to pretend she’s asleep no matter what Galinda says next.

“Yawning... with Animals... we’d be... the best sleepers...” Galinda whispers, her voice fading as she finally succumbs to sleep. 

--

Galinda bursts through the door, tea in hand, energy cranked up to eleven. “Tea time!” she chirps.

Elphaba glances up from her book, her expression unreadable, but Galinda’s learned to look for the subtleties. There’s no frown, no immediate protest, just a subtle shake of her head, eyes twinkling -- and oh, she knows it’s a win.

“You really don’t have to do this every night,” Elphaba says.

“Oh, but I do,” Galinda insists, placing the cup on Elphaba’s desk with a flourish. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“A less exhausting one,” Elphaba mutters.

--

 Elphaba is glaring at her. Not just glaring -- scowling.

The kind of scowl that says this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, and you’ve had many.

“Absolutely not,” Elphaba says, her arms crossed tightly, bracing herself against Galinda’s very presence.

“Oh, come now, Elphie,” Galinda trills, holding up a brush as if it were an olive branch. A very fashionable olive branch. “It’ll be fun!”

“It’ll be humiliating,” Elphaba snaps, her eyes narrowing further. “And sticky.”

Galinda gasps, clutching the brush to her chest as though mortally wounded. “Sticky! My products are only the finest! Sticky, indeed. You wound me, Elphie.”

Elphaba raises one brow, unimpressed. “Good. Consider it a warning shot.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Galinda huffs, dragging her chair closer to Elphaba’s desk with an unceremonious scrape. “It’s just a little eyeshadow. No lipgloss, I promise. You’ll look radiant.”

“I’m radiant already,” Elphaba deadpans.

“And modest, too!” Galinda chirps, ignoring the glare that follows. “Now, sit still and let me work my magic.”

Elphaba hesitates, looking as though she might bolt at any moment. “If I say yes, will you stop pestering me about this?”

“Of course.” Galinda beams, though she fully intends to find something else to pester her about later.

With a sigh so heavy it could shift mountains, Elphaba leans back in her chair, her arms still crossed as though that might somehow shield her from Galinda’s brushes and powders.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she mutters.

Galinda grins so wide it feels like her cheeks might split. “Oh, I know.”

The words do send a fizzy thrill rushing through her, but she quite revels on the way Elphaba says them -- gruff, annoyed, but undeniably fond. There’s something so delectably new about it, this banter that feels less like sparring and more like… well, something softer. Friendlier.

She leans in, brush poised with an artist’s precision, her lips pursed in concentration. The palette in her other hand wobbles precariously as she considers her next move. “Hold still,” she commands exasperated, feeling like she’s wrangling a stubborn cat.

Elphaba huffs, already regretting agreeing to this. “I am holding still.”

“No, you’re fidgeting,” Galinda says primly, dabbing the brush into a deep brown shade she’s certain will pop against green skin. She leans closer, and Elphaba stiffens -- barely perceptible, but Galinda sees it. 

The first touch of the brush against her eyelid earns an immediate, dramatic response.

“Ow,” Elphaba deadpans. “Ow, Galinda, that hurts.”

Galinda freezes, horrified. “It does not! I’m being delicate.”

“Feels like you’re stabbing me,” Elphaba says, her tone carrying the burden of some silent struggle.

“You are such a liar!” Galinda protests, pulling back just far enough to glare at her. Elphaba’s lips quirk -- twice, in fact, and oh, Galinda knows that quirk.

“You’re doing this on purpose!” she accuses.

Elphaba shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Maybe. Hard to say.”

“Sweet Oz,” Galinda mutters, leaning back in to finish the job.

The closeness doesn’t bother her, not one bit. She’s used to being in people’s space, used to laughter and teasing and the ease of friendship. Elphaba is clearly not used to any of it -- especially the proximity. The closeness. But oh, Galinda sees it for what it is -- pure, undisclosed bashfulness. She’s seen it before, in the flickering of her eyes, or with how her cheeks darken just a touch. Honestly, who would have imagined that beneath all that edge, there’d be such a timid little thing?

Galinda can feel the tension humming off her, how she keeps her hands clutched tightly in her lap, so deathly afraid as she is of accidentally brushing against her.

It’s oddly endearing.

“Ow,” Elphaba says again, even though Galinda hasn’t touched her in at least three seconds.

“Stop that!” Galinda snaps, but she can’t quite keep the laugh out of her voice.

Elphaba’s lips curve into a little grin, and Galinda decides to call it a victory.

Galinda’s fingers gently cup Elphaba’s face as she dips the brush into the eyeshadow, her touch soft and deliberate. The scent of jasmine drifts between them, unmistakably hers, and her eyes flicker over Elphaba’s nose, catching the freckles she always forgets about until she’s close enough to see them. She lets the moment stretch, blending the color with a gentle rhythm, relishing the feeling of having a reason to be so near her friend like this.

“I’m just curious how much longer you intend to indulge in this little project of yours,” Elphaba murmurs, leaning back slightly. “Not convinced it’ll make a dent, but I suppose we’ll see.”

Galinda rolls her eyes, the brush still hovering near Elphaba’s lashes. “Elphie. Shhh. You’re talking too much.”

“Did you just shush me?” Elphaba raises an eyebrow, appalled. “You--”

Before she can finish, Galinda presses the brush lightly to Elphaba’s lips, her eyes wide and slightly manic. “Shh. Let me finish.”

Elphaba’s gaze flickers between Galinda and the brush, her face flushing with indignation. She opens her mouth with difficulty, no doubt ready to say something scathing, “You did not just--”

“I did,” Galinda says, her voice sing-song, still holding the brush against Elphaba’s lips. “Now, if you don’t want me to mess it all up, you’re going to have to be quiet and let me work.”

Galinda leans in closer, the brush in her hand steady as she carefully applies the shadow to Elphaba’s eyelids, soft strokes, nothing too harsh. Elphaba, one eye squeezed shut, cracks the other open just enough to glare at her through it. Galinda doesn’t miss a beat. She moves to bat at the offending eye with the brush, and Elphaba snaps it closed. She sits frozen, as if bracing for Galinda’s next act of insanity. The blonde studies her work, the smoky brown blending with the brightness of Elphaba’s eyes, how it highlights the natural sharpness of her gaze. It pulls the green of her eyes even deeper. “You have the greenest eyes,” she comments, absentmindedly, as she blends the color.

Elphaba’s cheeks flush a delicious shade deeper. “Everything about me is green, Galinda. What else is new?”

“Hush,” Galinda says, finally pulling the brush away, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. She tosses her hair, regarding Elphaba with a wink. “What can I say? I have impeccable taste.”

Elphaba glances at her reflection, blinking as she takes in the way it accentuates her eyes in a way that’s undeniably striking. It’s subtle, but it does make her feel -- different. She shifts uncomfortably, not quite knowing how to process it. 

She shakes her head, still flushed, and doesn’t argue. “Don’t hold your breath for a thank you. I’ve been manhandled for this.”

Galinda leans in, eyes gleaming. “I don’t need a thank you. I just need you to stop complaining.”

--

She has a bit of a secret project.

The secret project had, admittedly, grown a little out of hand. Galinda could admit that much to herself, if no one else. But really, could anyone accuse her of being anything less than a magnificent friend? Certainly not.

So what if her plans had taken on a certain… grandeur? Elphaba deserved grandeur, didn’t she? And, well, if anyone thought Galinda’s enthusiasm was a touch excessive, they were simply wrong. It wasn’t excessive; it was attentive. It was thoughtful. It was the mark of a deeply caring, deeply wonderful friend, thank you very much.

She had started with a simple idea: matching rings. Just for the two of them, nothing too extravagant -- really, it was quite sensible, with the friendship odyssey they’d been through. But then, of course, it spiraled. One ring became a set. And then, before she knew it, there were delicate bracelets, necklaces for each of them, and -- well, just a few extra pieces, in case Elphaba decided to share the love. Because, truly, who could resist such a thoughtful gesture? Galinda was nothing if not generous.

It’s not her fault, really. It’s just that when you’re friends, you do things for each other, right? You want to make things special. And, well, maybe she got a little carried away. But it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all. Just a harmless, perfectly reasonable, totally normal burst of enthusiasm for a new friendship.

She has not told Elphaba about her secret project. Because it’s not that Elphaba would disapprove, exactly. It’s just that Elphaba has a particular way of looking at things, and Galinda is certain that this -- a delicate, intricate labor of affection -- would be met with something altogether dreadful. Like sarcasm. Or worse, indifference. And so, Galinda has taken to working in secret, in stolen moments when Elphaba is occupied elsewhere, leaving her beads and wires and tiny tools hidden away in the bottom drawer of her desk, beneath a stack of perfectly boring textbooks.

But tonight, fate -- or Elphaba’s terrible sense of timing -- conspires against her.

“What is that?” comes the familiar, drawling voice from the doorway.

Galinda startles, nearly sending a necklace flying. A bead slips from her fingers and rolls across the desk. She scrambles to catch it, and Elphaba is already leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that particular way of hers that suggests she’s going for nonchalance, but lands on nosy.

“Oh, Elphie!” Galinda chirps, her voice an octave higher than usual. “You startled me!”

Elphaba’s eyes narrow, her gaze flicking to the jewelry on the vanity. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Look at you, embracing your inner kindergarten teacher. You really have changed.”

Galinda lets out a laugh, light and airy, as she moves to block Elphaba’s view. “It’s just… a personal project. For me. Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

But Elphaba is already moving closer, her curiosity piqued. She reaches out a long, green hand, her fingers hovering over the beads.

“Don’t touch that!” Galinda snaps, slapping Elphaba’s hand away with a sharp smack.

Elphaba jerks back, blinking in surprise. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You -- well -- you can’t just go snooping around other people’s things!” Galinda huffs, hastily gathering the jewelry and shoving it into a drawer. “It’s terribly rude, you know.”

Elphaba crosses her arms and leans in slightly, her voice dripping with suspicion. “You’re acting awfully suspicious, Miss Galinda Upland.”

“Suspicious? Not in the least,” Galinda tosses her curls over her shoulder, feigning disinterest. “I simply don’t want your grubby hands ruining my hard work. And anyway, why are you even here? Don’t you have something dreadfully boring to read?”

Elphaba tilts her head, her sharp eyes gleaming. “I could ask you the same thing. Why are you hiding all of this? Why all the green? Oh, and pink. I see.”

Galinda freezes, her heart skipping a beat. “I… I like the colors,” she quips quickly, her voice high-pitched. “They’re fashionable. Everyone loves green and pink. Very trendy.” She quickly shoves Elphaba’s shoulder, trying to push her away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me--”

Elphaba raises a brow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Everyone? You mean besides me, I assume? I don’t exactly hear much about green being ‘in.’”

Galinda groans. She shoves Elphaba forward, but Elphaba stubbornly resists, refusing to budge. Galinda gives her another, more forceful push. “Yes, well, it’s… it’s a thing. You wouldn’t understand, I’m sure. Now, if you could just… leave me to my work?” She waves her hand dismissively, gives a pointed look toward the door. “Now, go on. Shoo.”

Elphaba doesn’t move, her gaze heavy on Galinda’s back as soon as she turns around. “You’re terrible at lying, you know.”

“I am not lying!” Galinda whirls around, her eyes flashing. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business!”

There’s a long, tense silence. Elphaba’s lips press into a thin line, her brow furrowing as if she’s piecing together a puzzle.

“Fine,” she says at last, voice low. “Keep your secrets, Galinda. But don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Galinda demands, miffed. 

Elphaba doesn’t answer. She simply turns, long braids swishing against her back, half up, still secured just as Galinda had left them. She walks to the door, her footsteps light but purposeful. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she swings the door open and steps out, but then -- pause.

She presses her back against the door, cracking it open just a sliver, her eyes peeking through the small gap, waiting for the reveal.

“Elphaba!” Galinda’s voice rings out, sharp and annoyed. “What do you think you’re doing? Leave me alone!”

Elphaba holds her ground for a moment, narrowing her eyes. Then, with a muttered, “Fine, fine,” she pulls the door shut, her footsteps retreating with an exaggerated, almost dramatic, sigh. “Honestly,” she grumbles as she walks away.

Galinda eyes the spread of jewelry, lips pressing together. She sighs.

“Okay. In hindsight, this may have been ambitious.”

But then she straightens, rolling back her shoulders. “Luckily, I thrive under pressure. Step one -- event coordination!”

--

The jewelry box is small, delicate, pale pink with gold trim. It looks expensive -- too expensive for Galinda to just be giving things away. Elphaba eyes it with suspicion as Galinda pushes it into her hands, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, waiting.

“Well?” Galinda prompts.

Elphaba huffs but lifts the lid.

Inside, nestled on soft fabric, are two sets of earrings, a bracelet and, to her bewilderment, an entire handful of rings, all in varying shades of green and pink. The beads shimmer faintly in the light, barely noticeable against the thin wire holding them together. Handmade. Not perfect, but… intricate. Thoughtful. She feels her stomach twist.

“What is this?” Elphaba asks, brow furrowed.

“It’s jewelry,” Galinda says, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. “For you, Elphie.”

Elphaba’s fingers hesitate over the bracelet before she pulls her hand back. “Why?”

Galinda rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Because I made it for you! And before you start -- yes, I know, you don’t care for frivolities, you have no use for jewelry, you think I’m absurd, et cetera, et cetera -- but I spent hours on this, and you are going to accept it graciously.”

Elphaba closes the box, shoving it back toward her. “I don’t want it.”

Galinda gasps, hand flying to her chest. “Elphaba Thropp, how dare you?”

“Oh, don’t start--”

“No, really. How dare you? I slaved over these. Slaved, Elphie! Do you know how difficult it was to get those beads onto the wire? They’re practically invisible! My fingernails may never recover!”

“No one asked you to--”

“But I did,” Galinda interrupts, hands on her hips. “Because I thought it would be a nice, sentimental gesture! But clearly, I was mistaken in thinking you had a heart.”

Elphaba sighs, rubbing her temples. “Galinda--”

“No, no. It’s fine. I see how it is. You’re above all this. You have far more important things to do than humor your poor, silly roommate who only wanted to do something nice.”

“Galinda--”

“But don’t worry,” Galinda presses on, dramatically turning away. “I’ll just wear them myself. How tragic, though, don’t you think? A set meant to symbolize our friendship, and yet--”

“Oh, for Oz’s sake,” Elphaba snaps, snatching the box back before Galinda can launch into a full soliloquy. “If I accept it, will you stop this nonsense?”

Galinda spins around, beaming. “Absolutely.”

Elphaba exhales sharply but reopens the box, plucking out the bracelet. It feels light, almost flimsy in her hands.

Galinda watches her expectantly. “That one’s for every day, as are the rings,” she says. “So you’ll always have a reminder of me, even when I’m not around.”

Elphaba gives her a dry look. “Oh, joy.”

Galinda ignores her. “The smaller earrings are for casual occasions -- you know, study groups, long walks across campus, overthrowing corrupt governments, things like that.”

Elphaba snorts, shaking her head.

“And the other pair,” Galinda continues, voice softening just a little, “is for important moments. The kind you’ll want to remember.”

Elphaba stills. The weight of the words settles into the air between them. Slowly, reluctantly, she fastens the bracelet around her wrist.

Galinda claps her hands together, triumphant. “Oh, it looks perfect on you! See how the beads catch the light? Just like your eyes.”

Elphaba squints at her. “That’s… not the compliment you think it is.”

“Oh, hush,” Galinda says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look splendid. Positively darling.”

“Stop saying ‘darling.’”

“I’ll stop saying it when you admit you like the bracelet.”

Elphaba glares at her.

Galinda smiles sweetly.

Elphaba exhales, a little too fond for her liking, but with no escape. “You wear me down every time.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

--

The room is quiet, save for the occasional flick of Elphaba’s long, slender fingers as she turns another page. Galinda lies on her back on the bed, her head resting in Elphaba’s lap, watching her quietly.

Elphaba’s voice is smooth, the words of magical theory flowing from her lips with ease. Her nails, sharp and dark, tap softly against the page as she reads. Galinda’s eyes trace the movement, watching as they flicker over the text, catching the light with every delicate turn of the page. The low, steady cadence of Elphaba’s voice begins to lull her, and Galinda’s gaze drifts lower, tracing the curve of her fingers as they graze the pages. 

She notices the braids that fall across Elphaba’s shoulder, the strands woven so carefully. She’s never been one to admire her friends like this -- never been one to linger on the small details that make them who they are, and Galinda supposes it’s the fact that they used to be so antagonistic, always at odds, that makes her appreciate Elphaba unlike any other friend. She wants to reach up, run her fingers through the strands, feel the texture, but she stays still, afraid of breaking the spell.

She sighs, her head sinking further into Elphaba’s lap, her eyes closing for just a moment, But then -- without thinking, without meaning to --, she opens them again, drawn back like a tide.

Elphaba’s hand pauses, and Galinda feels the cool touch of her nails against her scalp. It’s a fleeting sensation, a soft scrape, and Galinda presses her lips together, ignoring the quiet shiver trailing down her spine. Elphaba’s fingers move through her curls, gently pulling them apart, then raking her fingers through them and smoothing them down.

Galinda tries and fails to bite back the involuntary smile that tugs at her lips. The words blur as her focus shifts entirely to Elphaba, the warmth of her lap, the soothing cadence of her voice, and the tender, almost shy way her fingers linger in Galinda’s hair.

Elphaba pauses mid-sentence, her fingers stilling against the page. She tilts her head down, “Are you paying attention, Galinda?”

Galinda blinks, startled out of her daze, and offers a lazy smile, her eyes still half-lidded. “Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. You’re talking about… the theoretical application of fire magic in --”

Elphaba raises a brow. “In flame retention spells,” she supplies. “But please, don’t strain yourself. I wouldn’t want you to overexert your famously delicate mind.”

Galinda hums, unabashed, and shifts slightly in Elphaba’s lap, the soft rustle of fabric punctuating the silence. “Well, you do have a certain… hypnotic quality,” she teases, her tone lilting as she tilts her head to study Elphaba’s face.

Elphaba huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she resumes reading. “That’s just a polite way of saying I’ve put you to sleep.”

“You have not,” Galinda counters. “I’m utterly captivated. It’s like a bedtime story for intellectuals.”

Elphaba glances down at her. “Let me guess. You’re about to suggest I try a career in audiobooks?”

“Not at all,” Galinda replies with a cheeky grin. “I’d suggest a comedy act, but your delivery’s too deadpan.”

Elphaba pinches her hip lightly, and Galinda yelps. “Elphie! Your claws! Oz,”

“Dramatic enough for you?” Elphaba asks, her smirk positively wicked.

“I’ll have a bruise now, you know. I hope you’re happy.”

Still laughing, Elphaba presses her palm to the spot she pinched, rubbing soothing circles over the fabric of Galinda’s nightgown. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetness,” she says, voice thick with amusement. “Truly. What a tragedy. Shall I fetch ice?”

Galinda swats at her arm, but her protest is half-hearted. The warmth of Elphaba’s hand lingers, soothing and steady, and she finds herself settling back against her with a sigh, a little lightheaded. Her hand drifts to Galinda’s hair, her fingers threading through golden curls as Galinda closes her eyes, feeling really quite comfortable as the smooth hum of her roommate’s voice encloses her again.

--

Hot, plush lips are on hers – the pressure is relentless. Galinda gasps, her body responding before her mind can catch up, her fingers instinctively reaching for something, anything, grasping at the fabric of a nightgown. Long nails graze against her scalp, sharp, tingling – then reaching forward and dragging down her spine. Galinda shivers, consumed by it all, and feels her own hands slide down a warm back, waist, hips, slotting her legs through her. 

Galinda’s head spins, she can’t think, can’t focus on anything except the overcoming heat between them -- and then a slender, green hand is slipping beneath her nightgown, and she’s panting raggedly against hot skin as she strokes her through her underwear, then slipping underneath it still. Galinda chokes out a moan -- heat radiating from between her legs and vibrating all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. A hot mouth trails over her collarbone and between her breasts, tongue slipping out to taste her skin -- and then Galinda’s nudging her hips against that hand, breath leaving her in a rush when she slips a finger between her folds and finds her just so --

Galinda wakes with a start, opening her eyes, and the world feels off-kilter. Her trembling hand presses to her chest, fingers splayed over her heart as she attempts to calm its frantic rhythm. The sensation lingers – a weightless, spinning feeling in her stomach that makes her head throb.

Across the room, Elphaba sleeps soundly in her own bed, blissfully unaware. She’s serene, her breathing deep and even, silhouette faint in the moonlight.

She closes her eyes for a moment, freeing her mind of any misgivings. She presses her legs together and all but wills and wills and wills this burning ache between her legs to stop. 

--

“Walk you to your dorm?” he offers, falling into step beside her before she can answer.

She nods, grateful for the distraction, though it barely registers.

Fiyero’s talking -- about what, she’s not sure. She hums in the right places, lets out a laugh when his tone suggests she should, but her focus keeps slipping. She’s been off all day, she knows -- distracted, distant. Aloof. She’s still caught in the memory of it. Her hands, cool and steady, pressing into her skin. The weight of her, the way she fit against Galinda. It clings to her, lingers in the curve of her fingers, the heat at the base of her spine, the phantom imprint of lips against her throat. She swears she can still feel all of it, the shivery, breathless ache of being touched like that. Held like that. By her, of all people.

She shifts, restless, electric, trying to shake it off, but it’s useless. It’s under her skin now, in her bones. 

“Galinda?”

She blinks, startled, and realizes they’ve stopped outside her door. Fiyero’s watching her, head tilted, concern creasing his brow.

“Sorry,” she says quickly. “I was -- distracted.”

“I could tell,” He grins, leaning in closer. “Something on your mind?”

She hesitates, then reaches for him, tugging him into her room before she can change her mind.

“Galinda --”

She cuts him off with a kiss, her hands sliding up to cradle his face as she pulls him closer. It’s clumsy at first -- too rushed, too eager -- but she adjusts, letting him take the lead, letting herself sink into the familiarity of it.

His hands find her waist, steadying her, but it slips right through her. She moves against him, pressing closer, her hands sliding over his shoulders, down his arms, pulling him tighter. 

She pulls back, breathless, and forces a smile. “I’m fine. Truly.”

Fiyero studies her for a moment, then nods, his grin softening. “If you’re certain.”

When he kisses her again, she lets him.