Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By the time the end of August rolls around it’s always a touch too cold to walk along the river bank. Galinda does it anyway.

She’s up at dawn that day for a reason she can’t quite put her finger on. Sleep has never come all that easily to her and now is no exception. She won’t sleep well tonight, either. The end of August is always sticky, eerie remnants of summer fastening to your skin and pulling tight enough to strip you clean. Tonight Galinda’s pillow will be a lump beneath her jaw, which will be clenched quite resolutely. She will not dream.

Past the Pine Barrens and at the foothills of the Madeleines a river crosses lush ground. Somewhere up north, nearer to where Galinda’s parents would play in the streams as babies, they called it the Gillikin River. It twists and turns and runs far enough that, down here, where she’d grown up, it is the Munchkin River— rockier, wilder. It’s got a current down here, so strong that it’ll sweep you away in the blink of an eye.

Now it is early morning. Killyjoy bounds ahead of her along the pebbled beach, paws slipping on the damp stones. This is his favorite walk in the world, just down the hill from the inn and always untouched in the morning. Killyjoy leads the way every time, leaping out the back door the moment he can and guiding Galinda down the winding path, sand and dirt flying up under the kick of his legs.

They won’t go very far today. Galinda has hardly slept, so her eyes go achy and sore the longer she keeps them open and there are squeezing cramps in the muscles of her legs that feel bone deep. Like the growing pains she’d always gotten as a little girl, sniffling in bed while her popsicle rubbed circles on her spindly thin calves. Only now she’s as grown as she’ll ever be, terribly enough. She was getting to the age at which people figured things out, wasn’t she? How long can a person be charmingly unmoored?

She leaves her shoes at the top of the beach, shiny black ones that she slips her feet out of delicately enough for her toes to wiggle atop the ground sand. Up ahead Killyjoy waits, exasperated, and bounds toward her again once she’s crossed the beach to the lapping tides of the river. The water’s warmer than it looks, it usually is, but nobody seems to pay all that much attention.

“You’re getting too fast for me, baby,” Galinda tells him affectionately, rumpling the top of his head and giving his fur a sloping disheveled edge to it. There is a piece of driftwood floating in the tiny waves and Galinda leans down to grab it, using her submerged ankle to move it closer. “Here, Killyjoy— go get it!”

The stick arcs through the air and Killyjoy watches it go, there is a moment of hesitation before he’s off and splashing beads of water backward with the force of his run. Galinda smiles, shaking her head to clear water from the tips of her hair before Killyjoy returns and sprays her again.

It’s only temporary. All of this— temporary. One of these days she’ll give it all up, the inn and its dusty door frames and the way it shudders in the middle of a storm. Someone else will take over, maybe Crope from the kitchens, and she’ll never have another nightmare about untucked sheets or burnt coffee cake. Killyjoy will stay behind too, he likes it better here, and so will that awful itching she gets behind her neck when she’s in the bath or drifting off to sleep in her bedroom, that feeling like she’s being watched from somewhere very far away.

She’d give it up and do what she’d planned to do years ago, when she was back at school. Move to the Emerald City like all those other girls she’d known, get a job in one of those shimmery high rises and have an office with a waiting room that had glossy copies of Ozmopolitan stacked up as far as anyone could see. Maybe a year from now she’d go. It’ll get her out of this stagnance, the funk she’d been hazily in for an indeterminately long time.

This, she decides that morning, with Killyjoy racing back to her through the clear river water at seven in the morning and a pebble wedged between her toes, will be the season. By the end of autumn things will be right again.

She gets back to the inn a bit before eight. No guests today, it’s sort of an off season. People come in the summer for the river, they come in the autumn for the foliage. In the weeks between, when it’s too cold to swim but far too early for hot cider and pumpkins, there’s a terrible grave emptiness that settles over the seven bedrooms.

“Good morning,” she calls once she’s back inside and has slipped her shoes, dusty from the walk back up the hill, off by the door. Killyjoy bursts through the door like a rocket, hurtling toward the kitchen. Galinda follows him with a smile.

“Oh, good. I almost thought you were dead.”

“You wish,” Galinda rolls her eyes, poking Crope in the arm so that he yelps and drops a handful of blackberries he’d been washing into a waiting bowl.

“I remember telling you you aren’t allowed in the kitchen anymore,” Crope tells her with a raised eyebrow. “And you’re definitely not getting any of these scones.”

“You have to let me in, it’s mine,” Galinda says, leaning over to pluck a blackberry out of the bowl.

“I don’t have to do anything. There’s jam over there, by the way, if you want it. And I’ve got the nice bread left over from last night.”

“Tibbett left it, I’m guessing?” Galinda asks, swallowing her berry as she strides across the kitchen tile in search of the jar. “Oh, this one’s fancy looking! Peach?”

“Apricot. And some cinnamon in there too, I think,” Crope says, leaning his head over Galinda’s shoulder. “Toast me a piece too, would you?”

“I wonder who else gets the privilege of fresh jam,” Galinda muses while she loads the toaster with two pieces of bread, flaking around the crusts. “Anyone else on his morning route, do you think? No, I bet it’s probably just you.”

Predictably, Crope goes slightly pink. “He’d bring it even if it was just you working,” he protests, kneading the scone dough with both hands and a spot of flour near his cheek. “It’s neighborly.”

“Sure,” Galinda agrees. “Neighborly. That’s the reason he always leaves us for last when he drops off groceries, isn’t it? And the reason he’s always hanging around here? And it’s funny you’re making scones, since I seem to remember him telling you last Thursday that your blackberry scones were… oh, what was the word he used?”

“Practically spiritual,” Crope says, and then shakes his head as if to clear it. “Stop it, I know what you’re doing.”

“Oh?” Galinda asks, the picture of innocence. “What am I doing? Would you look at that, the toast is ready. Hand me a plate, would you, one of the chipped ones is fine.”

“The walls were making weird noises again when I got in this morning,” Crope tells her a few minutes later, taking a large bite from his toast. Galinda watches crumbs fall from his mouth, dusting the cracked tea plate that he’s leaning over.

“Window left open noises or pipes are broken noises?” Galinda asks, taking a bite of her own toast. “Oh, this one is especially good, don't you think? You can tell Tibbs that we’ll buy a few jars for the breakfast nook.”

“Tell him yourself,” Crope says with a blush. “But no, I will. And it wasn’t really either, more like… rattling? From upstairs, I think. The back entrance.”

“God,” Galinda sighs, chewing contemplatively. She presses the toe of her foot into the tile, grinding it down upon the grout ever so slightly. Crope has the window cracked open over the sink and the clouds billow above, a certain sweet wholeness to the morning.

The Shale Shallows Inn is in a constant fragile state of being. It’s a house with good bones, all things considered, for its age. Things were made with more care back then, that’s what her popsicle always says. Finer quality wood and hand painted wallpaper, furniture that someone had constructed with their bare hands and none of the cheap understuffed couches that are a dime a dozen in the Emerald City. Still, though, there is always something. A leak in one room, a broken curtain rod in the next. And then there are the constants, the way the whole inn is permanently a few degrees too cold or the way the wood floors up on the second floor creak and warp from one board to the next.

Or the rattling walls. Just the house settling, that’s what she tells any scared children who are staying in the inn. Galinda can feel the livelihood of the house in her own bones, sometimes. Her head hovers somewhere around the front desk, the kitchen is one warm palm of a hand, the bedrooms are cold fingers or ligaments or even the crook of her elbow, the hollow of her knee.

“Remember that crazy lady we had a few years ago? We’ve got to get her back,” Crope hums, finishing his toast in one efficient bite and wiping his lips. “Didn’t she want to set up a séance down in the parlor?”

“If there is a ghost I think he’s probably quite nice,” Galinda muses. “Probably just wants us to clean out the attic so that he’s not coughing up mothballs anymore.”

“That’s your job, not mine,” Crope whistles. “Let him know that I don’t live here anyway. Just in case he’s wondering who to haunt.”

“I’ll pass the news along,” Galinda says, pushing off from the counter with her hands. “Come find me before you go.” She turns, blowing him a kiss and patting Killyjoy on the head before she reaches the doorway. “And save me a scone.”

“Fine,” Crope grumbles, but he shoots Galinda a happy little wink and so she knows he doesn’t mean it.

Galinda’s mornings look the same most days. A standing breakfast with Crope is the easiest thing, a moment to catch her breath before the tasks pile up. They change based on the season, of course— in the winter she finds herself salting the stepping stones and stoking the fire, in the spring she’s dusting pollen off of the window screens and ledges. Summer is the busiest time, and Galinda flits from one room to the next with a change of sheets, fresh towels, and plates of homemade cookies sent straight from the kitchens.

Now, though, there’s a certain quiet that creeps over the place. Galinda has never liked the quiet. It’s what people imagine for an inn, especially one of this size, but it isn’t common, is it? There’s always a bustle until there isn’t, always a constant trickle of guests until they’re all gone in a poof and a sprinkling of pixie dust. The sheets don’t need changing, there are no wet towels to swap out, there isn’t even a single dish waiting to be sent upstairs. There is only Galinda.

She takes the stairs one at a time, now, and steps as softly as she can. The carpeting is thick beneath her feet and it gives with every step, presses and indentations looming each time she ascends another few inches. There’s something quite meditative about fixing, about being alone in a room. It’s true even with the degree to which she hates the quiet. Two realities can be true at the same time, Galinda’s always thought as much. Criss crossed wires.

“Good morning,” Galinda murmurs on the landing. She’s talking to the house, to no one in particular. Maybe she’s superstitious, call her crazy, but is it not a good idea to start off one’s day this way? When we live in a place, Galinda has decided, it holds all its realities in it. This place was a manor once, toeing the line of grand while still solidly typical, manageable. This place has looked out at the same river for its whole life, it must find something so grand rather unremarkable now. This house stretches every morning just like Galinda does.

No new sheets, no, but a peek into each room regardless. Room five needs a quick dusting, room three is missing a bar of soap. Room seven, down at the end of the hall, has a light flickering just outside of it. There it is, her task for the morning.

“Crope?” she calls down from the top of the stairs, and hears the faint sound of metal on metal from the kitchens. “Did I leave the extra bulbs in the upstairs closet?”

“There’s some in the closet and some in the attic,” Crope yells back after a moment. Galinda gets a whiff of sugar again, a hint of lemon.

And so it is easy to be here, attainable. Simple problems with simple fixes. Galinda takes out a stepladder and tries not to look down. She does not burn her hand on the bulb, she does not unscrew it in the wrong direction. It is fixed in a matter of minutes, simple and clean and more straightforward than things would be anywhere else in the world.

“There you go,” Galinda hums, patting the ceiling affectionately. “Don’t go out on me again, you hear me? I’m getting old.”

The inn would scoff at her if it could. With a smile and a twist of the lips she dismounts the ladder, stuffing it back into the closet and clambering down the stairs.

Galinda eats early that evening. It is a Monday. She is alone in the inn, walls echoing around her. It’s as ominous as it is comforting. She takes a bath and stays in the water until her fingers and toes are pruny. She feeds Killyjoy and watches him curl up for the night on his plush bed beside her fireplace, drooling onto the hardwood.

The nights are starting earlier. Galinda’s feet are still pruny when she leaves the bathroom in a fuzzy towel, picking at her lavender nail polish where it’s chipping at the beds. Outside the window twilight is yawning open, milky and strained as old tea leaves.

The ringing of the phone startles her like she’s in a dream, like it has been placed here just for her. She answers it with a reassuring look in Killyjoy’s direction— he’s cracked open one big eye, paws twitching. It’s a rotary, she crawls across her own bed to reach it and fidgets with the cord for a moment before picking it up.

“It’s late,” Galinda answers, even though it isn’t. She doesn’t sleep much anymore. There is a tumble of wind outside the window and the river, stretched out for miles ahead of her, rustles.

“You go to bed at eight thirty now?”

“Pfannee?” Galinda laughs, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Course I don’t. I thought you were… I don’t know what I thought.”

“Shenshen’s here too,” Pfannee says, and Galinda hears a muffled yelp over the phone that must be Shenshen somewhere in the distance, hustling to get back to the call. “We were just thinking about you. All alone at the end of the world.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Galinda laughs, twisting the spiraling cord around her thumb once and then twice. “I saw your mother at the farmers market over the weekend, Pfannee. She was wearing a really dreadful hat.”

Shenshen giggles into the receiver while Pfannee grumbles something in protest. “I’ve told her a million times that she can’t try things like that, not when her daughter works at Ozmopolitan!” she huffs, and Galinda can’t help but laugh along. “No, I mean it! She’s giving me stress hives.”

“I talked to my mother the other day,” Shenshen chimes in, and Galinda can almost see her face in that moment, the familiar little quirk to her eyebrows she gets when she’s trying to be subtle and failing most miserably. “And you’ll never guess what she said.”

“What did she say,” Galinda says flatly, because it’s easier this way. It’s what Shenshen expects, she’s primed them for it. This same conversation has existed in some well oiled variations for the better part of their lives, in college and over the phone and as children, scampering across the pavement leading to the river with melted popsicles in their hands.

“She told me that there is a certain eligible gentleman bachelor who has been calling on you,” Shenshen says, a joyful little lilt to her voice. “Chuffrey, Galinda? You didn’t even mention! How far have things gotten?”

Galinda wrinkles her nose, flopping backward on her bed. “Is he calling on me?”

“My mother said she saw him coming into the inn for breakfast every day last week,” Shenshen chirps happily, and Pfannee snorts. “She says that when a man’s routine changes so dramatically it means that someone has caught his eye. She says—”

“I say your mother is a horrible gossip,” Pfannee says. “But… well, Galinda? Did he?”

“Maybe he just got sick of cooking his own eggs,” Galinda protests. She hears Pfannee snort again, thousands of miles away in some glitzy apartment in the Emerald City with fancy spritzers to share. And here she is, back where she started, in another old house. One of these days, she reminds herself again. One day, soon, one day.

“God, I haven’t seen him since high school,” Shenshen says. “He was a class above us, wasn’t he? No, two above?”

“Handsome now, I’ll bet,” Pfannee hums. “Galinda, I’m almost jealous. You could have a classic romance novel affair, truly! The lonely young innkeeper and the eligible rugged businessman— what does he do, again?— find love in an unexpected place at the start of autumn. You could carve a pumpkin together.”

“I’m not lonely,” Galinda scoffs. “I’m unhappy. It’s entirely different.”

It isn’t untrue. It isn’t entirely true, either. It’s a strange sort of place she occupies now, caught between contentment and unease. There is the world in which Galinda leaves, goes off to the Emerald City and screws her head on right. The world in which this melancholy, this strange yearning that never seems to abate, is quashed. The world in which she knows what she wants and goes off to get it.

But, all the same, there is something about this place. Sometimes she wonders if there is anywhere else in the world that she’d know so well. She could move to a clean white apartment, one that doesn’t rattle itself awake every morning and cry itself to sleep every night. But where in her bones would she feel a place like that? How in the world would she know when something wasn’t right?

She would fix herself if she knew what that meant. If she wouldn’t miss being this way so much.

“Unhappy young innkeeper then, god,” Pfannee mutters. “I worry about you, girl! Remember that night in college when we went out to the Ozdust and Shenshen threw up, like, six cosmos? And you made out with that hot guy on the dancefloor and we didn’t even see you again until the next morning? We need to get that Galinda to come out for a night.”

“I don’t really see Chuffrey going out to the club, honey,” Galinda laughs. There’s a twinge of defensiveness in her chest, though, scraping at the edges of her lungs. That wasn’t what I… no you don’t understand why I… he wasn’t even…

She shakes it off with a shudder and, looking at her nail bed once again, peels off a line of purple until it crumbles beneath her fingertips and flutters down onto her towel. There’s something quite nauseating roiling around in her stomach— maybe one too many scones. The thought of Chuffrey coming in tomorrow morning, smiling up at Galinda from the cup of coffee she will pour him, the awkward attempts at conversation… she winces, a chill at the tops of her shoulders. It must be her wet hair.

“Not clubbing, even,” Shenshen moans. “Oh, I’ve got it! You can invite him to the inn for dinner. It’s so romantic, you can set up candles or, or! You could take food down to the beach, have your little chef make you a picnic.”

“Crope?” Galinda laughs. “No, he’d never. And I’ve got the dog.”

There’s a brief silence on the other line, Galinda can hear the dampness of her hair sinking into the pillowcase. “The dog will be fine for an hour or two,” Pfannee says slowly. “Are you joking? I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I can’t have a thing with Chuffrey, he’s a customer,” Galinda says, and that sounds right. She settles on it firmly, twisting her lips to gnaw on the crease of them. No flings with customers, that sounded professional enough. No flings with any of the boys in town anyway, they were all too much of one thing or another. Or too dear to her, boys she’d grown up tumbling in sandboxes with. No flings until she was out, until that white apartment where she wouldn’t hear the walls talk.

Maybe it would be for the better, all things considered. It could make a girl crazy, being out here for too long.

“You’re boring,” Pfannee laughs, but Galinda knows her well enough by now to know she doesn’t mean it. Pfannee, in spite of all her carelessness, can pick up on an uncomfortable feeling better than most. Galinda has known this about her for as long as she can remember. There are photographs of the two of them together as girls, photographs that prove their friendship had existed long before Galinda had even known what such a thing meant. “Speaking of office romances, I have to tell you girls about what I walked in on in the copy room on Thursday…”

That night, Galinda falls asleep with a single lamp still on. It must bother Killyjoy, he snuffles his head under the corner of a carpet and huffs off to sleep stubbornly. No one else is there to see it. It seeps its way into Galinda’s sleeping unconscious regardless, a shimmery fading glow off in the corner of all of her dreamscapes. Every time she turns to look at it, though, it flits away as if it had never been there at all.

Tuesday is so overcast that Galinda wakes up inside a cloud, windows fogged up and unfamiliar humidity playing at her skin. Out on the beach there is a carcass washed up, a dead fish with fragments of bone scattered around its empty gaping eye. Galinda studies it with a wrinkled nose, shooing Killyjoy away so that he lumbers clumsily up onto the rocks instead, face nuzzling against a grove of fresh ferns.

“I have a feeling about today,” Galinda tells Crope in the kitchen that morning. Killyjoy has finished his breakfast, leaving a trail of kibble behind him as he’d made his way to the back door to the garden.

Crope’s eyes flick to her, contemplative. “What happened last time you got one of those?”

“Mm, it’s been a minute,” she says, gliding her finger over the top of the muffin Crope has offered her so that the streusel crumbles under her touch. “There was the time the tree out back got struck by lightning.”

“Oh, or remember when that old couple kept trying to steal the candlesticks off the mantle?”

“Do I ever,” Galinda mutters. “No, it isn’t like that. Not about the inn, I mean. It’s more… existential, maybe? Do you know what I mean?”

“I definitely don’t,” Crope announces, fidgeting with a pot holder. “You’ve got people waiting out in the breakfast nook, though— Mrs. Minkos is out there asking for you again.”

“Of course she is.” Galinda takes a bite of the muffin— peach, this time, Crope is branching out— and leaves the rest of it behind as she grabs the coffee pot and heads for the dining room.

She tries to shake this feeling along the way, whatever it is. There’s a good distance between the kitchen and the breakfast nook, where Crope has already set out an array of pastries and fruit, where he will bring any orders if they’re ever placed. They aren’t usually. When there are guests things tend to fill up fast but on a day like this, a Tuesday with nothing charted for miles in either direction, it’s only locals. Sure enough, there is Shenshen’s mother in the corner nursing a little cup of tea. Galinda smiles, lifts a hand in greeting before—

In the corner, perched on the edge of an overstuffed armchair and holding a day old scone between his thumb and forefinger, Chuffrey. He’s spotted Galinda already, giving her a shy little smile and a nod. Galinda smiles back tightly. There it is again, that drop in her lungs, a sensation like she’s letting herself sink like a stone underwater.

“Galinda, dear!”

It’s Mrs. Minkos. With a glittery smile Galinda makes her way over, resting a hand on the woman’s blazer clad arm.

“Hi, Mrs. Minkos. Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, nothing at all, dear! I just like to pop in sometimes, you know, see how the place is coming along.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” Galinda says with a wide smile, teeth grinding together ever so slightly. “It’s all going smoothly still, a little slow this time of year.”

“Isn’t it funny, dear,” Mrs. Minkos remarks as if she’s just thought of it, as if Galinda hasn’t spoken at all, “to think that I’ve known you since you came up to my knee? I remember it like it was yesterday, funny enough, back when you and Shenshen would dress up for school every day, back when you wore fairy wings all the time! And now you’re all grown up!”

“I know,” Galinda smiles indulgently, “it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

“And I only wish Shenshen would follow your lead and move back home,” Mrs. Minkos intones, grabbing Galinda’s forearm. “So much happening in the city and none of it’s good, that’s what I always say. She could meet such a good man out here— you could mention how much you miss her, dear, that might do the trick.”

“I’ll try!” Galinda tells her cheerfully. She won’t, but no one has to know that. Shenshen is frenetic enough without any pointed comments from her. “Excuse me for a second, I need to go fill up the coffee, alright?”

Later that day Galinda eats lunch at the front desk. She’s alone in the inn, Crope having gone home before noon, and there’s a faint misty drizzle pattering across the window panes. From her perch at the desk she can see the pebbled beach, deserted, and the clouds of rainwater on the surface of the river. She shivers.

The bell on the front door tinkles. It’s funny how your life can change in an instant like that, how one tiny choice leads to another and then something pivotal happens before you know it, before you can catch your breath. And then it becomes the case that such an important moment, such a seemingly useless one, becomes forever memorialized by the ringing of a bell and the gust of August wind entering with the creak of a door.

Galinda looks up from her lunch. For a moment she wonders if she's been staring too long at crunchy lettuce and vibrant cucumbers because the woman standing before her, with mist dappled across the top of her head and deflating the volume of a silky black blouse, is coming out entirely green.

She blinks and, when she opens her eyes again, the woman is still there. She is backlit by the bright clouds outside, she is raising a single eyebrow at Galinda, she is still green down to the flecks of her irises.

“Hi there,” Galinda says, placing her fork down on the cherry desk delicately and sliding forward towards the guest book, “how can I help you?”

The woman meets her eye, now, and Galinda feels it in her gut. There’s something almost birdlike about her, almost hawkish. Almost predatory. There is no trace of a smile on her face but she isn’t frowning either, not exactly— it’s flat neutrality, no attempt at false niceties or even the hint of pleasantries. It’s disconcerting.

Shale Shallows is a small town, that is the thing. Galinda was born just down the road, she grew up racing from door to door picking up stray cattails and fastening milkweed in her hair to attract the butterflies. The population hovers somewhere between two and three hundred, inflated quite a bit by the summer people. By this time of year most every summer shop has shut its doors for the season— no more ice cream, no more barbeque off the main road. The bait and tackle shop will be open for another month or so before it converts itself, selling snow shoes and waxing skis out back.

And so, of course, Galinda knows everyone. Everyone knows Galinda. Even the out of towners who come to the inn are friendly, almost too much at times. They leave behind sprawling thank you notes with doodles of the old Shale Shallows lighthouse in the corner, they tip her and gush over Crope’s apple cake in the autumn.

Something like this? A guest so aloof she doesn’t even smile, doesn’t even acknowledge? Well, it’s not something Galinda can say she’s used to. She clicks the cap of her pen once and then twice idly, waiting.

“I want to book a room,” the woman says, flat and monotone. Galinda feels her eyes flicking in every direction— to the windows, to the framed watercolors of the river on the walls, to the green lamp in the corner and the glossy cash register on the desk. This woman doesn’t move a muscle, in contrast. She stares straight ahead, cocking her head as Galinda watches. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like Galinda should have known it already.

“Wonderful,” Galinda smiles. It’s one of her more charming smiles, the type where her eyes are all round and nut brown. “We have seven rooms at the inn, they all have two queen sized mattresses and an attached bathroom. The three along the left side have a small balcony each, and on the right we have four that face the water— quite pretty in the evenings, and around sunrise.”

She pauses, just for a moment. The wind seems to hesitate too, the inn deathly silent. How often has that happened, in all of her time in this place?

The woman doesn’t say a word. She seems to be waiting for something.

“And we have complementary breakfast for all guests,” Galinda continues, trying for unrattled. “Fresh pastries every morning, and there’s a menu to order off of as well.”

“Do you have a back staircase?” the woman asks, still looking sharply at Galinda. “I’d need a room near it.”

“That would be room seven,” Galinda says, ignoring the pulsing in her head like the start of a migraine, the sloping angles of what in the world? “You get a lovely view of the lighthouse from that room, too, it’s one of my favorites.”

Yesterday, that flickering bulb just outside the doorway. Today, that tingling sensation in Galinda’s fingertips and the corners of her eyes. The edges of lamplight in her dreams, trees struck by lightning. Galinda smiles.

The woman nods, just the once. She does not speak. Galinda waits.

“And how long would you be staying?”

And so for the first time since entering the woman’s face seems to falter, that stony facade giving way to a slight unsureness. It’s gone before Galinda can be sure that it was ever there, though, flitting away into the crevices of lips and cheeks.

“As long as I stay,” the woman says. On third listen, her voice is softer than Galinda might have expected. There’s a little hesitation to the end of it gracing the upward tilt of her syllables. If Galinda hadn’t been curious already she is now, leaning ever so slightly closer. The rotary phone on the desk seems to hum with the potential of it, every inch of the inn staying perfectly still.

But, well. There is not another soul in the room, not another soul for a thousand paces in any direction. There is a certain desperation on the green features before her, a desperation that makes Galinda want to pry. She does not get overly curious about guests, she does not get embedded.

This is the moment that she is going to figure it all out, after all. Come the end of autumn she will know the way ahead. In a season things will be right again and then she will leave it all behind.

For now, though… as long as I stay.

“What’s your name?”

The woman blinks, the hint of unsureness is back and now it is interspersed with a touch of defensiveness, a deepening of the brows.

“Why?”

“For the guest book,” Galinda says. It sounds pitiful put this way, childish and questioning. “For my records. Just… just your name.”

There is another beat, longer this time. Galinda waits on a cliff's edge. Anticipation rattles through her like an open sigh, bracing. She needs more to do, probably. She should get Crope to teach her to bake.

“Elphaba.”

No last name, no spelling. Galinda’s pen hovers over the page, waiting for clarification that never comes. The woman is shorter than Galinda had thought at first. She is moving from foot to foot unsurely. She has no bags. She looks out the window once, twice, three times. Galinda waits.

“I’m Galinda,” she says after a moment, and it feels strangely hollow in the early afternoon air. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

It is only Tuesday but Galinda goes out that night. Mrs. Sharpe, who’d been the one to pass on the inn to her in the first place, sits at the front desk like it is a sentry post. It makes her feel useful to come a few nights a week, and besides, it gives Galinda the illusion of freedom. The inn is silent anyway.

Although it isn’t empty anymore. Galinda feels the presence of another person, a new person, everywhere she turns. As a little girl she’d checked her baby pink dollhouse every night before bed to be most completely sure that every little thing was in the right place— that instinct, whatever perfectionist tendency it is, has never quite left her body. On a full evening she’ll walk the upstairs hall, look at each door from one to seven just to check that they’re still there.

Milla is waiting for her outside. “I’ve already had, like, a shot and a half of tequila,” she confesses, “is that bad? Nobody shows up to bonfires sober, do they?”

“Damn it, I didn’t even think of that,” Galinda mutters. She adjusts her top, tugging it up ever so slightly so that it falls higher on her chest. “Is this shirt too slutty?”

“Definitely not,” Milla says, self assured. “You’re sober? Here, take this— it’s fireball, I got the little shooter kinds from my sister. She hoards them, I think.”

“Thanks.” Galinda unscrews the little cap, squinting in the twilight that feels far heavier than it should at this hour. The whiskey is saccharine, strong as vanilla floating up to make her head all fuzzy. She tosses it back in one quick gulp, closing her lips tight around the bottle. Milla’s tiny whoop echoes on the front walls of the inn, bouncing off the dry wood.

“Who’s watching the inn?” Milla asks, leaning forward to fix Galinda’s necklace where it falls between her breasts. “Or are the ghosts roaming free tonight?”

“Mrs. Sharpe,” Galinda says, “I think it makes her feel better about me running it if she’s here some of the time. She thinks I don’t know that she talks about me to all the old ladies— you know how they play bridge together?”

“No,” Milla gasps. “I thought she loved you!”

“She does, she does. She also likes to remind people that I am ‘practically a child, only twenty eight.’” It’s a little colder out tonight than she’d anticipated, but at least it’s stopped raining— Galinda hadn’t packed a sweater but it feels too late now. The flowers in the garden are fluttering in the breeze. “Hey, who’s coming tonight?”

“Oh, everyone,” Milla hums, accepting the subject change easily. “All the people from the bar— there’s a new waitress, she’s only nineteen but she’s such a sweetheart, you’ll like her— and some of Shenshen’s brother’s friends. You remember those jocky guys from high school that he used to hang out with?”

“Hmm,” Galinda nods, busying herself with the tip of the garden fence. “And… is Fiyero? Going to be there, I mean?”

Milla does a good job of looking at her without looking. It would be better, of course, if she wasn’t making it so obvious. She clears her throat, tapping at her palm. “Yeah,” she admits, “yeah, I think so. Is that… it isn’t a problem, is it? Because I could tell him to go home, everybody wants you there more than—”

“Milla,” Galinda laughs. “No, it’s fine. It didn’t even end badly, it’s been a million years, I’m over it. Really I am.”

“I guess,” Milla says, though she sounds unsure. “Listen, I heard he’s talking to someone new. A girl.”

As if it’s a ticking bomb, as if Galinda is moments away from a fresh round of tears. She couldn't be further from it, truthfully— things with Fiyero are perfectly normal. Neutral, maybe even better than when they had been together. That relationship had been rocky because Galinda had made it so, she knew it. Whenever there did happen to be a stretch of peace she’d throw a wrench in it, something stupid and silly and she’d feel the idiocy of it all even as it happened. “Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?” Fiyero had asked, and Galinda had given no response. She’d had no response. What else was there to say?

“Good for him,” Galinda says primly. It gives the reply the quality of seeming diplomatic, like she’s risen above the drama and is being very brave. Milla seems to respect it, eyes widened as she nods, desperate to keep up. Galinda’s always been able to set the tone of such things.

“Should we go, then?” Milla asks, grabbing onto Galinda’s forearm. “We want to be fashionably late, not missing the fun late.”

But before they leave the garden Galinda spares a quick glance up at the windows on the second floor. There is no one there, but then, why would there be?

Galinda doesn’t recognize the boy who greets them at the beach. The sky is blue black, so maybe that’s a part of it, but he’s younger— twenty two, twenty three? There’s a sloping chivalry about him that makes Galinda grits her teeth, though she isn’t sure why. He calls her and Milla ladies, offers them a hand when they clamber down the path over the tiny dune and towards the plume of smoke by the river. Milla giggles and it reminds Galinda of a bird, a lark or some tiny waterbound creature that grazes the waves with its wings. It almost annoys her, only almost!

Avaric is there, though, and some of the other big headed boys who smoke cigarettes outside the movie theater, looming under the marquee when it’s raining. He raises a hand to her, waving her over, but Galinda pretends not to see it.

“We’ve got beer,” the kid who’d flirted with them announces proudly, gesturing toward a cooler nestled into a dug out patch of sand. “Help yourself. Do you girls smoke?”

“Not with you,” Galinda says cheerfully, shooting him a grin so charming that he smiles right back without a thought.

“Oh, yeah, I bet you’re…” he starts, losing his train of thought with a little squint. “Hey, why haven't I seen you around before?”

“Yeah, I think you’re a little young for me,” Galinda tells him. “Grab us some beers, would you? None of the crappy stout stuff.”

Blushing, the boy nods hastily and turns on his heel. Galinda watches him go and then yelps, Milla has slapped her across the shoulder with the back of her hand, shaking her head incredulously around a growing smile.

“You’re such a bitch,” she says, leaning over to knock her head delicately against Galinda’s. “‘Not with you?’ By the way, some of us actually like stouts!”

“Oh, please, you didn’t want to spend a whole night with some kid breathing down your neck either,” Galinda huffs. “I bet your boy is here… what’s his name again? Biq?”

“Boq,” Milla corrects, flushing. “Did you see him?”

“Get a grip, girl,” Galinda rolls her eyes. “Oh look, here come our drinks. Thank you so much, you’ve been so helpful,” she says earnestly, laying a hand on the boy’s upper arm delicately and widening her eyes.

“S-sure, yeah,” he stammers, blinking. Galinda tugs Milla away with a little wink.

“Am I still a bitch?”

“Yes,” she grumbles. “Hey, isn’t that Tibbett?”

And, all in an instant, Galinda knows how she will be spending the rest of her night. She’s right, too— Tibbett, already a few drinks in, embraces her with a yelp of glee and twirls her around in the sand until they land in a scattered heap on the ground. The whiskey from earlier has made its way to her head and she feels it pulsing, feels a twitch in the pinky of her left hand. A twitch that she normally associates with the inn, in fact, with a leak or a spot of mold or a tiny mouse trapped in one of the bedrooms. She expels it from her mind as fast as it had come.

“Come sit by the river with me, Galinda!” Tibbett demands a few minutes later, and Galinda barely has a chance to grab her beer back before he’s tugging her toward the water, yards and yards away from the fire and the ambling crowd. From here they are nothing but silhouettes, shadow puppets on the dunes projected up from the sky.

“My ass is going to get all wet,” Galinda complains, but she plops down on the pebbles and sand regardless, pulling her shoes and socks from her feet and grazing the river with the tips of her toes and the backs of her heels. Tibbett is staring out at the horizon.

“You’ll live,” he tells her. She can tell he’s tipsy by the level of familiarity, the way he’d burst out of the crowd to pull her to the water. She’s known Tibbett for years, of course, just like everyone in this town, but they’re hardly close. Her mind flits to Crope, rinsing blackberries meticulously in the farmhouse style sink.

“I liked your jam yesterday, the apricot one,” she says, and scoops a handful of pebbles into her palm, letting them roll off and hit the ground one by one.

Tibbett smiles. “Oh, good.”

“Crope liked it too. Quite a lot, actually.”

And that gets his attention, although he tries to play it off. He glances toward Galinda quickly, taking stock of her expression before turning back out to the riverfront and squinting into the distance. The scrunch of his face almost hides the honesty of his smile.

“Did he?”

“Oh, he did,” Galinda nods. “He’s been using it on his toast. You should swing by tomorrow, by the way, he’ll have leftover muffins.”

“I don’t usually come by on Wednesdays,” Tibbett says, hesitant, and he fidgets with the label on his bottle. “You don’t think it’d be… I don’t know, weird, or anything?”

“Not weird,” Galinda confirms. “While you’re at it, can I order some more sugar? I think our stash is running low, Crope sometimes stress bakes.”

“Remind me when I’m sober,” Tibbett says, and then flops backward until his head hits the sand with a low thump.

Galinda laughs softly. “Okay,” she hums, “I will.”

She can see the rise and fall of Tibbett’s chest beside her, the way it warps and wavers with the darkness of the early night. It’s strangely hypnotic. Galinda wonders, for a moment, if there are other places in the world that feel exactly like this. Are Pfannee and Shenshen hovering on this same cosmic plane, ever, back in the city? Something tells her they aren’t. Something, a nagging and buzzing the back corners of her mind, tells her she might just be the same wherever she goes.

“We’ve got a new guest,” she says to Tibbett, to the water, to no one in particular. This moment feels charged and ready, like it is waiting for her to say something, anything at all. “A woman, by herself. She’s green.”

“Green like how?” Tibbett says, after a long moment. “Like, what, she’s naive? Green like she’s a stoner?”

“Green like she’s green,” Galinda tells him. “Like, her skin is green. I know.”

And after another moment Tibbett just shrugs. “Huh,” he remarks. “Never heard that one before.”

“No, me neither.”

“Kind of late in the season, isn’t it? How long is she staying?”

“Until she leaves,” Galinda says lowly. “No, I’m not being sarcastic, that’s actually what she told me. I guess indefinitely? She wouldn’t say much, it's extremely annoying.”

“Maybe you’re having your first paranormal encounter, it was bound to happen sometime.” Tibbett says cheerfully and kicks his feet in the shallow water, which ripples around Galinda’s ankles in response. It’s still as warm as bathwater, she could sink into it until it swallows her whole.

“Maybe. Hey, Tibbett? Do you know Chuffrey?”

“Kind of,” he replies. “Not well, he’s quiet. He’s the one I deliver to down at the restaurant. Nice enough.”

Galinda hums, nodding. She feels Tibbett’s eyes on her again.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” she answers easily, tossing hair behind her shoulders. “He’s just a boy.”

“Right,” Tibbett agrees, though he sounds unconvinced. “Just a boy.”

“Sometimes I just think I should get serious about boys, you know. My momsie wants grandbabies. He’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

Tibbett doesn’t answer for a long moment, swollen with silence. “I came out to my parents when I was fifteen,” he says. “And then we never really talked about it again.”

Galinda hums again. She isn’t quite sure what to say.

“My point is,” Tibbett says, after a glance at her wrinkled brow and a quick puff of a laugh, “you don’t have to do something because your parents think you should. You said it, right, he’s just a boy.”

“Just a boy,” Galinda echoes, nodding. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I mean, it should feel bigger than that, I think. Maybe not at first, but you think about them, you sense them everywhere. It makes you hyperaware, doesn’t it?”

Galinda blinks. “Does it?”

Tibbett glances at her, curious. “For me it does,” he says. “You dated Fiyero, didn’t you? Last year?”

Galinda nods.

“Well then, you know what I mean. Like you’re always paying attention to how much he’s paying attention. To when he’s looking at you or, like, what he’s thinking. Right?”

Galinda looks out at the horizon and lets her eyes catch on the moon, a sharp crescent hooking its way through the sky. She nods again, and Tibbett seems satisfied. For some reason, an inexplicable little thing, she is thinking of the inn again. Of Mrs. Sharpe downstairs, drifting off to sleep at the front desk and smudging the ink in the guest book. Of Killyjoy, full from dinner and loping into his bed for the night. Of a room upstairs, occupied once more, the startling greenness of a woman inside it. Elphaba, she had said, and her voice had been so much softer then. Elphaba.

“So then you know what I mean,” Tibbett agrees happily, satisfied. “You should do what you want to do, Galinda.”

“You’ve gotten pretty wise,” Galinda hums.

“It’s the alcohol,” Tibbett tells her. “When you see me tomorrow I’ll look half dead. Nothing wise about that.”

“Hmm.” Galinda fidgets, letting herself slide backward until her own back is against the pebbles and the sand. Above them the stars are out, lining themselves up in constellations she doesn’t recognize. “You should come by the inn more often, okay? I’m trying to get my head screwed on right.”

“Good luck with that,” Tibbett murmurs from beside her. “I don’t think I’ll ever screw my own head on. Better that way.”

The beach smells like embers and copper. Galinda’s beer is too warm to drink now. Instead she stares up at the stars.

When she finally makes it to bed, only a touch tipsy, the night replays itself in flashes and unsteady chunks, upsurging all at once and making her wince. Killyjoy groans on the ground, shifting positions, and then his breathing evens.

Tibbett, feet in the water. Milla, leaning her head on Boq’s shoulder while perched on a drifted up log. Fiyero, raising a shy hand in greeting from across a blazing bonfire.

Killyjoy is sleeping, the house is sleeping. Somewhere upstairs and to the right, down at the end of the hall, Elphaba should be sleeping too. Is she? Galinda can’t tell. Her limbs are all a bit numb, a bit unfeeling. What has she done today? Is she in her bed where she’s meant to be, like a little figurine in a dollhouse for the night? Will she be gone in the morning and leave nothing but a sprinkling of dust in her place?

Anyone who is anyone in Shale Shallows knows that Galinda Upland, innkeeper of the Shale Shallows Inn, is as personable and lovely and positively welcoming as anyone could possibly be.

Anyone who has ever stayed at the inn itself would confirm— she is just a dear. She checks in on guests and remembers their names, their vacation plans, their favorite pastries. She is always on her feet and she always has a smile on her face. It must be exhausting, they think, to work so hard.

Which is what makes things strange, the whole to-do with Elphaba. Galinda isn’t nosy or overinvolved but she does like to take an interest in her guests, of course she does! At every turn Elphaba rebuffs her, though, so subtly it’s like Galinda hasn’t even tried at all.

She passes by her, up early and sitting with a half written letter on the most uncomfortable chair out of the whole lot in the parlor. “Good morning,” Galinda chirps, smiling kindly, “will you be joining us for breakfast? It’s all made fresh, of course, every morning.”

“No,” Elphaba says, without even looking up, and Galinda blanches.

“There’s quite a lot to explore in town, too, if you’re curious,” she adds when she’s properly recovered. “Our guests can get vouchers for discounts at some of the shops— I’ve got great connections, you see.”

It’s half of a joke and half genuine. She really is well connected, of course. Elphaba doesn’t laugh or smile or anything, just nods distractedly and picks up her pen again. So Galinda gathers that the conversation is over before it’s really begun.

It happens again. Galinda is up on the second floor cleaning, and arranging, and maybe spending a little bit longer than she should lingering outside of room seven. She gets her wish, anyway— the door swings open and she stumbles back the slightest bit and Elphaba is staring at her with eyes very wide. She hasn’t expected Galinda, that is for sure and certain. Galinda swallows.

“Hi,” she hums, and hopes she doesn’t seem half as surprised as she is. “Sorry if I’m in your way, just… cleaning, you know.”

Elphaba just stares at her. Galinda decides right then and there that she’s not about to let Elphaba get away with no answer again— she crosses her arms and juts her chin up and it’s a nice face, a pleasant one, but there’s a touch of ice in it that Elphaba simply must recognize. She must, or else Galinda will scream.

“It’s fine,” she says after a moment, a little begrudging. Galinda smiles widely.

“Oh, good to hear. Do you need anything, Elphaba?” she places extra emphasis on Elphaba’s name to prove a point— you can’t ignore me, she wants to say. It is, of course, just that she cares about the inn, that’s all.

“No,” Elphaba says, and nods stiffly and turns to leave. Galinda clears her throat.

“You’re sure? We can send up food, if you want, or come change the sheets in—”

Elphaba turns around. “I’m alright,” she says tersely. “No thank you.”

And then she’s gone again. Galinda wants to throw something at the wall, but she doesn't have anything in her hands. Instead she decides to let herself hope Elphaba’s pen breaks open on her stupid old letter; she hopes that it’s illegible and she has to write the whole thing over again and know that the first try was better. Of course, she also hopes none of that ink gets on her lovely cherry wood table. It pays to be logical.

“It’s just frustrating," Galinda tells Crope one sunny morning— Saturday, to be exact— over a cup of tea at the front desk. “She doesn’t even acknowledge me. I never see her. She doesn’t even come down for breakfast, Crope, breakfast!”

“Maybe she’s just shy.” Crope taps his fingers along the counter, a drumbeat. “Or maybe it’s you, actually. Probably it’s you.”

Galinda ignores him and pours another packet of sugar into her tea. “I’m so friendly,” she moans, dropping her head forward to hit the desk. “She’s terrible. She’s awful. She’s so… so…”

“Green?” Crope hums casually. “I hate to say it, Galinda, but maybe you could try caring about it a little less.”

Galinda swings her head up, incredulous. “Stop caring about customer service? Stop caring about the good of the inn? What’s next? Stop caring about life? About the state of the world?”

“Did I say that? I don’t remember saying that,” Crope muses.

“Damn it,” Galinda hisses, glancing down at the smudged schedule below her. “Okay, wait— you can’t work next Wednesday, you said?”

“No,” Crope says, leaning over the desk to peer down at the page. “I mean, I could try to get my appointment moved but—”

“Don’t do that, I’ll cover it.” Galinda writes a note on the day, crossing over Wednesday’s looping W. Crope watches her warily.

“Okay, this worries me. Are you threatening to bake? Because we got some complaints last time, Galinda, and I really think it’s easier if I—”

“I can bake,” Galinda huffs, pink in the cheeks. “I can! Fine, then you can make something the night before and I’ll put it out. It’s only Elphaba here anyway. I bet she doesn’t even eat. I bet she just absorbs the souls of all the people she glares at.”

“Did she do something to you, or…?”

“She hasn’t done anything, that’s the problem.” Galinda slams her pen down, taking a long sip of her tea with a clenched jaw. “It’s fine, I’m fine. I just need to be even nicer.”

“Or you could just, you know, be normal about it. Get a hobby.”

“I have a lot of hobbies,” Galinda huffs. “No, she isn’t even going to know what hit her.”

And so the next few days follow that way. Maybe she’s bored. Maybe it’s dissatisfaction with life here, with the childishness of having bigger dreams. She used to stay busier, maybe that’s it— she’d spend the evenings with Fiyero, and the inn would be crowded enough that there was always a question to answer, always a guest to talk to. Lately the emptiness has been draining, swallowing her up and spitting her out again all unmoored.

She’s in the garden when she sees Elphaba, knee deep in the dirt. It’s impossible to clean herself up— her hair is all astray, beads of sweat drying on her forehead and hands caked with soil. She’s been pulling weeds, no gloves and no sunscreen. There are red marks along her fingertips. A pile of roots and stems is crushed beneath her knees.

And so: Elphaba strides out of the front door without a glance, single minded in her laser focus. Galinda falters, stumbles, loses her grip on a particularly stubborn weed. It slides through her sweaty hands— it’s hot today for late August near the mountains— and she loses her breath in a puff.

“Good morning,” Galinda calls, from her terrible squatting perch in the tilled soil, raising an arm in greeting. Humiliating, truly it is, she looks a mess and she’s just lost a battle to a plant, of all things.

“It’s afternoon, now,” Elphaba replies slowly. She looks a bit surprised, stopping and standing stock still on the stepping stone path to the front gate. It is far too hot for the outfit she’s wearing, complete with beautiful drop pearl earrings that swing from her lobes and tap delicately at the line of her jaw. Galinda tries not to stare.

“Oh, well!” she says, wiping her hands on the dusty denim of her pants, tossing in a charming little giggle. Elphaba does not look impressed. “Good afternoon, then! How has the inn been treating you?”

Elphaba nods stiffly, blinking. She moves from one foot to the other on the smooth stone and Galinda unfurls herself from her crouch, standing to reach her full unimpressive height. Elphaba sizes her up and then clears her throat.

“It’s good,” she says, after a beat. “Quiet.”

And oh, how positively maddening she is! Galinda grits her teeth and smiles glitteringly, a terrible prickling at her scalp in the sunlight. “I’m so glad to hear it,” she says with a tilt of her head that she knows is endearing, a widening of her eyes. People love this version of her, the innkeeper with the unending smile and wholesome little life. Cheerful, good, quaint. Galinda thinks of a beer on the beach, a man shirtless and diving into the water. Fiyero beside her in bed, Milla passing her a joint. She wrinkles her nose.

And so Elphaba nods brusquely and her face flickers rather awkwardly. She starts to walk again, one foot uncurling slowly in front of the other.

Galinda can’t explain it but she needs to stop it from continuing, needs to freeze time and stop the world just for a moment. Her face feels hot. Elphaba isn’t looking at her anymore. Something itches in her throat like the start of a cold.

“I like your earrings,” Galinda blurts, and Elphaba stops and turns back slowly. She looks a bit taken aback, startled like she doesn’t know whether she should believe it.

“Oh,” Elphaba murmurs, hand flitting up to her earlobe self consciously. “I… well, thank you.”

There is a terrible and horrible silence. Galinda does not do well with silence. Elphaba fidgets again awkwardly, Galinda mirrors her, tugging on the knuckles of her hand.

“Alright,” she says after a moment, eyes flitting down to Elphaba’s gold pinky ring glinting in the sun, the crispy envelope she’s holding between two fingers. Galinda squints, the cursive address across the front of it is tidy and sloping. “Well… I’ll see you later. Let me know if you need anything.”

Elphaba just stares at her. No response, no indication that she’s heard besides a faint tightening at her lips that could, in another universe, be an attempt at a terse little smile. She grips her envelope a little bit tighter, Galinda can see the wrinkles forming on the creamy paper, and then she’s off again. Her boots click over the stepping stones, the wrought iron gate squeaks with her exit. Galinda turns back to her plants, running a fingertip along the edge of a fern and tugging at that stubborn weed again, looping her fingers around the base near the roots.

But, still— she can’t quite help it, can she? She watches Elphaba as she goes, striding down the path and across the little field that separates the inn from Main Street. There are only a few people out, a handful of colorful spots wavering in Galinda’s periphery. Elphaba is a black and green blur in the distance. Then she crosses the street, turns a corner, and is out of sight.

One day Galinda runs into Elphaba between the front door and the main hallway. She’s stopped there, standing still like she’s awaiting direction in a way Galinda finds incredibly jarring. It doesn’t look right on her, she seems like the sort of person who should know what she’s doing always. This look, the blank slate and the staring into the space of the slightly crooked windowpanes, is unbecoming.

Galinda lets herself roll around in that thought with a little sharp satisfaction. A bad look on her, because even someone so… so as Elphaba can have bad looks. Not so perfect now, is she?

“Good morning,” Galinda says, because it’s polite, but there’s maybe a hint of a bite to it. She’s on her way out to the front to tidy up the lawn and look good doing it, too. Elphaba doesn’t even look at her perfectly precious cream blouse, though. She hardly looks at Galinda at all.

“Morning,” she mutters, or snarks, or something. Maybe it’s not done rudely at all but Galinda is ascribing the tone regardless, because it seems there to her. Alluring still.

Elphaba smells like something Galinda can’t place, it stands out like an exclamation point in the early air. Sometimes Galinda feels a rush at the way all of her guests start to smell the same, like her laundry detergent and the fancy little soaps she stocks in the bathtubs that come from the sweet but vaguely pretentious artisan shop the next town over. She has too many, after all, there’s only so much beeswax one girl can use. But Elphaba smells different, like her own soap maybe.

She’s just showered. Galinda can tell because she smells like it, and because there’s a few stray drops of water beaded at her neck, arranged like those little hexagonal tiles that used to be in Galinda’s granny’s kitchen. It looks almost intentional, like a tattoo, but the world can be oddly particular sometimes. Symmetry in weird places, water droplets on a green neck, a sharp sudden thirst through Galinda’s tongue like she’s not drunk a drop in days. She has, of course, just finished a tall glass of water with ice and can feel the remnants of it at her teeth. She shakes her head.

Elphaba glances up at her out of the corner of her eye— she actually glances like that, eyes swooping but without moving a single muscle of her head. “Did you need something,” she says flatly, and there Galinda is with her silly blouse and parched mouth and thoughts of how particular it was to bring your own soap— something Galinda herself would do, all things considered.

“No,” Galinda huffs right back. Maybe it’s rude, maybe it’s not.

But oh, it seems like it is. Elphaba’s eyes raise the slightest bit and her eyebrows flick up with them, wary. They squint the tiniest bit, miniscule little arches. Galinda feels it in her throat.

She could shower too. She could sit here and refuse to leave until Elphaba tells her something with substance. She could do a lot of things.

She doesn’t. She goes outside, and probably she says something else before she does but, with all the thumping of her head, she can’t quite remember what it is.

On Monday morning Galinda wakes up too late for the beach. It’s pouring, anyway, raindrops as thick as pebbles smacking into the windowpanes. Her apartment smells like butter. Killyjoy snuffles his nose against her leg when she slides out of bed, following her into the bathroom excitedly.

There’s a record on in the parlor when she makes it into the hallway, dressed and hair brushed and pulled out of her face with two dainty little barrettes. Killyjoy darts into the back garden excitedly when she tugs the door open for him, nuzzling against her ankles again. Aside from the music, an old warbling folk singer with a harmonica and a few plucked strings of a guitar, there is pure silence.

And then Crope appears at the end of the hall with a heaping plate of croissants, shiny under the lamplight. “There you are,” he says. “Breakfast starts in ten minutes, did you forget?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Galinda rolls her shoulders back, yawning and striding forward to pluck a croissant from the tray. “Do you ever wish you could get out of here, Crope? Not like moving. Do you ever wish you could start all over with a clean slate, take back every decision you ever made?”

“Not really,” Crope says. “Did you do something stupid? Rebound sex isn’t unfixable, in my experience.”

“Ew, no,” Galinda scoffs. “Also, that’s disgusting. This is a workplace, Crope.”

“Barely,” Crope says cheerfully.

“I just meant… do you ever wish that you could start at the beginning of your life again, and someone would tell you all the right choices to make? And you knew exactly who you were from the start, so you didn’t have to waste any time figuring it out?”

“Would you mind if we saved the existential conversations for after nine?” Crope says, cocking his head. “Or you could talk about it with Chuffrey, he’s in the breakfast nook.”

And, once again, Galinda’s stomach sinks. “Is he,” she hums neutrally, taking a bite of her croissant— almond, this time. Flakes of it tumble into her waiting palm.

“He is. Don’t worry, you look great.”

Galinda looks down at her clothes, the cream colored blouse and the turquoise beaded necklace, the tight slacks in a deep forest green. “I usually do,” she says, ignoring the clench and release of her stomach. “Here, give me those, I can set up the buffet.”

Crope hands over the plate without much protest and gives her a little salute on his way back to the kitchen, wiping his hands on the hips of his pants. With her own croissant in one hand Galinda crosses the parlor, enveloped by the whine of a harmonica, and opens the door to the dining room so that she can spill in alongside the music and the smell of butter.

Chuffrey looks up and smiles at her, sweet and hesitant. Galinda feels that clench and release again in her stomach, her lungs, her heart.

He is rather handsome. Tall, a fine little line of stubble that makes him look appropriately rugged. And he’s dressed well too, fresh clean button down with the top two buttons undone. A nice smile.

“Good morning, Galinda,” he says shyly. “Those look amazing.”

He’s sweet, patient. Galinda could like him. There it is again, that clenching— a tell tale sign, if she knows herself. It’s how she’d always felt with Fiyero at the beginning, too, that familiar fluttering of nerves whenever he looked at her in a particular way. Galinda, who likes to be looked at, has always felt a bit shy when a boy looks at her like that. She feels it now, even with Chuffrey’s clean bright face so early in the morning. A good sign.

“Good morning,” she smiles, trying to level as much charm as she can into a single phrase. “Come take some, we’ve got plenty.”

“The best pastries in town, I’m sure of it,” Chuffrey says happily, rising to snag one. His eyes don’t move from her the whole time, he’s taking in the press of her collar and the way her pants flare out above her shoes. Galinda resists the urge to fidget with the fabric.

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” Galinda laughs. “You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you? It’s a slow morning with all the rain.”

And at that Chuffrey pinkens, delighted. “Please,” he offers, pulling out the chair opposite his own and gesturing.

It’s always quite satisfying to know she’s won. It had taken, what, a minute of conversation? And here Chuffrey is now, wrapped around her finger. A good thing, to be sure. A handsome thing, a distracting thing. There is a creak upstairs and Galinda, eyes catching on the green of her pants as she sits down, is suddenly reminded of just how distracted she would like to be.

The rain beats on the windows. Chuffrey takes a bite of his breakfast, and then another. And Galinda waits.

“You’re very young to be an innkeeper,” he says offhandedly, and Galinda bristles. The harmonica in the next room sounds rather shrill, all of a sudden.

“I’m old enough,” she says, voice tinkling musically, a tight smile on her lips. Her tone stays light but he can tell that she’s gone stiff. Chuffrey blinks.

“No, I didn’t— I didn’t mean it like that. Really I didn’t.”

“Alright,” Galinda agrees mildly, taking a bite of croissant. What would make Elphaba leave that blasted old room, she wonders? A fire, a flood? If Crope were to knock over a shelf of pots and pans, would she be startled? What if a bird flew into her window, what if something crawled out from under the bed?

“This isn't going well, is it,” Chuffrey laughs self deprecatingly, and, oh. He’s quite charming like this, isn’t he? There’s a touch of embarrassment there but he’s meeting Galinda’s eyes like he’s waiting for her to give him grace, like she’s intelligent enough to know the difference. “It’s just… I’m thirty, you know, and I’ve got no idea what I want to do. I like the restaurant fine, it’s good money, but it’s not what I thought I’d be doing, back when I was a kid. It’s good to see someone like you, someone who does what they love.”

Love, isn’t that a strange word for it? Galinda does what she does. She loves the inn, in her strange little way, the creaks and groans of the floorboards into the night and the way the smell of fresh laundry pools up outside her window. Love, though? Is she doing what she loves?

Maybe she is, truly, There’s something amiss, a piece out of the puzzle and a step cut off of the staircase. Maybe it’s the inn, maybe it’s something else. Maybe, she thinks wildly, Chuffrey could be it.

“What did you think you’d be doing?”

Chuffrey glances up at her, surprised, and then his face widens and broadens into a lovely little smile. Galinda can’t help but smile back, in spite of the tempest whirling in her feet and knees and toes. “I wanted to be a rocket ship,” he says. “Not an astronaut, the actual rocket. You’d get a better view that way.”

And when Galinda meets his eye there's something pleased in there, something glittering. Galinda can almost picture it, a tiny boy with scruffy brown hair dreaming of rocket ships and stars. And, well…

Chuffrey could be it, couldn’t he? Not forever, just for this moment. One day Galinda will look back on this time in her life, far off in the future when she’ll have to dye her roots and won’t have to furrow her brow to see her wrinkles. She’ll look back and this will be a season, the time before she moved on to bigger things. Chuffrey could fit into that picturesque little backstory quite nicely, she thinks.

She’s always liked how she looks on someone’s arm.

The giggle that comes isn’t faked, though. He is charming, isn’t he? And it’s an easy day, rainy and slow and the room smells like butter. Chuffrey lights up at the attention and, yes, she thinks she can work with that.

“I used to think I was magic,” she confesses, tearing a flaky line from her croissant. “I was convinced that if I spent enough time trying I’d become a witch— a pretty witch, of course. With a lovely wardrobe.”

“Of course,” Chuffrey laughs, and he’s much more comfortable now. Galinda can tell because he’s leaning closer, and his posture has changed, and there’s a certain relaxed air to his shoulders and forehead and the jut of his wrists on the table. “It’s funny we never really knew each other, isn’t it? And there’s not many people to know around here.”

“Isn’t it?” Galinda agrees, leaning closer across the table herself. This will be a new moment for her, for before she goes. Just for now.

Isn’t it funny, Galinda thinks, how something can become a part of one’s life so firmly and so abruptly?

Like the inn, for instance. One day she’d been in charge, just like that, and now it would never be a place she didn’t think about. She’d grown up alongside the inn, of course, back when it had a different name and was painted blue instead of white. It was a place to bike past on the way to the general store, a place she’d darted up the path of on Halloween with a pillowcase full to bursting with candy. And then one day it was hers, and the rumpled carpet and peeling wallpaper had been important enough to creep its way into her nightmares.

She’d dreamed of Chuffrey last night and had woken up with a tension in her neck that hasn’t abated, a crick that no amount of neck rolls can quash. He’d be back for breakfast this morning, she’s sure of it— they’d talked for quite a while yesterday, he’d left with a straighter spine.

And she doesn’t mind it— no, it’s actually a good thing! She isn’t quite sure why she hasn’t done this sooner, because Chuffrey is really rather good for her. Handsome, but not so much as to upstage Galinda. Charmingly funny, but not so much that she can’t get a word in. Quiet, a little shy, just how she likes boys. Men, she supposes— Chuffrey is a man with a house and a job and thirty years of life behind him. A man, but boys sounds so much lovelier. Like she’s in a fairy tale, a little girl on the playground again picking petals off of daisies.

It’s seven in the morning. Killyjoy is lying on the beach already and letting the ripple of waves splash him in the face, drenching his nose and coating the ends of his ears.

The beach is rocky, pebbles slipping and sliding beneath Galinda’s shoes. The water laps at the shore blandly; across the river the hills are coated in luscious green that is scooped out every few miles to make space for another manor, plopped indelicately in among the trees and the grass and cutting itself into the skyline. They’re each rather awful, in their own unique way— the columns on that one, the steps on the other, the garish marble exterior. On this side of the river things are cozier, homey and only uncanny late at night when things start to turn blue and silver.

Galinda picks up a pebble and tosses it as far as she can, hurtling it so hard that her shoulder and bicep ache and the seam of her sleeve digs into her forearm. It arcs through the sky delicately, promisingly, and then the wind changes. It hits the water fast and hard and, because a wave has just lapped at the surface, Galinda doesn’t see it splash. It’s as if it had never been there at all.

With a little whine, Killyjoy flops onto his back and rolls over, shaking water droplets from his coat. Galinda plops herself down beside him, letting her dressing gown get damp on the rocks, inhaling that familiarly musty smell that she could drink in one big gulp.

“Hello my darling,” Galinda says to him, leaning down to ruffle the fur on his head. “Are you so tired?”

Killyjoy rolls over again, squirming delightedly as Galinda pets him and nuzzles his head with her own. Maybe there would be some things she’d miss, after all.

She’s come out here to draw, something she’d never breathe a word of to anyone. When Galinda had been small she’d refused to tie the laces of her sparkly purple sneakers in public, practicing for hours in her bedroom until she could do it seamlessly, the first in her class to manage such a feat. She’ll always be this way, probably— cards close to her chest, always. Galinda does not believe in half assing things: makeup, outfits, parties, inns. Drawings.

She’s armed, today, with only a few things— Killyjoy, still panting happily near her calves. A thick creamy paged sketchbook, warped on the side from an encounter with the river. A well worn charcoal pencil. Her hair is tied back, one strand falling into her eyes with the wind, and she can’t be bothered to scoop it away.

It starts with a few flicks of the wrist. She’s drawing the view down the beach, the lighthouse off in the distance with a cluster of boulders in front of it. A floating piece of driftwood bobbing so far out that it could be a seal or a shark or a sea monster, if this were the ocean. The stripe of the clouds low in the sky.

She will let Chuffrey ask her on a date. If he asks, she will let him take her out. If he takes her out she will be lovely, charming as charming can be. She can wear that new white dress with the pink flowers, maybe, or— no, the pastel yellow with the lace around the sleeves? Maybe with opals, or pearls?

August will be over in a day. She’ll have to start thinking about autumn soon enough, but maybe Chuffrey can help with that. He seems like he’d look handsome in a flannel tugging apples off of the trees. Galinda has always done this with her boyfriends, she has slotted them into particular categories in her mind. It helps her understand them, understand what she likes about them. How they should touch her, how she should kiss and how she should smile.

Far out, on the beach near the driftwood, there is a dark blob moving quite slowly. It zig zags and then straightens and, even when Galinda squints, she can’t quite make it out.

Another dark line and then a delicate smudge with her ring finger. There is the lighthouse, and Galinda adds a tiny tree beside it impulsively. The beach is hard to draw, what with all those pebbles. She starts on the clouds.

But when she looks up again the blob is closer. It’s certainly a person but, for the life of her, Galinda can’t figure out who. No one is ever out on the beach this early, no one except Mr. Quince but he only strolls on weekdays and he always walks in the other direction.

Because in Shale Shallows everyone has their spots, and it is important that it stays that way. Milla has the glade past the middle school, back in the woods behind the soccer fields. For Crope it’s the rusty old bench out past the park. Even Galinda’s popsicle had his little place, that particular rock near the stream where he’d haul a guitar. For Galinda it is this part of the beach, it has always been.

It is seven in the morning and it is a Sunday, it is cold and it is overcast. To get here from town someone would’ve had to walk quite far and through more than a few brambles. Killyjoy stands up with a yawn, ambling down the beach.

Galinda squints again, then whistles. “Killyjoy,” she calls, clicking her tongue. “Come back here, baby!”

But Killyjoy doesn’t listen, of course he doesn’t. He speeds up little by little and bounds down the beach, approaching the figure and spinning gleefully to race back in Galinda’s direction. She’s still clutching her pencil.

It’s as if Killyjoy has wiped fog off the lenses of her eyes, because all at once Galinda can see most clearly and there is Elphaba, most unmistakeable, walking down the beach. She looks starkly out of place here for no reason in particular, or at least no reason that Galinda can place. There’s something anachronistic about it, like the way her granny doesn’t look like she should exist in a world with pop music. Elphaba walks like she’s being watched— which, Galinda supposes, she is. She smiles at Killyjoy, though, and Galinda feels that familiar rush of desperation.

When she’s close enough Galinda waves. Killyjoy bounds toward her easily and Elphaba’s eyes have nowhere else to go— they flick to her tentatively, as if she’s trying to ignore the urge. Galinda straightens up at the shore, putting her sketchbook down so that it covers her bare knees.

“Good morning!” Galinda chirps, beaming, and Elphaba seems to falter. Good, Galinda thinks bitterly. She hopes that Elphaba knows how rude she’s being. What sort of a person won’t even smile at their loveliest and most welcoming innkeeper? What sort of person shirks every damned attempt for human connection?

“Good morning,” Elphaba says, and it’s rather formal with the way she nods her head and clenches her lips into a polite little smile. In the early morning sun Galinda gets a better view of the green than she ever has. It’s rather mesmerizing, isn’t it? Probably it would be very rude to say such a thing but it’s true, it’s like nothing Galinda has ever seen. Elphaba can see her staring.

“I’m so sorry, I must look a mess,” Galinda laughs. It’s almost true— she does, but only a little bit. Her hair is perfect and her skin is perfect and her toenails are painted where they graze the water. She’s not properly dressed, though, and Elphaba’s eyes seem to linger on her dressing gown. It makes her skin feel rather prickly, like she’s running a fever, like every inch of her is covered in goosebumps that don’t abide by the rules of such things.

“You look fine,” Elphaba says solemnly, and it’s the most she’s really spoken since they’ve met. Galinda latches onto it.

“How have you been finding your stay?” she asks, near desperate to keep the conversation going. Killyjoy curls up at her feet, leaning his head on her thighs. “Have you made it into town yet? You know, I’ve got a list back at the inn of some great places to visit— restaurants, hidden spots that only the locals know about, that sort of thing. I’ll pass it along to you.”

Elphaba doesn’t answer, not exactly. “Is that your dog?”

Galinda blinks. “Yeah,” she says slowly, looking up at Elphaba with a furrow in her brow that dissipates when she feels the clench of it wrinkling her smooth face. “This is Killyjoy. He’s a sweetheart, don’t let him fool you.”

Elphaba’s face softens ever so slightly. “Can I… would he mind if I…”

“Pet him?” Galinda finishes, cocking her head with raised eyebrows. “Please do, he’d love it. But I should warn you that once he befriends you he won’t leave you alone.”

When Elphaba crouches down, kneeling on the sand and stone, she looks much younger than before. Galinda has hardly gotten a close look at her but, here and now, she seems far more human. It’s something about the careful pattern of her hair, the thick eyelashes grazing her face, the tiny gold hoops looped through her earlobes. Killyjoy inclines his head excitedly, nudging Elphaba’s hand with his nose. One corner of her mouth tugs up at that.

“He’s very handsome,” Elphaba murmurs, scratching under Killyjoy’s chin. He wiggles happily and Galinda looks on with something odd in her stomach, a strange sickening feeling like hunger but a little smoother around the edges. The water feels very cold around her toes, all of a sudden.

“He thinks so too,” Galinda quips, and Elphaba actually lets out a tiny puff of air at that, something bordering on a laugh. Is she still asleep, is anything real this early in the morning?

“The inn is very nice,” Elphaba says a minute or two later, after Killyjoy has begun to lick her hand. She looks at Galinda out of the corner of her eye as she talks, like a concession or even an apology.“I haven’t explored much. I mailed a letter. But it’s very nice.”

What a strange person she is shaping up to be, how inexplicably odd! But Galinda feels a thrumming in her chest all the same— she’s won. She’s outlasted the aloofness, she’s triumphed over this particular green ice princess. Up by the inn Chuffrey must be arriving, Crope must be taking pastries out of the oven. She stays right where she is.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Galinda says, and her smile is quite real now. “I… I do try my best.”

And then Elphaba looks up at her, piercing eyes in the cool morning. “I can tell,” she says, and Galinda shivers.

There is a beat of silence. Killyjoy shakes some sand out of his eyes. Galinda clears her throat and clenches her hand around her sketchbook, leaning to close the cover. Elphaba’s eyes flit down to it.

“That’s quite good,” she says, and leaves it at that. She seems to move with a constant abruptness, an abrasive energy that the world must adapt to and grow around. Galinda can see it happening already, with the way the river rolls in just out of reach of Elphaba’s black boots.

“Oh,” Galinda glances down and blushes most traitorously. “It isn’t done or anything. I’m not an artist, obviously, I just… it’s good for me, I guess. To have something to do.”

Elphaba doesn’t answer for a moment, cocking her head. Galinda’s heart beats louder. “It’s a small town,” she says, and why in the world can't she stop talking? “I won’t live here forever, I’m not really who I… well. Thank you.”

Elphaba just raises an eyebrow, but not unkindly, and gestures at the page. “It’s the beach here, isn’t it?”

Galinda nods, trying to purge her mind of the terrible display of moments before. “You should go,” she says, “to the lighthouse, I mean.”

Elphaba gets a strange little look in her eyes and then she squints, wrinkling her nose. It’s almost endearing, almost. “I might,” she says. “I’ve been reading a lot lately, could be nice to do it outside.”

And Galinda blushes again, biting at the inside of her cheek. “Oh,” she says. “Of course, yeah. I don’t… I don’t get a lot of time to read. It’s bad, I know.”

But Elphaba doesn’t roll her eyes, she just nods easily. “I’m sure you’re busy,” she says easily. “Lots of stuff out there if you’re ever looking for something. Lots of stories about little towns like this one.”

“Lots of stories about lost women like I am,” Galinda says lowly, more to break the fall of her misstep than anything. But Elphaba just studies her contemplatively.

“You don’t seem all that lost to me,” she says, and then without waiting for an answer she stands up in one swift motion and turns away. She’s half gone before Galinda even processes it.

“I’ll see you later,” Galinda says, struck by the blatant abruptness.

“Yes,” Elphaba replies, with a little nod, and then she’s gone.

Galinda waits, silent, until she hears the tell tale creaking of the gate up by the inn. A moment later a door slams shut and she exhales so firmly that she’s almost convinced her lungs themselves have left her body with the leftover air, hovering somewhere over the old river with its murky bottom and creepy scaled creatures that Galinda pretends do not exist when she’s swimming.

There is a lump in her throat. Just a few minutes of her life, it seems, has become enough to utterly destabilize her. The sketch is unfinished before her and there is a single drop of water on the top left corner, right above the tree she’d sketched in impulsively. She stares at it for a moment, watching it rattle with each of her breaths.

Chuffrey would be waiting. Galinda gathers her book and pencil. Killyjoy follows her up into the brambles while she tugs her hair down.

Chapter Text

To our darling Galindaberry,

It’s been so long since we heard from you that your popsicle nearly toppled over when he got your postcard! We always love to see the ones you sell at the inn— the snow covered gardens were especially lovely, dear, as it’s so dreadfully and pitifully hot out by Lake Chorge these days. You never expect your retirement home to be even muggier and buggier than the place where you raise your only daughter but I suppose that’s life, don’t you think!

I’m glad to hear you’ve been keeping busy. Are there any men on your horizon, honey? You know I never mean to pry but I do worry about you after Fiyero— such a handsome boy but I understand completely and you know we only want what’s best for you. And anyway, there’s always handsomer fish in the sea!

Your popsicle is out golfing but he sends lots of love and kisses. Your dearest darlingest momsie wants you to remember not to work too hard and that at the end of the day the inn is just an inn, sweet thing. Make sure you live a little! The things I used to do at twenty eight!

We’re going out to a costume party tonight— imagine that! We will send photographs as soon as your popsicle gets them developed. I hope you like this postcard— we thought the little crane on the front was very funny. You used to be so scared of birds, do you remember?

Love always,

Momsie and Popsicle

Galinda is at the market standing between the eggs and the trail mix when she bumps into Fiyero, quite literally. He’s swinging his hands beside him in that recognizable way, just like he always had when they were together. She spots that before she spots him, that chunky blue ring he wears around his middle finger. Fiyero had always had such distinct hands.

“Hello there,” he says, halfway to a chuckle, when Galinda’s face has planted itself somewhere in the middle of his chest. The sound of his voice triggers some wrench in her own chest, it almost reminds her of how much she’s missed hearing it. In spite of everything Fiyero had been her friend.

“Fiyero,” she says seamlessly, stepping back with a careful shake of the head to set her hair straight again, “you’re looking well.”

He grins at her. “So are you, yeah. What could you possibly need that many hazelnuts for?”

Galinda looks down at the bags cradled in her arms, jutting her chin carefully. “Crope is making cookies,” she says. “I heard you were at the bonfire the other night.”

“I was. I heard you’ve been getting close with Chuffrey,” he replies easily, raising a teasing eyebrow.

“Who’d you hear that from, Shenshen’s mother?” It makes Fiyero laugh, loud and unabashed, and Galinda is proud of it. She fidgets with the hazelnuts, sizing him up. He looks tan, she hasn’t seen him since before the summer. There’s a little more sturdiness to his shoulders. Is she supposed to be mad at him? Probably she is. After they broke up Milla had been out for blood, Pfannee and Shenshen had sent her a heaping care package from the Emerald City full of fancy chocolates. So maybe she’s supposed to be mad, but she can’t find it in herself to care all that much.

“I’ve missed you, Galinda,” he says easily, nudging her with an elbow, and she knows how it could sound. Surely if Milla were here, or even Crope, they’d be fawning over the gesture and telling her they were destined to reunite. That isn’t what it means, though. She and Fiyero know each other better than that.

That’s the thing, really— it’s just Fiyero.

She’s decided, all at once, that while she would be very content never to share a bed with Fiyero again she’s really quite disturbed at the possibility of never spending time with him again. He doesn’t seem in a rush to leave either, if the way he’s leaning on the shelf is anything to go on.

“Where are you off to after this?” she asks on a hunch, and his nose wrinkles with the size of his smile.

So they walk together back to the inn, the whole twelve minutes through the center of town. Fiyero holds a bag of hazelnuts. Galinda wiggles her fingers in the warm air.

“So,” he says, cocking his head at her. “Chuffrey. Do you like him?”

“He’s handsome, and he’s funny,” Galinda answers, and finds that she means it. “So, yeah. I suppose I do, then.”

“Huh,” Fiyero remarks rather blandly, something Galinda has always hated. It’s that particularly superior tone of voice he gets sometimes, all knowing to a fault. You think you know more about my life than I do when you do that, she’d told him once, seething, and he’d merely shrugged.

Maybe he does know more, because Galinda certainly is coming up short.

“Huh,” she echoes. “I don’t know. I’ll probably date him.”

She can feel Fiyero’s side eye without even looking in his direction, but it’s easy enough to ignore.

“How’s the inn, then?”

Galinda’s missing it already and she’s only been away from it for half an hour. Galinda had woken up at three in the morning exactly, sweating, and hadn’t had a single idea as to why. Galinda had stood alone in the parlor that morning, sandwiched by a wall of books on her left and a couch on her right, and had wondered if there would ever be a time in her life where she didn’t find herself right here.

“Oh, it’s perfect,” she assures him, tossing her hair so that the faint breeze weaves its way through it. “It really comes alive this time of year, you know?”

“In the off season?” Fiyero asks slowly, voice pitched low. Galinda scoffs.

“It’s hardly the off season yet. Fall foliage soon, remember? And then we’ll be all booked up.”

“It’s August,” Fiyero says. “Are you trying to cover something up? Why are you acting so weird?”

“This is how I act,” Galinda huffs. Her face feels hot. Fiyero just nods.

“Any guests right now? Besides Chuffrey, if he counts. He’s certainly there enough, from what I hear.”

“Just one,” Galinda says casually. “And please, he’s not around that often, he leaves after he eats.”

Fiyero ignores her, rudely. “Just one? And what’s their story?”

It isn’t a new question, Fiyero had always loved the idea of inns as places with overlapping stories. He could be a bit of a romantic at times, it had been sort of sweet until it got aggravating. Back when he used to stay the night, when he’d sleep shirtless and Galinda would fret about her sheets getting too sweaty, he’d loved strolling downstairs in the morning to greet the breakfast crowd. She’d find him down there chatting with an old couple, folding paper hearts for the kids. Milla found it adorable, Crope found it romantic. Galinda tried to love it.

But wasn’t that the problem with the relationship, in the end? Galinda had tried and she had failed, a million and one times. It was sweet, Galinda knew it was, but she couldn’t help finding it annoying. Grating, the way his voice would echo in the hallways. He was trying too hard, he wanted to be inside of her life too much, he wanted to squeeze it and mold it like clay until he fit in there too.

It’s my inn, Galinda had told herself the day they broke up, holding tight to the doorknob after slamming it shut, mine.

But it has been months now. Things had been over between them back in March, back when the ground was so wet with rainwater that the world looked falsely lush, almost plastic. Galinda hears the question neutrally, she doesn't feel breathless like a heavy boot is crushing her lungs until they burst.

“Just one,” she confirms. “Her story… well, she’s green.”

“Green? Like—”

“Like her skin is green. She doesn’t talk much. I saw her walking on the beach when I was out with Killyjoy. I don’t know why she’s here, she doesn’t really leave her room.”

And this is one of the things she still loves about Fiyero, one of the things she will always find endearing— he takes it all in stride. His mouth shifts into a thoughtful little frown, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he nods, considering. Galinda waits.

“And that’s bothering you, isn’t it?” he asks after a moment, and Galinda turns toward him quickly to find him smiling fondly. “I do know you pretty well, I think.”

“It’s not bothering me,” she says firmly. “It’s just strange, don’t you think? Everybody likes me, Fiyero, everybody! Name one person who doesn’t like me.”

“And you’re so humble about it, too,” Fiyero teases. Galinda sticks her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be provocative. I actually do mean it, everyone writes about how lovely I am in the guest book! ‘The delight we felt at spending a beautiful weekend in a picturesque location was only heightened by the charm of our host, who—”

“Are you quoting your reviews at me right now?” Fiyero laughs, disbelieving. “Galinda, that can’t be healthy."

“Is it bad to care about my job now?” she huffs, and Fiyero raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You know that’s not what I meant. This isn’t caring about your job, this is caring about the opinion of one person. Not everybody has to like you, Galinda.”

Galinda pouts. A response sits fully formed in her head, spelled out and ready. Not everybody, she wants to say, just her.

She doesn’t say that, of course. It feels a bit revealing, a bit like showing her hand too early. There's a pattering in her chest that tells her to keep that bit quiet and, though she doesn’t know exactly why, she is inclined to listen to it.

So she changes the subject. The inn is approaching, a hazy thing in her periphery, and she focuses on it fixedly. “So what were you doing at the bonfire?” she asks, and knows that Fiyero knows her well enough to understand the redirect. This is how they talk to each other, their own little language left over from before. Fiyero has known her too intimately.

“Oh, what are any of us doing?” he asks, waving a hand. “It’s still summer. Drinking, I guess.”

“Any girls?”

“Not anymore. Jealous?” Fiyero smirks, and there it is again— the knowledge that anyone else would surely misunderstand such a joke, the knowledge that it is only the two of them who are this immersed in one another. The prickly feeling in her skin again, the one that’s been plaguing her for weeks now. She wrinkles her nose.

“Of them? You wish,” she shoots back, and Fiyero laughs easily, inclining his head as he allows the point.

Maybe, Galinda thinks, this is the ideal space for them to exist in. Being friends with straight boys has always felt precarious, balanced on some terrible razor’s edge of terrible possibility. But here, now— well, they’ve gotten that part over with, haven’t they? There is not a spot of desire in the air, every question is genuine. Galinda could get used to this. They can practice the intricacies of it later, the dynamics that will allow them to volley back and forth.

“I’ll see you soon, won’t I?” Fiyero asks when they’ve approached the front gate of the inn, staring up at the windows. “Come to the beach next week, there’s another bonfire. Bring Milla, or Crope.”

Galinda nods. “I will, actually,” she says. “Hey, it was good to see you. I mean it.”

Fiyero nods back, smiling. He spares one more long searching glance for the white facade of the inn, lingering on the shutters. “I miss this place,” he says, and Galinda almost understands. It has a way of doing that, of getting into your bones a little bit.

But there is another part of her mind that bristles at his words, because of course there is. Galinda can feel every inch of the inn mapped out across her palms. It’s warm inside right now, she knows that too.

“See you around, Fiyero,” she says in lieu of a real answer, and he gives a clumsy little wave before he ambles away, leaving her with several bags of hazelnuts and a chill around her ankles.

When she looks up at the inn, hand on the gate, her eyes catch on a rustle of movement from the top left corner. The brush of a curtain, the smudge of dark shadow in her periphery. When Galinda squints up at it, gripping the wrought iron tighter, there is nothing there. She has nothing to show for it except the indents of spikes at her palm.

Galinda is lying starfished on the floor in the parlor, head pillowed on the carpeted floor. Her checkbook, long since abandoned, is sprawled across the coffee table.

Outside there is another clap of thunder, resonating rather terribly, and Killyjoy slinks into the room to press his head against Galinda’s hip, nuzzling in anxiously. She ruffles his hair, clicking her tongue.

“Did that scare you, baby? Just some summer rain, don’t you worry.”

There is probably a leak somewhere in the inn, Galinda can almost sense it around the thickness of the rain pouring down outside and the cozy warmth of the parlor floor. Her back has been aching lately, rolling her neck has hardly helped. So she finds herself here, staring at the lines of baseboards in the ceiling, focusing very hard on the way her spine presses into the hard flooring. She sighs, loud enough and whole enough that it seems to rattle the room.

“Oh,” a voice says softly from above her, hesitating near the doorway, “am I… interrupting something?”

Galinda curses the world, just for a second. She forces herself to sit up hastily, face entirely flushed and hair all tangled in the back. Killyjoy whines unhappily until she moves his head to her lap, still pink in the cheeks. She clears her throat.

“Sorry, I was just… hm,” Galinda considers, cocking her head. What was she doing? Elphaba is framed in the doorway and she stands out like she’s been highlighted, shrouded in blackness all around her except for the glow of her green face in the lamplight. The glass in the window shudders. “I was looking at the ceiling.”

Elphaba nods slowly, stepping into the parlor. “Alright,” she says. “And is there something wrong with it?”

“No, of course not,” Galinda says, shaking her hair loose from its tangle and fixing Elphaba with a charming little smile, cheeks apple round and eyebrows raised. It’s a face that makes her especially pretty, a face that older people go gooey for. “Can I help you with anything?”

Elphaba blinks and— is Galinda imagining things, or is she flushing too, now? She seems half on the fence about speaking, swallowing and letting her eyes focus on the back wall. “I was just looking for a book,” she says quietly, and Galinda has to strain to hear her over the tumble of rain outside. “I saw that you had a shelf down here. I didn’t… I’ll just go.”

Galinda’s head is lagging a few steps behind, like she’s woken up from a deep hibernation. Like the last week of her life has been the most distinct of lucid dreams, like she’s been walking the halls at night in some entranced stupor. Enchanted, perhaps. She shakes her head again, both to respond and to jiggle some thoughts loose.

“No, wait. Don’t go,” she says, and Elphaba goes still. She seems to be waiting for more words to fall from Galinda’s lips but, of course, none come.

“Alright,” she replies finally, and inches into the parlor. “I won’t.”

She doesn’t do much else, though. Galinda stays planted on the floor and Elphaba is across from her, shifting legs making the wood floors creak, and neither of them speak. She is biting on the pressing center of her lip, which is deeper green than her skin and is topped with a delicate little cupid’s bow, and Galinda can’t quite look away.

Elphaba stares right back at her. Galinda is used to being looked at. This, however, feels different. There is an uncomfortable tingling feeling at the back of her scalp, a prickling at the base of her shoulder blades where shivers begin. She suppresses it, which only has the effect of drenching her veins and arteries with ice water and a nauseating hole in her stomach.

And in the chilling quiet of the room Killyjoy lets out a little groan and rolls over, head sliding off of Galinda’s lap and landing with a soft tidy thump on the carpet. She glances down and an affectionate smile creeps over her face. With a giggle and a scratch under his chin her stomach rights itself, and so does her mind.

“Killyjoy, isn’t it?”

Galinda looks up and Elphaba is watching her still, a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She’s got her hands pressed to the back of the couch and they make divots in the plush cushions, hollowed out spots. Galinda studies her.

“Mm, yeah,” she replies, and the smile Elphaba offers her is real. “He’s a funny one. Wandered in off the beach two summers ago and follows me everywhere now. He’ll miss me when I go.”

Elphaba takes a long moment to spin around and step in the direction of the bookshelf, tugging books out one by one with a pinch at their spines. Galinda watches it, because what else can she do?

“Oh? Where are you going?”

She’s still facing the books, studying a cloth bound one with an embossed cover and mold spotting the base of the pages, but her voice carries. Galinda’s back is starting to ache again.

“Oh, well. I can’t be here forever, can I?” she laughs, and straightens the checkbook on the table.

“Can’t you?” Elphaba says after a moment, and Galinda doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

Would it have been hard for the universe, God or the stars or whoever it was that made the decisions, to send her a normal guest? If the world wanted her to stay here, even if it wanted her to sort it out and get herself free, why would it send someone like this? A person like Elphaba is not a good guest, not a good person to have living under your roof. Galinda had wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged by her, just once, and now that she is doing it she wants to crawl beneath the carpet and sink through the floors into the rotted earth below.

It’s just that she feels rather scrutinized, that’s all. A little askew. Like she’d walked out of the inn one day— that day on the beach last week, perhaps— and had come back to a life that isn’t her own. A life with a sham Crope and a faux Fiyero, a life where everyone else is playacting, and only she herself is a touchstone in the twists and turns of it all.

It isn’t true, she is paranoid, she is sinking into the emotions of the seasons changing. Galinda has been getting deep set aches and pains when she sees the faintest trace of changing leaves at the base of early blooming trees. Autumn cannot come fast enough, it can not wait long enough.

And in one universe Elphaba would’ve stayed a night or two and left, would’ve packed up her things and left a standard positive review in the guest book and that would’ve been all there was to it.

“Have you read this one?” Elphaba asks, and she sounds rather shy as she flashes a blue green cover in Galinda’s direction, eyebrows all drawn together. “It’s a bildungsroman, apparently.”

Perhaps it’s easier to pretend, as Elphaba seems to be doing, that this is the way things work. With a scratch to Killyjoy’s ears Galinda squints at the cover and shakes her head, crunching up her lips in regret. She doesn’t have half a clue what that even is, Elphaba has said some word that sounds like a jumble of letters and Galinda can’t keep it still in her head for long enough to look it up later. What a frustrating thing to add to the mix, because Galinda absolutely hates not knowing things.

“Can’t say I have,” she says. “Most of those books are things people have left behind— by accident or on purpose, you know, books people want other people to read.”

“Maybe they wanted you to read them,” Elphaba says contemplatively, but it’s casual as she flips through the pages. Galinda swallows.

“Some day I’ll read everything there is,” she says, and although she knows it’s preposterous there is a tiny miniscule part of her that believes it to be true. Sometimes you say things, like that you were born for a reason or that there’s magic out in the world, and you know it doesn’t mean anything but you want it bad enough that it seems half true. Elphaba looks up with a smile, a real one this time, and Galinda’s breath catches somewhere in her esophagus.

“I believe it,” she says. “Let me know if you want any advice about where to start.”

There are many things in the room that are real at the moment— the dripping of water outside, the gap between Elphaba’s teeth, Killyjoy’s faint snoring. She barely sees them, barely hears or senses this around her. Instead she can only think of Chuffrey, the way he’d leaned across the table so tentatively. Of Fiyero, the long lean line of him and the way he’d used to tug his shirt off when he’d crawl into bed.

Galinda wonders about that leak upstairs. Is it real, or has she invented it just like she has made up this moment, this place?

“I will,” she says, and slides out from under Killyjoy’s head to walk on her knees toward the coffee table. The bones ache. The coffee table— old, stained, still rather charming in spite of it all— is strewn with magazines, Ozmopolitan and Vinkan Homes and Gardens; she scoops them up into her hands and lets her clammy fingertips glide over the glossy covers.

“Did you have…” Elphaba starts, and then purses her lips. “If I wanted to see something in the area, where would I…?”

Galinda feels her eyebrow twitch against her will, and she understands the moment for what it is. Not an apology— no, Elphaba doesn’t seem the type to apologize unless she’s done something she really and truly regrets. She doesn’t regret the aloofness, that much is clear, but she won’t do it anymore, maybe that’s what she’s saying. There is a stretch of curiosity on her face, a consideration like she is listening.

“Oh,” Galinda says, and tries to ignore the happy thrumming of her chest. “I have a whole pamphlet at the front desk— I’ll grab it, one second, let me get my slippers—”

But Elphaba shakes her head, holding out the hand with her book and crossing over to the couch. “No, you don’t have to… I was just wondering what you like,” she says, and then her cheeks sink into a deeper emerald. “Where you go, around here, where people really go. People who live here, I mean.”

Galinda nods once. “I walk on the beach a lot,” she says. “There’s the lighthouse. There’s the market, and they’ve got the best maple candy, it’s to die for. The restaurant at the bottom of the hill has the best pancakes. There’s the creek, but it’s almost too cold to swim now, probably.”

“You’ve lived here a while, haven’t you?” Elphaba asks and it sounds rehearsed, Galinda doesn’t know where this strange still energy is coming from but it is here to stay, it seems.

“Since I was a baby,” she says. “I was born in Frottica, though. And I went to college at Shiz. But I’ve always been here, really.”

“That must be nice,” Elphaba says. “To be so important here. To have a place like this.”

“It isn’t forever,” Galinda repeats, and leaves it at that. There’s an awful lump in her throat.

But Elphaba just nods. “I’ll go to the lighthouse,” she says. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll go. You were sketching it, weren’t you?”

“Oh, that? That was nothing,” Galinda says with a scoff, swiping a hand through the air as if to clear it. “That’s just me being dramatic.”

Elphaba’s face crunches up at that, confusion written in the lines that appear on the bridge of her nose. “Nothing,” she says slowly, and then nods.

“Shale Shallows is a strange sort of place, you’ll see,” Galinda says uselessly, because it doesn’t mean anything, and her grin feels rubbery. “How long are you planning to be here, anyway?”

“Don’t know,” Elphaba says, and cracks her knuckles so loudly that Galinda jumps. “Sorry.”

“Do you know why you’re here, then?” Galinda asks, and tries to inject a glimmer of teasing into the tone of her voice, the shine of her eyes. She isn’t sure if it works, Elphaba just watches her.

“I’m passing through,” she replies slowly. “I suppose I’m just… figuring some things out, that’s all.”

“Aren’t we all?” Galinda hums, kindly, and Elphaba’s smile in response feels private, whole and rounded on the edges. It is just for her, this much she knows, and she squints her eyes. What the hell.

“Do you want some tea?” she asks, and Elphaba’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she nods.

“So how did you become the manager here? Or the… what do you call yourself, exactly?” Elphaba asks a while later, with her sharp peppermint tea cooling on an old woven coaster on the table. Galinda studies her on the opposite couch, running a finger over the firm buttons on the couch— it bumps up and down, in and out of the divots and canyons. Elphaba is perched like she doesn’t know how to sit, like she’s just learning what it’s like to be invited into someone’s parlor and have a conversation with them in the middle of a thunderstorm. Maybe she is just learning, Galinda wouldn’t know. Across the room Killyjoy is drooling on the carpet.

“Innkeeper,” she supplies, and waits for Elphaba to nod. “Well, I came back to town after college. I wanted to find something important. A calling, maybe, or a man… there were a lot of men, I guess, but for just a moment. And then I ended up here.”

“And is it a calling?”

“It’s a distraction,” Galinda replies evenly, cocking her head. “I was doing event planning for the inn for a while, and then I was at the front desk, and then I realized I was here more often than I wasn’t. And then Mrs. Sharpe’s husband got sick, and they moved out of the apartment downstairs, and Killyjoy started following me home, and so…”

“It chose you, then,” Elphaba says, dipping a long pinky into her tea and wincing at the temperature.

“Yeah,” Galinda nods, running her tongue over the smoothness of her teeth, “yeah, I guess it did.”

“What would you do, if you left?” Elphaba asks, and Galinda feels that familiar feeling in her lungs, her stomach.

“I don’t know, really,” she answers, and pulls on the handle of her own mug just to have something to do with her hands. “I’m not lonely here or anything, but sometimes I wonder if in the city I’d be more… well. I think too much out here.”

Elphaba doesn’t answer, she just hums. They aren’t friends, they aren’t strangers, but here they are existing in some strange place between. Outside the rain heaves a sigh and comes down harder, pelting the ground so that it sounds like they’ve been stranded in the middle of a waterfall. Galinda takes a big sip of her tea and thinks that the vanilla would stain her throat if it could. She coughs.

“I saw my ex the other day,” she announces, and Elphaba looks a touch bewildered. It makes sense that she would be, considering she and Galinda hardly know each other. It’s definitely some sort of social faux pas. Galinda doesn’t care as much as she probably should, it’s late and Elphaba’s committed a hundred social crimes since walking through the front door. Anyway, it feels right to mention. Crope and Milla are too embedded in it all, too enmeshed. Back in high school Milla and Fiyero had kissed during a game of spin the bottle, her lip gloss had stained his face purple and glittery. It all goes back too far.

Elphaba, though, knows nothing. She is a blank green slate, she is something different. When is the last time Galinda has talked, really talked, to someone from somewhere other than right here?

“Oh?” is all she says, but she widens her eyes into perfect circles and Galinda knows she’s being granted the peace to talk, the emptiness of the room is working in her favor.

“We walked back from the market together, actually,” she adds, and Elphaba takes a long sip of her tea. She’s listening. “I haven’t really talked to him since March. And that’s hard to do in a place like this, do you realize that? Every party I go to he’s there. And I don’t even care, but everybody else seems to care, and so then I’m supposed to. So I guess I do care. My friends thought we were going to get married.”

She isn’t sure what she expects— a big bold reaction doesn’t feel very Elphaba, does it? Elphaba, now, just takes a tiny little sip of her tea and holds the mug under her nose so that the steam clouds in front of her face, so that the entire scene feels warm.

“Were you?” she asks, and it echoes off the rim of her mug. Galinda watches the curve of her lips as she says it, wondering.

“I don’t know,” Galinda mutters. “That’s… not this time, no.”

What does that mean? Galinda almost opens her mouth to apologize, to correct herself even though she’s got no better answer lined up. Half of her job is talking to people and yet right now the words just won’t come.

But Elphaba hmms thoughtfully, brow slightly furrowed. “So what happened, then?”

Galinda lets out a wry little laugh, soft but bracing. Why in the world is she baring her soul like this? At the end of the day it’s all quite unprofessional— but then, perhaps formalities had gone out the window a few dozen minutes ago when Elphaba had seen her lying flat on the floor with her arms and legs stretched out as far as they’d take her.

“Nothing happened,” she says, and there’s a lump in her throat at the shape of her words. “It was my fault. You know how people can feel so stifling, sometimes? He was my boyfriend, and I know what that’s supposed to mean, but he was just around all the time and I couldn’t… I needed something to be just mine, you know? Just for me.”

Elphaba studies her for a moment, it stings. She wants to get up and move, wants to put on a loud record— something brassy and obnoxious, thumping into the bones of the house. Sometimes life is terribly quiet here.

“I can understand that,” Elphaba tells her, and she seems like she’s about to say more but Killyjoy wakes with a start and rolls over onto his back, snuffling towards Elphaba until she glances down in his direction. “Oh. Hello.”

“You don’t have to play with him, he’s being needy,” Galinda starts, but Elphaba’s crumpled into a little heap on the ground easily and lets Killyjoy rest a happy head in her lap. She blinks, but the strange little picture is still there when she opens her eyes.

“You’re very handsome, aren’t you?” Elphaba murmurs to Killyjoy, and it’s so entirely alien that Galinda can’t do much other than watch, stare at the line of her back and the book on the floor and the gray sky outside. How strange life is proving to be!

Galinda wakes up ten minutes before seven with a dry throat, a pounding headache, and a strange feeling in her gut.

She chugs a glass of water over the sink and takes two pills for the headache, watching the line of her throat swallow in the mirror. That takes care of two of the problems, at least.

But the strange feeling won’t go away as hard as she tries. It’s chilly outside, she pulls a knit white cardigan out from the autumn box at the base of her closet. Killyjoy is slow to start, ambling from his bed with a low groan and a disparaging look in her direction.

“Don’t be a baby,” she tells him, opening the door to her apartment and letting him into the hallway first. “Fresh air is good for dogs, you know.”

That dreadful feeling sits in her stomach the whole walk down to the beach. It sketches itself into her drawings, the lines too thick and just a bit choppy around the edges. It’s all wrong. Her headache has subsided, her throat is not scratchy anymore, but the odd fidgety feeling is still there. She can’t get comfortable— her legs are antsy, she’s picking at her own nail polish, even her hair is whirling around her in the early morning breeze and making a cloud around her head smelling vaguely of cinnamon.

So yes, Galinda knows something is wrong before she sees it. And then she does, of course.

“Good morning,” Crope says when she appears in the kitchen doorway. “Want some coffee cake?”

“Did you go in the back entrance?” Galinda asks, tapping on her hip. Crope wrinkles his nose.

“Why would I? I come in the same way every morning, you know that already.”

“Fine. Has anybody come in that way?”

“I thought the door didn’t close properly?” Crope asks, dunking a bowl in the sink full of soapy water. “I don’t let people go that way. It’s only Chuffrey here now and he came in through the front, I saw him.”

“Right,” Galinda mutters, and then she’s turning and hustling down the hall with a toss of her hair.

It’s stranger than it might appear on the surface. Right next to the back door, the door no one ever uses on account of its sticky lock. Right there on the carpet, the plush floral carpet coating the natural wood of the hallway. It’s too big a footprint to be Galinda’s, and far too muddy. It’s hardly muddy outside anymore, but this print is big and dark and water has soaked into the divots of it, though it looks like it’s been there for hours. Galinda gets down on her knees.

It’ll be easy enough to clean up, of course. A pain in the ass— dish soap and water and the weak old vacuum that Galinda keeps stuffed in the back closet— but easy. Galinda can add it to her list for the day, after she checks the upstairs rooms for leaks. After she sets up the breakfast table. After she stews on things a little more.

She’d been up rather late with Elphaba last night. Unexpectedly and most uncommonly. It’s funny to be able to spend such a good deal of time with a person and still know next to nothing about them— she doesn’t know Elphaba’s last name, in fact, let alone her business in Shale Shallows or what she does all day. She does know what kinds of books Elphaba reads, and she does know about the neighbor’s dog who had greeted her when she came home from school every day when she was a child. What a silly thing to mention.

The footprint dwarfs Galinda’s hand, mud crunching and water squelching as she pokes it once. It wavers and warps and it’s so ugly and large and wrong that Galinda wants to scrape it away with her bare hands and get mud stuck deep under her fingernails. Someone, when it had been raining, had come inside. That’s how it appears, at the very least, because what else could it be? Milla would say she’s finally found her ghost.

But there is no one here, there is only her. Only Galinda. That’s really all there’s ever been; even on those nights that Fiyero had stayed over and had made himself coffee in the morning there was really only one person that the building cared about, that it knew. Not, of course, to sound self centered.

There is a creak to her right, up at the top of the twisty back staircase. She whirls her head around like a bird, like a lion about to strike. Up at the top of the corridor, the tiny stairwell with its wall sconces and deep green paint, there is a silhouette. It’s framed like a painting. Galinda thinks she might remember this scene for a very long time, insignificant as it might be.

“Were you… you weren’t walking around outside last night, were you?” Galinda says softlly, and she knows that it’s abrupt. It’s also silly, a mad question to ask because of course she wasn’t, because who walks around in the middle of a thunderstorm? Certainly not Elphaba with her carefully done hair, with her peppermint tea and her book off the lending shelf. Certainly not.

Another stair creaks— Elphaba is coming closer. The weak light of the hallway casts shadows on her face, and she looks almost nervous, tentative. Like she isn’t sure what to make of Galinda at all, let alone a Galinda planted firmly on the floor with her hand sizing up a crusted footprint. The birds outside are chirping deceptively. It’s bright out. Galinda feels another wrenching in her gut, like she’s being wrung out to dry. A twist inside her, a rearranging.

“Good morning,” she says softly, and her hand fidgets at the banister. “I… why would I be?”

Has she come down to get breakfast? Galinda feels a strange lightening at that, a winning feeling. Has she cracked Elphaba, this strange and austere little creature? Was she all that austere, even, if she’d had spent her night on the floor playing indulgently with a slobbery big dog? What would she eat— something sweet from the kitchens, or something sensible like an omelet? Does she eat, does she sleep, or does she just appear behind corners and in doorways?

Galinda swallows and gestures to the footprint with a wavery smile. Has this silly little thing really shaken her? It is starting to seem that way. She isn’t sure why but this feels very real and true, like she’s entering into a new moment. A flip of the page, a change of her life. Maybe autumn is really on its way finally, maybe the days of cut off shorts and hair tied up off her neck are really and truly gone. Maybe that is all.

“Just… there’s a footprint,” Galinda says lightly, though it comes out quite dripping with tension. Her voice sounds very small. “Coming in from outside, and it’s all wet— like from the rain, I mean? But it was only the two of us here last night. I don’t… it was only us.”

Elphaba is at the bottom of the stairs now, standing on the last step. This, along with the fact that Galinda is kneeling on the carpet, makes her look extremely tall. She looks like a statue. Her hands clench the banister and then release it, clench and release. From the kitchens she hears Crope clattering around. She can feel Chuffrey behind the wall, waiting for her. No doubt he’s waiting for her, sitting there stopped in time and ready to watch her eat. Galinda’s eyelids feel very heavy.

“That’s strange,” Elphaba says shortly. She offers Galinda a tight little smile and steps off the stairs, striding toward the breakfast nook with long legs.

“It’s just… it is, isn’t it?” Galinda says desperately, just to get the conversation to continue. She doesn’t want to be sitting here alone, the light above her is clicking and flickering and the whole inn seems to be turned away from her, scorched earth. Has she not been watching close enough? “It’s a big footprint. It couldn’t have been either of us, anyway, our feet are too small. I mean, unless you wear clown shoes at night.”

“I bet it’s nothing.” Elphaba smiles again, something emotionless that makes Galinda’s heart falter; it’s nothing like last night. “Maybe your cook, or something.”

“Crope?” Galinda murmurs, feeling like a child as she protests. “But he never comes in this way, he doesn’t like walking around the building too early. He says he sees field mice and they scare him, he’s a baby.”

There is something strange about the way Elphaba shrugs, the nonchalance she seems to be projecting onto a silky see through background. Her cheeks are clenched a bit too tight, knuckles jumping at her hands. “It’s nothing,” she says firmly. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

And she’s gone in a moment, turning on her heel and clicking away toward the breakfast nook where everyone seems to be congregating, where life is continuing on. Galinda’s breath comes out shaky, when she starts to breathe again.

Nothing, Elphaba had said. It is probably nothing. This is an inn, a place designed for people to come and go. Galinda tends to it like it’s her own body— she dusts the tops of the doorframes, she dabs peppermint oil on the cracks near the floor to repel the centipedes. Every splinter of the place, every knot in the wood— hers.

This is not hers, this is something else. This is foreign and invasive and it’s penetrating the carpet, sinking into it. She’ll clean it up after she eats. Right now Chuffrey is waiting for her.

Still, though. It doesn’t mean anything. And, as she stops by the front desk to write clean back door carpet in purple ink on the palm of her hand, she decides to let it sink in there. And if it hovers insistently in the back of her mind, a bee trapped between the screen and the windowpane, well. She’ll just get used to the noise.

Chapter Text

Galinda feels rent in two when she steps into the breakfast nook, which smells vaguely like cranberries. The music Crope has put on in the parlor is gliding in again, something folksy that cuts through her sharp and all at once. Chuffrey is sitting at his usual table by the window, glancing up tentatively, smiling. And across the room, hovering between the food and an empty seat, is Elphaba.

It’s the first time Elphaba has made the slightest appearance at breakfast, the first time she’s attempted to be present on purpose. She’s placing her plate on the table where she will sit, two chairs lined up across from each other. She’s got a slice of the coffee cake after all, Galinda notices.

And Elphaba looks at her, just looks in that measured way she has about her. She has such big eyes, so dark and round and pretty. Galinda pays attention to such things as this, to the strange intricacies of people. Elphaba, in Galinda’s mind right now: sharp angles, soft eyes. Books and coffee cake and tea that borders on bitter. Sits on the floor with dogs and mails letters and doesn’t talk, not to many people. Not to anybody, actually, except for Galinda.

She keeps looking. Galinda scours her brain for a response— how is she supposed to respond in a situation like this one? What do people do, how do they act? Galinda has spent years studying the way to be and she thinks she’s done quite a good job of it— people love her, after all, and she makes sure of that. Elphaba just feels… destabilizing.

The crease of Elphaba’s lips move. Galinda turns around and walks briskly towards Chuffrey’s table, settling herself down in the chair opposite his without much fanfare. He looks up between bites of his omelet, from which he’s delicately removed the green onion— the best part, in Galinda’s opinion— and blinks.

“Good morning Galinda,” he says, and there’s a pinkness to his cheeks. She wants to roll her eyes. He could be more mature about all this, she thinks. It’s all a bit sappy, a bit too wide eyed and boy next door. They’ve had breakfast together a few times now and he hasn’t even made a move. A lot of men would be trying to get her alone, and maybe she wouldn’t mind if he did. It’d make one decision for her, at the very least. Still, though— she does have a sudden vision of big heavy shoes and ugly boy shirts on her carpet, her chair, mixed in with her laundry. It’s a disgusting sort of feeling.

“Oh, good morning,” she says, smiling distractedly. “It’s quite nice out today, don’t you think?”

“A little cold,” he replies.

“I think it’s moody,” she announces, and he hastens to agree, fork wavering in his hand. Pfannee loves it when men agree with her. Galinda is beginning to find it rather annoying.

“I feel like you talk like an artist sometimes,” Chuffrey tells her with a smile, and this sinks into her chest like a flaming boulder, dropping through her so that she feels sick. “You don’t draw, do you?”

“A little,” Galinda says, and tries very hard not to look to her right where Elphaba’s fork clinks against the porcelain of her plate. Galinda smells the coffee cake and wants it so badly that she feels ravenous, so desperately that she questions the reality of her own feelings.

Chuffrey seems to expect her to continue, which she does not do. “But that’s great," he says, “can I see some of it?”

She feels extremely exposed all of a sudden, face prickly and throat gummy and swollen. “Maybe sometime,” she says, and knows that she will never so much as pick up a pencil in front of him. He beams like she’s told him something very special, a secret that only he is allowed to know. “Are you going to eat anything?”

“Oh, I’ll get some coffee cake,” she says. “Just… waiting.”

He squints at her like she’s very silly, mouth quirking up. “Waiting for what, exactly?”

Galinda can feel the ridges on her hand where she’d pressed it to the footprint. She just shrugs, a winning smile on her face. “Until I feel like it,” she quips, and allows him a little chuckle.

“I’ll get it for you, you know. Just a piece of the cake?”

And he’s off before she can argue, before she can rationalize the extent to which she’d wanted to pick out her own piece. He’s very gallant, isn’t he? Like a prince, like a man. She allows herself a quick look in his direction— he’s sturdy, he’s picking a piece of cake off of the tray, he’s got a fine build to his shoulders and in the crook of his arms. He’s tall, she’ll look nice on his arm. A tentative man is better than a pushy one, probably.

She lets her gaze drift. On Elphaba’s table there is a letter, starchy paper that looks very fancy, much more elegant than the silly old postcards that her momsie and popsicle send along. The chair opposite her looks too empty. Galinda feels a prickle at the back of her neck again and shivers, just to make it go away.

“And for the lady,” Chuffrey says with a smile, putting the plate in front of her. He grazes her hand with his and looks so unsure of himself at the thought. It’s rather nice to be touched. Across the room Elphaba’s cup clinks against her plate.

“Delicious,” she declares when she’s taken a big bite, and widens her eyes at him. “You picked a good piece for me.”

Chuffrey swallows, then smiles. “Good,” he says quietly. “So, um… it stormed pretty bad last night, didn’t it? What do you have to do around here today?”

Galinda allows it, smiling and letting her face soften. “Oh, you’re sweet for asking,” she murmurs. “Just the usual, really— I’m at the front desk, but I have to check up on the roof upstairs to make sure nothing leaked. Someone wants to book the garden for a wedding reception, I’m calling with them later.”

The footprint, too, she almost says, but swallows it down. Elphaba is looking at her, she knows it, and she can hear everything. Everything in this place stays in the air here, and sound carries.

“You’re impressive,” Chuffrey says. “Listen, is there anything I can do? I’d be happy to take a look at the roof, I’m handy.” He puffs his chest out the slightest bit when he says this. Galinda bites the inside of her cheek.

“I’ve got it covered,” she says, and he deflates, which isn’t exactly what she’d wanted. “But… oh, aren’t you adorable for checking? It does get hard out here all alone.”

And, in a split second sort of choice, she reaches out across the table and rests her hand on his forearm. He looks down at it, eyes wide, and then seems to grow an inch.

“Yeah, of course,” he nods. “Anytime you need an extra set of hands, I’m… well, you know where to find me.”

The clock chimes. Galinda glances at it and catches Elphaba’s eye along the way. She’s watching again. Galinda feels a creeping sensation in her spine, like she’s tumbled through the frozen river in the dead of winter. She’d always imagined this happening as a child, and it never had. She’d always hoped, just a tiny bit, that it would— at least that way she couldn’t be scared of it anymore.

“You’re sweet,” she says. “Listen, if you ever wanted to get together outside of work…”

She won’t ask. He will be the one asking, of course, and he’d better get his bearings enough to buck up and do it. She’s laid the groundwork— she will say yes, she supposes. It’s something to do. He’s handsome. And anyway: by winter she’ll be leaving, won’t she? A little indulgence never hurt anybody.

Besides, it’s even quieter here at night these days. Chuffrey won’t overstay his welcome, he’s too timid for that. Galinda can make him do what she wants, she’s sure of it, and he won’t even know the difference.

“Yeah, actually… I was wondering, Galinda. Would you want to get dinner? Or a drink with me down at the restaurant? Like… like as a date, I mean?”

The room, filled with only three people, feels terribly overfull. Galinda smiles demurely, lets her eyelashes flutter. Fiyero used to pinch her cheeks sometimes right over her dimple. When he’d kissed her, when he’d dipped low between her legs with his face all flushed in anticipation, he’d been so careful. Galinda had found it rather grating, at the end of it all.

“Pick me up on Friday,” Galinda says, and tosses her hair behind her shoulders, and Chuffrey will be delighted. She hopes he’s smiling all day. She hopes he tells someone, it’s better that way. Elphaba’s fork clinks against porcelain once more, testing.

In the afternoon Elphaba stalks out of the inn with a letter stamped and addressed, returns twenty minutes later, and is on her way out with another letter an hour after that. It gives Galinda whiplash— she’s in and then she’s out, barely sparing a glance in Galinda’s direction either time.

“We’d happily provide desserts, of course, and we can offer a partnership with any restaurant in town when it comes to catering dinner,” Galinda says into the receiver, phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear. It’s giving her a terrible crick in her neck. Crope is leaving for the afternoon, he waves a hand as he shuts the front door behind him. Galinda blows him a kiss.

The woman on the other end of the phone chatters on about the rainfall in April as opposed to the pollen in May, the merits of white cake as opposed to yellow. Galinda hums along when appropriate, tugging a piece of scrap paper out from the divots in the front desk to scribble on in the meantime.

“The view is quite beautiful in early May, yes,” Galinda agrees, sketching a lopsided circle. The circle grows legs and a handle until it becomes a mug, waves of glimmering liquid pooling inside. A hand comes next, long lean fingers that curl around the base of the cup and clench ever so slightly near the top, near the place fingerprints should be. “I can hold two weekends for you as long as you decide before the end of September, as we do tend to get reservations booked early.”

The ink on her scrap paper has smudged and blotted the hand so that it’s blurry and discolored. The air smells quite inexplicably of vanilla, quite suddenly, but it’s gone before Galinda can wonder why. She starts another sketch, a ridge next to another ridge that becomes that stupid footprint before she can stop herself. It had been stubborn coming out of the carpet and Galinda isn’t sure if it’s stained, because every time she walks by she can still see the mark of it there. She’ll have to ask Crope if he sees it too, but it’s more likely scorched into her mind’s eye.

“Well, we only have seven rooms available,” Galinda says, then pauses. “Yes, each with two beds. Often we’ll house the wedding party and other guests can— I understand, yes.”

Galinda hears the clink of the doorknob before the door starts to swing open, and when it does it creaks ominously. The string of bells hung on top of it jingles cheerfully, as if Galinda isn’t hyperaware of every movement of this old place. As if she doesn’t feel its emptiness being widened and opened up once more, making space for another sliver of body.

It’s Elphaba, of course. Of course, of course it is. Galinda has the crazy urge to throw her piece of scrap paper away, to straighten her desk and her hair and her spine. She does sit up a little bit, anticipation thrumming through her lungs for no reason in particular, but Elphaba doesn’t look back her way. She’s got nothing in her hands now, but the tips of her fingers are the slightest bit stained with ink.

She tries to give Elphaba a smile, but she’s gone before it lands. Back on the phone the woman is talking about flower arrangements and Galinda, crumpling up the scrap paper into a ball with her fist, tries to listen again. She tosses the paper towards the trash can but misses, and it lies there all afternoon, limp and unguarded.

Galinda knows she won’t be alone on the beach before Elphaba even arrives, she has a feeling. She’s woken up starving, strangely enough, and has stolen a piece of yesterday’s coffee cake from the kitchens to pick at by the surf. A whole mat of water chestnuts bobs in the distance, creeping arms stretching further and further throughout the once untarnished river.

Now that it is September the world seems to be set on stepping back, breathing in slowly and releasing it in a tumble over the sky blue water. There’s something really melancholy about it all, the end of summer is such a particular season and yet no one pays it any mind.

Killyjoy is nudging a smooth round stone with his nose, tail flicking water across Galinda’s legs, when Elphaba appears.

How early does she wake up, Galinda wonders, to already be making it back at half past seven? Killyjoy’s tail is wagging as she gets closer and it’s desperately sweet. Dogs understand friendship better than people, Galinda thinks, or better than Elphaba at the very least. They’ve only met twice and already Killyjoy would follow her to the ends of the earth, meanwhile Galinda had made her tea and had given her room seven complete with its best sheets and what sort of acknowledgement does she get for it? Any at all?

The way Elphaba walks is strange, like she’s not quite sure how to do it. Her arms linger low at her sides and she dodges the lapping current with every step. When Galinda walks on the beach she traces her fingertips through the air, lets the water play at her bare ankles, runs when she feels the urge. She tries to remember how Fiyero had walked on the beach but she isn’t sure she’s seen him out here before, not well and truly.

Elphaba will ignore her again, she won’t stop— this Galinda knows. She offers a quick smile in the direction of hazy green and turns back to her page, clenching her fingers tighter around the pencil and drawing a soft line in the top right corner of the page, sweeping.

The pebbles rustle, there is a creaky sort of sigh, and Elphaba has plopped herself down quite close to Galinda. It’s unexpected, isn’t it? There’s a certain brand of anticipation that tickles inside her throat as a result, itching and tugging where she can’t quite reach.

She likes being wrong once in a while. It’s a novel thing, of course.

“Good morning,” Elphaba says, and looks over her shoulder. “You look cold.”

“Just a little,” Galinda calls back through the light wind, and she leans forward even more to shade the corner of her sketchbook. Her hair, which is down this morning, falls into a curtain between them through which Elphaba’s piercing gaze permeates.

“I like the turret," Elphaba says, and Galinda looks up with reddened cheeks. She is talking, of course, about the house Galinda is sketching— an old Victorian, twisting ornamental detail, gingerbread trim, tall gables. “Is this somewhere in town?”

“It isn’t real,” Galinda says softly, adding an extra window on the third floor. She does this sometimes, pages on pages of dreamscape houses that she knows her way around as if she grew up right down the street from them. They’re a touch awkward, lines a little shaky near the bottom— she’d never show a soul.

Elphaba, though, is seeing. She won’t look away, that’s the only reason why. Galinda tells herself that again— she’s only seeing it because she won’t stop. She hums now, nodding.

“I like it.”

“Thank you,” Galinda says, and means it.

“I was thinking of doing some exploring today,” Elphaba says after a moment, a quiet instant where the only sounds are water unfurling itself from the pebbles on the beach and the scratch of Galinda’s pencil. “I thought maybe I’d walk over to the lighthouse.”

“You can’t get to the lighthouse in the early afternoon, it’ll be high tide,” Galinda says automatically. “The path gets covered up and you’d be wading through a marsh, it’s horrible. Go now, maybe, or before noon.”

“Before noon then,” Elphaba nods, and catches Galinda’s eye deliberately. “I have to go to breakfast, after all.”

“Oh, I’m glad you liked the food. I was worried we’d scared you off when you first got here, you never came out of the room!”

She says it lightly, infected with a nonchalance that is entirely put on, and Elphaba’s lips twist contemplatively. “Yes,” she says, thoughtful, “I don’t do well with that sort of thing.”

Galinda raises an eyebrow, a smile at her lips. “Breakfast?”

Elphaba glances her way, mouth slightly open, and then she laughs. It’s a lot more whole than Galinda had expected, a certain decisive roundness to the echo of it. It makes her smile in spite of herself and then there’s a moment, just a quick one, where they’re locking eyes.

Maybe they are almost friends. Galinda does not befriend customers, though she supposes there’s nothing really wrong with it. No one ever sticks around long enough, all things considered, and she’s got quite the handful of relationships to maintain anyway. It’s been years, though, since she’d made a real and true new friend and now here Elphaba is, and whenever Galinda turns around there she can be found. What does Galinda know about her, really, except that she mails letters and gets ink on her hands and reads books and eats pastries for breakfast?

“You seemed busy yesterday,” Galinda says, daring. “I tried to say hi but you looked like you were in your own little world.”

Elphaba has the dignity to look a bit abashed, at the very least. “I was mailing some things to my sister,” she says. “It’s… sort of complicated.”

And there’s no apology, Galinda notes, but that is Elphaba’s way. Another thing she knows, she realizes with a pleased little hum in her chest.

“Older or younger?” Galinda asks, and puts the pencil down but doesn’t close the sketchbook. Elphaba looks out at the river.

“Younger, by two years,” she says. “And before you ask, no. She isn’t green.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Galinda answers, a little miffed. “I’m not…”

But she trails off before she finishes her sentence. She isn’t what? She finds that she’s not quite sure what she is or is not, especially right about now. September is creeping in, there’s a finality to the air. Time is moving too fast and it makes a terrible tempest like feeling emerge in Galinda’s stomach again.

“Her name is Nessa,” Elphaba says quietly, like a peace offering. “We don’t always… we’re very different people. But I love her, of course. You know how it goes.”

“I’m an only child, actually. ” Galinda admits. “Maybe that’s why I’m so… oh, you know. Why I’m like this.”

Elphaba cocks her head, brow furrowed. “Like what?”

Galinda just laughs, a little breathy, and Elphaba gives her an indulgent grin in response.

Will Chuffrey expect her at breakfast? They’re going out on Friday, after all, and she doesn’t want to spoil the excitement of it. Maybe she can hunker down in the kitchens with Crope this morning and dodge Chuffrey on the way out. She’ll miss Elphaba, but she wagers that they’ll both survive.

“So no siblings, what did you do all the time?” Elphaba asks, eyebrows raised, and Galinda can’t figure her out. What is the point of all of this, what is the reason? Is it pure coincidence that they keep bumping into each other this way, that Elphaba seems to be everywhere she is?

“I was very popular,” Galinda says primly, and she’s aware of how it sounds but it’s true, after all! “I went to parties. Bonfires— we still do those, actually, there’s one this weekend. When I was home, though? I guess I listened to music. I drew. I thought a lot about where I’d end up.”

“And where was that?”

“Oh,” Galinda scoffs, waving a hand. “Nowhere. I was a preposterous child, truthfully. I can’t imagine you’d have liked me very much.”

She doesn’t know what she expects Elphaba to say— of course I would have, maybe— but she just frowns a little, considering the point. “No, probably not,” she says thoughtfully.

There’s a moment, and then Galinda lets out a peal of laughter so surprised and genuinely tickled that she can’t help herself. Elphaba looks a little startled but she’s smiling, teeth pressing at the corner of her lip. “I like you well enough now, though!” she insists, eyelashes long and curled, and Galinda wonders if it’s possible to know that a moment will turn out to be very, very important later on.

“I always wanted to be great,” Galinda says, eyes glittering, once she’s stopped laughing and only a trace of a smile remains etched across her face. “I guess I don’t like when people see me improve, or whatever— that’s what they used to say in school, it was so embarrassing. I just want to be the best or not try at all, I always did.”

Elphaba nods like it makes sense, like it isn’t one of the most neurotic and high strung things Galinda could think to say. “That’s why you’re so… polished,” she says, waving a hand over Galinda’s blouse with her lips all twisted. Galinda smiles.

“I suppose so,” Galinda hums.

“And that’s why. About the art, I mean.”

Galinda flushes and curls an arm around her sketchbook protectively, so that the turret of the house rests safe in the crook of her elbow. The soft skin grates on thick paper, thin little arm hairs tingling on the scratchy cream of the page. “What do you mean,” she says, voice a little thinner than she’d intended for it to be.

Elphaba just blinks. “No, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she insists. “Just… you’re protective of it. You don’t talk about it much, do you?”

“You hardly know me,” Galinda scoffs, but it’s true. It’s really and deeply true, and it makes her legs feel all itchy to think of.

“I guess I don't," Elphaba says cheerfully. “But you don’t talk about it, I know that much.”

“I don't,” Galinda confirms. “People are so strange about these sorts of things, don’t you think? The second you say that you care about something people get weird about it. I say, here’s something I drew for myself, just for me to see and no one else. And then suddenly everyone wants to talk about what I should make next, about how I should try to be an artist. What if I don't want to be an artist? What if I just want to… I don’t know, be a person who makes art? An art person?”

“If you ever finish that one of the beach and the lighthouse I’d love to see it,” Elphaba says, still with that easy tone and delicate glance out to the water. “To remember Shale Shallows by, when I go.”

“Oh?” Galinda asks, eyebrows raised. “And when will that be?”

“Whenever it is,” Elphaba says, and stands up with a little smile, brushing imaginary dust off of the front her pants. “See you around, Galinda.”

It’s funny how abruptly Elphaba can come and go, how she appears out of the foggy morning like some sort of mirage and disappears as easily as she’d entered, into the bushes or behind a doorway or into the upstairs hallway. Galinda checks her watch once Elphaba is out of sight, back up the dune and into the brush— seven fifty one, it says, and Killyjoy is getting antsy over by the line between the rocks and the water, pouting in Galinda’s direction with watery eyes. She sighs.

“You want your breakfast, huh?” she murmurs, and at the sound of her voice Killyjoy comes up closer to press his wet nose to the backs of her knees. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go back up to the house.”

She gathers her things in one swoop, pencil tucked behind her ear in a way that she hopes reads as very chic, very put together. Mrs. Sharpe is due to come in today, she should pin her hair up before then just to sell the idea of her blatant professionalism. She is professional, actually, she is, but it all becomes very jumbled after a while. Sometimes it feels like she’s living so many lives all crammed up into one.

Killyjoy looks forlornly at the spot where Elphaba had been sitting, the stack of pebbles she’d left behind on top of a large flat rock. He glances back at Galinda, still pouting, head cocked.

“People are strange sometimes,” she tells him in response, pouting her own lips. “Come on, baby, let’s get you back home.”

“Your boyfriend’s in the breakfast nook,” Crope tells her when she tosses herself into the kitchen and slams the swinging door shut behind her, hair all askew. “Where’s Killyjoy?”

“He’s fine. And I know he’s in there, that’s why I’m hiding,” Galinda hisses. “Please tell me you made something I like.”

“Raspberry ricotta muffins,” Crope says, rolling his eyes. “Oh, please! They’re really very good, Galinda, you can’t make faces like that based on nothing.”

“Why did I hire you again?” Galinda asks sardonically, plucking a muffin from an overflow platter on the kitchen island.

“You didn’t,” Crope says cheerfully. “Just take a bite, you’re so horribly dramatic. Hey, you’re going to the bonfire on Saturday, aren’t you?”

Galinda groans. “Yeah, I guess so. What else is there to do around here?”

“You’re getting to be a little bit of a bummer.”

Rolling her eyes, Galinda takes a showy bite of her muffin. The crumble of the sanding sugar on top grinds against the roof of her mouth, as crunchy as she’d hoped. Crope watches with an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed in front of him.

It’s actually quite good. Galinda chews and swallows and takes her time doing so, demurring as she finishes her bite just to leave Crope on the edge of his seat. When she tires herself out she smirks. “Yeah, it’s delicious,” she says. “Make those again, alright? Preferably when we have someone we’re trying to impress.”

“Like Elphaba? She’s at breakfast again today, have you heard?”

Galinda clears her throat, taking another bite of the muffin and crumbling a piece of sugar between her fingernails. “I forgot something in my apartment. Don’t forget to put out the coffee pot, okay?”

“Chuffrey will be missing you,” Crope calls teasingly.

“Tell him I’ve left the country,” she says over her shoulder. “But I’ll be back tomorrow evening, of course, for our date.”

Galinda hates spreadsheets. She’s got a rather large one spread across the desk in front of her today, with End Of Summer written across the top in sloping cursive letters. Writing the title all fancy was supposed to motivate her to do the budgeting, but it’s not working much.

But still! They’d made a lot this summer, had been booked solid all the way through July without a room to spare at any given minute. The events, too, had been a swimming success— a solstice barbeque out on the back lawn overlooking the dunes and the riverside, a little lending library set up out by the front gate. This summer had come and gone and Galinda would look back on it fondly, she thinks.

Forty nine here, a hundred sixty seven there… the numbers are blurry and written too small— her own fault— and she wrenches her hands over her eyes to rub them clean. It’s twilight outside, creeping steadily towards half past eight, and Galinda’s dinner is sitting heavy in her stomach. She’s uncomfortable for a reason she can’t quite name, antsy in a way she can’t quite describe.

“Fine,” she huffs to no one, capping her pen and stuffing the spreadsheet into the drawer of her desk. She’ll finish it in the morning, tomorrow before Chuffrey comes to pick her up. In the meantime there’s more to do before bed, always.

She lingers in the parlor to adjust the books on their shelves, straightening spines and brushing dust from as high up as she can reach. In the front hall she fidgets with the coat rack. In the back hall she pauses just before she gets to the steps, staring out at the expanse of river and air through the glass on the sticky door. It challenges her a little bit, jutting its chin. She climbs into the stairwell hastily.

Just a walk through the open room and she’ll go to bed, she decides, but of course Elphaba’s room is first on her left when she reaches the landing. The door is looming, taller and wider and more alive than she is at the moment, and it seems to size her up too. The world has such a different face at night. The inn loves her, tends to her so mindfully, but room seven is Elphaba’s now. She can’t go in, can she? Even if there is no one else here.

And so with a shiver, Galinda moves on.

It doesn’t quite leave her mind, though. Galinda retires to her apartment around nine, but the bones of the house make it feel much later— she can’t see an inch outside and there is a strange creaking coming from overhead, like the bough of a tree about to snap in two. She puts on a record, plays it loud. Old love songs, crooning and half mournful in a way that wedges itself into the space between her rib cage.

The apartment has a living room, technically, and a table and some chairs. She doesn’t use it, of course. Not when there’s always something to be done out in the main rooms, things to be done for the body of the inn.

She scrubs her face until it’s pink, ties her hair up in careful curls. Her nightgown is silky and smells like laundry, cream colored and flush. Pfannee and Shenshen, for as lovely as they can be, would simply never understand her life in this way. Here she is, twenty eight years old and single and beautifully striking— she knows as much, and there is no point in mincing words— crawling into bed at nine on a Thursday night in a nightgown that grazes her mid shin. She looks almost virginal, doesn’t she?

Galinda doesn’t touch herself often. When it happens it’s rushed and choked up, coming in the middle of the night when she’s been awake too long to think of anything better to do. She’s never found much pleasure in it, anyway— not that it doesn’t feel good, not that she doesn’t make herself come, biting the corner of a pillow. She does.

It’s only that it feels a little stilted, a little awkward. Too much work for itself. Galinda will be hit with waves of desire sometimes when she’s least expecting it, moments that make no logical sense, moments out in the world looking at a fence or a line of handwriting or something. She prefers to let them abate, to acknowledge them the way she would an anxious delusion and let it all sink into the fabric of her being, rest there untouched and therefore unprovoked.

She doesn’t touch herself when she’s enmeshed in her own desire, that is what it amounts to. The desire is one thing and the feeling of her own hand grazing the inside of her thighs as she moves is something entirely different, entirely other.

It’s times like now. She’s unmoored, decalibrated and unable to find her way back to the point at which things had begun. The past couple of weeks have felt this way anyway but maybe she’s reached some kind of peak, some strange internal acknowledgement of the teeming slope of things to do. See Chuffrey and go out with him, looking and sounding and acting her very best. Spreadsheets and dusting the extra rooms upstairs. Placing a new order with Tibbett, calling Pfannee and Shenshen, deciding how many drinks she can have at the bonfire without it becoming too depressing for her to be around herself. Figuring out what it is, lately, that’s making her so unhappy. What she must do to change that, as soon as is reasonably manageable.

It starts slow and without any desire present, just the stubborn insistence on righting a wrong. A piano accompanies the singer on her record, slinking in from the adjoining room and leaving any trace of enunciation behind with it. There’s nothing but rhythm now.

Galinda keeps her eyes open. She watches the room around her, the heavy load that the boards above her bear. It’s more uncomfortable with her eyes closed, it makes her feel like she’s trying too hard to get swept up in it.

Fiyero had asked her to touch herself for him a few times, but only after sex. She came often with him, but sometimes found herself left with a deeper itching hunger. Hardly desire, hardly need or lust or whatever it was people felt— no, this was more annoyance, a fly buzzing around the room. That aching between her legs. He’d laugh at how clinical she made it, masturbating, but what did he know?

A date with Chuffrey, the sturdiness of his arms when he leaned on the table to stand up. The sharp corners of the front desk, the stack of papers strewn around inside of it. The upstairs hallway, dark except for a twinge of light creeping out from under the door of room number seven.

Galinda is wet, she finds, and she dips a finger into herself quickly. It’s not for pleasure, just to have something to work with, and she brings that same long finger back up to her clit with sweeping proficiency.

She isn’t loud during sex. Right now she breathes out through her nose once, long and thin and a little harried, and slips her finger over the spot where she purportedly needs it.

Purportedly, of course, because her body often feels entirely separate from the Galinda of inside. She loves her body, she keeps it well cared for. Silky hair, perfectly shaped eyebrows, delicate pats of blush and lip gloss and eyeliner when the occasion calls for it. She is always in clothes that flatter her figure, would never be caught dead in something that doesn’t accentuate her waistline or complement her color palate and undertones. She’s only human, after all.

But can she help it if she sees herself out of the corner of her eye sometimes and feels a jolt of unfamiliarity, of distant recognition like she’s seeing a friend from childhood who had grown up, aged into their features, and has turned out all uncanny. Galinda loves her body but it’s tiresome, it wants so much of her. It yawns and sneezes and bleeds and desires, sometimes, and she has nothing to show for it.

So— right now her body wants it this way, middle finger drawing tight little circles over her clit and left hand clenching the bedsheets. She’s never had much of an urge to think of erotic things while she’s doing it, it only feels embarrassing. Here, with her nightgown rucked up, she tries.

Her college boyfriend going down on her once, twice, three times. Fiyero without his shirt on, so warm and steady beneath her and above her and beside her. A footprint out in the hallway near the back door— a man’s footprint, big heavy expensive boots. A single footprint going nowhere, not following the carpet into the hall but disappearing into thin air. She grits her teeth.

Chuffrey’s hands curled around his fork at breakfast. Fiyero putting his fingers inside of her, that time she was facing away from him in bed and came with her eyes and lips and face screwed up tight. The empty expanse of room seven where, somewhere above her, there is one person sleeping.

No, something about that sentence isn’t right, and Galinda knows it sharp and sudden like it’s struck her. Maybe Elphaba is awake, maybe she isn’t upstairs right now. Something is wrong and Galinda doesn’t know what. It’s tormenting. There is a flutter of nerves in her stomach which maybe doubles as excitement, because she feels herself get wetter down by her entrance where her pinky is waiting idly. She’s not far, now.

When Galinda comes it’s with her head wrenched to the right, cheek and mouth and one lone eye muffled by the plush pillowcase below her. It smells like vanilla. Her hips stutter and she reaches the peak slowly, willing herself to hold onto it— please, please, please… and then she’s coming, fast and hot and quick. It’s over and there is nothing left except Galinda’s right hand, wet and pruny. She wipes it indelicately on a tissue and crumples it up, leaving it on her nightstand, leaving it as proof for the morning that anything had happened at all.

Please, oh God help, Galinda thinks again, inexplicably and entirely divorced from the realm of reality in which she is living. Her mind does this sometimes, talking without her permission. She’s always catching up.

The lights flicker and then burn brighter. The creaking has stopped. The record continues on, slow and sturdy in the other room, and Galinda falls asleep before she realizes it, turning over once and then twice and then she’s swept away before she can deny it again.

Galinda’s pulse is rushing all through the day on Friday, some sort of anxious energy making her voice even more high pitched than usual. It’s not typical for her to get nervous like this— for the date that evening, she supposes? Still: Chuffrey isn’t picking her up until seven and Galinda does well with first dates, truthfully. The restaurant is a place she’s been a thousand times, she knows exactly what she’ll order, she knows exactly what she’ll wear. First dates are fun, it’s after the first that they get tedious. At the start it’s all groundwork, careful little glances and demure comments and Galinda can keep score of her successes. It’s easy.

Behind the front desk it’s approaching six o’clock. When the hour turns Galinda will close up shop to get dressed and ready, but for now she’s cast the desk chair out of the way and is bouncing on the balls of her feet.

She’s been in a state all day. Just an hour ago someone had checked in, a young woman looking rather haggard with nothing but a valise who would be staying just for the night. Galinda had half forgotten how to direct her upstairs, kept blinking at her smooth pale skin and seeing only green. She’d sent her to room one, all the way on the other end of the hall from Elphaba, just to be safe.

At five fifty seven Elphaba herself strides out into the hallway, passing by the front desk with a small little smile. “Still here?”

Galinda blinks quite firmly to spur her brain back into action, to get her nerve endings back in touch with each other. Elphaba has shifted so dramatically and so quickly, all things considered, into something like a companion. Still, though, she’s a little struck by her sudden appearance; there’s an odd little flush of anxiety, embarrassment, something else indistinguishable. She smiles to clear the haze.

“About to leave, actually. I’ve got a date.”

Elphaba’s eyebrows raise but not skeptically— it seems like real curiosity. “Oh yeah? With the man from the breakfast nook?”

“That’s the one,” Galinda confirms, clicking her tongue. “Chuffrey, that’s his name. He’s nice.”

“Nice is good,” Elphaba says. “I hope it goes well.”

“Yeah. Oh, did you like the muffin yesterday? The raspberry one?”

Elphaba looks at her a little baffled, it’s quite sweet. “It was good.”

“Good.”

Elphaba gives her a little nod, and then she’s walking away and Galinda feels a grip of panic inexplicably. She lifts the drawbridge of the desk and slips out, coming up behind Elphaba.

“Hey,” she says, “you’re not busy tomorrow night, are you?”

Elpahaba turns back with a flicker of confusion dancing on her brow. “I never am,” she answers slowly, looking dubious. “Did you, um… did you need something?”

“Oh, god no,” Galinda laughs, “no, don’t worry, I just… there’s a bonfire down at the beach tomorrow night. When it gets dark, I mean.”

Elphaba smiles at her, vacant and anticipating, as if Galinda hasn’t just invited her. Or, she supposes, she’d better do that. She wrinkles her nose as she smiles, hoping it’s charming.

“You should come! Everyone will be there— I mean, I know you don't really know everyone, but there’s drinks and, well, I’ll be there.”

Elphaba’s lips twist up around her smile, making her look a little bit bashful. “That’s nice,” she says. “You don’t have to do that though, really.”

“Do what? I want you to come,” Galinda insists. “It’ll be fun, I’ll make sure. Please?”

“Do you invite all the guests to parties?” Elphaba teases, a little squint to her eyes like she’s studying Galinda or sizing her up. Galinda laughs.

“You’re not a guest. You’re… hm,” Galinda says, cocking her head. “Well, you’re Elphaba. Come, alright?”

Elphaba’s eyes and cheeks and lips soften ever so slightly. “Yeah, alright,” she acquiesces. “I’m not really great with parties, though, I don’t want to be… it’s not a big thing, is it?”

“You’ll be with me the whole time, don’t you worry,” Galinda clucks. “And where are you off to so late?”

Elphaba gives her a strange look, amusement at the crease of her chin. “Don’t you have a date you should be getting to?”

Galinda blinks, glancing down at the mother of pearl face of her watch. “Oh yeah,” she murmurs, “I forgot.”

When she looks back up Elphaba looks almost affectionate, almost confused at it. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck,” she says, and Galinda is halfway back to her apartment before she realizes what Elphaba’s wishing her luck for.

Her apartment smells like wood. She turns on exactly one light. It’s a little chillier than she’d hoped it would be but she’s got her dress picked out regardless— green so pale it’s almost cream colored, lace tracing halfway down her arms, hem falling mid thigh. It’s all very purposeful, actually, because she’s bringing along a cardigan that makes her look soft in low light and doing her makeup just enough to make a difference. She widens her eyes in the mirror as open as they will go just to wake herself up, to look alive. She’s been treading such a strange line all day.

Chuffrey— restaurant, rocket ship, omelet. It helps Galinda to associate him with things like this, steady things. Charming things. In a flash she remembers last night, the clenching pleasure and terrible desire of it in spite of itself. The memory of it burns somewhere within her quick and sudden, a pressure between her legs and a thought of Elphaba out at the bonfire, how many drinks she will have, whether or not Galinda will walk home beside her.

It’s all such ridiculous nonsense. Galinda drinks a whole glass of water before she leaves, watching the bob of her throat in the mirror, willing the night to cooperate. When she shuts the front door she eyes the inn and it seems to look right back at her, through her, within her. She shivers.

Chuffrey likes her dress quite a bit. He tells her as much once he’s half a glass of wine in, fingertips pressed tight against the stem of the glass. It’s nice to be here with him, Galinda decides. She’s picking at the complementary bread basket, tugging a piece of ciabatta loose to bite the corner off of. It’s a little chewy so she has to gnaw, which feels almost stupid but remains oddly satisfying at the end of it. In the low light Chuffrey’s forehead has beads of sweat on it, his maroon button down looks navy. He looks handsome, though, and Galinda tells him as much.

“So,” Galinda chirps, a charming smile curling at her lips and in the widening of her eyes, “did you work today? Any stories?”

Chuffrey, who has been smiling nervously, lets one corner of his lip drag up into something real. “There’s always a story, I bet you know that,” he says.

“That’s life,” Galinda hums, and takes another bite of her bread. The crust is crumbly and leaves debris across the tablecloth.

“Today… oh, we had a woman come in and eat her whole meal before she asked for a refund,” Chuffrey laughs. “She wasn’t too happy when we had to say no.”

“Do you ever get that older woman who lives up the hill? You know the one, with the bedazzled purse?” Galinda asks, laughing.

“The one who likes to change her order every time you walk by her table? Yeah, we’re all very familiar,” Chuffrey says, and he’s smiling, and Galinda smiles back. There’s something nice about this aspect of Shale Shallows, she has to admit— everybody knows everybody and has forever, when she talks to anybody they know anything there is to know. Chuffrey has been on the outer orbit of her life for so many years and now here he is, only a bread basket between them, and Galinda isn’t quite sure how she’s supposed to feel.

“So you like working here?” she asks, and hopes he doesn’t ask her the same. How can she ever explain what it is like to be a part of the inn?

“It’s a good job, yeah. I like it. Good food, good kids working here.” Chuffrey takes another sip of wine. “Some day I’m going off to start my own business, you know. I’ve always loved repairs, carpentry, that kind of thing? I make a lot of house calls already but I’m gonna turn it into something big. If you ever have a problem around the inn you call me, okay? I can take care of it.”

Galinda’s hair is down and she wishes it weren’t, wishes it was tied up in such a tight updo or ponytail that she can’t feel the throbbing of her forehead. She smiles and nods, because that is what people do. “I’m normally the one to fix things around the building,” she says to him, neutrally and ever so polite. “It’s therapeutic, isn’t it?”

Galinda has ordered the catfish. It seems elegant enough, she thinks, but even as she’s taking delicate little bites and leaving lots of room to smile and curl her hair around her fingertip she knows she’ll be ravenous later. It’s not that it’s a small portion, not that the food isn’t good. She knows her own hunger, that is all, and it’ll flare up when she least expects it; she’ll be inches from sleep and suddenly her stomach will growl in protest, in alarm that she’s deserted it.

Chuffrey is eating pasta and his bites are too big, his teeth are clinking on his fork. Give him a chance, a fair one, she reminds herself, but the thing is: she is. Chuffrey is perfectly nice, handsome and normal and smart. She’d done this with Fiyero too, picking apart tiny insignificant details until the picturesque allure of him gave way to something real. It’s hard to wonder anymore, at a certain point, and what comes after that?

“So,” he says after a moment, giving her a look that’s far too affectionate for what they are at the moment, “you like working at the inn?”

Galinda smiles and feels it ache in the clench of her cheeks. “Oh,” she says, “you know.”

He gives her a funny little look, eyebrow quirked, and leans in closer. His breath smells like basil and lemon. “I don’t know, actually,” he says, and he thinks they’re flirting. He thinks this is banter, and isn’t it? Is it? Galinda isn’t sure.

She’s already bored of him. They leave the restaurant together and he winks at the kid behind the counter; Galinda feels that creeping feeling come back at the edges of her stomach. He holds the door for her and she has to duck under his arm to get through. “Let me walk you home,” he says, and it’s gallant and proper and it’s what a man should do, isn’t it? It’s how a gentleman behaves after a date, his mother probably taught him that, and where Galinda should feel charmed she just feels flat nothingness.

“Are you headed to the bonfire tomorrow?” Chuffrey asks when they pass under a streetlight. A lone moth flutters up to the yellow light insistently, butting its head against the glass and begging to be let in. Galinda wonders what it would feel like to want anything that badly, to want someone that badly. Could she ever want Chuffrey like that?

She knows she never will before the question is fully formed. Beside her, though, his face is all alight in profile. What a thing.

“I think so,” Galinda says, and pictures Elphaba desperately like a lifeline. She’ll be there too, whatever that means. “Are you? I didn’t see you last time.”

Chuffrey clucks his tongue regretfully. “Can’t make it this week, actually, I’ve got plans with my folks. Next time, though— maybe we could go together?”

The night is stifling. Galinda nods with a plastic smile, only because she isn’t sure what else to do. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, and to him it probably sounds demure. God, help.

“Good,” he says and his chest is all puffed up, Galinda wants to be back in her bed or at least inside the inn, and he can go away and walk himself home. She doesn’t know where he lives, she doesn’t want to know. It’s ridiculous— Chuffrey is a good man, a nice man. He’s been lovely to her and if only she could snap out of it, could see it for what it is! If only she could let herself be loved the way she was meant to!

He’s walking too close, he’s reaching down to hold her hand and is being so terribly tentatively daring about it, and Fiyero used to do the same thing. Fiyero had done it, and so had the short boy who used to walk her home from fifth grade, and so had that one boy in college whose name she couldn’t remember for the life of her. She lets him.

She lets him because, because. Because sometimes she doesn’t know when she likes a boy until they touch her, until she kisses them or sleeps with them and it’s nice, and it’s hot, and she can come away with new acknowledgement of whatever interactions had preceded it. Because she likes Chuffrey, because he is sweet, because she wants to give him a fair chance. Because it’s what Pfannee would do, and Shenshen, and Milla. Because Galinda is a girl, or perhaps she is a woman, and she is twenty eight, and she doesn’t know what she wants, so perhaps it could be this.

His hand is big. Shenshen loves that sort of thing, but it makes Galinda feel like a child. It is very warm, but hers is very cold and she would like to keep it that way. He’s walking too slow. She smiles.

And when they reach the gate of the inn he hesitates; Galinda thanks God or the universe or whatever entity has intervened here. She can feel the deliberation. He wants to kiss her, he doesn’t want to frighten her off. She is shorter than him and he’d have to bend, he’d have to be quite obvious about it. Galinda looks up at him through her dark eyelashes and flutters them just a little, just to placate him, and then she unlatches the gate.

“Thank you so much for dinner,” she says, and steps through the gate. And closes it. And now Chuffrey is standing only a few inches from her but there’s wrought iron between them so that if he leans down he will be poked by it, and besides, it would be terribly awkward. He gets the idea, he’s a smart man. He doesn’t seem too put out by it, either, just smiling with his lips all bunched up to the left of his face.

“Anytime, I mean it,” he says. “You’re lovely, you look beautiful, I… well. I’ll call you, okay?”

Galinda toes the stepping stone beneath her feet and nods, letting her hair frame her face most delicately. “Have a good night,” she says, and makes sure to walk up the path prettily so that he will notice. So that he’ll have something to appreciate, at the very least.

Or maybe there’s another reason. But, for the life of her, Galinda can’t think of what it would be.

Inside the inn it is dark and cool and still, every inch of the place waiting silently for her arrival. Like the place had been asleep, and it isn’t even very late but it looks like another dimension, a ghost world, a place outside of space and time.

Elphaba is, of course, nowhere to be found. No one is anywhere to be found, no one but Galinda. She’s sure Chuffrey is lingering at the gate, because that’s the way he is, that’s the way he likes and loves and admires. Galinda understands, so does she.

Elphaba is nowhere to be found and Galinda had expected as much, why would she be? Still, it’s a bit disappointing. She wants to talk about the night, about the date, about all of these things. And she could call Milla up, she could tell Crope about it while he kneads dough tomorrow morning. It’s probably what she should do, all things considered. That’s what they are for.

Elphaba is not the sort of person one can debrief a date to. She is not the sleepover type or the gossiping type. But that’s not really what Galinda’s looking for at the moment, is it? It’s someone who would understand the strange things, the way she had stared at that moth on the street or the crippling desire to pull her hair back so tight that she couldn’t feel it. These things, these things that mean nothing and serve no purpose but to make her seem crazy.

Also, Galinda reminds herself, they are not friends. She and Elphaba met each other, what, a week ago? They’ve had a grand total of two conversations. Galinda knows next to nothing about her. Galinda has, in spite of all of this, invited her to the beach party tomorrow night.

There is a creak upstairs, then silence. Galinda falls asleep quickly that night, and she tries not to think of ghosts.

Chapter Text

To our most beloved and perfectest girl,

I’m so delighted to hear about your date!!!! Chuffrey was always such a handsome boy, I remember him from the restaurant— do tell him your momsie and popsicle send their best wishes!! We can’t wait to hear all about it and are wishing you the very best, dear. Just know the both of you are welcome up at Lake Chorge anytime. There’s a ladies’ walking group that I think you’d just adore, Galinda. Does Chuff golf? Can we call him Chuff? Please do send word immediately.

Good to hear you are well and that there is a visitor at the inn. Thank you for reminding me not to worry about you. I do know you can take care of yourself, dear, but you’ll understand when you have children of your own!!!! You are my only daughter and even your popsicle worries. You’ve always been such a special girl!!

I hope you like this postcard— it’s the end of the summer postcards down at the general store but this bathing suit reminds me of that cute mermaid bikini you had when you were little. Remember?

We love you!!!!!!
Momsie and Popsicle

Elphaba is wearing red. “It’s the only sweater I could find,” she says defensively when she meets Galinda by the front gate, tracing the edge of the mailbox with a long finger. “It’s cold.”

It is cold, Galinda agrees. She’s wearing a skirt and her legs are numbing already, everything below the knee stiff like blocks of ice. It happens early here, the cold— it’s on account of the Madeleines being so near, on account of mountain air mixed with the cold front off the river. In just about a month the green leaves will go orange and Galinda’s life will be busy again.

“What do you mean, I like it,” she says, looking Elphaba up and down. She’s got the red cardigan buttoned over a black shirt, of course, and a loose fitting pair of black pants. Typical for her, at least, but she’s got a pretty obsidian necklace falling somewhere on her chest too that Galinda’s certain she hasn't seen before.

“When I wear red I look like a Lurlinemas tree,” Elphaba says grumpily, holding the knit fabric between two fingers with a wrinkled nose. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Not really,” Galinda tells her cheerfully. “And anyway, I think the green is pretty. Not something you see every day, is it? In my experience beauty is all about standing out.”

Elphaba doesn’t answer. She’s kind of… staring, maybe, or else looking rather lost. Galinda spares a quick glance toward the inn, back to where Mrs. Sharpe is manning the front desk and where faint light spills out through the crack under the front door. Perhaps it was too much to say, perhaps she is coming on too strong. After all, she and Elphaba aren’t friends, they aren’t really anything. They are two people in one old house, people who shared tea once and crossed paths on a beach twice and will one day go their separate ways and never see each other again.

Still, though, Galinda imagines she will remember her. It’s hard not to.

“It’s almost nine,” she says slowly, shaking her watch forward on her hand to squint down at the face in the darkness. “We should go, we’re just in time to be fashionably late.”

And Elphaba follows. It’s funny because she’s so unshakeable, because Galinda had spent days on days sure that Elphaba had no heart or desires or wants. That can’t be true, though. Nobody with no wants is hopeful. And here is Elphaba, following someone she barely knows to a party just for the sake of it. Just to have someplace to be. It’s a lot of responsibility, so Galinda vows internally to make it worth her while.

“How was your date?” Elphaba asks quietly, sweetly, with real curiosity in her eyebrows, and Galinda could just die.

“I don’t know exactly,” she says, sparing a glance in Elphaba’s direction. They’re crossing over the quiet street now, and soon they’ll be coming up to the path along the dunes. Elphaba doesn't look confused or judgemental, she just looks like she’s listening. “He was… good. It was all good. I’m just not sure if I like him that much.”

And she glances fast in Elphaba’s direction again to gauge her reaction. She is nodding. What Galinda wouldn’t give to feel it, to feel some all consuming desire like she’d explode if it didn't manifest, didn't become tangible.

“That happens,” Elphaba says kindly, so very kindly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to like him, you know.”

Inexplicably Galinda feels a lump form in her throat, choking her up and giving all her words a strange edge. “I know I don't have to, I just… I should. He’d be exactly right for me.”

Elphaba smiles, shrugging her shoulders as she walks, making her posture adjust with the roll of bone. “People don’t always date the people that would be right for them, though,” she says. “When I was in college I went on a date with someone because all our friends thought we’d be perfect for each other, but then she was just sort of… it didn’t work, is the point.”

Something about this sticks out, loops over in Galinda’s head like a broken record. The idea of Elphaba dating makes her stomach clench, the idea of Elphaba kissing and loving and… and kissing a woman, she realizes.

“It’s complicated,” Galinda says with her lip wobbling. It isn’t really that complicated, it’s just wrong. Whatever she has with Chuffrey is entirely different, her problems are alien and foreign and not so simply explained. He wants her, she wants to want him, and yet…

“Okay,” Elphaba agrees easily, and her feet crunch on gravelly sand because they have reached the dunes, and Galinda feels all overwhelmed by her nonchalance and kindness and the ease with which she operates.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Galinda hums, and waves her hands in the air to clear it, and Elphaba watches amusedly. “Tell me ten things you like about Shale Shallows, now. Go.”

“Ten things?” Elphaba squawks, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Galinda pouts, leaning in closer with each step they take. Up ahead she can see the faint orange glow of the bonfire and she can smell it too, crisp and autumnal and looming. “That isn’t fair, I’d do it too.”

“Because you’ve lived here for, what, twenty five years? And I’ve been here for a few days?”

“Twenty eight, and weeks,” Galinda corrects, and wrinkles her nose. “Fine. We’ll each say five, you start.”

Elphaba laughs a little but she’s thinking, Galinda can tell. “Okay,” she says finally. “I like the river.”

“That’s a terrible answer,” Galinda says reflexively, and Elphaba shoots her a look. “Sorry, it is! Not creative at all.”

Elphaba ignores this. “I like how the storefronts are all different colors. And I like the lighthouse.”

“You went!” Galinda knows she is being a little loud, perhaps a little overexcited, but she is excited, after all. And besides, Elphaba doesn’t seem to mind so much. She looks a little bemused but lets Galinda get closer to her, poke her arm as they walk. “Did you bring a book? Did you sit by the water for hours? Did you pick mulberries?”

“I did, actually,” Elphaba says, amused. “It was very nice, you were right.”

“I know,” Galinda agrees. “Okay, that was three. Two more.”

“You’re bossy,” Elphaba says, and there’s something there. Something in her tone, in the way she glances over in Galinda’s direction so easily, something in the way it feels like they’ve known each other for much longer than they have. Galinda feels it strike her somewhere she isn’t sure she recognizes.

“I’ve been told that, yeah,” she says, and surely Elphaba noticed nothing. She’s good like that, people don’t usually notice what she wants to keep away from them.

“Two more, okay,” Elphaba hums. “I like the breakfasts.”

And Galinda can’t help it, she beams. “Crope will be at the bonfire tonight, you can tell him,” she exclaims, and smiles up at Elphaba who is taller than usual in her boots, fixed at a good inch or two above Galinda in her ballet flats. “Chuffrey only ever orders omelets.”

Why in the world does it matter? She almost apologizes but Elphaba takes it in stride. “No one should only order omelets,” she declares, and Galinda smiles again. “I still need to tell you my fifth one, don’t I?”

“You do, and you should hurry up,” Galinda tells her, pointing. “We’re almost there, see that little path where the cattails are? We’re turning at the dunes over there.”

“You, then,” Elphaba says, and gives Galinda a look that is so achingly real that it is gutting. “I like spending time with you.”

They’ve reached the turning point, a wedge of space between cattails that will take them down the dunes and spit them out in front of the water, in front of a crackling bonfire. Galinda can hear voices already.

But, well. For a minute before they go Galinda wants to stand here and feel it. Elphaba doesn’t look like she’s expecting anything, or like she’s telling a joke, or even like she is thinking. She is just existing, and she is being honest.

It’s dark out, the stars are overhead, the river is below, everything is exactly where it should be. Elphaba is standing where Galinda has left her. Her skin feels compelled to move, like a magnet drawn in some crazy direction, like a moth to a flame. She doesn’t know where she’s meant to move, though, so on a whim she holds a handful of cattails aside to let Elphaba pass.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” she tells her when Elphaba’s back is to her and she’s making her way through the high grass, and she finds that she means it. Elphaba’s honesty has given way to her own; life can be funny in that kind of way.

The kid from last time is nowhere in sight when they get down to the beach and Galinda is overwhelmingly glad. She doesn’t want to share Elphaba with him, doesn’t want the attention like that. Not from him, not in that way.

“Galinda!”

It’s Crope instead, waving maniacally from her left, standing in front of a cooler that’s easily half his size. She waves back, smiling.

“Get your ass over here, I don’t like to shout!”

“That’s a lie, he absolutely does,” Galinda mutters to Elphaba under her breath, and Elphaba cracks a smile at that.

“Should I… would he mind if I came with you?” she asks tentatively. Galinda balks.

“Anywhere I go, you go,” she declares, and then hesitates. “I mean, unless you don’t want that?”

“No,” Elphaba assures her, “I want that.”

And so Galinda grabs her by the arm, delicately of course, and tugs her gently in the direction of the cooler.

“I heard you liked my muffins,” Crope says the moment they reach him, and Galinda rolls her eyes. He’s so remarkably consistent, has been ever since high school. There are things about Crope that she knows in her bones and that no one else does, like the reason he refuses to put on a coat past the end of February no matter how cold it is. This is how friendship becomes itself.

“What ever happened to ‘hello, my name is?’” Galinda asks him, swatting his shoulder with the back of her hand. “You can’t be accosting ladies like that, you know.”

“Hello, my name is Crope,” Crope says pointedly, and then smiles brightly at Elphaba. “And I heard you liked my muffins. Galinda here was quite rude about them, if you can believe it.”

“I can believe it,” Elphaba says, and smiles when Galinda lets out an affronted cough. Crope, of course, finds this immensely funny and he winks at Galinda for some reason and she busies herself thinking about how strange this all is.

“You know, she was all wound up about you ignoring her when you first got in. Like it’d tank the inn’s reviews or something.”

“It’s a good thing to want to have five stars, I’m not going to apologize for that,” Galinda interjects, flushing. “And stop it, you’re bothering us.”

Elphaba looks at her, head cocked. “I’d still give you five stars even if I didn’t like you,” she says, “I’m very fair.”

“Alright,” Galinda claps her hands together for something to do, something that will get Crope far away from Elphaba and whatever else he might have to say to her. “What is there to drink around here?”

“Beer, mostly the bad ones,” Crope says, nose wrinkled. “I don’t know, I’m not having any because— oh my god, Galinda, I forgot to tell you! I’m not having any because Tibbett invited me to go smoke a joint with him. Just me, Galinda, and he said he’s glad I like the jam.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome for that,” Galinda flips some hair over her shoulder. “We’re not going to drink beer, Crope, please tell me there’s something better?”

“Probably someone brought hard cider,” Crope starts, and then squints in the other direction. “Wait, hey, is that Tibbett waving by the bushes? It definitely looks like him, doesn’t it?”

“Like, probably?” Galinda says, leaning closer. “God, I need to get my eyes checked.”

“I’ve got to go,” Crope announces delicately, tapping the lid of the cooler once. “Nice to meet you, Elphaba, I’ll make the muffins again soon.”

“I’m happy for you two!” Galinda calls after him, and he raises a cheerful hand as he strides across the pebbled beach into a sea of people. Galinda watches until he emerges on the other side, nothing but a shadow merging and blending with another shadow up on the dunes.

“That was… nice,” Elphaba says after a moment. She sounds like she doesn’t quite believe it, words slow and tentative to crawl out of her mouth. It’s terribly endearing. Galinda can’t remember a time she’s gotten swept up in a friendship so hard and so fast. It’s happened, for sure and certain, but not for a very long time.

“Crope’s great,” Galinda agrees. “He and Tibbett have a kind of will they, won’t they thing going, and it seems like they actually will soon. It’d be great for business.”

Elphaba laughs and it’s stark in the night. “How’s that?”

“Lots more free jam,” Galinda tells her. “Want something to drink? Crope is terrible at finding things, I’d bet you there’s way more than beer in here.”

Elphaba nods a little stiff, a little shy. So Galinda drops down to her knees and toes off her shoes for good measure, throwing them near the cattails at the base of the dune, and unlatches the cooler.

“I truly despise Vinkan cider,” she tosses over her shoulder where Elphaba is watching. “My ex loved it— but then he’s Vinkan, so of course he did. And I won’t drink this cheap beer either, it’s undignified.”

“Definitely,” Elphaba hums behind her. There is a faint rustle of pebbles and Galinda digs deeper into the plastic shell.

“I knew he was holding out on us!” she crows after a moment, turning around excitedly. “A whole bottle of white wine, look at that!”

“Don’t we need cups?” Elphaba asks once Galinda has straightened back up and dusted off her knees, which have imprints of the rocks pressed into them.

“No, we’ll just drink from the bottle,” Galinda tuts, waving her hand. “Want to sit by the water? Too many people over here, we won’t be able to hear ourselves think.”

She’s moving rather fast and Elphaba reaches out to stop her, fingertips barely grazing Galinda’s forearm. They barely touch and still it resonates through her, sharp and buzzing and heavy in each spot where they’ve collided. Galinda watches the space between Elphaba’s fingers, that emptiness in between, and wonders.

“Galinda, it was really nice of you to invite me,” Elphaba says, brow furrowed, “but you don’t have to spend the whole night with me, you know. Your friends are here, it’s a party. Go, I’ll be fine.”

“I know I don’t have to, I’d rather spend it with you,” Galinda tells her simply, because it is simple. “Crope and Tibbett want to be alone. Milla is flirting with this boy she’s obsessing over— and don’t ask me his name, I can’t remember and she’ll get all mad at me. My ex boyfriend is here but I don’t really need to deal with all of that tonight. I want to talk to you.”

Elphaba looks at her for a second, a minute. Galinda, holding a chilled bottle of wine, feels suddenly very small under her gaze. Somewhere in the distance a boy laughs, loud and piercing. The air smells like smoke and river water and something else, coppery and hesitating. Galinda waits.

“Okay,” Elphaba says finally, and she doesn’t smile but she does nod and it means the same thing, Galinda can tell. Besides, she follows Galinda thirty paces down the beach and even plops down onto the pebbles and sand like it’s second nature. She doesn’t even seem to care that the seat of her pants, nice corduroys, will be damp when she stands up.

“Hello, river,” Galinda says, and starts to pick at the tinsel on the top of the bottle. “Thank god this is screw top, I bet only ten people in this whole town own a corkscrew.”

“Are you one of them?” Elphaba asks, picking at the laces on her boots and peeling them off very carefully, putting them to her left one by one and lined up facing the lapping water.

“Of course I own a corkscrew, Elphaba, I run an inn,” Galinda scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Sorry,” Elphaba says cheerfully, or so Galinda thinks, but it still gives her pause. She halts her picking, leaving the tinsel half uncurled and swaying in the night air.

“I didn’t really mean it,” she says.

“I know that,” Elphaba replies, and then looks to her right where Galinda is sitting with a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

And oh, how Galinda loves to be matched. How she loves to be one upped and found out, to say something and have someone respond in kind. Truly, is there anything better than to be understood?

Maybe that’s the problem with Chuffrey— too compliant, everything she says he has to agree with. It only makes her want to provoke him, to think of opinions so outlandish that he’ll have to push back. No, she reminds herself firmly, she isn’t thinking of Chuffrey tonight. Right now, she’s with Elphaba.

“You get the first sip,” she tells Elphaba once she’s gotten the wrapping off and has stuffed it into the pocket of her skirt. The next time she wears it she’ll reach into the pockets and find this in there, and she’ll remember this moment, and maybe she’ll never throw it away. Galinda still owns the cap to the first bottle of beer she’d ever drunk, after all, back when she was fifteen. She can be dreadfully sentimental that way.

“Wish me luck,” Elphaba says cheekily, and then raises the bottle to her lips.

She drinks, and her neck is so straight and contrasts so sharply against the night, against the faint orange and yellow and blue flames behind them. In this light Galinda can hardly see the green and she finds that she quite misses it.

“It’s not bad,” she declares when she’s finished, bottom lip jutting out and glinting. “Here, I can hold the cap.”

Elphaba’s right, it’s not bad. It’s a little more bitter than the wines Galinda usually goes for but there’s something nice about the way it warms her throat on the way down. Autumn is really in the air now, now that the first full week of September is coming to a close, now that the summer people have gone back to their homes and jobs and schools and lives elsewhere. The wine wakes her up, sitting gritty on the backs of her molars. She swallows.

“Kind of strong, don’t you think?” she asks with a shudder, passing the bottle back. “Not that I mind, it’s good for conversation. How old are you? What’s your last name? Where are you from?”

Elphaba blinks, eyes wide. “I need another sip for that,” she says, and takes a very long one while Galinda watches. When she’s done she wipes her lips with the back of her hand and taps her fingernails along the glass bottle and it’s strangely compelling. “I’m twenty nine. I’m from Munchkinland.”

“Hm,” Galinda says. “That wasn’t very good. Let me explain how this works, okay, Elphie? We have a whole bottle of wine and a whole beach and a whole night. I know next to nothing about you. I’m going to ask you a question, and then you will answer it with a long and well defined and compelling response, and then you can ask me a question! And so on like that until we get tired of it. Understand?”

“Elphie?” Elphaba says, with an eyebrow raised. “That’s a little… perky.”

“I’m going to call you that,” Galinda declares. “So I’ll ask again, then— where are you from?”

Elphaba looks at her flatly for a moment, considering. “Nest Hardings,” she says. “Yes, that’s where I was before I got here, and no, I don’t like it very much.”

“Prettier over here, I think,” Galinda muses. “I changed my mind, actually. I think we should change the game.”

“Oh really?” Elphaba says, raising her eyebrows and passing the bottle over to Galinda. The cool glass zaps her hands a little bit, there’s something overly compelling about the night in its entirety. She hadn’t expected it to be like this, it’s better this way than any other way. This is how things are meant to go.

“Yes,” Galinda says primly, and shakes her hair behind her shoulders while Elphaba watches. It feels good to have her watch, it makes Galinda want to keep her looking. “Let’s each tell each other something we’ve never told anyone before. You’ll go first.”

“Why would we do that?” Elphaba says, eyes wide and dark and crinkled around the edges. She looks happy. The smoke from the bonfire makes Galinda’s eyes water and itch just a little, it makes Elphaba look hazy like an image through a dirty mirror.

“Because it’s what friends do,” Galinda tells her. “You’ll go first I said, chop chop.”

Elphaba huffs out a laugh and for a moment Galinda is sure she isn’t going to say anything at all. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything at all. Galinda has accosted her, hasn’t she? There must be something addled and thumping around loose in her brain.

She’s been acting so strangely lately, too thoughtful and too self involved and too much of everything. That familiar panic at seeing Chuffrey across the breakfast nook, that choked up aching feeling she induced in herself with a finger between her legs— all pent up bits of living, the calm before the inevitable storm. What that storm is, of course, she does not know.

She’s been too insistent and too obsessive and too hopeful. What in the world is causing her to care so much about Elphaba, about her potential friendship, about the intricacies and nooks and crannies of her life? Everyone has a life, everyone. She’s starting to remind herself of Fiyero, obsessed with everybody’s story. No, not everybody. Just Elphaba.

And so she almost apologizes, almost. Elphaba had agreed to come to this party, true, but beyond that she doesn’t owe her a thing. Galinda would quite like her to. One day Elphaba will pack up and leave and Galinda isn’t sure why that seems so wrong.

But then Elphaba opens her mouth a crack and clears her throat and takes a sip of wine and nestles it into the sand and then starts to speak. “I don’t know if I believe in God,” she says. She says it, and sounds like she is going to continue, and then she doesn’t. She lets it hover there above the river and crawl away atop it, as far out as Galinda can see.

And Galinda doesn’t know either, but she isn’t going to say that. Galinda had never grown up with a God, only in the most abstract of terms. Galinda just nods.

“It’s a secret, I guess, because my family was very religious. My father and my sister were… well. Very religious. I used to want to be a maunt, actually, but that was on account of the greenness.”

“Why, so you could be Oz’s first green maunt?” Galinda asks, tugging the bottle loose from where Elphaba has wedged it between two stones. “That’s a little selfish of you.”

Elphaba smiles broadly, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Well, no,” she says. “It was the simplicity of it all. Giving up all desires, swearing off romance and… well, sex. Back when I thought it’d be easier to give it all up to begin with.”

“Easier how?” Galinda asks.

“If you aren’t allowed to want it makes it easier when no one wants you,” Elphaba says solemnly, and it’s so deeply sad that Galinda wants to interject, wants to break the moment apart at the core, but then she keeps talking. “That’s what I thought, that is, it’s not actually true. I realized I can want things.”

Galinda’s stomach aches all at once, sudden and hot and clenching. It’s what happens when someone speaks of desire so open and blatant, when Galinda tries to imagine a world in which she wants things that make sense. A world in which she had married Fiyero, maybe, or even one where Chuffrey had held the door for her and she’d felt lust or affection or anything, anything at all beyond vague annoyance.

I can want things, Elphaba had said, and her voice is scratchy with wine and Galinda’s head is starting to feel heavy but she can too, she can want things. Does Elphaba know that? How can she make her know that?

“Not many people have a maunt phase,” Galinda says instead, to snuff out the wild noise in her head. She fixes her gaze out at the horizon where the water curls and coils, out at the looming crescent moon. All around her it smells like sand. “That makes you pretty unique, Elphie.”

“Yeah, well,” Elphaba says. “Anyway, I don’t know if I believe in God anymore. I don’t know if I ever did believe in the proper way. But then I feel like a hypocrite because when something goes wrong who do I think of?”

“That doesn’t make you a hypocrite,” Galinda tells her, with wine numbing her tongue. “That just makes you human, I think.”

“And anyway, God wouldn’t look the way I pictured,” Elphaba says, but she’s already nodded contemplatively so Galinda knows she’s gotten through. “Probably God is a thimble.”

“Maybe God is this bottle of wine,” Galinda says, “and in that case I think the world wants you to have some more. Anyway, no one’s a hypocrite if they don’t want to be, the world’s too complicated for that.”

Elphaba lets a puff of air out in a half laugh, plucking the bottle from Galinda’s outstretched hands. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she says softly.

“It’s how it works in my head,” Galinda declares. “Anyway, if you’re a hypocrite I am too, I’ve never prayed a day in my life but I’m always asking God to spot me when I’m up on the ladder changing the lightbulbs at the inn. And I haven’t fallen yet.”

“Cheers to that, maybe,” Elphaba says grimly, and takes a sip.

Galinda sits with the heaviness of it all for a moment. It’s chilly but still humid, cold pricks around her ankles and knees but there’s a stillness to the air that maintains itself, demands to be there, hovers out over the horizon. There is a slamming behind them— the lid of the cooler, from how it sounds— and a shout of laughter. It’s Milla’s, Galinda could pick it out anywhere.

It aches strong in her heart for a second. She’ll miss this when she’s gone, when it’s winter and she’s got her ducks in a row.

“My secret is that I don’t know if I’m happy or not,” Galinda says, and then flops backward to prop herself up on her elbows. “Elphie, do you realize we’ve finished a very large amount of this wine?”

“You’re really running with the ‘Elphie’ thing, aren’t you,” Elphaba muses. She’s got a lovely smile, curved like a caterpillar and inching ever so slightly across her face like it’s not supposed to be there.

“I am,” Galinda nods. “But shush, you’ve got to let me finish. You might assume that I’m lonely, but you’d be wrong about that.”

“Not lonely, got it,” Elphaba nods. It’s so ridiculous, so uncharacteristically silly that Galinda reaches out with half an eye roll and a third of a smirk to smack Elphaba’s arm lightly. She second guesses the ease of it the moment it happens but Elphaba doesn’t seem to mind, she just smiles wider. What a blatant misread Galinda had on her at the start.

“Not lonely,” Galinda repeats with a nod. “It’s just… I sort of feel weird about life some of the time. Like I’m missing something about it.”

“But you like it here, don’t you,” Elphaba says simply, and it isn’t really a question but Galinda nods along anyway.

“It’s like this: I can’t imagine doing anything else, but I can’t imagine doing what I do either. It’s like I wake up every morning and forget how to live from the night before. My ex always used to talk in this really bratty tone like he knew more about my life than I did, you know? But then I started to wonder if maybe he does. Because I definitely don’t know a thing.”

Elphaba hums, so she’s allowed to continue. Galinda touches a pebble with her toe, rolling her ankle and brushing the skin of her calf against the bumpy ground.

“I think what you’re supposed to do when you’re young and you feel like this is go somewhere else,” Galinda says. “I should just move to the city. I’m twenty eight and I’m always thinking about the thread count on hotel room sheets.”

“You could do that,” Elphaba muses, “but you still would think about thread counts, wouldn't you?”

Galinda would. “No,” she protests, and then sighs. “Yeah, probably. It’s like an extension of me at this point, I can tell when it’s empty and when something’s broken and when there’s something wrong.”

“I guess I don’t know anything about it,” Elphaba says tentatively, “but… you love it here, don't you? How could you ever feel like that about a place and not love it?”

Galinda doesn’t know. “I might hate it,” she says simply, defensively as she wiggles her toes in the water and lets the warmth of it pool in the space between her limbs. “I guess I might. I don't know yet.”

“You never said your five things,” Elphaba says, and then blinks firm and hard.

“My five things,” Galinda hums thoughtfully. “God, Elphie, I don’t know the answer to that awful question, why would you ask me that?”

“You asked me first,” Elphaba laughs incredulously. “Just say something, Galinda.”

And so Galinda thinks about it. “I like Crope,” she says, “and Tibbett, and Milla. And Fiyero some of the time. That’s four.”

“That’s one,” Elphaba corrects.

Galinda sighs. “I like when it gets foggy in the mornings,” she mutters, “because you can’t see the top of the inn from the beach and it looks like the clouds are coming down to eat it up.”

“Two,” Elphaba says cheerfully. Galinda rolls her eyes.

“I like when the seasons switch over at the inn,” she says slowly. “Because in the fall Crope makes apple cider donuts, and when it’s winter I put candles in all the windows and it looks a little bit beautiful from the end of the front steps.”

The bonfire crackles, the wine bottle clinks against stone. “I like bonfires,” she says. “And I like the cash register at the market in town because it’s got one of those old fashioned bells on it and when I was a kid I had a toy cash register just like that.”

Elphaba smiles.

“Oh, I’m dreadful!” Galinda exclaims all at once, smacking the flat palm of her hand into her forehead. “Your fifth thing was me, but mine was a stupid old cash register that doesn’t even work half the time I buy something— I’m too nostalgic for my own good, Elphie.”

Elphaba flushes a little bit, just enough so that Galinda can make it out in spite of the darkness. “You don’t have to have me as one of your things,” she murmurs.

“Thing number six: Elphaba,” Galinda shakes her head. “Elphaba… what’s your last name?”

Elphaba levels her with another stare and then shuts her eyes and shakes her head, halfway to smiling. “Thropp,” she says.

“Thropp,” Galinda repeats, “Thropp. That’s a good name. Elphaba Thropp.”

“Alright,” Elphaba mutters, cheeks still dark. “That’s… thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Galinda says. “Sorry that my five things were terrible. Did I sound dreadfully sentimental?”

“No,” Elphaba says. “Listen, it’s not really my place to say this but… you said you might hate this place? I think you really like it. I think you maybe even love it.”

“You’re probably right,” Galinda says. “Probably, I said, don’t go and get a big ego about that.”

The wine goes fast. The last dredges of it go to Galinda; Elphaba hands it out to her without speaking but the offer is clear and Galinda accepts it easily. It’s even more bitter than before. Elphaba watches her drink it and maybe Galinda is selfish, maybe she just likes the attention, but it nestles itself up high in her chest. She wants to draw it out and make it last so she slows down her sips, arching her throat and the sharp line of her jaw so that Elphaba can make it out in the slow dark night.

If Chuffrey were here tonight Galinda wouldn't catch a break, this much she knows. She’ll probably see him again but it’s for the best that she isn't seeing him now, it’s too romantic and he’d probably get a funny idea like trying to kiss her. Maybe she’d end up liking it more than she’d expected. Maybe she’s shooting herself in the foot again.

But Elphaba is paying attention to her. Elphaba is asking her about her life. Elphaba has lived a life and has been with people, has mentioned an ex and desires and wants and Galinda has absorbed all of it, every word. Why is it so stuck in her mind? It’s so visual, Galinda can see Elphaba’s sharp green chin and her long fingers and another faceless body there with her, tumbling long hair and smooth skin. It tumbles up in her chest and she lowers the bottle when it’s empty. Is Elphaba still looking?

“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”

“I don’t get drunk, I get tipsy,” Galinda insists, and flips her hair for good measure. “See? I’m perfectly normal and alert and… and normal.”

“Normal, right,” Elphaba says. “So tell me about your friends? Crope, and Tibbett, and…?”

She sounds almost nervous to ask, thumb smoothing over a perfect round pebble, and Galinda focuses in on it while she talks. That pebble stays with them the rest of the night, the perfect size to fit neatly inside Elphaba’s palm as they wade through the shallow water and up the beach to get their shoes back on, up the dunes and back onto the road once it’s late enough that the alcohol makes Galinda's head ache and eyelids droop. They’re going to the same place anyway but it does feel quite a bit like they’re walking each other home, Elphaba had even let Galinda drag her by the wrist up the dune and hadn’t protested much. It’s how Galinda is with her friends, and perhaps they are friends now. It’s funny how these things go.

“Can I ask you something?” Galinda asks when they’ve reached the front gate and Elphaba has laid her tiny stone down on the pole between two wrought iron fence posts carefully, watching it land.

Elphaba nods sweetly, blinking down at Galinda. “Of course,” she says, and it makes the tips of Galinda’s teeth ache along with the crease between her fingers. She’s so earnest about it, how terrible. Fiyero had been earnest; Chuffrey is too, painfully so, but Elphaba is different. It doesn’t grate on her nerves the same way. It settles there instead. This is something, this is something that happens, Galinda thinks, and so it becomes okay.

“It’s going to sound stupid,” she says, and breathes in slowly. “Remember that footprint the other day? Out in the hall by the back door, after that night when it was storming?”

“Mm,” Elphaba hums noncommittally. She isn’t really looking at Galinda, more just at the abstract outlined idea of the inn in front of them. It looks almost intimidating in silhouette, like it’s a strict austere place. It isn’t, of course, Galinda knows it better than that.

“It’s just… you haven’t seen anything else weird, have you? Or, well, you said you didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”

And Elphaba turns back to her now and she looks like she has never told a lie in her life, like a strange green angel. Her face is so open that it loses its sharpness. “I promise you that everything’s okay,” she says, and Galinda can tell that she means it. She has a feeling. She’s learned to trust her feelings and her instincts and her vague outlines of ideas, things are all heightened out here.

“Okay,” Galinda nods. And then, because it feels like she’s supposed to say something to close this moment up neat and tidy, like she’s choosing her next words from a script, she smiles at Elphaba. “I believe you.”

And Elphaba smiles right back. Galinda’s heart bubbles.

“Are you going to bed?” Elphaba asks kindly, hand on the gate. Galinda shakes her head.

“I think I’m going to stay out here a little,” she says, “and watch.”

Elphaba hesitates like she’s going to say something more, like she’s worried or hopeful or even afraid. It’s hard to tell when Galinda is so tipsy. Not drunk, though, never drunk.

But she goes inside eventually and Galinda stands with her head cocked to one side by the gate and surveys. All of this is hers, and how odd is that? She could wake up tomorrow and paint the place bright green and no one could stop her. Maybe it is a little bit nice to have a place like this, a place people see and know in an instant belongs to her.

Maybe Elphaba was right, maybe she does love this place just a little bit.

When Galinda was very small she’d read fairy tales, the kinds so gory and gruesome her momsie had tried to confiscate them. Galinda had loved every bit of it— the fairies, the princesses, the magic spells, the romances. God, the romances, they were always so painful and tragic and lovely. And the caution, the thrilling sense of fear every time a little girl would be eaten up or turned into a tree or stolen away by evil robbers.

This is what happens when people are bad, perhaps— karmically, if not literally, it comes back to bite them. Galinda had always liked stories about comeuppance. Especially when they were romantic, especially then.

She feels a bit like that now, like one of those little girls in a plain old pinafore standing unknowingly at death’s door. In front of a row of sharp incisors, beside a crazed madman. She feels Bluebeard on the horizon, or any number of witches and wolves and bad fairies. What it is that’s wrong is beyond her. So, of course, there is nothing she can do.

Let it come, whatever it is. This is what Galinda decides while she’s out looking at the stars, just before the lamplight on the very end of the upstairs hallway switches itself on.

“Where have you been?” Crope asks frantically when she gets back from the beach on Sunday morning. “There’s, like, ten people here for breakfast!”

Galinda blinks sleepily. “Why?” she asks, and finds the outline of a smooth round stone in the pocket of her floral skirt. She’s picked up her own rock from down by the water, such a deep brown it looks like a chestnut in shape and color. It’s already duller than it had been out on the shore— why does that always happen? Galinda has always hated when that happens.

“Don’t ask me why, just go out there,” Crope hisses, shoving a tray of danishes into her arms. “Hey, when you put those out come straight back here, I have to tell you about last night.”

It’s easy enough to comply. Mrs. Minkos is out in the breakfast nook, and so are both Elphaba and Chuffrey. She dodges the three of them to place the danishes out by a family of five sitting in the corner, smiles tightly at the room, and hastens to get back to the kitchens.

“Okay, so,” Crope says, brushing his floury hands off on his apron with a dreamy sigh, “last night was the greatest in human history, right? He takes me up to the most romantic spot—”

“Up on the dunes?” Galinda says, eyebrows raised. “It’s not like he reinvented the wheel with that one, Crope.”

“The most romantic spot,” Crope continues with a glare, “and we could see the whole river, and we’re smoking together but only a little bit, and he told me about how to make jam, and it was really sexy, okay? Not like the jam was sexy but he was sexy talking about it, and he was telling me he can finally teach me how to ride a bike, did I say that part already?"

“I’ve been offering to teach you for, like, ten years,” Galinda huffs.

“Sorry about that,” Crope shrugs. “He’s hot. And you aren’t my type. You know I don’t really go for blondes.”

“Sure,” Galinda shrugs, leaning over the counter to snag the danish Crope has left aside for her. “What is this, blackberry?”

“Boysenberry,” Crope says, glowing again. “Tibbs said he made me this jam specially. Isn’t he the sweetest?”

“So did you kiss?” Galinda asks with a bite in her mouth, purple black jam filling in the gaps behind her teeth. Crope flushes.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, leveling her with a teasing glare, “but yes, we did. And we’re going for a hike on Tuesday afternoon after his rounds.”

Galinda beams. “Oh, I’m so excited for you!” she says, teeth aching with the magnitude of her smile. “Were we still hanging out with Milla next week? You should invite him to come.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” Crope replies. He’s got a moony little smile on his face; Galinda would tease him if it wasn’t so incredibly endearing. “Hey, how was your date the other night?”

“Oh,” Galinda says, smiling blandly, “good. We haven’t really talked much since.”

“Isn’t he out in the breakfast nook right now?” Crope asks her, brow furrowed.

“He is,” Galinda agrees. “But I don’t want to bother him. He’s eating.”

Crope stares at her with the most unimpressed look Galinda can imagine. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What was wrong with him?”

Galinda looks at him, and he looks back, and it is quiet until she finally collapses against the countertop with a stifled groan. “I don’t know!”

“Just… boring?” Crope says, and he doesn't look all that surprised.

“He’s really nice,” Galinda protests defensively. “I was just kind of indifferent, I guess. I want him to like me and he does.”

“And now that you might have to do something about it you don’t want to?” Crope asks, and Galinda nods. She takes another despairing bite of her danish around her pout and a fleck of jam lands on her lip.

“It’s just so unfair,” she whines. “I need to change something or else I’m going to go insane. Either I move away or I quit my job or I date some guy. This is the easiest option.”

“Where would you even go if you moved away,” Crope snorts. “You hate everyplace else.”

“That isn’t true,” Galinda argues. “And that’s not the point, is it? You’re not telling me what to do. I’m supposed to snap out of this by the end of the fall.”

“Says who?” Crope asks with a wrinkled nose, opening up the freezer door.

“Says me. What should I do, seriously?”

“Probably you should have a conversation with him,” Crope says wisely— a little too wisely, it’s annoying. “Or you could just sleep with him or something, that’d probably get it out of your system.”

“Ew, no thank you,” Galinda says. “Or… okay, not ew, it’s just I don’t think we’d really…”

Crope waves a hand. “You don’t need to be diplomatic, it’s just me.”

“I’m not going to sleep with him,” Galinda says decisively. “Fine, I’ll talk to him like an adult. God, am I a horrible person?”

“Not usually,” Crope says cheerfully. “You’re fine, Galinda, you went on one date. It’s no big deal.”

“Do you know any better guys?” she asks, finishing her breakfast and fiddling with the handle of a mug branded with the Shale Shallows Inn typography and a fern pattern across the top. “They can even be obnoxious, I don’t care. My head is all over the place.”

“Fiyero,” Crope says. “That’s about it.”

Galinda groans and leans forward until her head hits the countertop. “God,” she says. “I’ve got a headache now too.”

“You’re just hungover,” Crope tells her. “Go take some medicine and sit at the front desk for a little while, you’ll be fine. And hey, Galinda?”

“What,” Galinda grumbles into the counter, lips grazing the stone.

“You don’t need to force it, okay? Just do your thing.” There is a brief silence and then Crope’s hand pats her very awkwardly on the back, hesitating. “Um, I’m going to give you another danish. On the house.”

It’s much quieter at the front desk. Galinda eats the second danish one crumb at a time, brooding just for the hell of it. She’s on the phone when the family of five departs, sisters giggling together at the back of the line, but by the time Chuffrey comes through with his knitted sweater on she’s got no excuse. He lingers by the desk and she looks up with a smile, pastry sitting on a napkin and hands passing over a stack of room keys.

“It’s been a while,” Chuffrey smiles, and Galinda almost rolls her eyes. He thinks he’s so charming, he is so charming, she wants to scream.

“It has,” she smiles instead. “How was your breakfast?”

“Wonderful. How was your bonfire?”

“Wonderful,” Galinda replies, thinking of a bottle of wine and calling Elphaba ‘Elphie’ and the way her fingertips had pressed into that pebble the whole way home. “Well, you know what they always say— no work no gain, I should probably get back to it.”

“Do they say that?” Chuffrey asks, a bemused smile on his face. Galinda presses her lips together even tighter. “Well hey, I won’t take up too much of your time but I did have to ask if you wanted to go out again this week? We could get a drink, or see a movie in town, or even just stay here? I think you’re very pretty, Galinda.”

She is very pretty. It doesn’t seem to be making any difference these days. “Why don’t I have breakfast with you tomorrow morning,” she smiles, and it’s perfect. Noncommittal, easy, well traversed. She can let him down slowly but it is a shame, she’d really wanted this one to work out for the pure simplicity of it.

“Sounds good,” Chuffrey smiles. He drums his fingers on the desk and he’s leaning rather close, isn’t he? It’s painfully obvious that he wants this, he wants to stop by for breakfast and lean over the front desk to kiss Galinda goodbye and he wants to sleep here all night and fix the lightbulbs and hammer in nails and sink into it all. “Looking forward to it, okay?”

“See you then,” Galinda smiles, and wiggles her fingers in farewell. He leaves with a self satisfied smile.

God. Galinda flops forward again, boneless and sucked dry, and her forehead crashes into the cherry wood of the desk. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? She’s itching for a pencil and some paper, wishing for just a single guest to come through and take her mind off of it all, praying for—

Above her someone clears their throat. Galinda jerks up with a start, shaking her head and fixing her hair. She’s ready to apologize and blush and demur enough to charm her way back into proper standing but when she looks ahead it’s only Elphaba.

“Hi,” she smiles widely, one foot coming up to graze at the side of her other leg. “Sorry about that. I was just… well. Sorry.”

“Are you hungover?” Elphaba asks with a smirk.

“No,” Galinda pouts. “I wasn’t even drunk, remember? I was just tipsy.”

“Right, sorry,” Elphaba laughs. She’s adjusted herself so that her elbows are resting on the wood of the desk, chin in her hand, leaning ever so slightly in. Galinda scoots her chair closer. “Tipsy.”

“Exactly. So what can I do for you, Miss Elphaba— no, sorry. What can I do for you, Elphie Thropp?”

“Well, you can stop calling me that, for one thing,” Elphaba says with both eyebrows raised. “I just wanted to say hi. And check on you. And also tell you that the faucet in the bathroom off the parlor is dripping a lot.”

Galinda perks up. “A leak? I’ll get my wrench!”

Elphaba stares at her, smiling incredulously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so excited about their sink leaking.”

“Come with me, I’m going to need a second set of hands,” Galinda calls over her shoulder, already on her knees and rooting through her toolbox from under the desk. “Oh, this makes me so happy. I must have really been distracted, I didn’t even know it wasn’t working!”

She tugs a wrench free and spares a quick glance at Elphaba, who clearly has so much working inside her head at every given moment. She always looks like she’s holding something back, whether it be a smile or a sentence or even perhaps a feeling. Right now she’s studying Galinda very closely like she’s a puzzle or a particularly tough nut to crack. It makes her feel a little fidgety and she stands up hastily to make Elphaba’s gaze move, to make something change. It works and then, in an instant, Galinda misses the attention.

“There’s no reason you should’ve known,” Elphaba says kindly. “You have your own bathroom, don’t you?”

“I have my own apartment,” Galinda corrects with a wide smile. “I can show you after we fix the sink. Just hold on a second—” and she crosses to the hallway to shout: “Crope? Would you watch the front desk for ten minutes?”

“Heard!” He shouts back, and she’s lucky he’s in a good mood. Galinda spins back toward Elphaba.

“Anyway, I should’ve known. I always know. Show me where?”

Elphaba looks rather pleased as she leads Galinda through the arched door of the lobby, past the bookshelf in the parlor and the throw pillows stacked on the couch, past Killyjoy napping by the window. Galinda, of course, needs no directions. It’s just a little nice to be shown the way.

“How’s the book?” Galinda asks once Elphaba’s held the door open for her and she’s squinting down at the pink tile of the sink. Elphaba blinks.

“Um… which book?”

“The one you took from the lending shelf,” Galinda says, lip between her teeth. “Damn, this thing is stubborn. You know, the day it rained?”

“Oh,” Elphaba says, and Galinda can’t see her— she’s too busy stuffing her face under the tap and into the bowl of the sink while trying quite valiantly not to get her hair wet— but she sounds pleased. “I finished it, actually. It was very good.”

“Tell me about it?” Galinda asks, glancing up to meet Elphaba’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. And so, with the drip dropping of the sink and the horrible squeak of metal on metal, Elphaba does.

It turns out to be a coming of age book— that is basically what a bildungsroman is, Elphie explains it very kindly and without an ounce of judgement so that Galinda doesn’t feel at all silly for not knowing it the first time. “I didn’t do literature in college,” she says with reddened cheeks, and Elphaba waves it away. She’s very kind, Galinda thinks, kinder than maybe anyone Galinda knows. There’s something so genuinely lovely about her even underneath all that mystery, all that suppression.

“So it’s about becoming disenchanted with adulthood too, kind of,” Elphaba is saying when Galinda finally screws the handle into place properly, biting her lip so hard she tastes blood. “She comes to terms with her surroundings at the same time as she understands romance, both literally and figuratively, and—”

“Don’t spoil it!” Galinda exclaims, head shooting up to meet Elphaba’s gaze in the mirror again. “I’m reading it next!”

Elphaba’s smile broadens and grows. “Okay,” she says happily, and she’s still smiling when Galinda has her test the sink, running both taps as hard and fast as they can go and counting to ten while she does it.

In the meantime, Galinda busies herself with thinking. Beside her in the mirror Elphaba is just a little bit taller than she is, it makes her want to measure them up perfectly, back to back, hand to hand. Elphaba is one of those people who seems taller, anyhow; it’s because she doesn’t do things without a reason. She doesn’t say sorry unless she means it. She means most things.

“You like me, don’t you Elphie?” Galinda asks hopefully, glancing sideways in the mirror. Perhaps it’s silly, indulgent, but Galinda’s found a certain unease gnawing at her ever since Chuffrey had left this morning. Really, she’s had an unease since the end of July. Elphaba just looks at her, eyes wide, and doesn’t say a thing. “Like, you’d say I’m a good person, probably?”

“Of course you’re a good person,” Elphaba scoffs, face softening again so quickly that Galinda doesn't know what to make of it all. “Why in the world wouldn't you be?”

“You don’t know me that well,” Galinda whines. “I mean, we’re friends of course, but I could have bodies piled up in the basement. I could be cutting the hearts out of squirrels.”

“Are you?” Elphaba says, pulling a face so disgusted that Galinda can’t help but giggle. “I don’t really see you getting your hands that dirty.”

“True,” Galinda muses. “Scooch over, I can’t reach the hand cream. It’s clove and gingerbread, you know.”

“Of course you’re a good person,” Elphaba repeats. “I mean, everybody likes you, you told me that yourself.”

“Also true,” Galinda grumbles. “I know, I know. I’m charming, and I’m smart, and I’m pretty…”

“Yeah, you are,” Elphaba nods with a reassuring little smile. It’s only meant to be reassuring, it’s kind because Elphaba is kind. Still, though: it drums itself so hard in Galinda’s throat that she almost chokes. It makes her cheeks darken. She isn’t sure if she knows why.

“It’s just that I feel like I keep messing up,” Galinda blurts. “My parents want me to find someone, I want to find someone, but I just… Chuffrey would’ve been perfectly good. I guess he still could be.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Elphaba asks, and Galinda turns to her with widened eyes. She’d listen to anything Elphaba says right about now. “I think you don’t like him that much. And also I think you don’t need to.”

It feels very quiet in the bathroom all of a sudden. The dripping has long since stopped but Galinda finds herself almost missing it, yearning for some soundtrack to block out the oddness of this moment, the way she feels her body rending itself apart and getting a chill up its arms. There is no reason for it. Galinda ponders it, rolls the words around in her head. I think you don't need to.

“I guess he’s a little too tall for me anyway,” Galinda says. “And he seems like he’d try too hard during sex, and not in a good way. Sorry,” she says, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, “I shouldn’t have said that but it’s just, well, you’re my friend now, aren’t you, and he’s—”

“Galinda,” Elphaba laughs, “it’s fine.”

“Oh, good,” Galinda chirps. “Listen, I’ve got about six more minutes before Crope starts getting antsy. Wanna see my apartment?”

Elphaba nods. She does that a lot, Galinda finds. It’s sweet. It makes her look even more hopeful, eyes open wide and bright. Is there a world in which Elphaba Thropp is unhappy?

Seemingly yes, she realizes as she leads Elphaba down the long hallway and toes the carpet. There are little moments, the way Elphaba had talked last night about God and about her family and about where she is, how long she will stay, where she is coming from and where she is going.

Galinda understands. Isn’t there a part of her that is as unhappy as she is happy?

I do not want Elphaba to leave, she thinks firmly while she opens the door to her apartment and watches the way Elphaba’s nose twitches as she looks around. It’s a foolish thing to think. This is why she doesn’t befriend the patrons, isn’t it? This is why she would never let a man who stays here take her out on a date. Too messy, and then they keep on moving along and Galinda stays right here.

“You’ve got a lot of records,” Elphaba says, crossing the front room.

“I listen to a lot of music,” Galinda tells her. “So the bathroom is back there, kitchen that way, and the living room and bedroom and everything in between is right here. And that’s it!”

“It’s nice,” Elphaba says from the record player, squinting at the vinyl stored on the shelves. “I’m impressed by your color scheme. And all the flowers.”

“I’m a very good interior designer,” Galinda says. “I bet you are too, I’m sure I’d love whatever you’ve done with room seven.”

Elphaba’s back shifts. Galinda can only see the problems with her apartment now— the crack in the wood over by the window, the way the picture frame on the wall is crooked and Pfannee’s face seems to be melting out of it, the lazy way she’d made her bed this morning. Back when Fiyero used to stay over he’d leave his things everywhere, boxers strewn across the floor and his own tube of toothpaste taking up precious sink space for no good reason. Now every inch of this is Galinda’s alone.

And then there’s the smaller things, the things no one would ever notice. Elphaba is currently flipping through albums, stopping to glance at the yellow cover of the record Galinda had been playing the last time she’d touched herself. Desire comes crashing back in memory, a phantom pain that grinds itself low in her stomach. She fidgets with the horrible insistent awkwardness of it.

“Um,” Galinda says after a moment, and Elphaba looks her way. “You know you can come hang out any time, right?”

Elphaba blinks and looks like she’s going to protest. Galinda raises her eyebrows.

“That’s sweet,” is what she says instead. “Thank you, Galinda.”

“I know,” Galinda agrees. “Listen, I’d better go back to work but you can stay, just shut the door when you leave and make sure Killyjoy doesn’t wander in and get himself trapped, he can be dumb like that on occasion. I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll see you later.”

It feels ten times less stuffy outside the room, safe back in the hallway and Galinda can breathe again and her vision isn’t crowded. The idea of Elphaba standing in her apartment alone, without Galinda there to watch her, is almost painful. It’s like a bur caught on the side of her clothes, claws clenched deep. God.

When she gets back to the desk Crope goes back to the kitchens happily and even drops off an extra jar of jam before he leaves for the day. Galinda makes six calls and answers three. She sketches when it’s silent and, whenever the door swings open, she puts her paper and pencil away as if they had never been there at all. Twilight falls.

Elphaba drops the blue covered book outside Galinda’s door at some point in the night. She finds it in the morning on her way down to the beach. Killyjoy finds it, actually, and spends some time sniffing at it dubiously. In spite of herself, Galinda blushes.

Chapter Text

Near the end of September Elphaba is still there. Galinda changes out the decor on the solstice, even skips the beach that day to Killyjoy’s chagrin.

“I’m busy, baby,” she tells him with a scratch under his chin. “Crope will take you outside, okay?”

And he trots away mournfully in the direction of the kitchens, where at the very least Crope will give him a fresh rawhide to gnaw on.

Changing out the decor is a meticulous and near obsessive task so Galinda, of course, excels at it. It starts in the parlor and ends out at the front door, where she will tack up a big autumn garland on the door. The trees haven’t even turned yet, but still.

“Do people actually care about this sort of thing?” Elphaba asks from the couch. She’s reading again, socked feet propped up tentatively on the arm of the couch— no shoes, of course, Galinda has made sure of that. She keeps glancing at the toes of her socks where a thread is unspooling itself, checking like she’s making sure she’s allowed to use up space like this. Galinda doesn’t know how to tell her that she has to, that she needs her to.

“Yes they do, Elphaba,” Galinda replies, eyebrows raised. “What would you think if you came to stay at a charming inn in a scenic locale to see the fall foliage and, upon your arrival, you noticed that all of their candles have summer scents?”

“I’d leave immediately,” Elphaba says dryly. “What is a summer scent, anyway?”

Galinda gasps. “You’re joking, aren’t you? Please tell me you’re joking.” At the shake of Elphaba’s head she rolls her eyes, sighing. “Lemon, sea foam, peach, prickly pear… the one in the breakfast nook is even called summer rain, Elphaba. Honestly.”

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” is her response. She’s looking up at Galinda now with the page of her book between two fingers, warping and warming and imprinting herself on the print. When Galinda smiles at her she smiles back, tiny but easy. Elphaba has been here for a bit longer than a month. Galinda knows how she takes her tea and that she only wears gold jewelry, never silver. She is on her fifth book of the month, from what Galinda can remember. Galinda herself is still only thirty pages into the book that Elphaba had left outside her door. These, she decides, are important things to know about a person.

“Well, think about it,” Galinda says. “If you’re going to be living here forever you’d better get used to it. Speaking of, if you’re waiting for breakfast you might as well make yourself useful; go put the harvest candle on the first windowsill in the breakfast nook and the mulled cider one can go on the back table.”

“Bossy,” Elphaba mutters, but she stands up and leaves the book behind.

“Sorry?” Galinda says, cocking her head. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I said yes boss,” Elphaba jokes, plucking two candles from the coffee table. “Are you coming to breakfast too?”

“Course I am,” Galinda nods, lip between her teeth. “Just have to measure the distance between the window panes… do you think leaves or pumpkins would be cuter on the walls?”

“Pumpkins,” Elphaba says. Galinda squints and cocks her head.

“I think I’m gonna do leaves,” she says. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Elphaba says, amused. “Your instinct is better than mine, I bet.”

“That’s right,” Galinda nods, then tuts in Elphaba’s direction. “Candles, I think I told you to go put out the candles?”

Breakfast is an emptier affair these days. Or: emptier after her second date with Chuffrey at least, the one where she’d eaten a truly delectable cinnamon roll that he’d refused to sample while he’d picked away at his usual plain omelet. The one where Galinda had told him, as kindly as she could manage, that probably they would be better as friends. He hasn’t come to a breakfast at the inn since.

“I mean, what sort of a person only eats omelets?” Galinda exclaims, taking a large bite of the still warm scone in front of her— pumpkin chocolate chip. Elphaba has heard this rant a hundred times and she nods sympathetically anyway over her own identical plate. “It’s a signifier of something very dark in his psyche, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Elphaba nods. “Galinda? Since it’s just the two of us today, is it okay if I grab two extras instead of just one? For the road?”

Elphaba has started doing this, too— taking an extra pastry with her after breakfast, snagging a loaf of bread from the kitchens with a block of cheese, placing dinner orders early in the day so that she can heat them up once Crope is gone. “She must be starving,” Crope intones to Galinda one day, but she can’t bring herself to care all that much. Elphaba can eat as much as she wants and stay here forever if it makes her happy.

“You know I don’t care,” Galinda says, waving her hand. “What kind of hostess would I be if I starved people?”

“Probably a pretty bad one,” Elphaba replies wisely. Galinda nods.

“That’s right,” she agrees. “Take as much food as you want, that’s what it’s here for. Now can we talk about Chuffrey and the omelets again? Did I tell you that he didn’t even ask for toppings most of the time? I mean, honestly, Elphaba.”

Galinda wakes up in the dead center of the night with a prickling behind her ears. Killyjoy is halfway to snoring. Something is not right.

She’d been dreaming that night. Galinda never used to remember her dreams, never really. She will go on for long stretches with nothing to remember her nights except the aching of her jaw when she wakes, the grittiness of her teeth where she’s ground them down. And then the unconscious will burst through the dam, fast and hot and she’ll dream for a week, two, wild and fantastic scenes of lions and trains hurtling past and upside down worlds and herself, starring in shadow plays.

This is different. She is walking the halls of the inn, she is alone, the velvety carpet tickles the soles of her feet. She has no light but she can see through the darkness regardless, walking straight ahead down the stairs like her body knows where she’s going. Like there’s someone she is going to find in that dark cavernous twisty and turny hallway, like a ghost is about to pop out from behind a corner and steal her away.

She wakes and she is freezing.

Everything about the room is too cold, it has turned eerie in the cool gray light streaming in from her window— the bedspread shimmers ominously, beautiful in a way that makes Galinda very aware of it. As if it’s about to curl tighter and tighter around her shivering body, wrap her up and pull her under.

What a silly thing, dreams. Galinda likes them, likes when they give her an inch of a thrill or a teaspoon of horror. Dreams of drowning and burning and freezing. Funny dreams, ones that become a patchwork quilt of her mind’s own absurdities and slip away with the sunrise. Dreams of desire, ones where someone faceless kisses down her leg or slides a hand steadily into her hair, firm and inviting. She wakes from those ones with a shiver more often than not.

It takes her a minute to get out of bed. Now that it’s officially autumn and has been for a handful of hours she feels colder often, a certain awareness of the season. The geese will go south soon, the sun will set early, Galinda will buy three pounds of candy for Halloween night and half of it will go stale out in the parlor.

Now, though— late September. She’s been sleeping with her window open and she can hear the lapping of the river at the rocks somewhere below. Her feet are frozen and firm like ice cubes on the carpeted floor. Everything is as it should be, it seems. Her mouth tastes like butterscotch. Everyone else in the world is asleep.

But she knows something is missing, it’s in her bones and Galinda has hardly ever been wrong about such a thing. Killyjoy is here, the picture frames on her walls are all orderly, she’s even put away the old psychedelic rock album that had been playing while she’d read in bed, desperate to finish this book before Elphaba inevitably spirits herself away somewhere new.

“What the hell,” Galinda murmurs to herself, because the sound of her own voice in the room seems grounding enough. The inn answers her in its own little way, creaking and settling until everything is quiet again.

And then— there. Sharp through the window, spilling onto her floor and quilt. So bright it’s almost white but it isn’t moonlight. It’d be almost romantic if it were orange or yellow, a lantern hovering down by the beach like in a fairy tale or some old gothic novel. This, though— it’s nothing but a cheap flashlight, the heavy duty kind that people in town buy from the hardware store for a blackout or a tropical storm. Galinda goes to her window.

The light moves insistently, glittering across the wall and reflecting off the shiny surface of her mirror. Galinda wrinkles her nose and her eyebrows pull in, performing her confusion for no one. It helps her sort out her own emotions to display them so plainly on her face. And so because Galinda is confused she looks confused, and she creeps forward with all the restraint of a mystery.

Is she dreaming still? The beachfront certainly leaves it ambiguous. If floodwaters bubbled up to Galinda’s window she would hardly notice, it is too dark to make out anything but the outline of trees and the far off shimmer of the river. And there is nothing there, of course not. Nothing but open air and open trees and the oppressive presence of space.

Galinda is about to turn away when it happens again. There, unmistakable this time, a sharp white glow down by the water. She throws open the window as wide as it will go and sticks her head out into the world.

The air is thick with nighttime, heavy like it hadn't expected anyone to be awake to see it. Galinda squints over her garden, her kingdom, her little world. It stares back at her, empty except for that one sliver of white.

Nobody walks on the beach at night. Nobody walks on her beach at night— and sure, it isn’t really hers alone but no one would take a walk across the inn’s riverside when they have their own. No one would take such a bright flashlight, no one would let it shimmer around like that, tantalizing and hellishly bright. She watches the light for as long as she can and then it disappears. Her eyes adjust again.

Galinda blinks once, twice. And then, hardly thinking about it, she turns and walks back to the bed. She’s asleep within minutes and the window lays steadily open as wide as it will go, air pulsing in all around.

“It was really creepy,” Galinda tells Elphaba the following evening. Elphaba had walked by the front desk on her way up to room seven with food in hand and had stopped to chat, a minute that had turned into half an hour. “It was like… bobbing up and down by the water, you know, like someone was walking with it? But it was probably four in the morning.”

“Maybe you were dreaming?” Elphaba suggests. She’s leaning over the desk folding up a piece of paper into triangles while she talks, watching Galinda sketch. She’s working on shading some flecks of snow right now, settling them on top of the bank in town the way she remembers it.

“Yeah, only I definitely wasn’t,” Galinda says. “Because I woke up this morning to go down to the beach and my window was open, like, really wide. And I normally only have it cracked. And besides, I remember it too well for it to be a dream.”

“It’s definitely strange,” Elphaba says. She looks for a moment like she’s going to say more but she just sends Galinda a small flickering smile instead. And is it Galinda's imagination, or does she look slightly off?

“Definitely,” Galinda agrees with a firm nod, and then decides to change the subject. “Hey, I think Crope and Tibbett are going to come over to my apartment on Thursday night. We’re getting two families in on Friday so we have to be economical with our time.”

“That sounds fun,” Elphaba smiles.

“No, Elphie— I’m inviting you. My friend Milla might come too, and Fiyero. My, um, my ex boyfriend.”

And Elphaba looks lost for a fraction of a second before it smooths over, face clearing and straightening. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she says with a regretful little smile and a shake of her head. Galinda feels her heart sink down to her stomach. Is she trying to let Galinda down easily or is she just genuinely caught in the middle of her wants? It’s hard to say with Elphaba.

Galinda wants her there, this is the thing. She’d invited Fiyero because it had seemed like the thing to do and they’d run into each other at the post office when she’d been mailing out promotional postcards. She’d invited him and it would be fine and good but Elphaba being there would be so easy. She’s so easy to be around, so like water in the way she fits so securely around Galinda in whatever moment they find themselves in. She’s even gotten more bold— Galinda had once had to tell Elphaba to stay behind and hang around, and now Elphaba stops by the desk to talk and fold up Galinda’s scrap paper.

This is the thing. “I want you there,” Galinda says, because the words have marched right out of her head and out through her mouth. “You’re not imposing if I want you there.”

Elphaba looks at her for a long moment. She does not speak.

“Oh, by the way,” Galinda continues in a vain attempt to undercut the heavy awkward energy that has settled over Elphaba like a cloud, “I’ve got something for you.”

Elphaba looks even more fidgety, if that’s even possible. “Galinda…” she says and trails off into it, crumpling her scrap paper with a single press of her thumb. Her eyebrows are drawn together in the middle.

“Oh, shush, it’s nothing special,” Galinda tells her as she slips lower in her chair to reach deep into the desk drawer beside her. “It’s in here somewhere, just hold on…”

“It’s just… I’m not here forever, am I,” Elphaba says quietly. Galinda would do anything to make her stop talking. “These are your friends and—”

“Here,” Galinda blurts just to shut her up and thrusts a piece of paper across the counter towards Elphaba. “I, um, I finished it.”

In the shoddy lamplight the details of the drawing muddle together and blend until they blur. Still Galinda thinks it’s maybe rather good, maybe almost. The lighthouse is certainly her lighthouse, and this is certainly her beach and her river and even the pencil strokes are hers, if you know where to look. It’s not signed, but why would it need to be? She is written into every inch of it.

Elphaba touches it around the edges so carefully, fingertips glancing over so as not to smudge the graphite. Galinda feels those fingertips like they’re grazing against the shell of her ear, the sides of her head, the edges of her own hands. She can’t remember the last time another person touched her art. Has anyone ever?

“This is… it’s really beautiful, Galinda,” Elphaba says, and she’s still staring at the page. Galinda turns pink, she thinks. “You should hang this up in the inn, maybe over in the breakfast nook? You know that window where you can see the beach?”

Galinda furrows her brow. “What do you mean? It’s yours.”

Elphaba blinks and looks up, the drawing still being handled so carefully by her delicate fingers. Galinda’s blush only darkens when their eyes meet and she doesn’t know why or how, doesn’t know what the obscene thrumming in her stomach means. “Galinda,” she murmurs, and her voice sounds a little lower than usual as she shakes her head, “I can’t keep this.”

“Why ever not?” Galinda pouts. “Maybe you haven’t heard— it’s considered quite rude and insulting to refuse to accept a gift. Especially when the gifter, a lovely person who has done ever so much for the giftee including giving her the inn’s best room, spent ever so many hours making said gift.”

“But,” Elphaba says quietly, and she’s flushed now too, “Galinda…”

“It’s yours. If you give it back I will rip it up and throw it into the fireplace,” Galinda announces primly. “Now stop gawking at me, it’s unsettling. You look like a codfish.”

Elphaba shuts her mouth with a snap, eyes wide, and nods. One corner of her mouth twitches. Galinda smiles brightly.

“That’s better,” she chirps. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m ever so glad you’ve decided to join us on Thursday. No need to bring anything— I mean, any wine you have probably would be nicked from my kitchens anyway. Just yourself. And oh, a smile would be good.”

Elphaba does smile after that, and she stays for another fifteen minutes, and when she finally goes upstairs Galinda waits and listens for that tell tale creak that means Elphaba has reached her room.

That night Galinda dreams of her. They’re out in the woods in a little tent, one of those old canvas ones from storybooks, and they’re roasting marshmallows and sausages over a campfire. Someone else is there but Galinda cannot see their face. She feels the presence of them behind her and, when she turns, it disappears. “You should draw this,” the dream Elphaba tells her, and when she looks down the pencil in her hand becomes a tent stake that drives them both into the ground shallowly at first and then deeper and deeper. When Galinda opens her eyes she is at the center of the world. When she opens them again she is in her bed and she is burning.

Galinda’s apartment is far too small for six people, there are simply not enough chairs and Milla and Fiyero have been exiled to the floor, though they don’t seem to mind. Galinda has taken the couch, as is her right as hostess, and made sure that Elphaba would have space to sit next to her. She is the guest of honor, after all.

“Is it bad that I’m exhausted already?” Crope whines, giving Tibbett a pitiful look. Are they dating now? Galinda isn’t quite sure but they’re certainly well on their way. Tibbett squeezes his hand with a sympathetic little grimace.

“It’s bad,” Galinda tells him. “It’s only nine and I don't plan to let you leave for at least two hours.”

“Go right ahead,” Crope snarks. “I wonder who’s going to bake you those apple fritters you asked for— and with two families of four coming, isn’t that right? You might lose a whole star, Galinda, maybe even two…”

“God, you’re insufferable,” she huffs, leaning off the couch to slap his arm lightly. “Be more fun, this is a party.”

“You’re definitely dressed like it,” Crope mutters. Galinda slaps him again.

She’s not even that dressed up, not really. She’s wearing old fuzzy socks with her dress, after all! But maybe Crope has a point, it’s a bit lower cut than what she’d normally wear up at the front desk. And maybe it falls a little higher on her thigh.

“They always do this,” Milla tells Elphaba with a friendly little smile. “They’re the best of friends, don’t worry.”

Elphaba’s eyes are bouncing back and forth between Galinda and Crope and now they come to rest on Milla, a little wary but trying for some semblance of gratefulness. Galinda can tell she doesn't know what to say.

“So— Elphaba, isn’t it?” Fiyero asks, and Galinda could strangle him. Elphaba doesn’t smile but turns to look at him with widened eyes and nods, a little sharply but it’s all nerves, and he grins. “What’s your story, Elphaba?”

“She doesn’t have to answer that. You don’t have to answer that,” Galinda turns to Elphaba and places her hand on Elphaba’s ankle where it’s propped up on the couch. Elphaba’s eyes shoot to it and she swallows. “Leave her alone, Fiyero.”

“What— I’m not doing anything!” Fiyero squawks. “You invited her, I want to get to know her! Is that such a problem?”

Galinda supposes it isn’t. She still doesn’t like it, though, and sits back with her arms crossed and pouting until the back of her head is cradled in the couch cushions. “You’re being nosy,” she mutters. “Elphie, you don’t have to tell him anything.”

Elphaba smiles at her reassuringly, placatingly, eyebrows up as if Galinda is being a touch unreasonable. “I’m really alright,” she says softly before turning to Fiyero. Galinda huffs.

“So, Elphaba, have you ever been to the Vinkus?” Fiyero says with a wink. “That’s where I’m from originally. Have you been out to the lighthouse yet? I know Galinda sends everyone. How long are you here for?”

Galinda sits back further in her seat and the furrow between her brow deepens. Fiyero can be so awful. He’s too tactful, too invasive, too thoughtful until it gets stifling. Obsessed with people’s stories, always dwelling on Galinda’s psyche and wanting to charm her parents. Irritating. At least Elphaba will be cagey, she thinks happily.

Only she isn’t. She’s not acting anything like the Elphaba that had waltzed in to stay here that last week of August. She’s not acting like the Elphaba who had been so aloof to her, so disinterested. She’s not even acting like Elphie, the version of her that will tell Galinda things only when she asks carefully and in quiet soft moments.

No, instead she just… tells him. She’s talking about her History degree and her focus on political uprisings and revolutions, and Tibbett is nodding along interestedly, and Milla is mouthing “she’s cool!” in Galinda’s direction, and Galinda is perplexed. No, more than that. She’s unsettled, a little envious, a little protective. Fiyero doesn’t know her. None of them know her. None of them would even be meeting her tonight if it wasn’t for Galinda.

“She’s pretty,” Fiyero tells her an hour later when they’re all tugging their shoes on to go sit outside in the garden. Killyjoy is too busy eating Galinda’s shoelaces for her to slip them on so she goes out in her white socks. The bottoms of them are soaked through by the time the six of them reach the wrought iron chairs out in the garden. Ferns tickle her ankles. “Don’t you think?”

No one needs to drink or smoke, the night brings its own special high. It’s so dark out that Galinda only sees her friends as blurs of themselves, smudges on a page and Elphaba stands out the brightest of them all. She feels drunk with it anyway, drunk on exhaustion and potentiality and the lush watery smell of the night air.

She’s pretty. Galinda knows that. Galinda had thought it first, and who is Fiyero to say something like that? He thinks he’s so charming and lovely, thinks Elphaba will fawn all over him, thinks it will be that easy.

“You can’t flirt with her, I mean it,” Galinda hisses sharply. “She’s a guest. She’s not going to be here forever.” She’s repeating Elphaba’s words from the other day and recognizes them halfway through her sentence, delightfully familiar.

“Yeah,” Fiyero says, giving her a strange look. “I know that, Galinda.”

“She’s my friend,” Galinda tacks on unnecessarily. Elphaba is up ahead touching the petals of a wide pink lily, she looks at it tenderly and Galinda could scream.

“Okay, okay,” Fiyero laughs, puffing breath and incredulous eyes as he raises his hands in surrender. “Nothing’s happening between us, I mean it.”

“It better not,” Galinda hisses. Fiyero keeps his hands up for an extra second.

Galinda needs the moment to change, needs a drop of attention or recalibration or whatever would help. She slides her chair forward deliberately so that the wrought iron of it scrapes over the stone, making Milla and Crope wince.

“Do you guys remember when Galinda forgot to hide the beer cans on our senior trip?” Milla asks idly, reminiscing for the sake of it. “And then she tried to say a bear or a raccoon or something put them outside of our tent?”

“They’re scavengers!” Galinda insists, shooting Milla a dirty look. “I had to think on my feet. You're welcome for looking out for your fake ID, by the way. Hortense from Gillikin, wasn’t it? Weren’t you pretending to be an emerald heiress?”

“Don’t listen to anything this one says,” Milla says to Elphaba, and Galinda is hit with a flash of anxiety. Elphaba, Elphaba who is new and doesn’t know and should Galinda go to her? They’re not sitting next to each other, terribly and horribly, and Galinda squints to make out her face in the pale darkness.

But Elphaba just laughs. “I think I’ve learned that much,” she comments, and winks at Galinda, and oh. Oh, she can hold her own, can’t she?

Galinda swallows, and smiles, and sits back. The leftover dampness of the chair pierces through her clothes and hits her shoulder blades.

When it starts to drizzle it’s already past midnight. “Just stay here,” Galinda says, and Crope and Milla agree. Fiyero and Tibbett stride off into town anyway, big long steps and their heads bob in shadow until they’re over the horizon. There are seven rooms upstairs, six unoccupied, two that need to be picture perfect for tomorrow morning. The others she will make up whenever Milla is awake, Crope can fix his own and he rises with the sun anyway.

Elphaba follows her into the back of the inn. “I left my sweater on your floor,” she murmurs, and Galinda smiles at her.

“Did you have fun?” It’s hard for her to talk and mean it, her head is drifting away and she’s more tired than she can remember being in a long time. Upon opening her door all she can think about is that flash of bobbing white light from the beach the other night, the shape of Elphaba’s door, the outline of a wet footprint on old carpeting. She wrinkles her nose.

“Your friends are nice,” Elphaba says hesitantly. “Yeah, I had a good time.”

“Good,” Galinda says, and she wants so badly to say more. She wants to ask about Fiyero, and about who Elphaba has loved. She had mentioned a girl once. She wants to ask about home and what color the walls were in her childhood bedroom, wants to ask her everything that she will answer and then more.

“What’s your favorite season?” Galinda blurts. Elphaba is down on the floor picking up her familiar red cardigan, she looks up with a start. It’s a stupid question. Galinda could’ve asked her anything.

“I like the fall,” she says with a smile. “Well, alright. Goodnight, Galinda. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Saturday morning is bound to be busy. Galinda had checked in eight people on Friday, two families of four, and immediately the inn had filled up with chatter and hubbub and the sound of two young boys toppling down the bottom half of a flight of stairs.

“Beautiful around here in the fall, isn’t it?” one of the guests says to her, and Galinda nods along happily and passes along her brochures and tells the kids that there will be pastries at breakfast. The families love her, but of course they do. She’s planned for it.

Crope is going to make pumpkin bread. Galinda is going to be back at the inn well before eight today so that she can spruce up the common spaces, so that she can talk up Shale Shallows, so that she can be glittery and charming. It’s who she is.

It’s well and truly the end of September now, the leaves will be changing any minute. The inn will be booked up. A month ago Galinda had told herself that by the end of the season she would have herself all fixed up.

Will she move to the city? Maybe one day. Will she snap out of this haze she’s found herself in, will she ever? It’s taken on a different shape now. She doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Lately she’s found herself itchy and anticipating, feeling want and rushes of desire at moments where they make no sense. She saw Chuffrey across the street and she’d waved, and he’d waved back, and she’d thought maybe.

But no. The thought of it is dull and stunted and Galinda does not like dull things.

“Damn,” she hisses now, clambering over a dusty boulder to tumble herself down the small hill to the pebbled beach. Killyjoy has run off ahead— he does that sometimes, but he always comes right back. She’s been whistling for him for a minute now, though, and he hasn’t come bounding up with his tongue hanging happily out of his mouth.

“This damn dog,” Galinda mutters, and then whistles again. “Killyjoy, baby! Come on back!”

“He’s with me,” she hears, and turns around. There is Elphaba, of course. And there is Killyjoy rolling around in a cluster of rocks behind her.

Galinda flushes. “Oh. Hi.”

“You always look so surprised to see me,” Elphaba tells her with a smirk. It’s an expression that settles somewhere low in Galinda’s gut and she feels a crushing desire to be alone, to take deep breaths and understand what it is about Elphaba’s presence that makes her feel so unmoored. Snap out of it by the end of fall— well. The chances of that are much lower if Elphaba sticks around that long.

“That’s because you’re always sneaking up on me,” Galinda huffs. “Come here, Killyjoy!”

“I was going to walk on the beach,” Elphaba says, and when Galinda looks her way she looks like she regrets having said anything. “If you want to… um, join me.”

Galinda squeezes her hands together. She’s brought nothing with her this morning. Killyjoy looks expectant on the ground and, when she tracks her gaze up, Elphaba looks expectant too. They really are friends now, aren’t they?

“Okay,” she says quietly, and Elphaba gives her the tiniest and most composed smile she has ever seen. “But I have to be back before eight.”

“I can manage that,” Elphaba says, and nods her head in the direction of the lighthouse. “Ready?”

“What do you think about when you’re out here?” Galinda asks her when they’ve started out. Galinda has always liked the way her feet sink into the stones underneath them out here and she focuses in on it, gazing out at the line of the water all the while. Elphaba’s breathing is steady to her left.

“It depends,” Elphaba says. “My family. What I’m reading. Pretty things.”

“You’re rather mysterious, has anyone ever told you that?” Galinda says. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything about you at all.”

Elphaba waits to catch her eye. “I promise you that you know me better than most people,” she says, and even though they’ve known each other for a few meager weeks Galinda knows exactly what she means.

“Still, though,” she huffs, “you’re so… so stoic! And buttoned up! And you loom!”

“I loom?” Elphaba chuckles softly. “Galinda, I don’t even know what that means.”

Galinda puffs out another sigh. “It means I turn around and you’re looming behind me. You did it just now, with the dog.”

“Did I?” Elphaba asks, the hint of a smile in her voice, “or did you just not know I was there?”

“And besides, you know everything there is to know about me,” Galinda continues rapidly. “You know my job! You know my house! You know my ex boyfriend, even, and he says you’re pretty!”

Elphaba pauses for a moment. Galinda does not meet her eye again this time, instead she stares resolutely forward. How stupid she could be.

“I mean… do you want to know about my exes?” Elphaba asks slowly, and she sounds genuinely perplexed; Galinda could squish her cheeks. “I didn’t think that it would be important.”

“It’s not,” Galinda mutters. “And that’s not the point. Don’t you care that Fiyero called you pretty?”

“Should I care?” Elphaba asks. “Anyway, I don’t know everything about you. Not really. I want to know more, too.”

For some strange reason Galinda feels a little floaty at the premise of that. Elphaba is hers again, with no stupid old Fiyero to butt in. Elphaba doesn’t care about him and she wants to know more about Galinda.

“If you want to hear about my exes, it’s all very boring,” Galinda huffs. “Boy after boy after boy, boring after boring after boring. Fiyero wasn’t boring but he was just… well, and then Chuffrey, god! He isn’t even an ex but still boring, and if I ever want to date someone ever again I’ve got to get out of this town because there are slim pickings here, Elphie. Very slim.”

“Were you and Fiyero in love?” Elphaba asks, and she looks contemplative. “I thought I was in love once, with this girl I dated, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Yes,” Galinda answers on instinct but, almost immediately, she feels an incomplete sense of wrongness in her stomach. I was in love, I was in love with Fiyero, she tells herself, but it twists uncomfortably in her chest.

“What was that like?” Elphaba asks, and she looks so curious that Galinda isn’t sure she can let her down. She thinks of Elphaba in love again, of what that would look like. Elphaba with a girl, Elphaba out in the world somewhere other than Galinda’s upstairs hallway.

“It was… overwhelming,” Galinda says honestly. Elphaba nods.

Birds are singing somewhere up the dunes, somewhere in those shallow trees at the edge of the property. There are phoebes and mourning doves and Galinda feels so much sharp affection for them that she wonders if she is about to burst apart. Elphaba just looks contemplative, gnawing at the edge of her lip as they walk, fingers curled and knotted all spindly around each other. Galinda wants to uncurl them, to flatten them out and smooth them apart. Instinctively her left hand reaches out to poke that twisted knot of knuckles, just to graze it and then retreat. Elphaba’s hand jerks against her own and when she looks Galinda’s way her cheeks are emerald.

There it is again, that horrible pesky sense of desire. Galinda wants to be touched so badly it makes her throat close up and it makes her skin tremble and buzz. What she wouldn’t give for lips sucking at her neck right now, for a hand between her thighs— not Chuffrey’s, though, or Fiyero’s. She wants sex as imperfect as her own little inn, the way the floors slope to the left and the way the whole place smells faintly of wood. She wants to be able to consume it.

“I finished another book yesterday,” Elphaba says quietly after a moment. Galinda latches onto this like a beacon, pinky still thrumming with where it had passed against foreign skin. “But it wasn’t as good as the last one. Do you ever miss reading a book when you finish?”

Galinda thinks about it. “I sometimes miss drawing something,” she allows. “Or how I felt listening to a song one specific time.”

She expects Elphaba to shake her head, to tell her that it’s not the same, but she nods instead. “Right,” she says, “like that.”

And Galinda feels very important all of a sudden.

“Crope is making pumpkin bread,” Galinda says after a while, when they’re far enough down the beach that the inn is nothing but a little fleck in the distance. “If you want to come to breakfast.”

And Elphaba nods, and Killyjoy’s paws are muddy and his coat is wet, and it is seven thirty when they turn and retreat; the air is chillier on the way back.

At the desk that afternoon, between calls and bookings and breaks to clean the mirrors and start a load of laundry down in the basement, Galinda cracks open that blue green book Elphaba had left outside her door and reads.

In Galinda’s next dream she is out in the gardens. The air is lush and heavy, more like midsummer than the brink of October; the flowers are all wide open and glimmering with rain even though it is the middle of the night. It’s uncanny and it hardly makes sense, but they look more beautiful now in the dead of night than they will in the morning when there are people around to see them.

Elphaba is beside her. She is on the ground somehow, both of them are, and Elphaba’s hand is on Galinda’s leg. It touches skin and goes up further, Galinda is sure that she is bound to burst with the heavy reality of it— it fills up her lungs and her vision and all of the sounds and smells to be found. She can hardly breathe.

Something is going on inside the inn, but Galinda doesn’t know what it is. Are the lights on, are there people inside? She isn’t sure because she can’t look away, Elphaba’s face is all cast in shadow and her hand is at Galinda’s hip and it is tracing the thin skin there, Galinda feels like it could press so hard it would sink through her bone and leave a mark there forever and ever.

You love it here, Elphaba had said. I don’t think you have to like him, Elphaba had said. Galinda can smell her. Her face is so close that, when their mouths meet, it must look inevitable from the outside. It’s far from it though, it’s anything but.

This kiss is messy and wet and hot. It is all encompassing. Elphaba presses her down and says something to her, something in her ear, and Galinda can’t hear it. “What?” she asks, but Elphaba doesn’t answer because she’s got a hand at Galinda’s chest now and it’s at her neck and there is such desire rushing through her veins that Galinda is sure she’s about to explode. When has she felt this much?

“Galinda,” Elphaba says into her skin, and Galinda presses her chest and back and hips up into her, “I think you—”

And then, cursedly, it is over. The firm long whistle of a train startles her out of her stupor, lovely and entrancing off in the distance; it is the train that runs by the water and Galinda never hears it anymore, she takes a moment to appreciate it.

“Fuck,” she murmurs after a moment, when the final cars must be gone. Her brow is sweaty and she wants, wants something so badly she can’t even stand it. She squeezes her legs together and it does not help.

It’s light outside, barely. It must be approaching six in the morning. She should get up soon anyway, if she’s already awake. Her heart is beating out of her chest.

And so Galinda does something that she strictly does not do. Even though she is full of desire, even though she feels like she could choke on it, she lowers her hand down to the waistband of her plaid sleep shorts.

It’s easy enough to touch yourself when you don’t want it that badly, when there’s nothing plaguing your mind and you can think of blank emptiness and only feel. This is most certainly not that. Galinda has to squeeze her eyes shut at the first touch. She is soaked. There is a frog in her throat, her jaw aches from clenching her teeth so tightly, she can hear birds outside again.

She tries to clear her mind but it won’t work. She tries to think only of her own hands, of her own desire and of arbitrary things like the temperature and the way she will make up room five when she’s fully awake, but it won’t work. Fine.

Elphaba’s hand, long and thin and green. Elphaba’s voice, the way she had whispered into Galinda’s neck and the way Galinda had heard none of it. The heat of her breath.

It is easy work, it takes a while. Galinda comes almost to the edge once, twice, but it doesn’t approach, she is almost there and then it’s too much of something and she falls right back down again, back to where she’d started and…

When she does come it’s with the echo of a train whistle in her ears and with her face screwed up tight. The crash of desire is so all encompassing that she only half regrets it.

Before she can think about what she’s done, Galinda is up and sliding into her slippers and trying to ignore the permeating slickness that is still waiting between her legs. At the mirror she stares back at herself, pale blonde eyebrows and the divot where her dimple appears when she smiles. She brushes her teeth so hard that her gums bleed.

Sometimes all big things happen at once.

So summer is really over now, it’s the first truly cold day of the year. It’s October, Galinda can’t remember if it’s the third or the fourth. The sun sets early and when she eats dinner the rice is undercooked, it crunches at the backs of her molars with every bite.

When she thinks about this night later on, remembering what it was like to be there and have everything come together in one satisfying click like the end of a puzzle or the final lock opening on a door, it won’t seem quite real. It’s the way it feels to remember a book or a movie, to think of each step as a metaphor and see scenes as merely representative of other things. But sometimes things just are what they are.

Galinda is always waking up at odd times these days, and on that night of October third or fourth or maybe both, if it’s around midnight, she wakes up with her eyes puffy and mouth tasting like rainwater. It is salty and a little too warm.

Killyjoy is sleeping with his head under the bed. There is a little whirring in the distance like a fan or an airplane. The inn is full and so Galinda is full, uncomfortably so like she’s gorged herself on trays of meat and bread and candy.

The room goes white and then dark and then white again and Galinda knows what it is before she processes it, she can see the flashlight bobbing by the waves at low tide if she sits up and cranes her neck toward the window panes. Ten people are in the inn tonight, or they should be, and one something is outside of it, scoping it out, circling the corners.

And at the end of the day Galinda knows she will go out there, she knows it because that is what she does. She gets what she wants and she always has and she always will and this is plaguing her like a thorn in her side, that goddamned footprint and the sharp switch of a flashlight and the memory of that awful dream from a handful of nights ago, the way she hadn’t been able to look Elphie in the eye the next morning.

Her own flashlight has a yellow beam. She holds it tight in her hand while she slips out the back door and she does not bother to leave it open a crack, and then she chances a little glance up at the staircase. Up at the top Elphaba is sleeping. Galinda wishes suddenly that she could join her, that she could open up that door and know how she has been living. A month and a half is a long time. She’s supposed to pick up some pumpkins for the front steps in the morning.

It’s not a lot of work to make it down to the beach, Galinda could do it in her sleep and this feels quite like it; she doesn’t have to look at her feet but she wouldn’t be able to see them even if she tried to. The flashlight is turned off.

But that white one isn’t, and it stays sweeping out by the river. It glances over the water and leaves a shimmery silver trail in its wake, too bright and horrible. It is too artificial and it is wrong.

“Honestly,” Galinda mutters to herself, more to soothe than anything else. Elphaba had told her that everything was alright weeks and weeks ago, was that still true? Would any of the guests see this too?

She’s busy thinking about the inn when she reaches the beach finally, about the ratings she’s copied down and posted outside the front door. Lovely food, lovely innkeeper, soft beds and clean laundry and the air smelled like apples, she was so helpful giving us directions and we absolutely loved the cozy feel of this town and could not recommend it enough if you’re traveling with kids and…

What would Elphaba write? The innkeeper harassed me until I became her friend, maybe. She told me all about her life and didn’t even finish the book I gave her and she dreamed about me, a sex dream kind of and does she do that a lot, or…

At least Galinda is pretty, and she is charming, and she dresses well. She has many assets, alright, even in spite of the unending oddness that she can’t seem to shake. She’s still got two months to try. And besides, she can run an inn. She can pick out the best scented candles, and she always knows just how long to heat up a plate of leftovers. She’d fixed a sink a month ago. Who could fault her for that?

But back to the moment she is in. Galinda finds herself on the beach and she’s wearing last summer’s sandals, so her feet are frigid. She switches her flashlight on and it catches in the glow of that white one up ahead, which is attached to a heavyset figure. He— she’s sure it’s a he, sure of it— is not very tall for a man but still has a good few inches on her. He is walking very slowly. One of his legs drags behind the other like it’s longer, or stiff, or maybe just a little stubborn.

“Hello!” Galinda calls, and the rustling roar of the water seems determined to talk over her. “Excuse me, can I help you?”

But the man doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop. It’s like he doesn’t want to listen at all, and so Galinda starts to walk forward a bit faster.

“This beach is sort of private,” she says, and it’s not quite the case but it is true enough. “Do I know you? If you need a place to stay we’ve got open rooms…”

When she reaches the figure he turns to her and she turns to him and their flashlights cross and illuminate everything tenfold. It feels a bit anticlimactic, like the way Galinda had felt playing tag as a child and getting someone out. What comes next? You just wait there for a minute and then you start running and you do it all over again.

The man is just, well, a man. Stout and balding, unshaven and gray. He’s pale but looks like he hasn’t always been that way, looks like in another lifetime he spent his days outdoors and rolled around in the sun. Galinda has to squint up to meet him in the eye but he looks just as confused as she is, brow furrowing together like she’s the one who has spirited in out of nowhere. Like she’s the one to be unrecognized.

“Who are you?” he asks, and his voice is scratchy, and Galinda’s fingers tighten on the flashlight. Maybe she’s made a mistake. Is she really the type to be gallivanting out in the middle of the night, sandals on in October, dog and job and Elphaba all up back where they’re meant to be? This is how people get murdered and kidnapped, this is how people get swept away with the tides. She swallows.

“I own the inn,” she says, and points with a steady finger. “I live here. Who are you?”

And she will pause here to remember that, at the time, what happened next seemed entirely made up. It’s because she’d been maybe hoping for it, wanting a deus ex machina to appear out of thin air and know all of the answers. I wish that Elphaba were here, she’d thought, feeling a bit like a child, and then there she had been.

She hadn’t even heard her walking down. Maybe she’d left after Galinda had shut the door, maybe she’d been getting ready the whole time. Maybe Galinda had woken up because Elphaba had been awake somewhere upstairs, a chicken or the egg kind of thing. She didn’t care enough to dwell on it.

“Galinda,” Elphaba says when she arrives, and she sounds a little defeated, “go back to the inn.”

“What’s going on,” Galinda asks and feels even sillier than before, even more like a petulant child. “Why are you here?”

The man’s forehead has bunched up. “I’d like to go back to bed,” he announces, and for a crazy moment Galinda is sure he’s talking to her and wonders what in the world she is supposed to do about it. Is anyone even listening to this? Is she still dreaming? Maybe it’s like her other dream, where Elphaba had pressed her down into the grass. She hopes it isn’t because she’s dressed like an idiot, horrible pink and white flannel pants left over from college and a too tight shirt that leaves a pale stripe of skin exposed at her stomach.

“Elphaba,” Galinda starts, about to explain, but Elphaba’s shooting her a little look that she hasn’t seen before.

“I know,” she says, and takes the man by the forearm so steadily like she’s done it a hundred times before. “We’ll get you back up to bed soon, alright? This is Galinda, she’s going to walk with us.”

And the man turns to glance her way, so she’s probably supposed to look reassuring but she can’t help the wildly lost look she’s sure is in her eyes. She blinks, and fidgets with her tongue so that it rolls over the molars at the back of her mouth, and glances at Elphaba unsurely.

Elphaba doesn’t meet her eyes but she does jerk her head. “Let’s go, Father, when we get back up to the house I’ll make you some tea. Galinda’s going to show us the way.”

And so, a million thoughts bustling around in circles in her head, Galinda does. She’s back in her dream state, eyes drooping low as she holds the cattails apart for father and daughter— can that be right?— to press through. If he’s related to Elphaba, well… he’s certainly not what one would expect, is he? Elphaba is stunning. Elphaba is all sharp angles and stiff spines and sometimes she bites at the corner of her thumbnail. Is she meant to believe that she came from something, that she didn’t just appear here one day at the end of August and set up camp?

“I didn’t go outside again,” he says to Elphaba when they reach the back door, and though Elphaba and Galinda wipe their feet hastily he steps right inside like he doesn’t know the difference. “I woke up out there but I didn’t go, I promise.”

“That’s okay,” Elphaba murmurs, and moves toward the stairs. She goes up first and glances back, but her father isn’t moving.

“Just up there, Mister… um, Thropp,” Galinda says, feeling positively awkward. She hasn’t even given this a moment to marinate yet, how is she meant to think about it? Is there any chance that this makes sense? “Here, I’ll help you—”

And so the three of them, a haphazard crew of arms and legs and laser sharp flashlights, make it up to the second floor with much fanfare. Eight people are sleeping down the hall. With a start Galinda realizes her calculations must have been wrong— eleven people here after all of that. Eleven.

Elphaba passes her the key and Galinda opens the door to room seven without meeting her gaze. It’s cool and dark inside and god, Galinda’s been picturing it all wrong. Two beds and both of them have rumpled sheets and indented pillows. Two sets of soap and toothbrushes set out by the sink, a stack of glasses and magazines and starchy letters next to one of the beds. Elphaba’s red cardigan strewn across a chair.

Once Elphaba gets the man inside the door she turns back to meet Galinda’s eyes and looks desperate, almost. “Can I explain?”

Galinda is almost numb. She has to sort out her own thoughts— is she angry, or something? She can’t quite tell yet. “It’s late,” she says.

“Please,” Elphaba murmurs, “I’ll be down in a minute, just…”

Galinda walks downstairs without a reply because she doesn’t know the answer, doesn’t know anything until she’s standing in the kitchen in front of the tea kettle and dropping two tea bags into two Shale Shallows Inn branded mugs.

And to be fair, Elphaba had always been a bit of a mystery. That night on the beach talking about God and her family and the way her voice had dropped. The way she looks so often like she’s about to say something and then doesn’t, and leaves it, and Galinda can’t tell left from right.

She should have known.

That’s the thing, the part of it that’s grating at her nerves and bones. She should have known because she always knows. But then again, isn’t her sense of things getting more muddled by the day?

She busies herself with the mugs because it is a thing to do. Peppermint vanilla tea bags this time for the both of them, because she can’t be bothered to scrounge up anything else. The water is too hot when she pours it. Elphaba deserves as much.

And really, what kind of game is she trying to play? Is it for the money— no, it can’t be because Elphaba must be quite rich indeed to stay at an inn for months on end and never work a single moment of it. For something to prove? Maybe it’s just meant to get back at Galinda for something, some cosmic unbalance. She always had believed in comeuppance, after all.

When Elphaba makes it back downstairs she is shaking a little bit, not out of fear or chill but something else, the sensation of being deeply unsettled. Galinda understands. Galinda slides a mug across the coffee table, the one that she’s privately decided belongs to Elphaba despite being identical in every way to her own, and waits.

“I didn’t mean to keep things from you,” she says breathlessly, and she’s standing still. Galinda, meanwhile, is sitting on the couch and finding it more uncomfortable than she remembers. She takes a sip of the tea and it is scalding hot, it’s going to burn her tongue but she sacrifices it for the air of nonchalance the gesture will bring. She cocks her head.

“Alright,” she replies, and it only serves to make Elphaba look more frustrated. Good. Galinda is not vindictive, she’d like to think, but she’s not entirely forgiving either.

“That was my father,” Elphaba says uselessly, as if Galinda doesn’t already know. “He’s not very well. My sister and I aren’t totally sure what’s wrong.”

“So you brought him to my inn instead of to a doctor?” Galinda asks with her eyebrows raised, and it’s a little cruel and unnecessary but she knows Elphaba won’t fault her for it. “Really smart plan, Elphaba.”

“It’s complicated,” Elphaba says, and she looks genuinely pained. “I don’t think he’s going to live that much longer, if you want my honest opinion. But I guess I’m not a doctor. He can’t really leave his bed much.”

Galinda feels a tremor near her temple. She takes another sip of tea and it scorches her throat but she forces herself to swallow, feeling the heat of it burn her heart and lungs on the way down. “You could’ve just told me,” she mutters, feeling very stupid indeed. “You didn’t have to keep it from me, Elphie.”

And a horrible flicker of emotion crosses Elphaba’s face at that, and she sighs out one long breath and flops down onto the couch and stares up at the ceiling. Galinda waits.

“Remember how I told you that I wanted to be a maunt?” she asks, and Galinda nods silently. “It was because my family was very religious. My father was a minister, he always was, but after my mother died he got… different. Intense. Have you ever heard of the Cloth Hills Unionists?”

Galinda shakes her head mutely. It seems there are many things she hasn’t heard of, many things she doesn’t know. Before tonight she’d thought herself maybe a hair more adept. It’s embarrassing.

Elphaba nods, sighs. “Okay,” she says. “So, they’re a Unionist group, a little on the extremist side. Very fire and brimstone, very conservative. Lots of talk about burning in hellfire and the rapture and that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like they’d be fun at parties,” Galinda mumbles. Elphaba looks at her gratefully, lip quirking up, and Galinda’s heart speeds up in spite of herself.

“Right,” she nods, and waits a beat. “So my father is the founder.”

How frightfully embarrassing. Galinda is sure her face is bright pink and she opens her mouth to say something— apologize, perhaps, or maybe she’s just angry enough to stand her ground and be a pain about it— but Elphaba waves her off.

“You didn’t insult me, Galinda, it was dreadful. My sister and I grew up on the road with him through Munchkinland and Quadling Country. He got his own radio show. And he never liked me very much, but everyone else seemed to love him. He got a whole army of devotees very fast.”

“Why in the world wouldn’t he like you, Elphie?” Galinda asks, and her voice comes out sounding very small. In her defense it is late at night, the tea has burned her tongue and she’s listening too hard to think about her words. Elphaba glances over at her across the couch and oh, she looks desperate.

Sure, Galinda had been nice, but Elphaba looks at her like she’s stuck in a desert and Galinda has just offered her a bucket full of cold water. Her hand twitches on her own thigh and she looks at Galinda still, and Galinda is almost struck dumb by the blatant affection that seems to lie on top of the surface.

“It started out with the green,” Elphaba says simply. “And then confirmation bias, I suppose? I got in a lot of fights with him when I was a teenager. I stopped coming to church. I told him I didn't believe in God. I started dating women and then I dated a few men too and that really sent him over the edge. My sister is… easier. I was always the problem. I made his life more difficult.”

“No,” Galinda insists, shaking her head firmly. “You were a child.”

Elphaba casts another look her way, so soft and grateful that Galinda almost loses her breath. So, instead, she slides ever so slightly closer. Elphaba lets out a shaky breath. Everything in the room is charged, silent and vibrating, down to Elphaba’s teacup.

“So,” she says patiently, slowly and with a lilt to her voice that she knows will put Elphaba at ease, “are you going to tell me why he’s here? Why you’re here?”

Elphaba nods. “I moved back home,” she mutters. “About a year ago now, a year and a half— that’s when he got like this. He’s weak and he doesn’t eat much, he can’t walk far. He… forgets. Gets confused. Back in Nest Hardings he kept wandering and Nessa— my sister, she couldn’t take care of him herself. She needed my help. So I had to go. I moved, and I quit my job— I was doing journalism, low level stuff but I wanted to work my way up— and I went back home.”

Galinda reaches forward, grabs Elphaba’s mug, and passes it to her silently. She wants to be helpful, wants to do anything she can to make Elphaba even the slightest bit happier, wants to strike this whole bizarre night from the record and go on like it had never happened. She could deal with a few muddy footprints on the carpet.

“So,” Elphaba sighs, and takes a sip of tea with a little shy smile at Galinda, “it started getting worse. Nessa worked at the church with him, did I mention? She wants to take over the mantle. And he just wouldn’t quit— he was having the Cloth Hills group over to his house twice a week and it started to get really loopy, he couldn’t keep track of his own preaching but they idolize him, they listen to everything he says. So you see the problem.

He couldn’t get out of bed for all of July. And then in August he was better, just a little bit, but he can’t work anymore, he can’t go on like this and all these Unionists were showing up to our door. They all wanted Frexspar the Godly but all we had to offer them was… well, what you saw of him. He doesn't know where he is half the time. He lost weight, got all gaunt and angry and… hell, he even forgot that he doesn’t like me very much! Two years ago he never would’ve agreed to live with me for this long.”

Elphaba chuckles at that but it’s strained and hollow and Galinda simply can’t join in, it’s so far from funny that she feels a little sick to her stomach, that she tastes that salty warmth in her mouth again and wonders what Elphaba would say if she downed the entire mug of tea, bigger than her hand, in one resounding gulp.

“So he couldn’t stay at home,” Galinda murmurs softly. Elphaba nods.

“I know it sounds horrible to take a dying man out of his house like that but you have to understand, Galinda— what else could we do? These people show up every day, they’re covered in burns and boils and they’re looking for faith healers. They want him to preach the same way he used to but he’s not well— half the time he thinks Nessie is my mother, he can’t keep anything straight. If they let him think he can heal people with a single touch, well… so we had to find somewhere else.

Nessa wanted to be minister so badly, so badly. And she loves my father more than anyone else does but she begged me to stay behind, and if we say that Frexspar the Godly is away studying scripture or searching for miracles in the Impassable Desert maybe they’ll let her try to lead. I don’t agree with it, you see, but it makes her happy. She’s my little sister.”

“Of course,” Galinda says, and Elphaba looks utterly torn apart. Galinda’s hand has found her knee without meaning to but, now that it’s there, she supposes she might as well leave it.

“So at the end of August me and my father left. I thought we’d go up north— there’s lots of little cottages outside the Emerald City, I was planning to rent one and then he’d have a place to feel safe in. And we were only supposed to be here for a night, maybe two. A week at most.”

Galinda blinks up at her. “What happened, then?”

Elphaba shakes her head and takes a sip of tea. She looks, if possible, even more pained than before. “I got selfish again,” she mutters. “Being with him makes me selfish. It’s like I’m fifteen again. I was just supposed to be passing through but I liked it too much here and he was comfortable enough and I… I’m greedy.”

“Elphaba,” Galinda murmurs, sliding closer, “I think you’re anything but greedy. You’re allowed to want things.”

“He was supposed to be quiet,” Elphaba says to herself, jaw clenched. “Every time I tried to get him to take a walk he refused, he could barely keep food down. And then that damn footprint— I tried to stay awake, Galinda, but I told you he wanders sometimes and…”

“Elphie,” Galinda says, and smooths her thumb along Elphaba’s leg. Elphaba stops talking in an instant. She looks down at Galinda’s pale pink hand intently, studious and laser focused, and Galinda isn’t sure what to make of such a thing. “It isn’t selfish to want things,” she continues, and her voice has lowered and gone soft in the tenderness of the nighttime.

The entire inn is still and silent like it’s waiting for its cue, like it is nothing but a backdrop or a set for a play. Considering that, to Galinda, this place is alive, it is a very strange sensation indeed.

And Elphaba is still and silent too, cast in an eerie blue glow somehow. Galinda can’t look away from her. Galinda wants things too, Galinda isn’t sure what they are. This is what’s always plagued her because every time she thinks she has it figured out it slips out of reach again and then she ends up feeling just as lost and unsatisfied as before.

Elphaba meets her eyes and there’s something much wider and stronger about them, something identifiably different. “I’m so sorry,” she says quietly, and Galinda just stares.

The details of it all can be worked out. She can send room service up daily, she can help Elphaba get her father down the stairs, she can bring up extra linens twice as often. It’s the sensation, though, that she can’t quite shake. They’re poignant and too real.

The thought of Elphaba arguing with her father, of her praying and maybe not praying so much anymore. The thought of all the things Elphaba has done that her father disapproves of. The thought of her dream, Elphaba in that garden, kissing her and touching her and the way that Galinda had touched herself frantic and wild in the wake of that train whistle. Galinda, who found Chuffrey frightfully boring and Fiyero all around unsatisfying.

But most important— the thought of it all happening under her roof and her there without a clue. There Galinda had been, waltzing on through life and feeling an unending oddness under her skin that would not abate but chalking it up to nerves and to the changing seasons. Nothing will be normal by the end of autumn because it simply can’t be, because that is not how these things work. She is a stopped drain and a brick wall and Galinda, suddenly and most inconveniently, wants sharper than she ever has in her life.

“No,” Galinda says, and Elphaba’s eyes flicker with hurt for a moment before she continues forward. “Elphie, I’m not mad at you. I’m just… and I thought it was just the fall, and the leaks and the sink and the light bulb outside your door went out right before you got here, did you know that? I always know and maybe it’s like radio interference, I’ve been all wonky since you got here.”

“Oh,” Elphaba says, cocking her head like she’s trying to understand. “Well, I’m—”

“It’s the best thing I can remember happening at the inn,” Galinda interrupts. “I need you here. I think about you upstairs, Elphaba, and it’s like… it’s like…”

“If it’s easier for you we can leave,” Elphaba says. “I mean it, and we could still be friends but I could rent out a place a few towns over or I could get back in touch with my great aunt, or my nanny from when I was a little girl and—”

“You’re not listening to me,” Galinda huffs, and moves still closer. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Their faces are suddenly very close together. Galinda can feel Elphaba breathe and can see the arch of her throat as she swallows nervously, nods.

“I didn’t mean to…” she says, and gestures at Galinda. “I didn’t mean to mess up your radio, or whatever.”

Galinda shuts her eyes and smiles. “Stay here,” she murmurs again, and Elphaba meets her gaze. “You’re allowed to want that for yourself, Elphie. You’re allowed to do things for yourself.”

She doesn’t register why her body feels like this, thrumming with potential energy and blood rushing from her heart down between her legs and back up to her fingertips, until Elphaba’s eyes flick once down to her lips. Galinda catches her doing it and watches again as she leans back, blinking and flushed. Galinda leans forward.

“Sorry,” Elphaba says again, uselessly. “I should go to bed, probably. I’ll see you in the morning, and I can… I’ll pay for another guest, I’ll pay for two more guests even, you deserve it for all the—”

“Elphaba,” Galinda cuts her off, and doesn’t stop looking in her direction. She isn’t sure what she wants until she gets it, until Elphaba looks back at her so desperate and careful and soft again and Galinda nods, head moving of its own accord. And then they are both pressing forward so slowly.

It isn’t really anything like her dream. No, that had been disconnected and Elphaba’s lips had been touching a phantom limb. It was more about the sensation of the desire, then, and this is the real thing raw and distilled. Elphaba presses forward into her and Galinda has never kissed a girl before, not since a peck at summer camp back when she was thirteen on a dare. Now Elphaba’s bottom lip slides against her own and Galinda feels it in her stomach and the bones of her hips. Her mouth is wet and Galinda wants, wants so badly she could scream from it, wants to climb atop her and bite and pull and move forward until they’ve melded into one, some crazy half person. She can’t even think.

Elphaba’s mouth tastes like peppermint and like the river. Galinda is thinking about it because Elphaba kisses like it, rough and steady and still very careful. Currents and tides and smooth light moments, beautiful all the while and doing whatever it pleases and whatever it desires because it has so much. It is full of desire. So are they, there on the couch in the dark, and Galinda feels overfull with it again.

Because it is Elphaba and she is so careful, her hands stay firmly in one place. Galinda is antsy and insatiable, wants to grind down into something and understand it all more. She’s had sex more times than she can count, mostly with Fiyero and his big steady hands and that furrow he got between his eyebrows. She’d liked it well enough. This, though, is something different. She breathes in through her nose very slowly to settle the want of it, settle her stomach and the thumping of her chest.

Elphaba must mistake the breath for something else, something nervous or second guessing. She pulls away, and Galinda can hardly say that she’s pressing down the most need for something she’s ever felt so she lets it happen. She knows the second their lips disconnect that she has made a step in a direction that she cannot double back from, has done something irreparable regardless of whether it turns out good or bad. It’s a point of no return and Galinda has hurtled past it unthinkingly.

Elphaba clears her throat. It must be very late. Galinda can feel the heaviness of the night in her eyelids and the shape of her gums. She swallows.

She is practically in Elphaba’s lap and suddenly she can feel everything, the dripping faucet up in room five and the lightbulb still on next to Elphaba’s father’s bed. Her veins are thumping and her head is reeling and she can hardly breathe with craving, impulse, hunger.

“I need to go,” Galinda whispers, and means it. She will pack her bag in the morning. There’s a new postcard from Momsie and Popsicle that she probably won’t read, at this rate. She’s been planning to snap out of it, hasn’t she?

Chapter Text

Pfannee and Shenshen’s squeals when she steps off the train are loud enough to draw looks from all across the platform. They attract attention even in a city as bustling as this one, and it certainly doesn’t help that Shenshen is wearing a faux mink coat and a matching pair of earmuffs this early into October. She looks ridiculous. Galinda loves it.

“There she is!” Pfannee announces with a yelp and twirls Galinda around until she’s dizzy, barely giving her a moment to set down her carpet bag. “What is that thing?”

“It’s vintage,” Galinda huffs, snatching it up from the ground. “Very expensive.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely adorable,” Pfannee backtracks, and Galinda can tell how much she hates it by the furrow of her eyebrows but she seems to think she’s hiding it well. This is a thing about Pfannee that can be grating but, when Galinda hasn’t been around her in a while, serves only to give her a heavy rush of affection.

“I missed you both,” Galinda smiles, reaching out an arm to squeeze each girl’s shoulder. “We’ll go shopping, won’t we? And get martinis?”

“Espresso martinis,” Shenshen corrects, beaming with that little wrinkle in the bridge of her nose. “Maybe we’ll find some cute boys to buy them for us.”

The reality of those words seems to hover in the air with the smoke of the train, the thrumming energy of motion and need. Galinda feels it prick at her skin, like the start of a bead of sweat that never quite actualizes. She’s forgotten what it’s like to be in the city, to be so constantly surrounded in such a way. Had Elphaba lived in a city? Is that something she’d mentioned?

But no, she’s getting ahead of herself.

“We don’t pay for our own drinks, girls,” Galinda says, and lets the delighted squeals of laughter from Pfannee and Shenshen cloud over the impossible pit in her stomach. “Shall we?”

The girls’ apartment is big, bigger than the last one Galinda had seen. “It’s a lot closer to work,” Shenshen tells Galinda while she tugs the blinds open above the pull out couch. “Look, you can even see the Ozmopolitan sign from here!” And there it is, glowing reddish in the distance, and Galinda smiles.

Even though the inn is in very good hands— Crope’s and Mrs. Sharpe’s, of course, and even Killyjoy will pitch in— Galinda feels like she’s cutting class or skipping out on paying her bill at a fancy dinner. She hasn’t taken a day off in almost a year and she hasn’t taken a vacation in longer, not that this is much of a vacation— it’s a weekend, barely, two nights and one and a half days. She’d only called to tell Pfannee and Shenshen that she’d be coming when her bag was half packed, but she’d managed to make it sound fun and spontaneous. It most definitely is spontaneous, she supposes that is not a lie, but she’s delicately skirted the nervous breakdown she’s well on the verge of.

“It’s really nice,” Galinda says honestly. “No leaks or anything, look at that!”

It’s meant to be a joke but Pfannee and Shenshen exchange a glance. “Galinda,” Pfannee says nervously, “are you, like, okay down there? You have friends and stuff, don’t you?”

“She’s got Milla!” Shenshen says helpfully, and then turns to Galinda with wide doe eyes. “Right?”

“And Crope and Tibbett,” Galinda adds, “remember them from school? And Fiyero and I are talking again.”

Pfannee’s eyes just about bug out of her head. Shenshen hops forward to settle herself at the foot of Galinda’s bed, nestled in a white blanket. “Girl,” she gasps, “you’d better tell me everything.”

And so they don’t go out that night after all. Pfannee orders Quadling food after an hour or two and they eat it on the pull out bed, careful not to drip any sauce onto the white sheets. The sun sets out the window and Galinda can see it so well from up here, it glimmers on windows and settles across the metal handles of the kitchen cabinets when it reaches their height. Pfannee and Shenshen hardly seem to notice.

“So you’re not dating him?” Shenshen pouts, mixing her rice together with the chicken until all of it goes a lovely shade of orange.

“Definitely not,” Galinda confirms. Shenshen looks put out. “It’s better that way, he was driving me crazy.”

“But you two looked so good together,” Shenshen mutters, and Pfannee nods in agreement. “Like, you were the hottest couple in Shale Shallows. You’d still be hot in the city, that’s how perfect you were.”

Galinda is reminded of Fiyero’s back when she’d had to apply sunscreen to it, the way it always felt too big. She’s reminded of the way his thighs would clench when they had sex and she’d try to forget they were there; they felt somehow more graphic and explicit than any truly naked part of him. “Yeah,” she smiles, “we were.”

“But that’s okay,” Pfannee says, all business. “We’re going to find you a hot rebound while you’re out here. What ever happened to Chuffrey?”

“Too boring,” Galinda says, and for a moment she gets the faintest hint of mint in her bite of food and it sticks to her nose and mouth and all of her available senses. How horrible.

“We’re gonna buy you a hot new outfit,” Shenshen says sweetly, pressing her hand to Galinda’s knee, “and when we go out to the bar tomorrow night all of the guys will be totally drooling over you. Hey, did I tell you about the cute delivery guy who keeps stopping by the office?”

“She’s convinced he’s coming back just to see her,” Pfannee says with a roll of the eyes, but she scoots closer to listen in too. It’s just the way she is.

Galinda lies awake for a very long time after Pfannee and Shenshen have gone to bed. They sprinkle her with a grotesque amount of presents— a shower cap, a bottle of jasmine lotion for cracked hands, a silk sleep mask to match the pale pink pillowcase that Shenshen has found for her. All of it is lovely, even the smell of the couch bed reminds her of college and Galinda doesn’t think she’s touched such strong smelling lotion since then, either.

But once the pile of treats runs out and the pillow has sunken deep into the firm mattress Galinda can’t help but let her mind wander, no matter how hard she tries to reign it back in. It’s a bad idea to push down a thought, her popsicle always used to tell her that when she’d wake up late in the night teary from a nightmare, but she just can’t help it. Some thoughts, Galinda knows for a fact, are too awful to dwell on.

But one thing leads to another. The sheets are starchy and warm and they remind her of the way the rocks get all gritty out on the beach in the early morning sun, which of course has her thinking of Elphaba. Another route gets her to the same place— the faint smell of cooking from the apartment upstairs reminds her of Crope in the kitchens, which reminds her of breakfast time and Elphaba all curled up in her usual chair by the window. Galinda smashes a pillow over her head. It does not help.

When Galinda fixates on something it is quite hard to redirect her, this has always been true. It’s been called determination at its best, stubbornness at its worst, and truthfully it must fall somewhere in the middle. It’s an obsessive sort of a thing, the way she thinks moves in cycles all fixated and sticky. And since August she’s been fixated on two things in particular— Elphaba Thropp, the most stubborn and wonderful of hotel guests ever to walk the planet, and the creepy old footprints and lights down by the water and sensations of foreboding that Galinda finds herself half plagued with.

And now that they’ve turned out to be, in essence, one and the same, Galinda can’t help it if her fixation has doubled in magnitude.

She’d brought that blue green book on the train but hadn’t read a single word of it. She hadn’t been hungry in days, eating just to fill up the space where mealtimes were meant to be. Her mind has been flatly uninterested in anything unrelated to that night.

And so Galinda keeps ending up back there. The way Elphaba had materialized on the beach, the guilt written across her face, the way she’d let Galinda help her father up the steps. The way she’d explained it all, the drop in her voice when she’d said fire and brimstone, the shiver that went up Galinda’s spine at the thought of religion beyond her own minimal experience with it, nothing but church on Lurlinemas and the occasional superstition her granny had never let go of. The way she’d kissed.

Because god, Galinda’s head kept getting stuck there in particular. Fiction and reality had started to merge so now she could barely remember what had been that pesky old dream and what had been real— were Elphaba’s lips wet, or did she make that up? Did her hands move at all? Could Galinda see the shape of her eyes?

It is nothing but a fluke, Galinda’s sure of it. Tensions running high, the way Elphaba had moved toward her, the itching horrible desire that Galinda had been unable to shake beforehand. This sort of thing has never plagued her but it is now, she suddenly needs to be touched more than anything and can think of nothing but it. She has never been this way before.

But Elphaba Thropp is not the person Galinda wants. There’s a whole host of reasons— she is beautiful. Her father is dying. She lives in Galinda’s house and eats her food and loves her dog. She is a woman, too, and of course that is the main thing.

A woman. Galinda finds something very entrancing about the idea of a woman wanting her like that, wanting to touch her and hold her and bite at her skin until it turns pink. There’s something terribly attractive about that, about the idea of making somebody want you. Does Elphaba want her? She’d certainly looked at her that way, eyes all dark and circular and the way she’d kissed, that too.

But Galinda isn’t sure. She’d like it for Elphaba to want her, it would maybe be something to quell that numbing and cloying wave of desire. Only, no— it’s not like she’d do anything about it either way, so what did a little crush have to do with anything? Elphaba would never touch her if she didn’t want it, this much she knows. So it’s obsolete, a non issue.

Still, though. Galinda pictures her now, lying mere feet from that old stout man she’d seen just the once. How had she never seen him before, and how had she never known? But there he’d be, up on the second floor while Mrs. Sharpe locked up for the night, and he’d be asleep on his back with the covers tucked up to his chin.

And Elphaba is there beside him. She’s running too hot for blankets. She’s busy looking out her window, which she has left open. Maybe she’s drinking from a glass; Galinda has always noticed that she likes to line up her lips to the same spot every time she takes a sip. Or maybe she is reading. No matter what it is she’d be doing it with that little bite to her lower lip that she gets when she’s concentrating, that steady rumple to the top half of her face. Maybe she is thinking of Galinda.

In Elphaba’s fantasy, or so Galinda imagines, they are in Galinda’s apartment together. A record is playing, one of those slow soulful ones that make Galinda hyperactive at the thought of such romance existing in the world she lives in. In her fantasy Galinda is wearing something pretty, a nice dress or maybe a short skirt, and she is letting Elphaba kiss her or maybe more. This is what she wants Elphaba to want, of course, but chances are Elphaba’s just tucking a bookmark between the pages of her book and tugging the lamp chain until the light goes out.

In fact, she’s probably been asleep for hours. Galinda almost listens for the creak of the inn above her head before she realizes that she is hours away, that she can only hear the faint buzzing of street noise hundreds of feet below her. She drifts off unsettled and dreams of math, balancing checkbooks with equations that are unsolvable and time ticking steadily on all the while.

Pfannee and Shenshen don’t believe in breakfast— brunch, they tell her, is the only way to spend a Saturday morning. The place they end up at is sweet but a little vapid; Galinda’s iced tea is watery and she has to order eggs Benedict because there’s simply nothing else edible on the menu. She doesn’t think she can stomach an omelet ever again.

In her opinion, at least. Pfannee and Shenshen gobble down some horrible looking quiches and Galinda can’t quite figure out how a brunch spot could get away with not serving a single scone or piece of French toast, even. It feels a little inauthentic to her.

“So,” Pfannee says, slicing up a piece of spinach rather unnecessarily, “when are you moving out here, babe?”

“And have to see you all the time? I don’t think so,” Galinda deflects easily, so easily that she can half ignore the clenching of her lungs. Pfannee laughs.

“No, but really,” Shenshen pouts, leaning across the table to flash her big eyes in Galinda’s direction. She looks like Killyjoy when he’s begging for a walk. “It’d be just like college again— guys like it when girls have hot friends, we’d be living it up!”

“No one says that anymore, Shenshen,” Pfannee scoffs and Shenshen pouts wider, leaning over to slap Pfannee on the arm.

The thing about these girls, these girls who Galinda loves dearly and wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, is that they just don’t understand. Galinda lets herself think about it over the faint hum of their bickering; it’s always been this way just a little bit. They love her and she loves them but there are moments like this where she feels a thousand miles away, floating out in the middle of her river while they’re waiting on the shore.

How can she ever explain what shape her life has taken? She isn’t sure that she can, truthfully. She can’t tell them about the footprints or the way she’s been waking up in the nights or what it feels like to walk on the beach these colder fall mornings. She can’t tell them about Elphaba, not in a way that will be real. There is no way to describe her, not wholly.

And why, why had they kissed? Galinda had been following some crazy instinct, it felt like the decisions had been made and the cards had been laid down on the table before she’d leaned forward. Elphaba would’ve stopped her and should’ve stopped her and didn’t stop her.

They are asking her when she is moving to the city and they mean it. Just a few months ago this was all Galinda wanted but now, in spite of all her best instincts, she isn’t so sure. Maybe she is a masochist, maybe Shale Shallows is just where she is fated to end up. Somewhere out in the world a green woman and a sickly old man and a big galumphing dog are waiting for her.

Galinda eats her eggs. She flutters around Pfannee and Shenshen appropriately, and she giggles the right amount, and nothing is wrong. She buys a new vanilla lip scrub and a pair of sunglasses even though they are out of season, and the girls fawn over how she looks in them, and nothing is wrong. She tries on two swimsuits and buys herself a lovely yellow dress and Shenshen loves it, keeps talking about the cinched waist. Galinda can only think about what Elphaba might think, if she’d tell her again that she was pretty— not that she’d really said it the first time, she’d just agreed when Galinda had said it. Still, though— would it make a difference?

And nothing is wrong.

“Are we getting those espresso martinis?” Shenshen asks excitedly after they have dinner, when they’re flopped on the couch back at the girls’ apartment and the sun is starting to set. “Or… only if you think we should, Galinda.”

“Definitely,” Galinda agrees, rewarding Shenshen with a little smile that causes her to light up. She ignores the ache in her joints, the headache she feels coming on. “I need to look hot again.”

“Has a guy ever not thought you were hot?” Pfannee says teasingly, shooting Galinda a look. Galinda rolls her eyes.

“So not the point,” she hums back. “The point is espresso martinis.”

“Exactly,” Shenshen chirps, bouncing on her knees on the pillow. “Galinda, please tell me you brought hot clothes at least?”

Galinda, of course, always brings hot clothes. She digs into that old carpet bag with its horrifically floral print splattered across the sides and pulls out a short skirt and the most low cut shirt she owns. Shenshen gapes. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, Galinda thinks with a wry smile, but she doesn’t think she cares enough to find out what it is.

There’s something so lovely about getting ready with other girls. Pfannee curls her hair and holds her by the shoulder so that she doesn’t fidget, Shenshen does her eyeliner and calls her gorgeous the whole time.

“If I were a guy I’d want you,” Shenshen proclaims when Galinda stands and does a little twirl, checking to make sure the skirt hasn’t ridden up even more. “Look at you!”

“You’re wasted at that inn,” Pfannee tells her. “You’re an Emerald City ten, babe, I really do mean that.”

“I know,” Galinda chirps with a little smirk and a roll of her eyes, and she tugs on a strand of Shenshen’s hair. “Want me to put this up for you? I can make it look sexy like I used to do in college.”

They go to a dive bar. Pfannee keeps assuring her, on the walk over with her legs freezing halfway off, that it’s a classy place and tells her it made all sorts of ‘trendiest spots’ lists last month. But no, still a dive bar— string lights hung from the ceiling, sticky barstools, a big dartboard taking up the back wall. Galinda is sure she could be back at Shiz, twenty again and letting some big blond kid feel her up in line for the bathrooms.

“This is so retro!” Shenshen exclaims, and Galinda smothers a grin about how identical to the restaurant back in Shale Shallows it looks. “Let’s get that table in the front, we want to be in the light.”

Being in the light isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Galinda likes to be looked at, she always has, but she feels pinpricks of a gaze on her and tracks it back to a man standing across the room, lanky and stubbled and smirking when she meets his eyes. She rolls her eyes and turns back to the table.

Too late, though— Pfannee and Shenshen have noticed. “A boy!” Shenshen exclaims, and almost points before Pfannee snatches her hand back down. Galinda laughs.

“I’m good,” she says, and tosses her hair. Pfannee appraises her.

“He’s cute, though,” she murmurs, low and just for Galinda. “Really cute.”

“Mm,” Galinda hums noncommittally. And then Pfannee’s leaning over and waving, and the man is straightening up all satisfied, and Galinda’s stomach clenches.

Galinda lets the guy buy her a drink. He’s tall, taller than Fiyero and she has to crane her neck to smile up at him. “Something sweet, I bet?” he winks, and Galinda’s head aches. He’s right, she does like sweet things but it’s made worse that he thinks he knows her, thinks she’ll appreciate the pineapple monstrosity that gets slid across the bar just because he can see her tits in her tight top.

The drink is good, though, and that’s the worst part.

“So,” he says, and leans toward her with an elbow so that her entire bubble smells like his cologne, “what’s your name, beautiful?”

Galinda raises her eyebrows. “Oh, does that work on the other girls?”

He likes that, smirks back at her. “What other girls?”

“Sure,” Galinda drawls, and takes a long sip from her drink. She lets him watch her lips curl around the straw, the way her eyelashes graze the tops of her cheekbones. Pfannee and Shenshen will be thrilled. “How about this— I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

“It’s Tristan,” he says, and gives her another once over. “It’s very nice to meet you…”

“Galinda,” she supplies, and tilts her chin up at him. He’s hotter than Chuffrey. A better flirt, too, which means he won’t be as boring. And for one night it doesn’t really matter how boring he is.

“Galinda,” he repeats, grinning at her with his teeth that look blue in the bar lighting. “What do you do, hm? You a model?”

Maybe he’s not such a good flirt. She debates lying but decides against it, mostly because she can’t be bothered to think of a single job. “I’m an innkeeper,” she says, and smiles as she says it, and his eyebrows furrow around his own smile.

He laughs. “I’m not joking,” she says, “the Shale Shallows Inn. I bet you know where that is, you seem pretty smart.”

“You can’t be serious,” he says around a puff of incredulous air. “You’re way too hot for that.”

“Apparently not, if I’m doing it,” Galinda remarks cheerfully.

“What do you even do all the way out there?” Tristan says, leaning closer to her. “I guess you don’t get out much, huh?”

“You’d be surprised,” Galinda mutters. She’s pretty sure he hasn’t heard her, though, because he takes a long sip of his own drink— a bottle of cheap beer— and shakes his head.

“That’s crazy. Listen, I can hang with you for the night, make sure you make the most of it. I know all the best spots in the city.”

“Really?” Galinda says saccharine sweet, making her eyes all wide and doe like. “Aren't you sweet.”

He puffs out his chest at that and yes, she’s sure he’s only half listening now; he somehow has managed to miss the thick layer of sarcasm drenching every syllable of her words. “Drink up, it’s on me,” he says, and nods his head toward the back wall. “Wanna play some darts?”

Galinda agrees because it is the thing to do. She’s having fun, in spite of herself— the pineapple drink is sweet enough that she doesn’t taste the alcohol until it’s hitting, making her flushed and a little bit loud and a lot more comfortable than she usually would be. Only a small part of her wants to be back at Pfannee and Shenshen’s apartment with fuzzy blankets and nail polish again. An even smaller part wants to be home, her real home, though where is that exactly?

And one thing leads to another— he’s helping her throw a dart because of course he is, and he has his front flat against her back and he’s got his arms curled all around her. The bar is stuffy and brown. Galinda wants to be sitting cross legged on the rug in front of her record player so much that she could cry just thinking about it.

She isn’t sure what she wants anymore. He’s probably going to kiss her— no, definitely, he’d been so proud of himself for the darts that she’s sure he’s still riding that high. She shouldn’t but does it matter, does it really?

She shouldn’t but hands are already on her hips, though, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Pfannee and Shenshen, eyes wide, watching her. They’ve got two guys of their own leaning over their table— neither as hot as Tristan, Galinda thinks with a trickle of satisfaction, but she isn’t sure she cares much.

So she spins in his arms and now his hands are grazing the top of her ass— respectful, though, he doesn’t go any lower. His smirk widens ever so slightly and he winks down at her.

“Hi there,” he says slowly, and Galinda feels that familiar thrumming in her chest that comes when she’s about to be kissed. His eyes are flitting all over her face, even glancing ever so slightly lower to the line of her shirt, and Galinda lets him. It feels so nice to be this wanted.

She won’t make the first move, though. The last time she’d kissed someone, just a handful of days ago, she’d been the one to move in first and… no, she isn’t thinking about that now. She isn't thinking about it, period, it’s in the past and when she gets back home Elphaba will be weird about it for a day at most and then they’ll put it behind them, it’s nothing. People kiss their friends sometimes. Girls kiss their friends, everybody does it, it’s fine. It’s normal.

She is so caught up thinking about this, thinking about how she’s got to stop thinking about it, that she misses Tristan leaning down and suddenly his lips are on hers, big and broad and warm. She comes back to herself in the blink of an eye— this is something she is good at, something she can do.

So she adjusts into it. Back straightened, hair flicked back behind her shoulders, hands coming up to touch lightly at his biceps. He backs her up until she’s brushing against the wall ever so slightly, kissing her hard and she’s sure he’s thrilled about it, she’s beautiful and his friends are probably off watching them from the corner by the bar and none of it matters, not really.

His bottom lip tastes like beer and it’s a little damp still. The feeling of it sliding against her own is a little unpleasant— not that she’s picky, she isn’t! It’s just that she’s particular, she’d been that way with Fiyero too. All of the variables had to be just aligned. If she’d already showered for the night sex wasn’t on the table, and if she had just woken up she couldn’t kiss him until she’d splashed some cold water on her face.

But she can get past that, holding her breath just a little while he squeezes at her waist. He’s not a bad kisser, is he?

Elphaba’s lips had been wet too. She’s trying not to think about it but it comes in anyway all uninvited, leaning lazily against the walls of her mind until she huffs in annoyance and pulls Tristan closer. If he kisses harder maybe she’ll think only of him, she resolves to try it.

He leans away. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Hi,” he says again, and smiles at her. “Wow, you’re beautiful.”

Galinda smiles shakily. “Well!” she exclaims, wiggling away from him, “that was fun. What next, should we play another round of darts? Or we could look at the jukebox, I wonder what music they’ve got on there?”

Tristan smiles at her like she’s being silly, squints his eyes and cocks his head. “Okay…” he hums, trailing off with a little smirk. “Hey, that was pretty hot, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Galinda tells him, tossing an easy smile in his direction. “Oh look, they’ve got a pool table in the corner; my friend Shenshen is actually really good and you wouldn’t know it by looking at her, or really based on anything about her, actually, because she can be a little hysterical but maybe we can talk her into—”

“Sure,” the guy says, and slides his hand down Galinda’s hip. “But hey, maybe we could try that again first?”

Galinda stares at him. She almost asks why but that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It had been a nice kiss.

Only then things go south, and her mind starts to wander. It always does this, the blasted thing. She’s thinking about where the night is bound to go— if he kisses her again then she’ll kiss him back, and then Pfannee and Shenshen will get all giggly and remind her of the guys she’d slept with in college as rebounds and flings and whatever else she’d called them back when she was nineteen, twenty, twenty one, back when she was far more stupid. If this happens then she’s probably going to leave with him to prove a point, to remind herself that she is still fun and no, living in an inn doesn’t make a person decrepit, she is twenty eight and young and hot and Pfannee is six months older than her, anyway. And if she sleeps with him…

It’ll be fine. She’s been ridiculously pent up lately anyway, what other explanation was there for that ridiculous sex dream, for the kiss, for her insistence on latching onto whoever was closest? And that person had been Elphaba. Now it could be what's-his-name, and it would be easier for everyone involved. He’d love to see her naked. She could get an orgasm out of it at least, or at most, or whatever it was that she meant. She hardly knows what she was trying to talk herself into anymore.

“Why don't we play pool?” Galinda says, and gives him a big fluttery glance so that he isn’t too put out. “I’ll let you buy me another drink?”

It’s only, well. It’s complicated. She does end up kissing him again right when they’re about to leave, and he’s very careful with her and asks if she’s alright and if he’s going too fast. It’s a little annoying, actually. But they’re up against the wall outside the bar, out on the sidewalk, and his hand grazes against her thigh and Galinda can only think of Elphaba. Desire is overtaking her. What had Elphaba’s father’s name been again, and how did his voice sound? What were his sermons like, and how did Elphaba like them when she was little? Galinda has a vision of her in a church pew, rolling her socks over themselves until they’re down to her ankles and then letting them snap back up and cover the expanse of green that her shins provided.

She kisses him again and he gives her his number and they both know she’ll never call. She misses Elphaba desperately. I need a break, she had told Pfannee and Shenshen over the phone when she’d announced her little sojourn, but it clearly wasn’t a clean one. Elphaba is hanging onto her like a splinter. She wonders what she is doing. She wonders what she is eating. She wonders if she is thinking of her too, of how Galinda looks when she calls her Elphie. She wonders what her hand would look like on Galinda’s thigh, right beside Tristan’s or maybe even instead of it, she could brush his big, too-thick hand away and then, and then…

“And your boy was so gorgeous,” Shenshen sighs over brunch the next morning. Thankfully they’re at a new restaurant this time, and Galinda is drinking mimosas to stave off a hangover, and she is starting to feel rather fed up with this city. “I mean, Galinda, good for you! If only he’d seen you in that hot little dress you bought yesterday— are you gonna call him?”

“No,” Galinda says shortly, and Shenshen’s eyebrows pull together so blissfully astonished that she has to lighten the load, just a little, just because she loves her so much. “I mean, he was great,” she says diplomatically, and Shenshen nods in relief, “but it’s just, well, I live so far away! No point in starting something with a boy all the way out here, you know what I mean?”

“You know a great solution to that?” Pfannee asks, and points the edge of her toast triangle in Galinda’s direction sagely as she speaks, “You move to the city, Galinda! We would be roommates again— I mean, we’d need to look for a bigger place, and Shenshen is so allergic to cats so it can’t be one of those pet infested buildings like the one we lived at down on Summit Street, but—”

“Babe, you know I can’t,” Galinda scoffs. She takes a bite of her own breakfast, delectable French toast all coated in cinnamon apple butter, and chews it slowly, just to keep their attention on her. "Besides, it's not worth it just for one boy. There’s a million of them back home.”

“Okay, first of all, that was a man,” Pfannee corrects, winking. “And second, it isn’t for him! It’s for us! It’s for all the men of the Emerald City! Mostly it’s for you, though, you know that, right?”

And for the first time in a while Galinda thinks about it, really thinks.

She had sworn to herself that she’d snap out of this daze she’s been stuck in, and then Elphaba had shown up and thrown that whole plan to the wolves. But maybe there was still some semblance of hope— she could leave Elphaba behind, and all the strange imaginary baggage of the inn. She could start fresh. But no, no she couldn’t.

“I don’t think it really matters where I am,” Galinda murmurs, thinking out loud. “I think I’d be like this anywhere, probably.”

Pfannee and Shenshen exchange a glance. “Honey,” Shenshen tries, reaching out a hand for Galinda’s, “listen, I know you’re so totally capable of taking care of yourself— I mean, I lived with you for four years, didn’t I?— but honestly, you’re starting to freak me out. Are you sure you’re… like, I don’t know. Are you good?”

Galinda glances up from her plate, from the little flecks of cinnamon dotting her breakfast. There they are, her girls— Shenshen, rumpled up forehead and cherub cheeks and soft hair and signature necklace, that gold sun that she’d worn since the summer before high school. Pfannee, tall and elbowy and beautiful, wearing green so specific in shade that it triggers Galinda’s memory of something she can’t quite get ahold of. These girls, these girls she loves and cherishes and knows as well as she knows anyone.

“I think I am,” Galinda says, and finds that she means it. “I love you both—”

“And we love you,” Shenshen replies tearfully, and Pfannee elbows her with an eye roll that Galinda knows is disguising the dampness of her own eyes.

“— but I just… that’s my life, you know? And this is your life. And I love both but only one of them is mine.”

She glances at Pfannee, then, because she knows she’ll understand. Pfannee, always so diplomatic in spite of herself. She’s looking at Galinda like she’s never seen her before but she is nodding, too.

“I don’t think I could ever do what you do,” she says, and she means it but there isn’t an ounce of criticism in her voice, not even a hint of sarcasm. Galinda just laughs.

“I don’t know if I even can, honestly,” she mutters. “It’s just who I am, isn’t it?”

“Of course you can,” Shenshen replies, and Pfannee and Galinda both turn back to her in surprise, and she is tearful and sniffling and getting teardrops on her hash. “You’re Galinda, you can do anything!”

There is a moment, just a quick break in the din and the chaos, where Galinda meets Pfannee’s eyes. There is something real and deep there that’s gone too fast, because they’re both laughing, and even Shenshen joins in after an affronted moment and Galinda's mouth tastes like apples.

She is going to sort it all out, she resolves, when she gets back to her home. Hers, it is her inn and her beach and her life, Killyjoy and Crope and Elphaba and her leaks and her breakfasts and her dreams. She is going to sort it all out and stay right where she is. Also she is going to calm herself down, just a bit, because when she gets back on the train that evening her heart is pounding and she doesn’t know why.

She turns on the little light above her seat, and watches the sun set and curl below the mountains, and she reads that blue and green book all the way back to Shale Shallows. She times it badly, gets off the train at her stop with only twenty pages left, and when she lets herself back into the inn she finishes them sitting on the floor and puts the book on the base of the back staircase. Just in case.

Crope is making apple cider donuts. “It’s your welcome home present!” he tells her, thrusting a bucket of cinnamon sugar into her hands. “But here, get to work, I need all of these coated stat!”

“You know, people would probably like you more if you were nicer,” Galinda observes casually, picking up a donut to dip into the sugar. She’s skipped the beach this morning— it’s cold, that’s what she’d told Crope, but really she is hoping to glimpse Elphaba before Elphaba finds her. “Has anyone ever told you you’re abrasive?”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” Crope sing songs back at her and Galinda rolls her eyes, dropping a donut onto the plate so that it sprays him with sugar. He yelps.

“You two are like siblings,” Tibbett says, from where he’s leaning lazily against the wall by the windows. “Like six year old siblings, and that’s not a good thing.”

“Crope started it,” Galinda grumbles. Tibbett just laughs.

“I’m willing to let that go if you tell me about your trip, Galinda,” Crope says, poking her with a doughy finger. “Did you know this girl hasn’t taken a real vacation, not for a holiday but just for her, since she became innkeeper? Two years ago?”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Tibbett says kindly. “Hey, Galinda, were you guys running low on powdered sugar? I can drop, like, ten pounds of it over here by tomorrow morning.”

“God, that’s grotesque,” Galinda says. “But yeah, would you? You’re the best, Tibbs.”

“Excuse me,” Crope coughs, “the trip? Please?”

“It was fun,” Galinda nods, reassuring. She glances toward the open doorway— no sign of Elphaba yet, but it’s still early. “I bought new clothes. I made out with a guy at a bar. I realized Crope’s cooking is actually kind of good.”

“You’re the worst,” Crope groans, and hits her with a dish towel. She giggles.

“You made out with a guy?” Tibbett says, and he’s smiling at her in that vacant way that means he is puzzled. “And?”

“And nothing,” Galinda confirms, shrugging her shoulders and dropping another donut into the sugar. “I’m not, like, doing long distance with Tristan from the dive bar, thank you very much for asking.”

Tibbett shrugs, allowing the point, and Crope squints at her.

“Your love life has been all over the place lately,” he says. “Anything else we should know?”

How ridiculously horrible. “No,” Galinda mutters, glaring. “Anything I should know about you two?”

Crope turns pink just like Galinda had known he would but Tibbett just laughs, leaning over to loop his arm around Crope’s waist. “I think you could call me his boyfriend,” he says, and Crope smiles at him so widely that Galinda regrets asking.

“You make me sick,” she says happily, and beams back at them. “God, everything’s changing around here!”

“This is a good thing,” Crope tells her, still flushed. “More free jams, remember?”

There is a noise down the hall and Galinda whips around to turn to it, squinting out towards the door of the breakfast nook. “So,” she says, “want me to take those donuts out?”

“Not yet,” Crope says, and cocks his head at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Galinda replies, beginning to pace. She drums her fingers along the countertop, checks her watch twice. Tibbett gives her a funny look.

“Hey, you guys haven’t talked to Elphaba, have you?” she asks, trying for a very casual tone that she’s pretty sure she hasn’t achieved, if the way Crope is looking at her is anything to go on. He and Tibbett exchange a bemused little glance, Galinda hates it.

“Not really,” Tibbett says carefully. “I think she was at breakfast on Saturday.”

“Mm,” Crope hums in agreement. “She asked about you.”

Galinda hates the way that they’re talking like some kind of two headed thing, like riddlers or horrid little elves in some fairy tale. It’s extremely annoying. She sighs, sucking in air through her teeth. “Okay,” she replies, very slowly, “and what did she say, Crope?”

“I don’t really remember,” Crope shrugs. “Why don’t you just ask her? You get breakfast with her every morning— she gets breakfast with her every morning,” he tacks on for Tibbett, turning to meet his eyes and smile. Galinda rolls her eyes.

“Pretty sure he heard you the first time,” she mutters. “Okay, how did she make it sound? When she talked about me, I mean. Like did it feel neutral or was it more like, ‘where’s Galinda?’ Or did she say it like ‘where’s Galinda,’ you know?”

Crope stares at her blankly. “You just said the same thing twice,” he tells her helpfully. Galinda groans.

“It’s about how I said them, Crope, honestly!” she huffs, and slaps her hands against the counter. “You’re so unhelpful, did you know that?”

“Sorry!” Crope exclaims, throwing his hands up, they are stained with dough and sugar and butter from the donuts. “I don’t actually keep every word of a conversation I had two days ago stored in my brain, shockingly. Go talk to her yourself!”

“What if I had been murdered,” Galinda says, and Tibbett blanches, coughing in surprise. “What if they found me dead, and the detectives got here and said, Crope, we simply cannot solve this case unless you tell us about that conversation you had on Saturday morning. Tell us everything, please, you’re our only hope.”

“I guess your murder would be unsolved, then,” Crope shrugs. “They could write one of those true crime books about it, I’d give an interview. I’d even lie for you, I’d tell them you were nice.”

“I’m taking the donuts,” Galinda announces, and Crope yelps and hastens to straighten the pile as Galinda pulls the tray away. “Let go of it, seriously!”

She isn’t quite sure what she wants— is she hoping Elphaba will be there or not? She gets her wish either way; Elphaba is lingering in the arched doorway between rooms and glancing nervously into the breakfast nook when Galinda sets the tray of donuts down on the far table.

“Hello again,” Galinda says, and turns around and prays that her blouse isn’t rumpled, that the wedges of her shoes make her look professional, that she seems more put together than she feels. Elphaba straightens up.

“Hi,” she says, and her mouth wavers. “Um, those smell good.”

“They are good,” Galinda tells her, and cocks her head. “I thought we could bring one up to your dad, after we eat. If that’s okay, I mean.”

Elphaba’s eyes widen and she blinks and then smiles, just the faintest little bit of something at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah,” she nods, “okay.”

Galinda grabs two donuts for herself, still hot and buttery, and sucks the extra sugar off of her fingers. Elphaba watches her and goes a little greener at the sight of it, which makes Galinda blush right back. They glance away from each other as they sit down, which is probably for the best. It’s all crooked and unaligned, discordant as Galinda studies the crease of the window pane as if she’s never seen it before. She can practically feel Elphaba breathing across from her, can feel the rise and fall of her chest like it’s etched into the table, wood teeming with life.

“So,” Galinda says once she’s bitten into her breakfast and smiles around the crunch of it— Crope knows these are her favorite, he’s nicer than he pretends to be— “I heard you were asking about me.”

Elphaba turns an even darker green and stares resolutely down at her plate. Maybe it had been a little mean to say but Galinda can’t help it if she’s curious, she’s still dying to know more and Elphaba is all funny and twisted up before her like this, so what else can she do?

“Um, yeah,” she murmurs, and when she looks back up her eyes are so soft and wide, Galinda can’t think of anything but what they had looked like just before they’d kissed. “I just wanted to know where you went, you know. How long you’d be gone. I wanted to… apologize, I guess, because—”

“Elphie,” Galinda cuts her off, smiling, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just forget it, okay? I can tell you about my trip, if you want?”

“No— I mean, yes, I want to hear about it,” Elphaba says, and her teeth clench together anxiously. “But… I mean, we should probably talk about it, right, and I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright,” Galinda tells her, and puts her hand on Elphaba’s where it’s resting on the table. It’s meant to be reassuring but perhaps it’s a bad idea, Elphaba’s eyes shoot up to hers and god, her hand is really very soft. Galinda wants to slide her own hand further up and maybe even lean a little closer. She’s forgotten what it feels like to be right next to Elphie, to be affected by her magnetism and even though the breakfast nook is empty right now there is no one else Galinda would rather be sitting with. She shivers.

“Okay,” Elphaba says hesitantly. “Tell me all about it, then?”

And so Galinda does.

Chapter Text

Galinda’s deliberate, well thought out strategy— ignoring the kiss and all its related parts until it goes away— crashes and burns by Wednesday evening. She’d gotten a good two and a half days’ use out of it, on the bright side, so she can’t be all that upset.

The inn is packed, every room is full on account of the foliage and it isn’t even the weekend yet. Crope stays late and makes enough bread to feed an army, even Killyjoy is swept up in the hubbub and Galinda has to let him out in the back to run around until he tires himself out. The trees are beautiful, though, yellows and sharp shocks of red outside all the windows and curling around the edges of the corners. The air smells fresh and autumnal too, overripe. Galinda has taken to walking out on the pavement with the dog, crunching each leaf she can find under her boots.

Because of the guests the parlor is crowded that evening after dinner. Because the parlor is crowded, Galinda goes back to her apartment once she’s closed the front desk. Because Galinda can’t stay away from her, Elphaba comes along too.

It’s such a bad idea but Galinda can’t stop it from happening, it’s the law of inertia and there is no force to stop the way the two of them are hurtling forward in the most of motion. So it goes that she and Elphaba are sitting cross legged on the foot of her bed wearing pajamas, and an old rockabilly record Galinda’s granny used to adore is playing across the room, and a tree branch is tapping steadily at the glass.

Galinda is drawing and Elphaba is reading and it’s almost worse that way, because they’re just in each others’ company for the sake of it. It’s a dangerous game Galinda is playing but she’ll allow it on the condition that nothing else happens, that this night stays as well and truly platonic as their friendship is, in truth. She can manage that.

“What’re you working on?” Elphaba asks her after a little while, when Galinda’s pencil scratches have slowed down a bit and she’s busy flipping her sketchbook upside down to squint at the way she’s shaded. Galinda wrinkles her nose.

“Nothing special,” she mutters.

“I doubt that,” Elphaba says, and Galinda giggles. “No, really, what is it!”

“You won’t laugh, will you?” Galinda asks, and Elphaba smiles over at her.

“No.”

“You swear?” Galinda asks, and maybe she’s all swept up in the moment again because her voice comes out different than she’d planned, a little lower. Elphaba raises her eyebrows.

“I swear I won’t laugh.”

“It’s kind of for Killyjoy,” Galinda says, and leans over to show Elphaba. “Just some of his favorite spots— it’s a sketch, I’m not doing anything with it but it helps me think.”

Of course she’s not doing anything with it, she thinks, stupid! What could she do, give it to the dog? He’d eat it in one quick chomp and then whine about his stomach for the rest of the evening.

“And what are you thinking about?” Elphaba asks, politely ignoring the sketch the size of Galinda’s palm in which Killyjoy is sprawled across legs that are most certainly not Galinda’s but are most certainly reminiscent of Elphaba’s. Galinda just sighs.

“Oh, a lot of things,” she says. “You can’t possibly expect a girl to just rattle off everything on her mind, Elphie, that’s quite personal stuff.”

Elphaba giggles right back and her cheeks scrunch up, and her teeth flash, and Galinda is so entranced by it that she finds herself smiling fondly right back. Oh, oh, what a disaster.

“Anyway, what are you working on?” Galinda asks, nudging Elphaba’s book with her knee. “You’ve always got your nose in a book, is it more interesting than I am?”

“Probably not possible,” Elphaba quips, and flips her book shut. “It’s a new book, nonfiction this time. It’s a biography of this one Munchkin rights leader from ages ago who was based out of the Emerald City, it reminds me a little bit of the readings I used to do in college.”

Galinda smiles. “Makes sense for a History degree.”

Elphaba glances at her, a little flicker in her brow. “Yeah,” she murmurs, like she’s surprised Galinda remembers. Of course she does. Galinda smiles at her brightly and she watches Elphaba glance at her dimple.

“Anyway,” she continues, drumming her fingers on the back cover, “I noticed you finished your book, unless that isn’t what it meant when you left it on my stairs?”

“Your stairs!” Galinda exclaims, quirking her lip. “Well, Elphie, it seems you’re getting a little attached.”

Elphaba flushes but nods nonetheless. “Maybe,” she admits, and Galinda tries to ignore the clench and thump and pound of her heart.

“But yeah, I finished it,” she says. “It was really lovely, actually. Only I liked the first half better than the ending.”

Elphaba glances up, eyes brightening and face coming unclenched, and she beams. “Right?” she says, and the enthusiasm in her voice is ten times louder than the volume she’s actually speaking at, which is quite muted on account of the closeness. “But I thought you’d like it, it reminded me a little bit of you.”

Galinda goes pink. “Did it?” she hums, and tries not to sound too curious. Elphaba nods.

“Because of how she describes the place she lives. Like it’s a part of her.”

Galinda feels a little flush of pleasure at that and cocks her head. “You’re an odd person, Elphaba Thropp.”

“So are you,” Elphaba retorts, and Galinda ducks her head, allowing the point.

“Yeah,” she says, “you’re probably right. My friends that I was with— Pfannee and Shenshen, they used to live here back when we were kids— I love them but they’re so different from me, you know? They don’t understand how I can live here and also be young and hot.”

Elphaba laughs brightly and shuts her book, which Galinda counts as a win. “How could you not live here,” she remarks, and then smiles lopsidedly. “We’d fall apart without you. What about Killyjoy? What about me?”

“What about you?” Galinda laughs back, and pokes Elphaba on the shoulder. “You’re not planning to run out on me, are you?”

“No,” Elphaba says shyly. “No, I like it here. My father likes it here too, you know.”

“Good,” Galinda smiles, and then cocks her head. “Hey, you’ll let me know if you ever need help, won’t you? When my grandpa was forgetting things he liked to have music playing, or when people read to him… I can lend you my record player as long as you promise you won’t scratch any of my music. Because then I’d have to kill you.”

“That’s… sweet,” Elphaba says, squinting. “Is it sweet? I can’t really tell.”

“Two things can be true at once,” Galinda quips, and her cheeks hurt from smiling. The record that she’s got on ends abruptly and she jumps up to change it with a skip in her step, launching herself off the bed and tugging her sleep shorts down to cover the tops of her thighs. Elphaba giggles again.

“But I do appreciate it,” she says, and she sounds honest about it this time. “Maybe sometime I can tell you more about it. About him, I mean.”

Galinda, fiddling with the needle of the record player, meets her eyes across the room. “I’d really like that,” she says quietly.

Elphaba watches her fondly when she flits across the room, straightening paintings and lining up her shoes until she bounces back onto her bed, the new record starting— some old dream pop, jangly and silver in the early evening. This time when she lands she is a little closer to Elphaba than she had been and Elphie moves to scoot away, trying to give her space, but Galinda grabs onto her wrist.

“Isn’t this a great song?” Galinda says, and flops backward. “Ugh, I missed being here so much. You’re totally right, by the way, I think I need to be in this inn forever. I need my music and my donuts and everything. God.”

Elphaba lies down next to her tentatively, eyes big. She is so painfully cute, Galinda realizes, and she can’t quite look away. “You don’t want to live in the Emerald City?” she asks.

Galinda scoffs. “No,” she says, “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“Before you told me that you weren’t going to be here much longer,” Elphaba says, and leaves it there but glances across the bed at Galinda. She focuses on filling her lungs with air, letting her chest and stomach rise and fall flat to the mattress.

“I think I was wrong about that, too,” Galinda says. “Elphie, when I was there I was at this bar and the guy I was flirting with while I was there— I mean, he was flirting with me, it wasn’t strictly reciprocal— but he was just so city, and so boring, and… you’re more interesting than him. Everyone here is, but you especially.”

Elphaba’s eyes are still so wide. “Galinda?” she says, and her voice pitches up quietly. “I’m really glad that you’re back.”

Galinda blushes again and rolls slightly closer, beaming. “You’re so sweet,” she says, and Elphaba blinks up at her. Their faces are very close again, just like before only it’s slower now. Galinda sucks in a shaky breath.

Elphaba just stares up at her and Galinda stares right back. When she’d kissed that boy back at the bar, whatever his name had been, it hadn’t felt anything like this. Galinda had forgotten what it felt like to want over the weekend but now it’s back and she can hardly stand it. She leans closer.

“Galinda,” Elphaba says again, and her voice is pitched lower, and it sounds like a warning this time. Like she’s reminding Galinda to come back to herself, like she’s hoping this will all just go away and be easy again. Outside the window Galinda can hear the train whistle again, the faint lapping of the waves. Inside there is the jangling of the music, metallic and smooth and halfway to imaginary. Galinda sucks in another breath, even shakier.

“I want to,” she says, and blinks down at Elphaba. “Do you want to?”

Elphaba looks up at her and doesn't answer, just for a moment, eyes blinking. And then, jaw adjusting and lip sucked into her mouth and then freed, all moistened and glistening, she nods.

It all feels dreadfully real all of a sudden. Galinda remembers her whole day in bits and pieces, the chill outside, the draft that follows into her bedroom. Galinda can imagine her own face hanging above Elphaba’s, pale and circular like the moon but much more baffled, more nervous. She doesn’t know what to do exactly, not really. It’s never been like this before.

And so it goes in small moments that, later that night, Galinda will struggle to pick back up. She leans forward very carefully and meets Elphaba’s lips diagonally from above, and Elphaba moves her head up the slightest bit to press against her, and the first kiss is light and just for a moment like they’re remembering how to do it. Second kiss, she supposes, but who’s counting?

Galinda pulls away and Elphaba is still there, flat on her comforter, contrasting quite delightfully with the palest of pinks that adorns Galinda’s bed. She blinks.

“I think you’re really wonderful, Elphie,” Galinda says. She’s not sure what exactly it means in this moment but it is true, undeniably so, and Elphaba smiles up at her and lets her kiss her again.

As a rule Galinda tries not to sleep with people when it’s going to mean something. Boyfriends are, of course, the exception but she’s only consummated such relationships after they begin and she isn’t one to do feelings first and sex after. But in this case meaning is inevitable, isn't it? She’s never been with a friend in this way but then again, she’s never had a friend like Elphaba.

Galinda wiggles up a bit further on the bed and Elphaba follows her so that her head is against a pillow— Galinda has seven on the bed, so it isn’t hard— and Galinda has space to curl above her. It’s all very sweet and tentative, careful, but Galinda is happy to lead the way. With the kissing, at least, she knows exactly what she wants.

She adjusts herself so that one knee is on either side of Elphie’s body, the inside of her calves squeezing at her pretty waist and sleep shorts grazing the tops of green thighs. From this angle she can lean in closer, let her hair tumble to the left and over her shoulder. She can plant her hands on either side of Elphaba’s head and kiss her and kiss her, she can suck on her bottom lip and settle her weight on Elphaba’s abdomen. Elphaba’s hands don’t move.

“You can touch me,” she says, breaking away to kiss Elphaba’s ear and her jawline, moving one green hand to hover just away from her waist. “I mean it, you can.”

And so, a little nervously at first, Elphaba does. Galinda hates to show her hand too soon but the second she feels skin on skin she moans, just a little bit, into Elphie’s mouth. Here’s the thing: she’s dressed for bed and her clothes aren’t skimpy, not exactly, but they’re not exactly full coverage either and Elphaba’s fingers slip under Galinda’s loose top without even trying to so her warm hand is squeezing at her stomach and waist and, well.

So what, so she moans a little! Galinda can tell Elphaba’s noticed because she smiles into their kiss, squeezing her waist a little tighter and sliding her other hand up to trace at Galinda’s back. It only serves to make her kiss harder.

Galinda would make the excuse that she’s just touch starved, that it’s been too long since she’s made out with someone or even since she’s allowed herself to feel real desire like this. She’d make that excuse but it wouldn’t be true, and Galinda does not like to be in the business of lying to herself when she can help it. She doesn’t know what it is that’s plaguing her but she knows it matters, and so she decides to pay attention. This is not like those countless nights where she’s lain awake touching herself with her mind deliberately free of desire. This is not that.

She wants this. She can tell.

Maybe she should be embarrassed by just how much she wants this, is the thing. They’re kissing messy and wet, it’s sloppy and when Galinda takes a break to suck at the back of Elphaba’s neck until it turns a lovely deep green the same color as her blush she thinks about it all. The music is still playing, far away upstairs she can hear the squeak of some pipes and the rushing of some water. She tunes it out as best she can and nudges Elphaba’s chin with the tip of her nose to push her head up.

When their lips are together again she bites down on Elphaba’s bottom lip again and sucks, kissing harder and deeper and with tongue and the rumbling of pleasure deep in her chest. Elphaba seems just as eager as she is, hands both coming up to rest side by side at the small of Galinda’s back and sending a rush of pinpricks through her whole body. She grinds down just a little.

Just a little, but still she feels Elphaba’s eyes flutter open in surprise. It had been a move of desperation, filled to the brim with such intense energy that it started to spill out against her will. She’d pressed into Elphaba’s abdomen just the slightest bit, had just barely rocked her hips forward, had sighed into her mouth just a little! But Elphaba pauses and waits until Galinda does the same and, because she’s so goddamn sweet, she meets Galinda’s eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asks, and she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. There’s a certain way she looks down at her own body that Galinda hopes she never sees again, a certain reverence that Galinda looks at Elphie with that Elphie herself doesn’t seem to recognize.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Galinda says, and leans back in to kiss her. She slides up just slightly so that Elphaba’s hands drift to her ass, one stays there but the other moves away self consciously and traces up her hip and side and to her ribs until she shivers.

Then Elphaba breaks away again, the nerve of her! “I just… I didn’t realize you were even…” Elphaba starts, and looks up at Galinda’s flushed cheeks. “Um. That you wanted this with girls, I guess.”

Galinda huffs, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Do we really have to talk about that right now?” she asks, eyebrows raised, and it’s an expression she’s spent a long time perfecting. It works just like Galinda had known it would, Elphaba gulps and nods and gets back to work.

Which, in this case, means that her fingertips graze ever so lightly at the bottom hemline of Galinda’s shorts, glancing across her thighs but never daring to push them away or overstep. It’s adorable but it only serves to make Galinda a little unsettled; she swallows and lets her chest slide against Elphaba’s while she moves, letting Elphaba’s thigh fall between her legs rather deliberately. She does it on purpose, of course, but she isn’t prepared for the gasp that she lets out when that thigh makes contact between her legs by accident. She blinks, eyes wide and face flushed and heart beating in her ears. Elphaba smiles at her shyly.

So, just to make things a little easier, Galinda tugs her shirt off. It’s a sleep shirt, she isn’t wearing anything under it, Elphaba’s eyes lock onto the place between her breasts where her silver necklace chain falls and then dip lower, over the freckle at the top of her stomach and the flat planes of her muscles and, and, and.

Every time Galinda has slept with a boy they love it when she takes her shirt off— can she help it? She’s really quite gorgeous! This, though, feels different. Where in the past it had been something of a performance this feels real, she shivers in delight when Elphaba looks at her that way and moves forward so eagerly when Elphaba takes her own shirt off, sucking marks into the space around her thin black bra and glancing over the hardened nipples she finds there. God, she’s perfect.

And she almost says as much but Elphaba grabs her by the back of her head and kisses her for a long while, so she doesn't really get the chance, and by the time she lets her go she’s forgotten the order of her words.

They’re lying side by side again, curled around each other, and Galinda presses herself deliberately into Elphaba’s thigh again. Elphaba blushes, and blinks up at her owlishly, and murmurs, “you want to?”

“Obviously,” Galinda huffs, and Elphaba smiles and props herself up on one arm to tug her rings off. It’s so attractive that Galinda has to take steadying breaths through her mouth, all wrought with anticipation, and then the nerves creep in.

“Elphie?” Galinda says, and Elphaba turns back to look at her and she’s smiling questioningly and carefully and Galinda wants to bind herself to this moment for as long as she can. “I haven’t… you know,” she mutters, not sure where the sudden self consciousness is coming from. She has never felt this way before during sex, she has never been nervous.

But Elphaba just furrows her brow. “You haven’t…?”

“Done this. With a woman.” It is maybe embarrassing to admit. It feels important nevertheless. She fidgets with her sleep shorts and notes that she’s quite wet, that she’s burning all throughout herself, that her throat is all choked up with want. She swallows it down.

Elphaba smiles and looks a little relieved at that response. “Oh,” she hums, and shrugs. “That’s okay. I can show you.”

And this is the story of how, on that bright autumnal day in October, Galinda and Elphaba sleep together for the first time. It is quite wonderful, Galinda thinks. Elphaba holds her and leans over her just the slightest bit and then lies beside her and grazes her hands all over Galinda’s body, so lightly just to tease but she’s so worked up already that she’s panting from it. Embarrassing. She focuses on the green expanse of Elphaba’s body, as much of it as she can see, and blinks and meets Elphaba’s eyes.

“Pretty,” Elphaba murmurs, and sucks a kiss into Galinda’s collarbone. She shudders. It’s all too much, Elphaba’s hands have been everywhere and they’re just touching, and they’re not doing, so it’s not enough. She frowns and presses herself closer to Elphaba, pulling her more near by the back of her neck.

“Elphie,” she grumbles, and pouts up at her, “do something.”

Elphaba shoots her an incredulous little smile. “I’m going to!” she insists, and presses a kiss on Galinda’s breast that makes all her breath leave her in one shaky push. “Be patient, you’re so bossy.”

She’s teasing like she always does but it lights up Galinda anyway, makes her hips twitch and fidget and then she lies very still and lets Elphaba continue, lets her trace circles on Galinda’s chest and stomach and on the inside of her thighs until she tires herself out. Elphaba blinks up at her again after a little while, when her thumb is making little zig zags on Galinda’s stomach and she’s trying very hard not to move. “Can you take your shorts off?” she asks, and Galinda nods and scrambles to push them off with her legs, they lie strewn on the floor somewhere with her underwear. Elphaba giggles, not patronizing or teasing but genuinely sweet. Galinda beams.

It’s all very soft and close; Elphaba is breathing right next to her face so it’s warm and she’s pressed up against her, lying sideways on the bed beside her with one hand working between Galinda’s legs. It traces patterns on the tops of her thighs and presses them apart after a minute, sliding up through the wetness that’s collected in between her legs. Galinda sucks in a gasp, shaky and harsh, and clutches onto Elphaba’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Elphaba murmurs, and her cheeks are all flushed again. She licks her lips nervously. “You’re, um… you really want this, don’t you?”

Galinda can hardly stand it, she squeezes Elphaba’s shoulder tighter and meets her gaze. “Elphaba Thropp, can you just touch me already?” she hisses, and Elphaba blinks and nods and then she does.

At the start she seems a little afraid of making a mistake, holding Galinda so softly and touching her so well. It gets a little messier the more Galinda moves, though, the more she moans. She’s never been loud before but it spills out of her now before she can stop it, whines and gasps and she keeps tugging Elphaba closer to her just to give her a little kiss in the midst of it all. Her finger on Galinda’s clit resonates everywhere, sharp and blissful, and Galinda wants more.

“Can you go inside?” she pants, and presses a kiss to Elphaba’s jaw, and Elphaba’s eyes widen. She nods.

She has to adjust, taking her hand away from Galinda for a moment and Galinda lets out a huff of protest. She’s back soon, though, and she starts with one finger, and then two, and Galinda is gasping at the sensation. “God,” she mutters, and Elphaba smiles.

“You like that?” she asks, and she’s genuinely asking, and Galinda swallows and nods, eyes closed.

“Elphie,” she starts, but then Elphaba’s finger starts to draw faster little circles around her clit and the rest of her sentence dissolves into a moan, and Elphaba swallows and goes faster. God.

She’s ridiculously close, and it is ridiculous, Galinda hardly knows how she ended up here. Her pulse is rushing in her eardrums and she can only make out the blurs of the reality she’s in, the sounds and smells and things all around her. When she opens her eyes Elpahaba is right there, green and blinking and wide eyed. She sees Galinda watching her and smiles encouragingly, sweetly, and that is all it takes. Embarrassingly, terribly, horribly, that is all it takes.

Galinda comes fast and hard. Elphaba’s hand, the one not between her legs, has recently made its way to her hair and it tugs ever so gently, which makes her screw her eyes shut in pleasure. Her own palm is flat against a green back. She hasn’t come this hard in quite a while, of course, and her eyelashes flutter.

“So pretty,” Elphaba murmurs in the midst of it, and kisses her. “So good, Galinda.”

Her cheeks are surely beet red, her chest and neck surely match. When she comes down she’s shuddering a little bit and she sucks in one quick breath through her nose and opens her eyes carefully. Elphaba, beside her, is a little sweaty and a lot smiley. She is looking at Galinda like she's just witnessed something very special, and it’s a little flattering, Galinda has to admit. She likes it, she has to admit.

It’s probably the best sex she’s ever had. No need to dwell on it now, she’ll come back to that later. Not everything has to be thought about all of the time.

Galinda has never felt embarrassed after sex, either, so maybe this is a night full of firsts. She tugs herself away from Elphaba just the slightest bit but presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist where her pulse is, and she feels it pumping under her lips. Elphaba smiles. Her legs are sticky where they’ve been pressed against Elphaba’s, her face is slick, it is soaked between her thighs.

“That was,” Galinda starts, and then swallows. What is there to say, what can she say that Elphaba doesn’t already know? “Um, can I…?”

She gestures at Elphaba, her shirtless frame and the hemline of her sweatpants. She hates how stupid she sounds, like an idiot starstruck by the sight of anyone naked around her. Elphaba smiles at her kindly anyway.

“It, um, it probably won’t take me very long,” Elphaba says. She says it like she’s worried Galinda will laugh, or something. Galinda feels another flutter of pleasure at the thought.

“Why, Elphie,” she says, and smiles until her nose crinkles and her dimple pops back out, “you really liked that, didn’t you?”

Elphaba’s face is burning. She turns away to tug off her pants— she leaves her bra and underwear on, Galinda notices, but she isn’t going to push it, and crawls back over. “Maybe I can just,” she says, and gestures at Galinda’s thigh resting on the bed tentatively. Galinda blinks.

“You’d rather do it yourself?” she asks, and Elphaba nods gratefully.

“Maybe just for now,” she says, and Galinda ignores the fact that they’re clearly both thinking about a potential next time to nod. She tugs Elphaba closer.

“Just do me one favor?” she asks, and Elphaba nods back at her, positioning herself so that she’s sitting on Galinda’s tensed thigh. She can feel how wet she is through the thin layer of fabric, even.

“Of course,” Elphaba says, eyes big, “anything.”

“Kiss me?”

And so Elphaba does. She’s right, it doesn’t take long— she grinds down on Galinda’s thigh and moans at the feeling, so small and delicate but Galinda wants to bottle it up to hear every time she ever wants anything ever again. She builds up a rhythm, and drops forward to kiss Galinda hard and suck on her lip this time, and then the rhythm gets faster.

She can tell Elphaba is close. She doesn’t know quite what to say, of course, but it’s coming and so she presses Elphaba’s hair away from her face and meets her eyes and nods, and just like that Elphaba comes. She is beautiful. She’s not as loud as Galinda but it’s all the more thoughtful, careful gasps and sucked in breaths and when she comes she buries her face in the space between Galinda’s neck and shoulder and Galinda can feel her heartbeat and the trace of her lips. She stays there for a long time.

“That was really good,” Galinda tells her when she’s finally rolled back over and has flopped down onto the bed, both of them side by side and sweating. The apartment feels very hot, music is still playing but Galinda’s head is rather fuzzy and she doesn’t spend much time listening to it.
Elphaba clears her throat.

“Are you, um,” Elphaba starts, and trails off anxiously. Galinda understands. Is this one of those situations where people are supposed to talk? She’d love to talk to Elphaba, she always would, but maybe it could be about easier things. She’s not quite in the headspace to make broad definitions or proclamations and anyway, her thighs are still trembling.

“I’m going to carve the pumpkins out on the stoop tomorrow morning,” Galinda blurts, and Elphaba glances her way in surprise. “Maybe you could help me?”

It’s absolutely absurd to ask her without any clothes on, with Elphaba’s long calves flexing at the foot of the bed and with Galinda’s thin wrists slipped over her own breasts to feel the thumping of her heart. Probably Elphaba should laugh at her but she doesn’t, she just gives her a look out of the corner of her eye that’s a little incredulous but still kind. She nods.

“Yeah, okay,” she murmurs, and fidgets with the strap of her black bra thoughtlessly. “I’ve never carved a pumpkin before, actually.”

“Never?” Galinda yelps, and just like that things are back to normal. “Well, that’s disturbing to hear, quite frankly. Thank goodness you’re staying with us, Halloween is a very big deal around these parts.”

“What, in town?” Elphaba asks, and rolls over so that she can tug her sweatpants and shirt back up from the ground. Galinda tries to ignore her as she puts them back on, looking steadily up at the ceiling. “That’s fun, I bet.”

“No, I meant these parts. The inn. My apartment. You’re going to help me decorate tomorrow too, Elphaba Thropp, and you’d better come prepared.”

“So now you throw all that gunk into the bucket here,” Galinda instructs, scooping a handful of seeds and pulp out from the perfect orange pumpkin she’s got in her lap and chucking it behind her shoulder. “Oh, don’t be precious about it, you can get your hands a little dirty.”

“Coming from you,” Elphaba mutters, but she plunges her hand into the pumpkin anyway with only a small grimace. Galinda nods happily.

They’re out on the front steps to do this, and Galinda keeps sucking in huge mouthfuls of autumn air. She’s pulled the Halloween decorations out of storage, too— bags and bags of fake cobwebs to string across the porch and the wrought iron fence and even the bushes in the garden, a giant grim reaper that she will prop up near the mailbox. Elphaba had raised her eyebrows incredulously when Galinda had hauled it out of the basement— it is taller than her, so it takes a bit of elbow grease.

“It’s fun,” Galinda insists, tossing another handful of pulp behind her shoulder. “Now hurry up, we’ve got a lot of these to get through.”

“Are you putting anyone else to work like this, or is it just me?” Elphaba asks. They’re sitting rather close to each other and Galinda is trying hard not to think of last night, of Elphaba’s fingers and wherever they may lead.

“Just you,” Galinda says cheerfully, picking up her pocketknife and running it along the groove of the pumpkin, sizing it up. “Think of it like you’re paying your dues. For lying to me, you know.”

Elphaba flushes. “I’ll pay extra for my father,” she starts, and Galinda waves her hand— the hand with the knife, probably a poor decision and Elphaba dodges it with wide eyes.

“Stop it, no you won’t. I was just kidding. But you do have to help me, so get to work, you’re slowing us both down.”

They carve four pumpkins before noon and Galinda has to help Elphaba with her first, holding the knife steady and ignoring the flutter in her chest that the contact of their hands brings. Elphaba makes them break for lunch, annoyingly, but Galinda has her back out in no time with an armful of cobwebs and a wary look on her face.

“Just make it look creepy,” Galinda tells her, waving an arm over the hedge and the spikes of the fence. “Like haunted hotel style.”

“So just normal, then,” Elphaba quips and Galinda tosses a spiderweb into her face. “Oh, ew, Galinda, this is so dusty!”

“Stop complaining and get to work, then!” Galinda huffs, and grabs a handful of spiders from a pile on the stairs. “Better make it good, I’ve got very high standards.”

“I know,” Elphaba mutters, but she gives Galinda a lopsided smirk and Galinda beams back. Elphaba can be so fun, it’s a gift.

“So,” Galinda hums when they’ve gotten into a rhythm, tossing Elphaba another plastic spider to affix to the knot of cobweb she’s finished stabbing into the fence, “last night you said to me that you’d tell me more about your father?”

Elphaba blushes almost instantaneously and Galinda realizes her mistake— the mention of last night, even so casually. She powers through it though and Elphaba seems to recover, nodding.

“I did say that,” she agrees, and holds out her hand for another spider. “What do you want to know?”

And sure, maybe Galinda had said she’d ask about Elphaba’s father but she’s really more curious about Elphaba herself, all the intricacies of such a life. “So you grew up religious?” she asks, “The… what was it called, the group he started?”

“The Cloth Hill Unionists,” Elphaba supplies. “I did. It was very… hm. A lot of rules.”

Galinda just nods. Elphaba’s mind seems to be elsewhere and she’s willing to wait. In the meantime she fixes some of the spiderwebs Elphaba has hung up— conspicuously, of course, just to make them look more realistic. These sorts of things matter! Everyone will know if the decorator’s heart isn’t in it!

“They’re not big on medicine,” Elphaba says. “They believe in faith healing— Nessa and I got a lot of that growing up, on account of the green and her being in a wheelchair and… well, when my mother died it only got worse, and that’s part of the reason we don’t know what’s wrong with him. He won’t see a doctor.”

“Even if it… well, if it kills him?” Galinda asks quietly. Elphaba lets out a humorless little puff of a laugh.

“Even if,” she agrees. “So yeah, I grew up religious. Church twice a week, he liked Nessa and I to read a lot of sermons, prayers every night, that kind of thing. That’s actually what made me stop believing in God, if you’d believe it— I used to pray for Frex a lot. That his followers would forget about him and he could just be a normal dad again. And it didn’t work, clearly.”

Galinda feels a knot in her stomach at that. She swallows. “Oh, Elphie…”

“It’s alright,” Elphaba says, and when Galinda shakes her head she smiles. “No, I know it’s not alright but I’ve gotten past it, I’ve spent a lot of time working through all that stuff. Don’t you worry about me.”

“I do, though,” Galinda replies. “I worry.”

Elphaba smiles at her like she’s being very sweet. It’s similar to how she’d smiled last night and Galinda feels a shock of it in her stomach against her will.

“If it’s okay with you, though, I do have a question,” Elphaba asks, and Galinda nods eagerly. “I was hoping to have him spend some time out of the room— I know there’s music down in the parlor, and you’ve got those benches out in the garden…”

Galinda gasps. “Oh, absolutely! Elphie, I am going to be the most helpful that I can possibly be. What do sick people need, do you know? I practically have a lifetime supply of Ozmopolitan because of Pfannee and Shenshen, I can ask them to send me archival copies even…”

Elphaba laughs. “That’s really nice of you,” she says. “Just the walking around would be good, honestly. I think my father would probably combust if he read a word of Ozmopolitan.”

“That’s fair,” Galinda shrugs. “What, he’s not big on tips on how to hook a man by the fifth date?”

“Probably not,” Elphaba replies cheerfully. “He’s not big on a lot of things, if we’re being honest. Women in pants. Vegetarians. Halloween. Me, some of the time.”

“Well, he’s stupid,” Galinda says, and then claps her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry! Probably I shouldn’t say that now, it’s just—”

But Elphaba cackles. “It’s just that you love Halloween that much?”

“Well, that too,” Galinda allows, shrugging a shoulder. “But really, Elphie, I’m so sorry. And for you especially to hear that all your life…”

Elphaba gives her a little smile and shrugs right back. “It’s really okay,” she says. “It’s different now.”

Galinda studies her with her lips pursed and a knot of spiderweb stuck between two of her fingers. Elphaba’s face is so open and honest and Galinda sort of wants to kiss it again, maybe just a little.

“How about this,” she says to distract herself, and Elphaba turns to her a bit warily. “When we finish this we’re going to sit down at the desk and make a schedule for your father, okay? Walks and music and… and Killyjoy is a great therapy dog once he calms down a bit, there could be something there? I’ll cook dinner for the three of us tonight and we’ll see how it goes.”

And Elphaba is so nice about it all, so positively perfect in her sweetness. She compliments the dinner Galinda’s made even though it is terrible, pretends she doesn’t know what’s wrong when Galinda scampers back down to the kitchen to grab a whole loaf of sourdough as a substitute for the scorched excuse for food she's served.

“Father,” she says, at the foot of Frex’s bed with a mug of tea in one hand, “this is Galinda. You met her out on the beach, remember?”

Frex looks up at her, all propped on the pillows, and nods assuredly although Galinda wonders if he does remember. “Hi, um… Mr. Thropp,” Galinda says, and Elphaba smiles at her. “I thought maybe I could read to you? Keeps me agile.”

He doesn’t answer, not really, but Elphaba nods at her so encouragingly and when Galinda starts, voice a little low and lips parched after a handful of pages, she is sitting quietly and watching. There’s something undeniably compelling about being watched, Galinda can feel two sets of eyes on her and they are boring holes into the book she's holding— one of those old classics she’d probably had to read in high school, familiar only in name. The words are cloying and sticky in her throat but she rolls through them anyway and it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? To be useful like this.

“Thank you,” Elphaba tells her when it’s gotten late and she’s stepped into the hall to make her way back downstairs. The lights are off except for the one in Elphaba’s room and Galinda is going to make her way down to her apartment in the dark too, she doesn’t need the light, she knows her way around. This is her place, after all. “You really didn’t have to do that, so just… thank you.”

“I feel like I did, sort of,” Galinda says thoughtfully. “I like to know what’s happening in my inn— and don’t you go getting all guilty about that, it’s extremely annoying.”

Elphaba, wide eyed, shakes her head.

“Good. His new schedule starts tomorrow,” Galinda says crisply, and Elphaba is very close to her in the darkness and she smells like sugar and the laundry detergent that Galinda doesn’t measure out down in the basement. “Bring him down to breakfast and we’ll— will you be out on the beach in the morning?”

Elphaba blinks. “I mean… do you want me to be?”

“Killyjoy and I will be waiting by the door at seven,” Galinda tells her. “Don’t be late or we’re leaving without you, neither of us likes to be kept waiting.”

“I know that,” Elphaba says, and there’s a smile in her voice, only Galinda can’t really make out the intricacies of her face in this light. “Seven o’clock, then.”

“Good,” Galinda nods. “I’ll see you, okay?”

And she turns to go but feels the faintest glimmer of a finger at her shoulder and so she stops, rolling her neck. Elphaba is waiting.

“Um… Galinda?” Elphaba says, and her voice sounds small. Galinda turns in her direction and nods, face open and wide. “I, well, I understand if you don’t want to talk about the other night, and everything, but I—”

Galinda’s heart is in her ears. She leans forward and touches Elphaba’s face, her cheek and chin and feels her press into it ever so slightly.

She doesn’t have much of a response to it— she’d rather not, at this sleepy time of night, delve into what she wants right now or what it all means— so she just leans forward, presses her lips firm and solid to Elphaba’s for a tiny moment and then pulls away, smiling.

“Oh,” Elphaba says, and blinks. “Okay.”

Galinda fidgets, stepping from one foot to the other. What a dilemma she has found herself in. Elphaba’s breathing steadies out and Galinda thinks of her bed, her room and the softness of her pillow. She thinks of Elphaba beside her there, Elphaba with a hand between her legs calling her pretty and good and watching her, face flushed and eyes very wide. There’s some impassable gulch between what Galinda wants and what she will get.

The thing is, perhaps, that she’s always seen everything as inevitable. Is this fated to happen or is she making this choice herself, stepping past the thin chalky lines drawn around her by whoever calls the shots? Maybe she is choosing something right now. It’s a terrifying thought, to choose, and so Galinda just smiles.

“Goodnight,” she says, and doesn’t hear Elphaba’s reply until she’s a quarter of the way down the back staircase. She plays an old album, jazz standards and a singer with a pretty hum of a voice, until the echo of Elphaba saying her name has bleached itself out and she can fall asleep sprawled across as many pillows as she can hold in her two arms.

Chapter Text

Our Dearest Darlingest Galindabear,
We’re writing to you from the most gorgeous spot! Your popsicle’s dear friend from his own Shiz days— Jameson, do you remember him from when you were a little spit of a thing?— owns a lovely sailboat and we’ve been taking it out on the lake now that the weather’s cooled down. We were so delighted to get your postcard from the Emerald City! I hope you gave Pfannee and Shenshen kisses from us. I was reminding your popsicle of how Shenshen used to cry every time her mother would leave her and now she lives so far away, isn’t it funny!

We’ve been thinking of you and of the inn and our lovely grandson— did he love the chew toys we sent along a few weeks ago? Please attach photographs. One day I will have my own grandbaby photos to show off but for now these will do! Only joking, dear, please don’t get angry with us again!

We didn’t quite understand what you mean about elderly people and music therapy? I have no idea whether Killyjoy will be distressed by the premise of illness— what does that mean, dear? I think Killyjoy is a big strong dog who I am very proud of and who knows how to balance his life and his work more than he currently does, if that’s what you mean. I think Killyjoy would do well to remember that no one in his family was ever deathly ill, dear, and you don’t need to worry about all that stuff until you get old and wrinkly like me anyway. If he asks you can tell him I said that.

I am so glad you’ve made a new friend! You always were so good at that! You love so hard, darling, and it’s one of my favorite things about you! I’m happy to hear you’re keeping busy and you know, Chuffrey was only a blip. You’ll find someone.

(Or not! Your popsicle is leaning over my shoulder and he would like me to tell you that you don’t have to get married anytime soon and of course you know that isn’t what I meant, baby, but we’ll appease him just this once!)

Lots of kisses and hugs and more!

From your ever loving Momsie and your dearest Popsicle

Halloween comes and goes and then it is the first day of November, all of a sudden, and there’s a frost on all the leaves and blades of grass when Galinda goes out in her slippers to get the mail. Terrible, horrible, and she will walk on the beach anyway.

She meets Elphaba and her father for a walk down to the water every morning and then they sit for a while before breakfast, Galinda will draw and Elphaba will write to her sister and Frex will stare out at the sea with a milky look in his eye that Galinda tries not to be afraid of. Then they will go to breakfast— cheddar bacon scones today, Galinda thinks— and Galinda will man the front desk and Frex will nap and Elphaba will be upstairs by his side or downstairs by hers, depending on the day. If she smiles just right and tugs on Elphaba’s hand she can probably sway her vote.

Dinner together, then, and reading aloud every other night. Tonight isn’t one of them, they’re at the penultimate chapter of the book now and Elphaba’s father likes to wait to hear more and calls Galinda a sweet girl, so pretty too and it makes Elphaba flush embarrassedly. Right now Galinda tugs on her thickest socks and finds Elphaba waiting by the door, watching Galinda come down the hall and pretending not to see her. It’s so charming, it’s so maddening.

“My favorite guests!” Galinda chirps, and Elphaba rolls her eyes. “Shall we go?”

Frex only needs to be helped down the dune and then he’s striding ahead to a familiar spot, planting himself down between two stones to look out at the waves. “His feet are going to get wet,” Galinda whispers, and Elphaba glances her way.

“I think maybe he wants them to,” she murmurs. “It’s something to do, isn’t it?”

And maybe she has a point. It’s like how Galinda sometimes wants to throw all her things into the river and start all over again. It’s in the small things— maybe God is a thimble, Elphaba had told her at the bonfire with all that wine, and Galinda loves the way she smirks. She swings her hand by her side deliberately so that it brushes against Elphaba’s, so that before they sit down and work side by side she’s sure Elphaba will be thinking of her too. The backs of their hands slide against each other once, sharp.

They haven’t slept together since that first time. They’ve never really talked about it either, Galinda has made sure of that. There had been that most recent kiss, just reassuring, but now a hefty dry spell filled only with the prickly feeling that means Elphie is watching her, the way Galinda stares at her in return.

But god, she thinks about it. Can that be helped? She’s never spent much time dwelling on sex in the past, no time at all replaying moments in her head but this is something different and she knows it, too.

After a sip or two of scotch on some odd nights Galinda lets herself think about it, really think about it. What does that make her? She can’t remember ever having been interested in a girl, not like that, she’s always just been Galinda. People are supposed to know these things, they’re supposed to realize it when they’re kids and grow up all self assured and honest with their surroundings. Galinda has never felt self assured despite what she acts like. Galinda doesn’t think she knew anything when she was a child but, then again, she doesn’t know anything now either.

And anyway, she’s not interested in Elphaba, not like that. Is she? It’s not love or romance or anything, it’s just her life at the moment. It’s November now and when she touches herself, rare and sporadically, she thinks of Elphaba’s hand between her legs and the way her eyes had looked up at her when she’d come. There is a big difference between sex and a relationship and anyway, it’s not like they’re having sex either.

But November comes in like a lion— that’s March, Galinda knows it, but bear with her— and she’s sitting on the freezing beach with Elphaba at her hip. She can see her scrawled cursive out of the corner of her eye. The letterhead has a print of the inn at the top and her penmanship is slanted and angry, the sharp point of Nessa’s name the biggest thing on the page thus far. Galinda has her own paper in front of her, she’s sketching the divot in her bed when she’d gotten up for a sip of water in the middle of the night, but she can’t help glancing over.

She only catches a few words, anyway. Cannot and roast dinner, a line halfway down the page about how Halloween hadn’t even bothered Frex considering he didn’t know it was happening. I know you don’t like it either, Elphaba continues, but I had fun and I wanted you to know that. I think I’m almost, and then the curve of her hand cuts off the rest and Galinda has to look away so that she isn’t caught spying.

“How’s your sister?” Galinda asks, looking out at the tide and she feels Elphaba put her pen down.

“Good, I think,” Elphaba replies. “In the last letter I got from her she said people were starting to really appreciate her fresh take on things. New blood, or whatever. She didn’t ask much about my father.”

Galinda nods. “You know,” she says, and breathes in shakily in the middle of her sentence, “you can stay here for as long as you want. I really do mean that.”

Elphaba looks to her left over her shoulder, over where Galinda is waiting, and smiles with her lips all bunched to one side. She nods.

“I don’t think she likes that we’re here,” Elphaba says quietly. “She can be a little bit controlling. I can be too, sometimes, but…”

Galinda snorts. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “I noticed that, actually.”

Elphaba squints at her, and then she smiles. “Okay,” she hums. “Yeah. Galinda who can’t let anyone else touch her inn. Galinda who knows when there’s a leaky faucet.”

“I don’t know everything,” Galinda protests, but there’s a glimmer of pleasure in her chest at Elphaba’s fond tone. The air is so chilly that she can almost feel her lips chapping, the ends of her hair are probably about to freeze off. Elphaba just smiles down at her letter and picks the pen up again, scratching something in inky cursive. Galinda lets out a deep breath.

It doesn’t take much to get Elphaba behind the desk that day. They have breakfast, and Galinda’s mouth tastes like chives, and Frex is especially quiet. Elphaba’s fidgeting with her letter and Galinda will take it and leave it on top of the pile of outgoing mail— she’ll take it to the post office herself, even, and make sure it gets where it’s meant to go. Afterwards Elphaba starts to lead her father up the back stairs and Galinda lingers at the bottom and clears her throat.

“Elphie?” she asks, and Elphaba glances back at her immediately. It makes her feel delightfully powerful, which ricochets through her body in a most improper sort of way.

“I’ll be right down,” she nods, and Galinda smiles.

The movie theater is playing an old movie that Galinda has always loved, one of those classic musicals that makes her feel all warm and tucked up in bed every time she sees it. “Crope and Tibbett already went because they like each other more than they like me, now,” she pouts. “And Milla doesn’t like musicals, can you believe that? She thinks they’re freaky.”

“Can you believe,” Elphaba echoes, picking through the bowl of leftover Halloween candy that Galinda has thrust into her hands, an offering.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like candy,” Galinda huffs. “Are you an alien? Or a robot, or something? Anyway, are you coming with me?”

“I do like candy,” Elphaba huffs, and picks out a little salted caramel square. Galinda resists the urge to roll her eyes. “And coming… where?”

“To the movie, obviously,” Galinda says, and plucks some coconut chocolate from the bin. “God, do you think Crope’s trying to kill me off with this savory breakfast streak he’s in? Maybe he’s plotting to steal the inn right out from under my cold dead hands.”

“That’s definitely it,” Elphaba says dryly.

“I know. So you’re coming, then? I’ll buy your ticket.”

Elphaba looks at her and nibbles the corner of her caramel. She’s going to say yes, Galinda already knows it, but there’s a question in there too. Galinda raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Elphaba sighs. “Okay, I’ll come. But I can buy my own ticket.”

“You’re already paying me enough,” Galinda says, waving her hands wildly. “Speaking of, I’m thinking we should get you a discount for emotional support purposes. You know how people get their dogs registered?”

“What would Killyjoy say?” Elphaba teases. “Absolutely not, Galinda. You know I’ve… well. I’ve got the money.”

Galinda squints at her and Elphaba matches her gaze, squinting right back. Galinda tosses her hair back, rolls her eyes, and throws her hands up.

“Fine. You’re quite stubborn, have you heard?”

“Maybe I’m trying to annoy you to death,” Elphaba says cheerfully. “Me and Crope are in cahoots. I’m trying to steal the inn from your—”

“Not my cold dead hands, Elphie! In that case I think you owe me popcorn tonight.”

Elphaba does buy her the popcorn, is the thing. She’s so earnest. Under the marquee Galinda buys the tickets and Elphaba stuffs cash back into the pocket of Galinda’s delightful autumn coat with a clenched jaw. Inside she buys a box of popcorn, the biggest size, and gives it to Galinda to hold and doesn’t even reach for it until Galinda puts it in her green arms. She seems determined, but Galinda isn’t sure why. Before the movie plays she’s staring straight ahead and Galinda scoots a little closer to her— she’s warm, it’s nice— and Elphaba just glances at her with her eyes all squinty again.

“Are you one of those people who talks during movies?” she murmurs, and Galinda nearly spits out a mouthful of popcorn. Elphaba raises her eyebrows at the display, amused, and Galinda can’t help but think of Frex asleep in bed and Mrs. Sharpe at the desk and Killyjoy gnawing on one of his bones in the quiet of the place they’ve left.

“Absolutely not,” she huffs, and Elphaba smiles. “Is that really how you think of me?”

“Shh, it’s starting,” Elphaba tells her, and bites down on a laugh when Galinda lets out an affronted squeak. It’s only the previews, after all, and the lights have barely dimmed.

“I do not care for that assessment,” she hisses after a moment. “I pay attention to what I watch. I am a scholar, Elphaba.”

“You’re talking,” Elphaba whispers back. Galinda gasps and then groans so loudly that an old woman in the aisle behind them shushes her. It’s Mr. Quince’s wife and Galinda gives her a bright smile and a little wave, which she returns.

“How do you know everyone,” Elphaba says, looking on fondly. “You’re made for this town, did you know that?”

“You’re talking,” Galinda parrots, and smirks when Elphaba rolls her eyes. It does feel nice, though. Where it had once felt restricting to be part of this place as much as it is a part of her it only feels… important, perhaps, now. Like there’s a point to all of this that she’s close to reaching, some answer circled and underlined that is just a few breaths away from being realized.

The movie is just like she remembers it. It’s all pink and soft feeling, Galinda finds herself swooning just a little over the romance and she can’t imagine what Elphaba’s feeling, so she chances a little glance over in her direction and finds Elphaba’s eyes creeping over her way too, at the same time. Galinda bites at the inside of her cheek.

Their knuckles brush, because of course they do, later on. Galinda feels it in her throat. She wants, wants so strongly she can’t even comprehend it. She wants to hold that skin in hers, wants to crawl across the plastic armrest between them and squeeze Elphaba by the face. She wants to call her Elphie until she blushes all deep green from it, because she does that sometimes. Galinda does not move her hand.

Probably she needs to figure this out. She’d seen Chuffrey when she was dropping off the mail and Elphaba’s letter had burned in her hand, she’d given him an awkward little smile and he’d waved and she’d wanted to crawl inside herself. Chuffrey is a dead end, a stopped train.

Elphaba is so good, that is the thing. She waits for Galinda to pick every last kernel out of the popcorn box before tossing it in the garbage, she helps tie Galinda’s scarf around her neck— it’s maybe a bit too early for scarves but it’s very fashionable so Galinda had to make an exception— she even walks her home. True, they are going to the same place, but that isn’t how it feels.

“It just makes you wish we all sang all the time, doesn’t it!” Galinda asks, skipping a little bit and drumming her fingers over the top of a mailbox. “It’s so much more romantic that way, Elphie, don’t you think?”

Elphaba watches her warily. “You’re going to crack your head open, the ground’s all frozen over,” she says, and holds onto Galinda’s arm to steady her for a split second. The second Galinda registers it, her hand is gone again and she probably regrets touching her at all, but Galinda’s body is thrumming with it.

“I know what I’m doing,” she insists, but gives up on the skipping. “So did you like the movie? Did you like the singing? I have the whole soundtrack back home, so don’t worry, you can listen to it any time you like.”

“I liked it,” Elphaba agrees shyly. “It kind of reminded me of you.”

And, well, Galinda can’t help but blush at that. She doesn’t know what to say but she walks closer to Elphie the whole way back, and it’s not very far but the night feels empty and expansive and she doesn’t know which direction it’s going in. There are kernels stuck in her molars.

They’re just outside the inn and it’s cold out, Galinda always forgets how freezing November can be on account of the river and the sharp tongue of it. She shivers in her coat, feels Elphaba notice it and open her mouth to ask if she’s alright. Galinda grabs her by the arm.

“It’s good that you have a coat now, Elphie,” she says. “Remember how stubborn you were being a few weeks ago? When you said you didn’t get cold?”

Elphaba rolls her eyes with a smile. “Are you complimenting your own forward thinkingness right now?”

Galinda nods, tossing a strand of hair over her shoulder. She could take them inside but there’s something final about that— when they go inside the night will be well and truly over, Galinda will have to make small talk with Mrs. Sharpe and Elphaba will slink up to her room by way of the back stairs and Galinda won’t see her again until the morning. Sometimes nights feel particularly long and expansive, especially when they’re on the cusp of winter, and she has never had a lot of patience for waiting until morning.

So she stalls. “Can you believe I’ll have to start decorating for Lurlinemas soon? Two weeks or so, I’ve got to pull out all my tinsel.”

“You don’t have to,” Elphaba shrugs, but Galinda shakes her head.

“I obviously do. Also it’s about to get busy again, we always get a rush right before the holidays and then again for cross country ski season. Never tell my popsicle that I said this but I never saw the point in sliding around in the freezing cold on some flimsy old sticks.”

“Not a winter person, hmm?” Elphaba says, and her voice has got that teasing lilt again and she’s drawn herself a little bit closer and Galinda feels a thrill, feels drawn to her and wonders if it would be strange to try to see Elphaba’s breath in the low light.

“I’m multifaceted,” she replies delicately. “God, you know what else? Shenshen’s mother is always trying to get me involved in this horrible caroling group, it’s all these old ladies and they go door to door and honestly I’d rather be shot, Elphie, but I feel like I probably should just do it. Maybe you’ll come with me.”

“Doubtful,” Elphaba replies. She’s so close that Galinda can feel the rumble of her voice, the felty fabric of her jacket. She wonders what Elphaba will look like in the dead of winter— will she wear scarves and gloves or will she not venture out at all? Galinda’s face always turns pink with the snow, will Elphaba’s stay this green? Will it be paler than the state of her face when they’d first met back in August?

Elphaba isn’t going to kiss her. Galinda realizes this all at once, realizes that Elphaba is going to wait for her to define things and reach out and all of it, all because she is sweet and earnest and Elphie, at the end of the day. And Galinda doesn’t know what she wants but she knows that she does— want, that is. She knows that Elphaba’s hands feel warm and alluring when they rest on her waist and she’d quite like to feel it again, it’s quite cold out and her bones will freeze up without it. She shivers again.

“Should we go inside?” Elphaba asks, moving slightly so that Galinda has to tug at her arm to bring her back. It’s cold but it’s not that cold.

“Not yet,” Galinda says. “Elphie? Can we…?”

She knows Elphaba knows exactly what she means because she hesitates, because her eyebrows draw together. Galinda leans closer and a strand of hair falls into her eyes and Elphaba watches it go, has a face like inevitability for a moment. She is going to do it, it is going to happen, and Elphaba isn’t going to stop it. Neither is Galinda.

So in one breath— there she is, tucking that smooth strand of hair behind Galinda’s ear. There she is, leaving her hand steady and cradling Galinda’s jaw and cheek and there, her thumb is tracing slight patterns on the edge of Galinda’s lip and she feels hungry and ravenous and manic, feels like she could breathe in the whole of this town in one gulp.

Galinda’s breath smells like butter. She runs her tongue over her lips and finds them soft even in this chilly weather, bites at the inside of her mouth with her two front teeth and squeezes. Elphaba watches her do it. When they’d slept together she’d seen Elphaba so much, so intimately and now it feels like she should be shy again. It’s like they’ve agreed to let that hang in the balance.

All of the things Galinda has told herself about that first kiss and that first time must be wrong, though. She’d thought she was just pent up but maybe it’s still true, because when Elphaba’s lips touch hers she’s right back where she’d started. She wants to devour.

Elphaba’s back hits the fence and it rattles, the tremble of metal in the cold night air and Galinda stabilizes herself with one hand on the freezing blackness of it and another at Elphaba’s neck to tug her in. Elphaba’s hands settle somewhere around her waist, brushing delicately at the small of her back in a way that makes Galinda feel absolutely sick and plagued with desire. It’s horrible and it is so aching that she can’t stand to think about it anymore.

Elphaba’s lips are soft and warm and glossy, they slide over Galinda’s so easily and she fidgets, presses closer and her hips jut against Elphaba’s and she probably seems desperate, doesn’t she? Galinda Upland doesn’t get desperate but she almost understands what it would be like to feel that way. She wants Elphaba to squeeze her so hard that they’re one and the same, wants to tug on her hair and skin and clothes and never to leave this strange little spot by the cold fence. Her skin could get stuck to it and leave a Galinda shaped hole.

She wants Elphaba to look at her mouth all of the time. She catches her sometimes, following the angle of Galinda’s lips when she’s reading to Frex or when she’s got her bottom lip trapped between her teeth when she’s sketching. It never fails to send a thrill through her body— there is nothing like being wanted. She’s never exactly loved it when boys want her, though it isn’t necessarily bad, but this?

Well. This is different.

Probably she likes Elphaba, probably she’s craving her. Galinda isn’t entirely unsure of herself, really and truly she isn’t. She moves closer.

Elphaba’s tongue is glancing across her own, Elphaba’s hands are squeezing her waist, she smells her and feels her and she should get Elphaba inside and to her bedroom, in fact, she should press Elphaba down on the bed and touch her every place she hadn’t last time. She is beautiful. Galinda tugs at her neck, scratches it, and Elphaba lets out a little groan that’s rough around the edges and entirely honest. Galinda wants.

“Elphie,” she murmurs into Elphaba’s mouth, and Elphaba lets out a hum of acknowledgement before dipping her head to nip at Galinda’s neck. Galinda steps closer, pushes her further into the gate, leans her head back and tries to control her heartbeat but it’s quite hard when Elphaba’s tongue is at her jawline.

“Galinda?” Elphaba murmurs back, and it makes Galinda moan before she realizes Elphaba’s asking what she’d been trying to say. She flushes, Elphaba’s hand glides up her side, Galinda is choking on how badly she wants.

She doesn’t know what she’d been going to say, anyway, not that it matters. Her teeth slide against Elphaba’s lip when she's come back up, and she wedges a hand between the lapels of Elphaba’s felted coat and she feels the swell of Elphaba’s chest, the rise and fall of it. She wants Elphaba’s hands in her hair.

And then Elphie is pulling away just a little bit, hesitant and tentative and smiling lopsidedly, and Galinda wants to yank her back in and kiss her until they freeze out here and turn blue. “It’s late,” she says, and Galinda blinks.

“Not that late.”

Elphaba squints at her and then smiles like she's something precious. “I can’t figure you out,” she hums, and Galinda feels all at once far too scrutinized.

“Me neither,” Galinda mutters. “I’m, um… that was fun.”

There is a flicker of amusement at Elphaba’s lips and then it’s gone, but Galinda can’t stop staring at them all the same. “Fun,” she agrees with a little tug of Galinda’s hand to get her to start walking, quite slowly, up the front path. “You’re a good kisser.”

It’s probably the closest they’ve come to talking about it and the acknowledgement only makes Galinda want her more, want her again, want her up against the wall and into her bedroom. It won’t happen tonight, though, she can tell.

She blushes anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, so are you.”

Mrs. Sharpe wants to talk and the inn is bright and warm and a little awful, it smells like cooking and Galinda feels the popcorn turn in her stomach. She doesn’t want to talk. Elphaba slips away before she can say goodnight. Even her apartment is too bright.

She slips a hand between her legs before she goes to sleep, lying flat on her stomach and biting the corner of her pillow and thinking of the way Elphaba had said her name. The thought of green hands tangled up in her hair and pulling.

There’s something in the air, another of her feelings. Something is going to happen soon, something is going to change. Galinda falls asleep with a stomachache and slick fingers and sweat beading at her brow even though it is freezing outdoors. November— in like a lion, didn’t she mention?

She doesn’t realize she needs to talk to Fiyero until she’s run into him, until she realizes she’s definitely come to the little park at the end of town on purpose. This is his spot, the same way that stretch of the beach she’s always finding herself on is hers. She knows this, he knows this, and yet she only puts the pieces together when she sees the blur of his figure all bundled up in that ridiculous hat with the ear flaps on a bench.

“Funny seeing you here,” he says, and quirks an eyebrow at her. Galinda feels like this might be an important moment so she sits on the bench across from him, just close enough that she can make out the crinkles near his eyes but far enough that she can’t whisper. There’s a dedication written across the back of the bench that she knows by heart, the metal is cold on the backs of her thighs, Galinda toes the half frozen ground with the tip of her boot.

“A coincidence, definitely,” Galinda tells him. “It’s been a minute. My momsie says hello, by the way. She also says that I can do a lot better than you but if I ever need to she’s sure you’d be happy to take me back.”

Fiyero laughs, loud and echoing in the clearing. “Your momsie is a treasure,” he says. “What, are you here to make a marriage pact? How does forty sound? You’ve got twelve years.”

Galinda sticks out her tongue at him. “In your dreams,” she says. “I hope you realize that I’m a real catch.”

“Oh, I realize,” Fiyero smirks, winking, and Galinda rolls her eyes. “Hey, where’s your girl? The pretty one?”

“Elphaba has a name,” Galinda scoffs. Fiyero smiles a little bit wider, catlike.

“Oh, so you did know who I meant!”

Galinda’s face heats. She’s out of practice with him, with the intricacies of their conversations, and he’s caught her again. Elphaba is pretty, though, she’s gorgeous. Sort of like the sensation of the upstairs hallway of the inn when it’s empty and she’s just about to vacuum, that potential energy. Something like that.

“We’re not, like, attached at the hip,” Galinda mutters. “I don’t actually know where she is.”

It’s a lie. Elphaba is in the parlor with her father, Galinda had left them with a warm old country album spinning on the record player and hot cider brewing in the kitchen for the half full inn. The entire parlor will smell like apples. Galinda hadn’t wanted to go.

“I shouldn’t assume, sorry,” Fiyero says cheerfully. “Milla’s boy said he saw you two at the movies a few days ago. He said you got a really big thing of popcorn.”

“Does nobody in this town know how to mind their own goddamned business?” Galinda hisses, spots of red high on her cheeks. “And yes, we were there, is that a crime? You know I love musicals.”

“I’m just hurt you didn’t ask me,” Fiyero pouts.

“I’m glad I didn’t, you’re a cheapskate,” Galinda tells him. “You never bought me a large popcorn when we used to go out.”

Fiyero smirks again. “Oh, so you two were… going out?”

Galinda needs someone to slap her, she needs to stand up and walk the whole freezing mile back to the inn and drink hot cider until she can feel her skin and bones again. How humiliating, how horrible Fiyero is, how well he knows her! It’s a prison to be known so well and stupid Biq at the stupid movie theater, and stupid Elphaba with her thoughtfulness and her popcorn and…

“You’re twisting my words again,” she snaps, face flushed and teeth clenched. “You don’t know my life, Fiyero, and you don’t get to come and—”

“Alright, alright! Not going out, I get it,” Fiyero says, hands raised in surrender. “Just… weird friends, then?”

“Elphie is not weird, she’s—”

“Galinda,” Fiyero says, eyes widened dramatically. “I promise I wasn’t calling Elphaba weird. No, it was about you.”

Galinda lets out a shrill noise and moves to stand, clapping her gloved hands down on her knees. She could hit Fiyero on top of his stupid hat. He looks like a mountaineer, it’s ridiculous. Somebody should say something.

“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” Fiyero drawls. “I’ll stop, I promise. I just want to hear about your life, darling, I miss you.”

“You live two minutes away,” Galinda says huffily.

“Yeah, well, still. I used to see you all the time. No harm no foul, of course.”

Galinda pauses. The wind in the trees is making the branches rustle, but there are hardly any leaves anymore— stick season, nothing but gray sky every which way. It’ll snow soon, Galinda can smell it in the air, and the first few frosts are always the worst ones.

“Fiyero?”

“Mm?” he answers, and it’s so steady and familiar that Galinda just has to sit back down. She crumples onto the bench and feels like she’s right next to him even though they’re a good few feet apart. She remembers how the rumble of his voice used to feel when she’d lie with her head on his chest.

“Do you think we ever would’ve gotten married?”

It’s a stupid question because there’s no point to it. It’s just something she’s asking because she can, because she’s got nowhere else to be and because she wants to kiss Elphaba again and doesn’t know if or when or why that might happen. If it’s ever happened at all, quite honestly— Galinda wouldn’t be surprised if all of October and November so far has been nothing but a long extended fever dream, the sort that girls in old romances had when they were thrashing on their death beds. Maybe she’s finally gone crazy, maybe the ghost Crope’s been talking about for months has been possessing her all along, maybe Elphaba’s just a figment of her imagination.

But Fiyero takes it in stride, just like he always does, and hums thoughtfully. “Can I be honest, Galinda? Or do you just want me to say yes?”

Galinda blinks. She’s never heard him talk like this, so introspective. Fiyero has always taken a degree of pride in being shallow— he’s quite smart, quite thoughtful, quite a good man but he doesn’t like thinking much, it weighs on him heavier than it does other people. Now, though, he’s got his chin in his hand and it makes him look like a statue of some old philosopher, Galinda almost bursts out laughing.

“No, be honest,” she says. “Why would I ask you a question if I wanted you to lie?”

“People do it all the time,” Fiyero says cheerfully. “Anyway, I guess my honest answer is that I never really thought you liked me that much.”

Galinda lets out a strained little laugh, a tiny bit disbelieving. “What are you talking about, we dated for a while. Like, almost a year of a while. Why would I—”

Fiyero raises his hand. “I’m not trying to insult you, darling, promise,” he says. “I didn’t mean you were leading me on, nothing like that. We had fun, didn't we?”

Galinda nods mutely. It’s early afternoon but the sky is already darkening, she can hardly make out the world beyond the peeling bark of the bare trees off to the side. She feels watched, feels like there are eyes peering out at her from every angle. Elphaba is home, she knows it because she can feel the inn is full and hearty and happy, but what if she knows? It wouldn’t be that outlandish, would it, if Elphaba knew everything about her. If she’d been biding her time.

Fiyero had always thought he knew more about her than she did. It was grating and it was awful. Now, though, she’s almost compelled to believe him.

“I do like you,” Galinda murmurs. Her voice sounds very small and she clears her throat. “You’re my friend, kind of.”

“Same to you,” Fiyero winks. “Why, do you think we would’ve gotten married?”

Galinda lets herself think about it. She thinks about Fiyero’s calf muscles and the way she’d never felt like her hand fit properly in hers, she thinks about the flash of annoyance she got when he left the bed unmade and the equal prickle of irritation that came when he did make it up nice and clean. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “I feel like I don’t know a lot of things recently.”

Fiyero nods. He looks like he’s about to say something, opening his mouth, but then he shuts it again and starts picking at the paint on his bench. Behind his back Galinda can picture the inscription, the divot that came from Tibbett slamming a skateboard against it by accident back in high school. She sighs.

“I sort of thought I needed to leave Shale Shallows,” she says. “A couple of months ago, I mean. I was feeling all… wonky. And it seemed like the best solution. And then it wasn’t.”

Fiyero laughs, wind chimes on the breeze. “You can’t leave,” he chuckles. “This is the most Galinda town in the universe. I can’t imagine you being literally anyplace else.”

“Yeah,” Galinda nods, and swallows on her dry throat, “I know.”

There’s a stretch of silence. One of the trees has a creaky bough, it’s so ominous that Galinda gets a chill up her spine. Her nose is probably red. She should go home.

“I’ll probably regret asking you this,” Fiyero says, and laughs softly again, “but, well… you didn’t like me that much, did you?”

Galinda just looks at him. “I kissed Elphaba,” she blurts after a moment. “Kind of more than once.”

Fiyero’s eyes go wide and a bemused smile pulls at his cheeks. “Okay then,” he says. “I guess that answers my question… or does it?”

“I don’t know,” Galinda says, only half processing the levels at which she’s speaking. “I think it answers it, yeah. I think so.”

“I always kind of suspected,” Fiyero says jovially. “I mean, not really, but I guess I’ll just say I’m not that surprised.”

“Good for you,” Galinda huffs. “You couldn’t’ve broken the news sooner?”

“Sorry, are you mad at me for not accusing you of feeling ambivalence toward men at best?” Fiyero says, smirking. “Was that my job, or…?”

Galinda groans, dropping her head forward into her gloved hands. “Fiyero,” she says, and her lips catch on the knit fabric of them, yarn sticking to her tongue as she talks, “what am I supposed to do?”

“Usually when I kiss a lady it goes one of two ways,” Fiyero says. “Either I ask her out for a lovely date— not a cheap one, by the way, I absolutely would spring for large popcorn if she asked for it— and we go from there.”

“Or?”

“Or, well. Or we finish things that night, if you get my drift.”

“Fiyero, honestly,” Galinda says, cheeks hot. “Are you just telling me to sleep with her?”

“Well, you said it,” Fiyero replies cheekily. “I mean, seriously, it can’t hurt.”

“I already did,” Galinda mutters into the meat of her thumb.

“Sorry? I didn’t hear what you said,” Fiyero says. “You’ll have to take your head out of your glove, Galinda.”

“We already… did that,” Galinda hisses, snapping her head up. “It was really good, okay? Really good.”

Fiyero blinks. “Galinda! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Shut up,” Galinda says, clenching her fingers tightly around her thumb and squeezing, releasing, squeezing again. “The whole town doesn’t need to know, Fiyero, honestly!”

“It’s freezing out, there’s no one else here,” Fiyero says, spreading his arms open. “Anyway, you just told me that you slept with a woman. A green woman. A green woman who you have a particularly compelling relationship with, how’s that?”

“You sleep with people all the time, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” Galinda protests. She knows it’s a weak excuse, of course she does. Even as she says it she can imagine the record back in the parlor squeaking to a halt, can picture Elphie’s agile nimble fingers lifting the needle and plucking the vinyl from the stand so carefully, slipping it back into its casing for the night.

“Sure, that’s true,” Fiyero allows. “But it does mean something to you, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t know that,” Galinda mutters. Fiyero just stares at her.

“Galinda,” he says, smiling fondly. “I’ve known you for so, so long. I do know that.”

And, well, true. Galinda is far from the sort of person who can sleep with someone casually and not get attached, and vice versa— she’s really not in the habit of sex with people she doesn’t know. There’s something unbearably intimate about how she pictures that time with Elphaba, something gruelingly sweet that sticks to the bottom of her stomach like hot tar or grenadine. She winces.

“Yeah,” she grumbles. “It means something, I guess. But, like…”

“Like?” Fiyero prompts, cocking his head. He’s doing a very good job of having this conversation, accepting curveball after curveball— Galinda can’t help but feel a rush of affection for him. How could she leave a place like this, all things considered? This is where everyone she knows is, where everything is. This is the center of the universe.

“Like, how do I know what it means,” Galinda mutters. “Sure, it’s not pointless… sex,” here she drops her voice to a whisper, and Fiyero rolls his eyes, “but I’m not, like, in love with her or anything.”

“Okay,” Fiyero nods. Galinda nods back.

She’s not in love with Elphaba, obviously, she’s only known her since August. And half of that time had been something of a mystery in itself, hadn’t it? Not quite all the way real.

Not in love, obviously. But she’s started to see a new side of Elphaba recently, something that comes out when she’s dealing with her father or writing to her sister or reading her book alone out in the garden in the frigid cold. She’s rather soft in spite of it all. There’s something addictive to Galinda about getting to know someone better, especially someone who is so unknown. Something about cracking them open and diving in deep until she knows how they work.

“She’s not here forever,” Galinda says, to get her head back on track. “Her situation is kind of complicated, okay? And maybe she just wanted this for fun, and it was just for the season and then she’s going to go away and, well, I’m not even sure whether we’re actually attached so it doesn’t matter anyway but—”

“Yeah, what is her situation?” Fiyero asks. “It’s been like four months, hasn’t it? Doesn’t she have, I don’t know, a job? A life?”

“That’s none of your business,” Galinda snaps bitingly, and Fiyero raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“You’re just protective,” Fiyero says, hands up again. “That’s okay, I get it. God, Galinda, this is starting to make so much sense.”

Galinda flushes. “What is?”

“You. The inn. Me. Everything.” Fiyero counts on his fingers, one through four, and tosses up a fifth finger for good measure before stretching out the muscles of his hand, fingers splaying in every direction. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to diagnose you again.”

“Good, don’t,” Galinda grumbles. Fiyero just laughs.

Her ass is freezing, so are the backs of her knees. “What am I supposed to do,” she says again, quieter this time. “Maybe it isn’t anything. Maybe it’s just for now.”

Fiyero nods. “Yeah, maybe.”

Galinda pouts. “I think I liked you better when we weren’t speaking.”

“Want to just date me instead? It’d be a lot easier, I can guarantee that. No extra popcorn for you, though.”

“That’s a dealbreaker for me, sorry,” Galinda quips, and then pauses. “Wait. Was that a date? Were we on a date?”

“I don’t know, were you?” Fiyero asks. “Why would I know?”

“You… you date people! Tell me, does it sound like a date!”

“How would I know? I wasn’t invited!” Fiyero exclaims. “Get help, Galinda!”

She leans as far as she can off her bench to kick him. He yelps.

“Am I supposed to like her?” Galinda asks. “I don't know how to know! When I dated that guy from the college mixer I went to my freshman year at Shiz did I like him? Did I like you? Do I even like anyone? What if I’m destined to die an old hermit? An old maid, I mean? What if my body decomposes before anyone finds me?”

“That’s fun, you should spread a rumor that that happened in the inn, it’d be good for business,” Fiyero says cheerfully. Galinda rolls her eyes. “Anyway, how am I supposed to know who you like? Wouldn’t that be a question for, oh, I don’t know, you?”

Galinda lets out a frustrated growl, half screechy as she stomps her foot on the icy dirt. “I don’t— shit!”

She trails off to hiccup, a loud shrill one that ricochets through her body hard enough to hurt. It sticks to the inside of her lungs and chest and aches there.

“Want me to scare you?” Fiyero chirps, leaning closer.

“No,” Galinda mutters, and then hiccups again. “God, I can’t catch a break.”

“Okay, do you want to know what I would do?” Fiyero asks. “Not that it’s going to be good advice, obviously, but it’s advice. Take it or leave it.”

Galinda, with her lips pressed tight together to keep the hiccups quiet, nods and then her ribs are wracked with another one, shuddering through her. Fiyero smiles.

“I’d say you can’t really know what you want until you just do it. Experiment with it. You want to know if you should sleep with her again? Do it, and then see.”

Galinda’s eyes widen. “Fiyero!” she exclaims, and then hiccups the loudest yet. Fiyero chuckles easily.

“I said it wouldn’t necessarily be good.”

“That’s…” Galinda starts, and then thinks about it for a moment. Just a moment, just the one.

Wants, needs, desires— such confusing things. She’s wanted to want, wanted to be wanted. That’s how it had been with Chuffrey, and she’d gotten so close to starting something there that would’ve been undoubtedly dull. Boring and muted and all… well. Omelets.

The thought of sleeping with Elphaba again is, of course, one that has crossed her mind. It has crossed her mind several times, if she’s honest. It’s a thought she would entertain if Elphaba would allow it, would Elphaba allow it? She’s always been so receptive. She’s always kissed back. Galinda wonders.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing. She hiccups again.

“Do you ever feel like your life is sort of just inevitable?” Galinda asks. “Like things are just going to happen to you and you don’t really get to choose?”

Fiyero thinks about it for a minute, she can tell because his brow crumples up and he looks out at the trees. “No,” he answers finally, “I don’t think I do.”

Galinda smiles. “Smart. I’m trying not to anymore.”

Fiyero just hums thoughtfully. There is a moment of quiet, just the two of them, just that.

Galinda misses Elphaba. It’s silly, isn’t it, how important someone can become? She wants to be home, all blanketed in warmth and with Elphie next to her. Maybe it’s pitiful. They’re supposed to read to Frex tonight, which means that tomorrow morning he might be too sleepy to walk on the beach. It also means that Galinda will probably finish her new sketch in the morning, the hazy shapes of figures that are starting to look a bit too much like Elphaba. It also means that tomorrow night will be just for the two of them, like it so often is these days. It’s so cold outside.

She’s going to go home, she decides, and she’s going to do whatever she chooses to do. Maybe she’ll get Elphaba alone again. Maybe this time she’ll see her without any clothes on, maybe she can touch her herself, maybe she can shove the both of them forward into something. It’s not quite a relationship but it isn’t nothing, it’s far from nothing. It’s just the circumstances that they’re in, situational and confused and muddled and still sort of wonderful. Galinda, with a last grimace at Fiyero’s hat, stands up to leave. By the time she reaches the inn her hiccups are gone and she doesn’t even remember when they’d stopped.

Everything Elphaba does makes her more appealing, somehow, and it’s entirely alien to Galinda. That isn’t how it’s ever been before, not with any boy, although Galinda supposes it’s surely different now. That night when Galinda ventures upstairs to read to Elphaba’s father she’s still cold, a sort of bone chill that won’t abate no matter how many times she hops up and down or how many mugfuls of steaming tea she downs.

“Did you want to start our next book tonight, Mr. Thropp? How does that sound?” Galinda asks, taking her usual spot in the desk chair while Elphaba makes her father comfortable in bed.

“Yes,” he says. “Melena, I need more of the water.”

Galinda blinks, cocking her head, but Elphaba gives her a familiar look that she has grown to understand as a plea to leave it, to let her deal with such things alone. So Galinda does.

“This one’s supposed to be quite good,” she says, cracking open the spine. Elphaba fills the cup next to her father’s bedside and tugs the blankets up higher, stepping back to glance at Galinda again. She straightens up.

“You look cold,” Elphaba says simply. Galinda blushes just at being addressed, how utterly humiliating!

“I’m alright,” she promises, sending Elphaba a glittering smile. “I’m always cold in the winter, don’t you worry.”

Elphaba’s brow crinkles. “Take a blanket, or something. A sweater.”

Galinda frowns, waving the suggestion away. “I couldn’t possibly steal from your bed,” she says, and thinks quite resoundingly of the fact that she is in Elphaba’s room, in this temporary but sometimes permanent home of hers, that she is looking at the place where Elphaba goes to sleep every night, the pillows where she lays her head.

Elphaba stares at her, blank faced and wry. “Just… god, Galinda, just come over here,” she says, and Galinda opens her mouth to protest but Elphaba gives her a glare so pointed that she has no choice but to agree. Slowly she gathers herself— the book, the fabric of her flared blue pants, the excess of hair that she tosses over her shoulders. There is a way to do this with dignity.

Or perhaps there isn’t. When she reaches the bed, head held high, Elphaba grabs her by the wrist and pulls her down onto the mattress where she lands with a thump, and then she finds a blanket being tugged around her shoulders rather forcefully. This is the thing about Elphaba— sometimes her sweetness masks as such roughness, such stoicism that an untrained eye wouldn’t even know it was there. Galinda, though, knows.

Elphaba is fond of her. Even if nothing else is true she has that much. The blanket around her shoulders smells a little bit like her and a little bit like powdered sugar and, against Galinda’s will, it is helping. Her limbs feel like they’re about to thaw. She picks the book up again.

“Melena,” Frex says again, rattling, and Elphaba’s jaw sets.

“Quiet so that Galinda can read to you,” she says, and then she crawls into bed beside Galinda and reclines against the headboard, back still somehow straight, and doesn’t say much more.

Although, well. When Galinda is almost done with the chapter, just two pages left, Elphaba’s hand worms its way across the expanse of the mattress to land itself somewhere between her hip and thigh. Galinda feels the slight trace of her fingertips quite extensively, like when she tugs her pants off for the night she’ll find glimmering marks where Elphaba has touched. Right now, she supposes, she can’t be totally sure that they aren’t there after all.

“You don’t think I’m doing the wrong thing, do you?” Elphaba asks once Frex has drifted off to sleep. Galinda’s put the book down but Elphaba’s hand hasn’t moved, blissfully and wonderfully, and she scoots ever so slightly closer across the bed.

“What do you mean?” she asks, face pinching. “With your father?”

Elphaba sighs, but that is enough affirmation. “I just… I used to hate him so much, you know. It’s pretty hard to hate someone who can’t even remember his own daughter’s name.”

“He’s comfortable,” Galinda tells her in a whisper, and makes sure to catch Elphaba’s eye. That hand tracing at her skin has stilled but when she makes eye contact it tightens, just the slightest bit. Elphaba doesn’t realize she’s doing it but Galinda, of course, does. “He’s safe and he’s cared for and that’s all you can do, really.”

Elphaba nods, but she doesn’t look entirely convinced. It’s dark in room seven and a little too quiet, Galinda almost doesn’t want to leave Elphaba alone up here. She’d stay the night if it didn’t feel so uncanny to be up in one of the guest rooms like this anyhow, so she won’t. Elphaba wouldn’t want her to, anyway.

So Galinda does what she can do in the meantime— she meets Elphaba’s eyes again, wide and dark, and smiles. She reaches down to lay her hand on top of Elphaba’s, the one that’s touching her, and smooths a thumb over her knuckles. She listens for Elphaba’s shaky exhale and smiles wider at the sound of it.

The next day Galinda goes to the beach alone and she stays out until she can’t feel her lips or the tip of her nose. She sketches as fast as she can, keeping her hand moving all the time, and hates what takes shape.

It’s a problem that all she’s drawn is Elphaba. There is Elphaba at breakfast, there she is listening to Galinda read— and Galinda would do anything to keep her looking. Her face is hard to get right. The angle of her nose always looks slightly strange, not quite Elphie-ish and always just a beat off. It’s maddening. Galinda grits her teeth and scribbles harder— it has to be perfect. She doesn’t like it when things aren’t perfect.

A bird lands on the beach in front of her, picking at a smooth round stone. It looks up, bright eyed and flecked with blues and greens across its feathers, and stares at Galinda.

She loses her breath for a second. This is how it is with waterbirds near the river, she knows that— intense little things, strict and firm with people who end up in their vicinity. It’s rather quiet out this morning, though, and quite cold. It’s the middle of November. She shivers.

The bird still doesn’t look away but it does move, stepping firmly on top of the stone and staring Galinda down like it’s trying to tell her something. She swallows.

“Okay,” she says, jaw unfreezing with use. “I know.”

She doesn’t know, she has no idea what she’s talking about but the bird seems oddly satisfied regardless. It jumps from the pebble and, in one big swoop, it is gone.

The pebble is reddish brown and shot through with a streak of speckled gray, right down the middle, zig zagged like a lightning bolt. Galinda picks it up and puts it in the breast pocket of her loose fitting button down for good luck. It has to be good luck, because it’s caught her attention so uniquely and singularly. Because of this something is going to go right.

Elphaba still isn’t down for breakfast. Galinda eats her muffin next to Crope, making sure to sprinkle cinnamon sugar on his shirt with every bite she takes. By early afternoon she and Frex are downstairs finally, off for a walk, and they don’t return for almost two hours. Galinda is antsy and can’t stop drumming her fingers. In theory she loves to be idle, loves the thought of breaks and time off and long restful sagas. In practice, though, nothing makes her crazier.

“Elphie,” she says when Elphaba finally returns, popping up from behind the desk. “I haven’t seen you in a hundred years.”

Elphaba’s lips pull up. “I saw you last night,” she says fondly— it is fond, Galinda gets a head rush at that.

She pouts, just a little, just to draw Elphaba’s attention back up to her mouth. “Yeah, but you didn’t come to breakfast this morning. You could’ve been a missing person, Elphie, and I wouldn’t have had even a singular clue!”

“That seems really unlikely,” Elphaba says, but she’s smiling. “But I’m sorry. I should’ve come down.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Galinda grumbles. “Fine, I know how you can make it up to me. Ready?”

“Ready,” Elphaba hums, amused, and Galinda feels a spark at the tone of her voice. It’s dreadfully fun to tease her, isn’t it? She could do it all day.

“Promise me you’ll keep me company tonight?” Galinda asks, widening her eyes and fluttering her lashes. “I’m at the desk until seven thirty and then we could read together, or something. I could play you another record. You have to say yes, so don’t bother—”

“Yes,” Elphaba says, and smiles at Galinda’s blink. “What? You said I had to say yes, didn’t you?”

“I just didn’t expect it to work,” Galinda mutters. “Okay, good. I better see you down here, Elphaba Thropp, or so help me…”

And, well, it isn’t entirely Galinda’s fault. Fiyero had put her up to it, sort of, and Elphaba comes downstairs wearing a white sweater that looks so darling on her, it’s so adorable that Galinda can’t help but be touching her every moment she has the chance, and besides, what is she meant to do?

It’s oddly familiar. They end up sitting on Galinda’s floor, in her apartment hours later, legs crossed, knees touching, and Galinda can hear herself talking but she can hardly remember what she’s saying. Elphaba’s eyes keep flicking around, from her eyebrows down to her bare shoulders— she’s in her nightgown, sue her— and the shape of her collarbone. Every time she catches Elphaba’s gaze traveling she feels a tug in her stomach, a wave of desire so all consuming she has to coach herself to breathe through it.

It’s going to happen again. There’s no way around it. Elphaba’s eyes lock on Galinda’s lips while she’s speaking and she knows.

Galinda leans back in. It feels so familiar now, how many times have they done this? Think of that first time, back when Galinda had run away and come right back because there was simply nowhere else to go. Shenshen and Pfannee had mailed her a care package last week, stuffed full of fancy face masks and copies out of the Ozmopolitan archive with covers that Galinda would appreciate. She’s got the covers pinned up on her wall, now, underneath a horrible painting left over from when the Sharpes lived here. Rotting yellow flowers in a vase, chipped frame— Galinda hasn’t ever gotten around to taking it down.

Elphaba’s hands go straight to her shoulders when they collide and Galinda smiles into the kiss, satisfied— she’d known, she could tell how much Elphie wanted to touch her there, she loves the feeling. There is Elphaba’s finger drawing a line up the bone, to her neck, down and down and…

Galinda gasps, shudders, pulls Elphaba closer. There is a beat.

“Galinda,” Elphaba says after a moment, breaking their faces apart and grasping her forearm delicately, “look, I know you don’t want to talk about everything—”

Galinda swallows, lips a touch swollen. “I never said I don’t—”

“—but I can’t keep doing this unless you… well, unless you mean it,” Elphaba says, and she looks so sad about it that Galinda’s chest aches a little bit. She doesn’t meet her eyes.

And this isn’t exactly how Galinda had planned to go about this, but now here they are. She’s in her silkiest nightgown, and maybe she’d changed into it for Elphaba, at least a little bit. She wants Elphie looking at her, wants her to touch and hold and whatever else she wants to do, and Galinda will do whatever it takes.

What does that mean, anyway, unless you mean it? Galinda means it. She never does a thing she doesn’t mean. Galinda acts with purpose and poise and everything shows it, the careful garland on the door and the influx of glowing reviews in the guest book. She is the real thing.

But anyway, she does mean it. She wants Elphaba, it’s so heavy she can barely speak. Do it again and see, Fiyero had said, and Galinda thinks he might’ve been right. She can never tell him that, of course, but still.

“But I do mean it,” Galinda says, voice rather small, and she traces a square on Elphaba’s creamy sweater and lets the knit of it tickle her fingertip. “I want you so badly.”

Elphaba blinks. “You do?” she asks, and it’s said in a particularly un-Elphie tone of voice, a touch hesitant and all in all meeker than Galinda likes. Elphaba seems to register it too, because she flushes, and Galinda turns her wrist around so that it rotates in Elphaba’s hold. She moves closer.

“Yes, obviously,” Galinda huffs. At least she can hold on to a little bit of power this way. “I’m not usually in the habit of kissing people I don’t mean to kiss, Elphaba. I did it because I wanted to do it.”

One of Elphaba’s eyebrows flickers, eyelashes fluttering. “But what about the time that we…”

She trails off, swallowing and cheeks dusted even darker, and Galinda is a touch shy about it too but she holds her head steady, tongue flicking out to wet her lips and fingers coming up to tug at her earlobe. She’s got pearl drop earrings in, they fall heavily along her neck.

“What about it?”

Elphaba stares at her for one second, two. There have been several moments like this in Galinda’s life, like the time she’d noticed the ringing bell when Elphaba first walked through her door. Moments that slow down and beg her to remember them. Elphaba’s eyes are a little dark and there’s a strange sort of expression on her face, one that’s almost conflicted, almost unsure.

Everything is in its place. The vacuum is in the broom closet, the guests upstairs are in their rooms, Frex is in his bed, Crope’s bread dough is rising overnight in the kitchen. Elphaba is here in front of her and Galinda puts a hand on her leg.

Elphie isn’t usually the one to move first but she does it this time. Her eyes go from Galinda’s left eye to her right and down to her mouth, and then back up, and then she’s surging forward.

Galinda’s back thumps softly against the bedframe, blanket tickling her hair, and Elphaba’s hands go right back to her bare shoulder. One of her fingers loops its way through the strap of her nightgown and she’s everywhere, mouth pressed so hard against Galinda’s own that she can hardly breathe.

It’s lovely, actually. She can’t remember what they’d been talking about before, it’s all so passionate and careful and still a little intense in spite of itself. Her tongue grazes against Elphaba’s and she pushes closer, Elphaba bobs once and then leans in closer again, Galinda lets her hands flit up the back under that white sweater and wants to bite and tug and embroil.

“God,” Elphaba gasps ever so softly and it makes Galinda feel a little insane. She tugs on Elphaba’s neck so that her mouth is at her ear and jaw and neck, and lets the sensation rush over her, and allows herself a quiet little gasp in response. She smooths her hand around so that it’s in the front of Elphaba’s body now, flat on her soft stomach underneath her sweater. Elphaba swallows.

With her mouth suctioned on Galinda’s neck she tugs on the strap of her nightgown, back where her finger had been looped, and it falls down easily. Galinda knows it’s going to make her look disheveled, all caught up in the throes of passion or whatever it is they say in romance novels. She finds she doesn’t especially care how it looks so long as Elphaba doesn’t stop touching her, so long as she can press closer and, well, maybe they could move to the bed. Maybe she could lay Elphaba down and look at her, all at once.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispers, just to be honest, and Elphaba honest to god moans. She fidgets on her knees, leaning back to look at Galinda all flushed and kiss drunk and bloated in the eyes and cheeks. Galinda wouldn’t recognize her but for the way she always looks at her. That stays the same.

“Me neither,” Elphie says quietly in response, and looks hopefully toward the bed until Galinda stands up, holding her hand, and moves them to it. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

She’d wanted to lie Elphaba down first and touch her, watch her, see her all at once. Elphaba’s faster, though, and she’s got Galinda flat on her back before she can protest. Not that she wants to, of course, it feels too good to have Elphaba kissing at the exposed part of her chest and fiddling with the thin fabric of her nightgown. One of her hands glides over Galinda’s nipple and she bites her lip, arching up into it, breath rattling.

“Elphie,” she murmurs softly, and Elphaba hums in response, head dipped low near her shoulder. “What do you want?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, just tugs at the top of Galinda’s nightgown until it falls somewhere below her breasts and Elphaba touches and kisses like she can’t stop. Galinda, from where she lays, pulls desperately at Elphaba’s own sweater until she leans back to take it off, and then her bra, and Galinda is staring.

She’s so beautiful. She reaches out to touch but Elphaba kisses her again first, and when she leans back Galinda shoots up to nip at her collarbone and leave dark green marks all across her chest where she can reach, biting and sucking and pulling her in.

“I want to touch you,” Elphaba answers finally. “Is that okay?”

Galinda nearly laughs, because it’s more okay than anything, but then her nightgown is coming off and Elphaba’s tugging off her own pants so that she’s just in her underwear and Galinda can only think about green hands splayed across her skin.

Elphaba kisses down her body and ends up somewhere between her thighs and Galinda is antsy and stubborn and itching for it but she hesitates regardless. “You don’t have to do that,” she says, and smiles down at her. “It doesn’t always work for me, I don’t—”

But Elphaba’s eyes flick back up. “Can I please?” she asks, and Galinda’s words get stuck in her throat so she just nods, swallows, leans her head back and squeezes her eyes shut.

It’s going to work for her. She knows this much the second Elphaba’s mouth touches her, so soft and careful and Galinda bites her lip to keep from crying out. God, help her. God, god, god.

Up on the ceiling there is a knot in the wood, something that Galinda has always thought of as a sort of birthmark. It’s nice to ascribe human sorts of traits to this place, personification or whatever it was called when your home and work and life were all in one building and you could feel it all in your bones. Probably there isn’t a word for that.

But Galinda stays looking at that knot as Elphaba strokes at her leg, flicks her tongue so lightly that Galinda chokes on her inhale. She’s got one of her green arms stretched over Galinda’s middle so that it’s pressing her hips down into the bed, bone against bone, and Galinda can’t remember wanting something so badly in all her life. She’s not even sure what she wants, it’s just the abstract feel of it— she wants this to last forever and wants it to end now, she wants Elphaba to sink into the bedframe and become part of this place so that she can feel her always.

Terribly, horribly, Elphaba stops. Galinda’s head shoots up and she locks eyes with Elphaba, hovering anxiously midair.

“Are you okay?” Elphaba asks softly. “I can stop if you’re—”

Galinda, face hot and spirit utterly humiliated, shakes her head as fast as she can. “No, please don’t. Don’t stop.”

Elphaba’s eyes flicker and Galinda can see her putting the pieces together— silence not as an indication of a bad time but the opposite, Galinda thrust into so much pleasure she doesn’t try to form words. She watches as it hits her and she smiles to herself a little shyly, nods once and bites her lip, and kisses Galinda high up on her thigh.

“Okay,” she murmurs, and dips down again. “Just remember to breathe, okay?”

Galinda’s about to answer but Elphaba’s touching her again so that goes out the window too. Up on the ceiling the birthmark trembles, is someone moving around up there? Galinda tries to think about what’s above her and her head gets all fuzzy with it, and she’s trying so hard to get close but also to last longer and it’s all so muddled. All at once her pleasure almost peaks, she groans, but then it just keeps going like it hasn’t happened at all.

She grits her teeth and grinds down a bit. She can get a bit frustrated during sex, it happens. But then she looks between her legs and Elphie is there, and she looks up at Galinda, and she smooths a thumb over her thigh and presses Galinda’s hips further into the bed and oh, oh.

Elphaba’s other thumb presses into her hipbone as she comes and she feels laser focused on that singular point of contact, and even when she’s finished and Elphaba’s come up for air looking a little too pleased with herself Galinda can still feel the press of her fingernail, imagines green rubbing off into a thumbprint to stay there like a tattoo. Her heart is beating so fast and Galinda glances back up to the ceiling to find that blob of wood but she can’t focus in on it before Elphaba’s sliding up the bed to perch rather tentatively beside her, knees up and arms circled around them, smiling carefully.

“Hi,” she murmurs, and Galinda takes one look at her and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, don’t get cocky about it now,” she says. Elphaba looks at her, squints, and bursts out laughing.

“It definitely seemed like you were enjoying yourself,” she says, and Galinda splutters and feels her face go red again. What a thing to say! She leans over to give Elphaba a little smack on the leg, which she takes with grace, and stretches long and open across the bed. Elphaba watches her, the taut line of her stomach, and swallows.

“You’re so perfect,” she says, and it’s almost like she hasn’t meant to say anything at all, like it just slides out. Galinda turns pink again and curls herself back up, leaning over to press a kiss to Elphaba’s hip just above the line of her underwear.

“You are,” she says back. “Would you lie back down, please? I’d really like to touch you now.”

Elphaba’s eyes widen. She lies back down. “It’s really alright,” she says quietly when Galinda rolls over to kiss her neck, pale pink legs shaking ever so slightly. “You should rest, probably, I’m—”

“Would you shut up, it’s only like eight thirty,” Galinda mutters. “Listen, Elphie— do you want this?”

She feels the bob of Elphaba’s throat. “Yes,” Elphaba whispers, and Galinda feels it tickle against her hair. She smiles into green skin.

“Good. Then I don’t want to hear from you anymore,” Galinda says, pressing a kiss to Elphaba’s lips. She pauses, cocks her head. “Well. Unless you wanted to tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

She feels Elphaba blush down her chest, feels her swallow, but still she responds. “Oh, yeah? Is that something you wanted to hear?”

Ignoring the pulse of desire that rushes through her stomach, Galinda rolls her eyes. “I think I told you to be quiet,” she murmurs, and leans down to suck one emerald green nipple into her mouth. Elphaba stops talking after that.

There’s something so wonderful about touching Elphie. Galinda has hardly thought about the fact that she’s never touched a woman before, really it doesn’t cross her mind until she’s got one finger tracing over Elphaba between her thighs and Elphie is breathing shakily and there’s a moment of panic, a moment where she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. Her eyes flick up and Elphaba’s below her, Galinda is propped up on one elbow, and Elphaba meets her gaze.

“I’m easy,” she says softly, kindly, and reaches down to guide Galinda’s wrist. “Just here, see? Just like that.”

Galinda is crushed by affection all at once, it’s disastrous. She lets her third finger trace up through Elphie just like she’s shown her, gathering up slick wetness and moving up until she hits a spot that makes Elphaba moan and grab her shoulders. Galinda swallows, traces a circle around the spot and then does it again, again.

Elphaba is more sensitive than she is, maybe. It’s different from touching herself, it feels different and she wants different things. Elphaba likes it a little faster, flickering touches grazing over her clit and not as deep, not inside. Galinda learns all of these things and wants to learn more. She has no idea how long it’s been, just a handful of minutes but she’s itching to keep hearing those tiny noises Elphaba lets out. She’s so much quieter than Galinda had been but every so often her eyes squeeze shut, every so often they open up again and her breathing sounds shattered.

They open now, flecks of green, and meet Galinda’s. She probably looks starstruck, flushed and nervous, because Elphaba looks her way and then gets this fond little touch to her mouth, a little slant to it. “You’re doing a really good job,” she says, and she means it, and in spite of herself Galinda whimpers just a little bit, finger wavering. It makes Elphaba moan.

Galinda doesn’t want to stop. She wants to do this for as long as she can manage, wants to hear the little gasping noises Elphie keeps making and wants to be useful, to touch her until she can’t think. But it can’t last forever, not this time. Outside there is a gust of wind that makes the window panes tremble, and a second later Elphaba’s hand claps across her back and holds on, and then she’s coming and she’s moaning again and it’s breathy and soft and Galinda keeps going, she wants to keep going but then Elphaba’s coming back to herself and sliding Galinda’s hand away delicately. Galinda blinks.

“Could you go again?” she asks, and Elphaba looks at her like she’s impossible to figure out and laughs lightly.

“Not tonight,” she murmurs, and leans over to give Galinda a little peck on her forehead. “You’re sweet, though.”

“Not trying to be sweet,” Galinda mutters back. She traces her fingertips together, wondering. “You’re really hot, by the way.”

Elphaba turns bright green. “I’m just gonna… um,” she says, and rolls over to stretch and roll her shoulders all while facing away from Galinda. Galinda watches the line of her bones and muscles thoughtfully, contemplative.

It had meant something. That much isn’t in question. Not now and maybe not ever, but Galinda doesn’t know if she can think about that right now.

Elphaba rolls back over after a minute but tugs the blankets high on her chest, shivering just the slightest bit, and Galinda feels a rush of gratitude so strong it sweeps her up. She shifts toward her, curling her arms protectively over green shoulders and shuffling so that she’s a few inches higher than Elphaba in the bed, so that she can watch with a shimmer of delight when Elphaba very deliberately makes eye contact and tries not to look down at her chest. She wiggles happily.

“Stay here tonight?” Galinda asks, wide eyed and pleading. Elphaba hesitates.

“I don’t want Frex to wake up alone,” she says, and she sounds genuinely guilty about it. Galinda shakes her head.

“I’ll get up early. I can go check on him. You’re not allowed to leave, actually, it was in the fine print.”

“The fine print of what?” Elphaba snorts, but she does snuggle a bit further into the blanket so Galinda counts it as a win.

“It’s the rules for inn guests I especially like. Especially especially.”

“I hope I’m the only one you especially especially like,” Elphaba teases, but there’s a question embedded in there somewhere that Galinda pries out with a furrowed brow and turns over in her head.

“Elphaba,” she hums, and shuffles even closer, “come on, you know it’s only you.”

She feels Elphaba’s chest fill up with air and she feels her smile into Galinda’s chin, pressing a kiss to the bottom of it, teeth and tongue and lips all heavy. It settles in some half place in Galinda's stomach between emotions, split right down the middle. She inhales.

“Crope said he’s going to make peppermint chocolate bread tomorrow for breakfast,” she murmurs. “It’s really good, I think you’ll like his winter menu. He starts getting very cinnamon happy.”

“Can’t wait,” Elphaba yawns, and adjusts to glance up at Galinda. “Winter already, hmm?”

“In a few weeks,” Galinda answers aimlessly. “It’s basically already December, can you believe that? Almost Lurlinemas. I’ll have to go visit my parents in Lake Chorge or else they’ll throw a fit. Well, my momsie will.”

“Your momsie?” Elphaba asks, amused, and presses a lingering kiss to Galinda’s jawline.

“My momsie and my popsicle, that’s right,” Galinda says with an eyebrow raised. “Got something to say, Elphaba?”

“No, nothing at all,” Elphaba laughs softly. “You’re such a unique person, Galinda. Has anybody ever told you that?”

“No one ever has,” Galinda chirps. “I think I’m perfectly normal. The back staircase’s light just went out a second ago, by the way, remind me to fix it in the morning.”

Elphaba laughs a little louder into Galinda’s neck, it vibrates there. She is all at once so happy that it’s overwhelming, she has to yawn in order to draw a full breath and squeeze Elphaba closer all at once.

A minute passes, then two. Finally Elphaba speaks again but it’s more tentative, slower. “I’m not really sure how to ask this,” she hums, and Galinda hums right back. “But, um… well, I said it before but—”

“Is this about the dog again?” Galinda asks. “He’s just a big baby, I promise I feed him more than enough and if you don’t believe me you can—”

“No, god no,” Elphaba laughs, but her words come easier now. “I just, okay, I wasn’t under the impression that you liked women. I’ve only ever heard you talk about men.”

“Yes,” Galinda says primly. “I’ve only dated boys.”

Elphaba draws back, looks at her. “But you like girls too, or instead, or…?”

Galinda tilts her head. “I like you, I think,” she says. “Is that okay? I don’t really know how I’m supposed to do all this.”

It’s always been so simple with boys, she supposes, because she hasn’t ever cared all that much. None of the stakes were high enough. This feels different, this feels precarious and maybe they should abandon it all anyway and go back to nothing. But Elphaba’s hip moves, Galinda feels her tendons and she wants to bite at her and pull her so close that they become one person. Maybe things would be easier that way. She sighs, loud and slow.

“Of course it’s okay,” Elphaba says, brow furrowed. “Galinda, you know I—”

“I just don’t know what I’m ready for,” Galinda blurts. “I want you so badly, I like you so much but I… look, up until I kissed you I didn’t even think that was an option— like, for me I mean, of course I knew girls could kiss each other, I’m not stupid but I— well, okay, so it’s still kind of recent and Fiyero said—”

Elphaba cuts her off with a cold hand pressed to her chest. Galinda blinks down at it.

“Galinda,” she murmurs, “that’s okay. It’s fine.”

“But it’s not really fair,” Galinda says. “You said you didn’t want to do this unless it meant something, and now I’m saying—”

“You’re saying it means something,” Elphaba smiles. “Look, it’s a lot. We don’t have to call it anything right now, okay, I just want to spend time with you.”

Galinda’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “I want that too.”

“Good,” Elphaba nods, all business once again. “And I’m sorry I said that. And I’m sorry I lied to you about my father—”

“Elphie, that was months ago—”

“—and I’m sorry that I didn’t make us talk about this earlier. I got worried that if we talked about it you were going to get embarrassed,” Elphaba says, and then she blushes. “I was worried you were going to stop. And I really didn’t want you to stop.”

So here Galinda is, naked in bed with a woman. A woman who is a guest, a woman who is her friend, a woman who is Elphaba, of all people. Here she is, she who almost thought about marrying a silly old boy because she never knew what this was like. Here she is now, knowing. Here is her inn, here is the gate, and inside of it everything is just as it seems. It is just as it should be.

“I’m not going to stop,” Galinda mutters, and Elphaba smiles, and they drift off like that; it isn’t even ten o’clock. Galinda wakes halfway through the night and her toes are freezing and Elphaba is still there.

Chapter Text

To our perfect Galindabunny:

Don’t you love this postcard? What a riot!

Sweetheart, your popsicle tells me that you’ll be embarrassed by this letter but I will be writing it anyway because I am so proud of the woman you’re becoming. I had to stay home from a positively wonderful golf day— the perfect weather for it, if you’ll believe that!— because I couldn’t stop weeping. All good things, of course, darling!

I won’t say I’m not surprised to hear this— I remember how besotted you were with the little boys in your preschool class, sweetheart, you latched onto an adorable little boy and wouldn’t let go of him when we came to pick you up! You got your favorite sparkly lip gloss all over his shirt and it wouldn’t come out! But, of course, you must tell us everything about this woman. Does she eat cabbage, because I’ve got this great new recipe I’ve been meaning to try for when you bring her to Lurlinemas. Your popsicle is interrupting. He wants me to tell you that she does not in fact have to come to Lake Chorge for the holidays— you know that, of course. Please extend the invitation regardless, dear.

We are all well here and missing you so very much! I do hope you’re keeping yourself busy at that inn. It’s getting cold so please make sure to bundle up when you go outside. Remember when you used to refuse to wear a coat because it would ruin your outfits? When you have a daughter I pray she listens to you. Your popsicle is interrupting again to say that you don’t have to have any children if you don’t want them. Of course you will want them, though. Such a silly man.

I am sure Elphaba is very beautiful and lovely and she must be quite a person to deserve our Galinda girl. I hope to meet her soon unless she isn’t the one for you— if she’s treating you any less than perfectly you can do better, honey. I know that my dear friend from the beach club has a niece who dates girls sometimes. You let me know if you’d like her name.

We love you so much and send love to our grandson too, please. Such a handsome boy.

P.S. When you come for Lurlinemas, and you WILL be coming for Lurlinemas, please bring along some of your inn treats. Your popsicle is especially partial to the almond sugar cookies but we aren’t picky, dearest, just as long as they don’t have too much cream. It’s started to upset Popsicle’s stomach.

Love and kisses and lots more,
Your Momsie

Galinda wakes shockingly late, for her, just after eight. The sun is shining in the windows in a way that feels out of character for late November, a way that makes it seem like it should be quite warm outside. December is in a week or so, it must be frigid. Galinda stretches like a cat.

When she rolls over Elphaba isn’t there— that is her first thought, a little muddled and hazy and infiltrated by the peppermint smell wafting underneath her doorway. But there is a little note folded on the bed next to her, which is pristinely made— of course it is, Galinda thinks fondly. It’s folded over and it’s on Shale Shallows Inn letterhead and Galinda unfurls it quickly to a glimpse of Elphaba’s handwriting. She hasn’t seen Elphaba’s handwriting nearly enough, she thinks, just out of the corner of her eye while Elphaba is writing her letters back to her sister. It’s that same cramped cursive but it looks warmer somehow. Galinda burrows into her bed to read.

Good morning, Elphaba starts, and Galinda rolls her eyes affectionately at the borderline formality of it. She’s so herself, always.

I know you said you were going to get up early but I didn't want to wake you; I’m going upstairs to get my father up and I’ll see you at breakfast, alright?

Thank you for everything. X, Elphie

Galinda can hardly stomach her adoration, it’s nauseatingly sweet. She briefly wonders if she should be embarrassed by it— it’s abnormal but then her whole life is a little abnormal, living in a place like this. She thinks thoughts that girls who are twenty eight shouldn’t have, like how long the trees that got turned into the wood of the inn ceiling lived and whether that meant anything now. Like whether Elphie understood the inn like she did when she’d first gotten here, whether she can feel it under her skin prickling and making her veins all icy.

She’s almost nervous to face the day so she forces herself to do it, sliding out of bed and scrubbing her face until it’s pink and picking her clothes quite deliberately, finding a sweater that’s warm but just a little low cut, hesitates and decides not to cover the faint outline of a mark low on her chest. Galinda sees her life all laid out around her— sketches on her bedside table, the shoes she’d been wearing last night askew by the door, the spot on the rug where she and Ephaba had kissed shimmering just for her. She shuts the door to her apartment with a thorough slam.

It’s nerve wracking. When is the last time she’s felt like this? Never, perhaps, never with a boy. Elphaba will be waiting.

The breakfast nook is halfway to busy, there are a few guests sitting alone drinking coffee and picking at food. The window is a little frosted around the edges. And then Frex is there, sipping from a mug and staring up at the wall sconces, and then there she is beside him.

Galinda feels her heartbeat in her ears until Elphaba’s head turns, hair swishing around her and eyes flicking across the room to land on Galinda. And then, of course, it’s alright again. She smiles.

“Hi,” Galinda says shyly when she’s gotten herself a hefty slice of peppermint bread and takes a seat at the table next to Frex, across from Elphaba. Elphie’s eyes dart around her face, down to her neckline just like Galinda has hoped they would. She bites her lip on a smirk.

Elphaba looks gorgeous too. Her sweater is black today but it’s lacy up near the collar, white pearly buttons that march in a line down her chest and Galinda follows them, smiling. When she looks back up Elphaba’s looking at her much the same way.

“Good morning,” Elphaba says, and she opens her mouth like she’s going to say more but leaves it there, cheeks a little flushed. Galinda wiggles around in it, basks in the attention that she’s getting most undividedly. The whole day is in front of them.

They spread a puzzle out on the coffee table, Frex sitting up on the couch with Elphaba and Galinda curled somewhere on the carpet below. She’s close enough to the doorway that she’ll hear if anyone comes in, close enough that she can see the front desk from all angles but still it feels irresponsible, reckless and unlike her. It’s Elphaba’s fault. She wants to curl up with her and not walk away, she wants to do whatever she can to keep Elphie looking at her.

“I heard puzzles are good for this sort of thing,” Elphaba tells her under her breath. “For cognitive strength and, well, you know. You don’t really have to help.”

“I’m very good at puzzles,” Galinda says, wrinkling her nose. “Mr. Thropp? What do you want to listen to today? I’m even letting him choose,” she adds to Elphaba in an undertone, “see how generous I am? Remember that, because I’m about to get really controlling.”

Frex hums, eyes elsewhere. “Play that jazz record again,” he says, “I liked that one.”

Elphaba blinks, smiling faintly, and Galinda beams.

“That I can do,” she chirps. “Don’t move a muscle.”

With the jazz tinkling on in the background and with all of the guests out for the day the inn is peaceful, Galinda knows she still needs to fix the back stairs light and she hasn’t gone out to check the mail, hasn’t even made sure the breakfast nook is cleaned up yet. She’s distracted, of course.

“I can sort the pieces,” Elphaba says helpfully; Galinda ignores her in favor of scrambling around the table looking for the edge pieces. “Dad, do you want to help Galinda? Look for corners, okay?”

One record finishes and another begins. Galinda’s back is starting to ache with her posture. “Galinda,” Elphaba murmurs to her, “it’s really alright, we don’t have to finish this all today.”

“Yes I do,” Galinda mutters back. “Move your arm, you’re on my section.”

Elphaba pauses and Galinda can almost hear her fond smile. With a little tug at a loose strand of her hair she retreats, humming under her breath, and passes Galinda a piece that matches the part she’s been working on. So she does pay attention!

“You three look cute,” Crope says from the doorway. Galinda doesn’t move but she grunts out an acknowledgement.

Crope knows about Frex now, of course. Galinda did neglect to mention quite how long he’s been staying at the inn. “Elphaba’s father, from Munchkinland,” she’d mentioned back in October when he’d started coming down to breakfasts. “He’s staying here too, now.”

Crope had wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t see him get in.”

“Yeah, well, you leave early,” Galinda had huffed. “Go get more coffee, people are going to start complaining.”

Now Elphaba swings her head up with a smile. “Morning, Crope,” she says. “The peppermint bread was really lovely. Galinda agrees.”

“Does Galinda want to tell me that herself?” Crope asks, but shoots Elphaba a grateful smile all the same.

“Galinda’s busy,” Galinda answers. She’s working on the puzzle, of course, but she’s also thinking quite a bit about how frankly wonderful it is to know that Elphaba fits in here so seamlessly. Fiyero has called her pretty— no, she isn’t quite over that, thank you very much— and Crope and Tibbs love her like a sister. Even Milla is a fan, and she’s quite hard to please at the best of times. Beat for beat it’s excellent, Galinda imagines her staying for as long as she can. For a long time, maybe, months and years and…

She’s shot with a rush of anxiety at the thought of this— it’s never been something they’d discussed. Back in August she’d asked how long Elphaba would be here and Elphie, with that plain faced green line of her lips, had said, “as long as I stay.” How maddening, how awful!

And now she wants— no, she needs Elphaba here. She can’t really picture life without her here, because it wouldn’t be like the past. July and June and May and everything before had been one thing, and then that bell had rung and some new phase of life began. And then there had been a footprint, and a bottle of wine, and all these little things that built a barricade between the then and the now. There is no going back. Galinda knows things now, and she shivers about it.

“Galinda’s being controlling about the puzzle,” Elphaba murmurs, and Crope snorts. “Want to help?”

“God, no,” he shudders. “I’m going home, actually. I got up at four but Tibbett and I have a date, isn’t that adorable? I’m teaching him to make sourdough.”

“Good luck to him,” Galinda mutters. “He’ll need it, being in the kitchen with you.”

“She’s extremely mean,” Crope tells Elphaba matter-of-factly. “If I were you I’d leave while you still can or else Galinda’s going to get attached.”

Galinda’s face heats and she looks up finally, sharp and jaw clenched. Elphaba looks down at her, though, and her face is all fond and it makes Galinda’s stomach leap.

“I don’t mind,” she hums, and Galinda beams.

Crope gags. “Alright, that’s my cue to leave,” he says. “It might do you both a little good to spend some time away from each other. You’re starting to get weird.”

“Well, he was in a mood,” Galinda says once he’s left the room, and Elphaba laughs. The door swings shut behind him, bell tinkling, and a draft of icy air follows. The music plays on steadily.

The puzzle is easy enough once Galinda’s got the space to take care of it. Frex helps to the extent that he can, but he’s been quiet lately— he’s been quiet since Galinda met him, really, and Elphaba assures her that it’s normal. It’s a mountain scene, a covered bridge in the middle and a little brook running underneath it. Galinda is working on the ferns in the foreground. Elphaba, she notices, is leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Elphie,” Galinda pouts, poking Elphaba in the side, “pay attention to me. I’m wilting away over here.”

Elphaba’s head swings up. “You seem fine to me,” she muses. “It’s been what, two hours? And you’re almost done.”

“Yeah, because I’m doing it all by myself,” Galinda pouts. “My productivity is a direct effect of my neglect.”

Elphaba snorts.

“I didn’t eat my breakfast,” Frex says all of a sudden, and two faces still frozen in teasing laughter turn towards him. Elphaba’s brow furrows.

“But you just did, Father,” she tells him, and Galinda watches the straight line of her body as she talks and tries not to find it attractive. “The peppermint bread this morning, remember? We can get you some lunch if you’re hungry, I think there’s some leftovers of that butternut squash soup you had yesterday, and—”

“I didn’t eat,” Frex insists, jaw clenched. “I want my breakfast.”

Elphaba’s face falls and Galinda can’t help herself, she scoots closer. “We must’ve forgotten to eat, Mr. Thropp,” she says, and smiles lightly. “We were so busy with this puzzle, weren’t we?”

“Yes,” he agrees slowly, dubiously, and Elphaba sucks in a breath. Galinda leans into her and places a hand on her ankle, comforting and hovering.

“Do you want some of the peppermint bread? I can even make you a cup of tea to go with it,” she tells him. “Or there’s some sourdough and eggs, or Elphie’s right, there’s soup. Anything you want, really, just name it.”

The puzzle, only a handful of pieces away from being finished, sits in wait. Eventually Frex nods slowly, squeezing his eyes shut and then open again.

“Eggs,” he says. “I want eggs.”

“Alright,” Galinda nods, eyes wide. “I’ll make eggs.”

She does, too, and she’s a terrible cook but they turn out half decent. Elphaba gets her father upstairs and settled in bed again and they wait for Galinda, for her sourdough toast and still slightly runny scrambled eggs that she brings up on a nice china plate. Frex eats in small bites, slow and picky, and drifts off to sleep without much fanfare. When Galinda looks back up Elphaba is biting at a thumbnail.

“He’s getting worse,” she announces. “He is, don’t you think? This keeps happening.”

“Why don’t we go downstairs,” Galinda suggests, and holds out her hand for Elphaba’s. She takes it.

“You’re doing the best you can do,” she tells Elphaba down at the front desk, which she’s slid a second chair behind so that Elphaba can keep her company. She intends to keep her here as long as she can, after all. “Like, unless he went into treatment or something I think you’re doing everything right. He has everything he needs.”

“Nessa shouldn’t have to see him like this,” Elphaba mutters. “They were so close, she doesn’t want to take care of him but then she wants him to visit, I think. She wants us to come back for Lurlinemas.”

It’s the first Galinda is hearing of this. She thinks, rather foolishly, about Momsie and Popsicle inviting Elphaba along. About Momsie’s ridiculous cabbage and how Popsicle would probably try to teach Elphaba to golf, and how absolutely absurd such a thing would be. Still, though. Still.

“You’re going back?” she asks, and her voice sounds a little more pitiful than she’s intended. “I didn’t, um… when?”

“Just for the holiday,” Elphaba tells her, her voice still rather cloudy. “I don’t even know if we are yet, honestly. Nessa’s… she’s a bit hard to figure out these days.”

“But she sent you both away,” Galinda says softly, feeling a bit like a child. “And is that even good for him? Is it good for you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Elphaba says dismissively. Galinda opens her mouth to argue but Elphaba waves it away looking pleading, looking desperate. “It’s not your cross to bear, Galinda, and I really do mean that. You’ve done enough.”

She means it in a good way, Galinda knows that. She can tell that because of Elphaba’s soft tone, the way she’s reaching her fingers out across the desk and Galinda is itching at the sight of them. She’s done enough, she means it well. It hurts a little bit either way.

“It does matter what you want, though,” Galinda says, “Elphie, I—”

“Please,” Elphaba says, and she sounds a little bit desperate all of a sudden. Galinda swallows.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay, we can talk about something else. If you want to.”

Elphaba nods, and Galinda mirrors her. For a moment it is very quiet. Down the road she can hear the faint patter of footsteps on the cold ground, and she wonders when it will snow again. The desk, its cherry wood, smells like paper.

“You, um,” Elphaba starts, and her voice sounds so loud in the room that she clears her throat and lowers it, “you look very pretty. Today, I mean.”

Galinda feels her cheeks go pink but she swallows it down. “Just today?” she pouts, and cocks her head. “Elphie, you really know how to charm a girl.”

“Every day, you look pretty every day,” Elphaba says, laughing. “God, Galinda, you knew what I meant!”

“I did,” Galinda chirps happily. “It’s just fun to tease you, that’s all.”

It is. Elphaba glances across the desk at her and smiles. Galinda smiles back.

“So, last night?” Elphaba asks, voice pitching up nervously.

“Wonderful,” Galinda tells her, leaning forward. “Splendid. Splendiferous, even.”

“High praise,” Elphaba says, and she looks a little embarrassed in spite of her teasing tone. “Listen, I know we said nothing too serious— because you didn't even know girls could kiss each other up until recently—”

Galinda squawks, outraged, and slaps Elphaba in the arm. “I specifically told you—”

“—but,” Elphaba continues, laughing, “we can still spend time together, can’t we?”

Galinda narrows her eyes, leaning in quickly to press a kiss to the tip of Elphaba’s nose. It makes her cross eyed. “You have to spend time with me,” she whispers, and leans back fast enough to make her head spin. “It’s in the fine print, remember?”

“I’ve really got to read this fine print sometime,” Elphaba mutters, and her eyes are caught on Galinda’s lips which is really quite delightful, she arranges them into a little smirk to tease her, pursed and quirked.

“You really should,” she agrees, and leans in closer. Elphaba meets her in the middle.

So this is how the next few weeks pass. Galinda hardly comes down from her high— she sleeps and eats and everything, truly, but it’s all in a quick rush that patters along faster than she can keep up with it. Her heartbeat is working overtime. It’s undefined but it’s something, it’s certainly something and everybody knows it. Crope has taken to staring at them with a discerning little squint, brow all crinkled in confusion, and it’s quite fun to lead him on wild goose chases. She takes him, Tibbett, and Elphaba out to the bar one night and lets Elphaba sit very close to her, hand around her waist, and watches Crope’s eyes ping pong back and forth, stumped.

“He’s never going to figure it out,” Galinda whispers into Elphaba’s ear when the two boys get up to buy more drinks, lingering at the bar to talk to the bartender— she’d been a year behind them in high school, Galinda realizes with a glance. She makes sure to whisper it close enough that her lips graze the shell of a green ear, so that Elphie shivers, so that she leans closer and squeezes Galinda’s waist more. “He can be pretty oblivious, actually. Why else do you think it took so long for him and Tibbett to get together?”

“But you don’t want them to know, do you?” Elphaba murmurs back. Her voice is a low hum, vibration echoing through Galinda’s chest. She wants, she wants so badly. Elphaba had let her use her mouth on her for the first time last night and the way she’d felt… well. There is something Galinda likes quite a bit about having Elphie’s hands pulling her hair as she comes, and she can’t quite get her mind off of it.

Does she? No, of course she doesn’t. But still, it doesn't seem like it would be the worst thing. Crope and Tibbett are horrible teases— one more than the other, Galinda thinks affectionately— but it would make hiding kisses and touches a lot easier.

But then again, she hasn’t put her mind to it fully. There’s a faint clench of panic at the thought of making such a big choice, such a declaration. Touching Elphaba is one thing. Spending time with Elphaba, going out with her on walks and to movies and even to dinner— one thing. To declare it, to put words to the two of them? To put words to herself?

Well. It had been hard enough in her vague letter to Momsie. Her stomach rolls at the thought.

“That’s not the point,” Galinda insists. “Anyway, if he hasn’t gotten there yet he never will. He didn’t even notice that mark you left on my neck last week.”

Elphaba’s face goes hot, Galinda can feel it where they’re pressed together. “But you still should’ve covered that up,” she mutters. “You’ve got makeup, Galinda, I’ve seen mountains of it.”

“I like it,” Galinda says, smiling, and Elphaba rolls her eyes.

“You’re like a teenager,” she says affectionately. Affectionately, adoringly, perfectly!

“When I was a teenager it was worse,” Galinda tells her. “I dated this boy who I didn’t even like that much but he always wanted to make out in the stairwell… because I was hot, you know, so it made him more popular…”

“We wouldn’t have gotten along in high school, you were right,” Elphaba announces. Galinda laughs loudly, curling closer so that one of her legs drapes over Elphaba’s, knotting them together. Elphaba swallows.

“I know, I’m always right,” she hums, and that, for the moment, is that.

December comes in the midst of a blizzard. The power goes out at night and the three of them— Frex, Elphaba, and Galinda— sleep on the floor of the parlor beside the roaring fireplace. She and Elphaba stay up until midnight to ring in the new month, and lean back to kiss against the couch, careful not to disturb Frex’s sleep. He’s been having more and more bad days as of late.

Elphaba curls into her arms when they do fall asleep, though, on the spare cot Galinda had rolled out of the supply closet. She kisses her one more time before they drift off, long and dragging and wet against her mouth, making desire spark low in her stomach just like she’d known it would. She sleeps on it, though, and steadies it away with smooth slow breaths. Elphaba doesn’t snore.

Crope doesn’t make it in that morning, the snow is piled up on all sides. “It’ll be fun, like camping,” Galinda proclaims, and proceeds to burn three pieces of toast. Elphaba bites her lips around a laugh.

“Will you tell me more about your sister?” Galinda asks when they’ve settled in for the day. Thankfully no guests are in, they’ll be booked starting this weekend for ski season and then there’s a lapse over Lurlinemas week before they return with a vengeance. It’s December first and Galinda can’t get the thought of Elphaba stopping back in Nest Hardings out of her head, it winds itself around her spine and brain stem like a corkscrew coil, grating.

“What do you want to know?” Elphaba asks, a little wary. She’s got a book between her fingers but she and Galinda are sharing one blanket, it’s absolutely addictive. Galinda wants to press closer to her than she thinks possible. She can’t stop touching Elphie these days, a hand on a wrist or a smooth expanse of stomach. She sits on her hands instead.

“Anything,” Galinda murmurs. “Please? What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Elphaba starts, and then trails off. “We used to disagree a lot about religion and that sort of thing. I’ve sort of given up on that, obviously.”

She glances in Galinda’s direction, wary, and Galinda just nods.

“She’s more sensitive than she pretends she is. She broke up with a boy… oh, five years ago now? And instead of just dealing with it like a normal person she decided she’d never date anyone again. God,” Elphaba says, laughs a little fondly, “she’s so stubborn.”

“Not at all like you,” Galinda hums. Elphaba inclines her head, allowing the point.

“But that's Nessa for you. She loves theology and I was pushing for her to pursue it, like a degree or even a class, but no— she wanted to be just like Father. It feels powerful for her, I think. She used to hate it but now…”

“People are complicated like that,” Galinda says thoughtfully. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Elphaba glances her way, eyes big, and nods.

“I’ve always been basically the same,” Galinda says, tilting her head and rubbing the blanket between two fingers. “Like, for as long as I’ve been alive I’ve been this way. But I used to be shyer. And I remember once in maybe… oh, I don’t know, third grade? I decided everybody was going to like me. And then they did!”

Elphaba laughs incredulously. “What, so you just willed yourself into being popular?”

“Basically,” Galinda nods. “Okay, now tell me another thing.”

“One time I got in a fight,” Elphaba remarks idly. Galinda gapes. “I was maybe seven? Some bigger kid was picking on Nessarose and I walked across the playground and hit her in the face.”

Galinda’s jaw drops open. “Elphie! I didn’t know you had it in you,” she gasps, eyes twinkling as she scoots closer. “So brave. And strong. And—”

“That’s a seven year old you’re talking about,” Elphaba tells her, smirking with her eyes half shut as she leans back.

“That’s you I’m talking about,” Galinda hums. “Would you hit someone for me? I can picture it now, you defending my honor…”

“Honestly,” Elphaba scoffs, but she leans her head into Galinda’s hand where it’s resting by her hair anyway, nudges it like a cat. On the floor Killyjoy rolls onto his back and nuzzles himself against Elphie’s leg, a chain.

Something occurs to Galinda, she picks her head up. “Does she know about me?”

Elphaba furrows her brow up and cocks her head and it’s that quintessential Elphie-has-a-question face that Galinda so adores. “Who?”

“Nessarose, obviously,” Galinda says. “My momsie and popsicle have heard about you. In my letters.”

Elphaba opens her mouth, shuts it, and blinks. “They know about me?”

“Well, yes,” Galinda nods, feeling a prickly sort of embarrassment at the back of her neck and her hairline— is that strange? “Not that we’re… I mean, of course I know it’s not serious or official or anything but you’re interesting, Elphie, what else would I tell them about?”

Elphaba’s hand comes up and she gnaws on the bone of her thumb for a moment, and so it blocks her expression but Galinda can feel it change. Without the entirety of her face plain, though, she can’t make out what Elphaba’s feeling. She wouldn’t know either way.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “Well yes, Nessa knows about you. In a sense.”

Galinda gasps. “What does she know! What does she think of me?”

“She… well,” Elphaba starts, and then sighs. “Galinda, my sister isn’t the most sociable person.”

“So she hates me,” Galinda says, and slumps backward. “God, what! What did you tell her? Was it because I was too nosy back in August?”

Elphaba has the nerve to laugh at that. “No,” she shakes her head, smiling. “She doesn’t hate you, she’s just wary of pretty much everyone. Me included, so you aren’t special.”

“Well really,” Galinda huffs. It’s almost peaceful here with all the lights out— cold, yes, but still and calm and the white blue wintry light from the windows is glowing. Killyjoy likes to bask in it and he crawls his way over to the corner where a dog toy is waiting, a long tentacled little octopus that he loves, and begins to chew solemnly.

“She still wants me to come to visit,” Elphaba says delicately. “In the middle of December— maybe the fifteenth?”

“The fifteenth?” Galinda exclaims, shrill and uncaring. “But that’s so soon! In what, two weeks? You’re kidding!”

“It’s just for the holidays,” Elphaba says patiently. “Actually, just for Lurlinemas, I’ll be home before New Year’s Eve.”

Galinda, head hazy, files the way Elphaba says home away in a pocket for another time. She swallows. “And… and your father?”

“The congregation doesn’t do much for Lurlinemas,” Elphaba says instead. “Nessa likes it and they celebrate as much as anyone but it’s still too pagan for them, at the end of the day. There won’t be any sermons.”

“And they’ll all be away with family,” Galinda adds, nodding slowly. “So no one will see him. I get it.”

“Right,” Elphaba nods right back, and sighs. “Right.”

“Does she know?” Galinda asks, and meets Elphaba’s eyes carefully. “About… this?”

She doesn’t have to clarify, Elphaba knows. “Not in as many words,” she confesses lowly. “But I’m sure she’s guessed. I don’t talk much about girls with her if I can help it.”

And, well, something about Elphaba saying ‘girls,’ the idea that Galinda is occupying some space in her mind not reserved for friends or family, it does something to her. She is one of the girls, someone Elphaba is attracted to, something that she can’t control. Elphaba, so buttoned up and in charge of her life, has her moments of desire just like anyone. She wants. She needs.

Galinda shifts, ignoring the low heaviness in her stomach. Sometimes it’s uncanny how much she wants Elphaba, sometimes it comes at the strangest of times. Watching Elphaba’s hands, dusted with powdered sugar, gesticulating over breakfast— she wants. Sitting beside her at the front desk, making calls to confirm reservations while Elphaba flips through her sketchbook and she tries not to grow desperate at the idea of someone else seeing— she wants. Elphaba plumping a pillow on the couch, Elphaba petting Killyjoy’s chin, Elphaba out on the dunes alone in the frigid air while Galinda watches from the inn window. She wants.

“So from the fifteenth to the thirtieth?” she asks, and maybe she’s pouting just a little but how can she help it!

“At most,” Elphaba tells her. “Listen, Galinda…”

“But that’s alright,” Galinda murmurs, rationalizing. “I have to go to Momsie and Popsicle’s anyway, so that’s on the twenty third and then I’m there for a week so I’ll be back by New Year’s Eve too, and we can spend it together, and Killyjoy’s staying with Milla so it isn’t like you’ll be missing much, actually.”

“Yes,” Elphaba agrees. “You know what this means?”

“What?” Galinda asks, wrinkling her nose. She hopes the power comes back soon, it’s starting to get really quite freezing and Elphaba hates it when she warms her feet on her green legs.

“We’ll just have to do as much holiday celebration as we can in two weeks,” she says, earnest and smiling because she knows how positively hypnotic it is when she says things like that. “Did you say you needed help hanging Lurlinemas lights?”

Galinda can’t help it if she squeals; really, what else could she do?

A week later the snow is mostly melted and the power has long since come back on. Galinda decides that they are taking a field trip. “The lighthouse is absolutely unmissable in the winter, Elphie,” she announces, and Elphaba eyes her warily over her dresser. Frex is upstairs with his music— it’s the only thing he’s been enjoying lately, and he remembers the lyrics to most older songs which sets Elphaba right at ease. Galinda is changing, pulling on a cashmere sweater and smirking at Elphaba’s unsubtle gazing. She tops it off with a pink hat for good measure.

“It’s… don’t you think it’s a little cold, Galinda?” Elphaba asks, handing Galinda her comb before she has to ask for it.

Galinda blows a raspberry, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please, don’t be such a baby. Besides, we’ll go inside when we get there.”

Elphaba narrows her eyes. “Maybe I’m crazy,” she says, “but I distinctly remember there being a lot of ‘no trespassing’ signs when I went to the lighthouse back in the summer. A lot of ‘do not enter under any circumstances’ messaging, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, that? That doesn’t apply to me,” Galinda scoffs, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it, I know people.”

“Of course you do,” Elphaba mutters. Galinda beams at her and plops a spare hat on her head, slate gray with a delightful little pompom on top. It wiggles when Elphaba glances up at it, shaking her head.

The walk along the beach is rather lovely. It isn’t even that cold, Elphaba’s just a drama queen— the snow is melting, after all, and Galinda walks so that the lapping water glazes across the edges of her boots. Far out the river is half frozen over, big chunks of white icebergs bobbing lazily along upriver. It’ll never spread all the way across, though, because it never has before. That’s the way the world works sometimes.

“On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you to go back to Nest Hardings?” Galinda asks, watching the way Elphaba walks and the way she swings her hands. She’d love to hold on to one of those mittened arms but it probably isn’t the time, and anyway, things are light and easy and casual. They are taking it slow. No feelings, not big ones, not yet.

Or at least, that’s the impression she’s gotten. She’s never been great at figuring out these sorts of things.

“Three,” Elphaba mutters.

“One being the highest or one being the lowest?” Galinda asks, cocking her head. Elphaba turns to her, smiling.

“Galinda, it’s your system!”

“Yeah, but you answered!”

“One being the lowest,” Elphaba concedes, shaking her head fondly. “I’m not dreading it, and it’ll be good to see Nessa. But…”

“But?” Galinda echoes, blinking. Elphaba breathes in, like she’s about to say something, and then cuts herself off.

“It’s just complicated,” she says, and nods all satisfied. The lighthouse begins to emerge up ahead, to the right, they will have to cross more beach and clamber up onto a wooded trail out to the water to reach it.

“Hm,” Galinda muses, and then brightens. “Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like this hat? I personally think it suits you very much.”

“What’s up with you and your scales?” Elphaba laughs. “Should I be suspicious? What’s all the data for?”

“I rate it a ten,” Galinda remarks, ignoring her. “That means you’re keeping it. You’ll need it for your trip, on account of you not having any hats. Consider it an early Lurlinemas present.”

“I can’t take your hat,” Elphaba starts, and Galinda holds a palm up to her mouth until she feels Elphaba’s lips stop moving.

“Walking on the beach is supposed to be introspective and thoughtful,” she says primly. “You’re interrupting my quiet time, Elphaba.”

“That never stopped you,” Elphaba mutters, but she quiets down anyway and follows Galinda up into the brush, holding a steady hand on the small of her back when she crouches between two trees to get onto the path. Galinda leans back into it ever so slightly, preening.

Galinda has always considered the lighthouse to be one of her most favorite places in the world. It’s all surrounded by tall reeds, a shabby boardwalk over the swampy marsh of it, and then all at once the reeds open up and the sky clears and there it is, in all its red bricked glory. Now it’s dusted with snow, chimney dangling icicles precariously, and the boardwalk creaks beneath their feet.

“Such a perfect day for it,” Galinda exclaims, speeding up to peer at the beach from the fenced in expanse of the lighthouse. “One time I saw someone almost die out here, isn’t that unbelievable? The currents will snatch you up like that!”

“That’s awful,” Elphaba says, and Galinda sighs.

“Oh, he was fine, you’re so serious,” she says. “Besides, isn’t it a perfect day? We’re not leaving this spot until you say it.”

“It’s a little cold,” Elphaba replies. Galinda levels her with an unimpressed stare until she sighs. “It’s perfect.”

“Good! Should we explore inside, then?” Galinda asks, smiling, and skipping her way up to the door. She has to move the pesky old ‘do not enter’ sign away from the padlock, huffing, and Elphaba watches her with a lip between her teeth.

The lock is chilly between her bare fingers, she’s tugged her mittens off to work the dial. Once around, once back— she feels Elphaba’s eyes on her and wiggles with it.

Right before summer had started she’d come out here with a single piece of paper and a pencil and stayed for hours, eating only mulberries and getting her dress all dirty with sand and mud. That was before Elphaba, that was before anyone had seen her drawings, that was before it all. She’d been thinking of Fiyero back then, how silly! She hadn’t known anything, not a single thing.

Now the mulberries are long gone, the tree nothing but sharp streaks of brown in the white blue sky. Elphaba shivers next to her. The door springs open all at once.

“There we go!” Galinda declares, ushering her in. “Good thing we didn’t bring Killyjoy, he’s petrified of cobwebs.”

Elphaba snorts. “I think that dog would be scared of his own reflection,” she says, and spins once around the room to take it all in.

“That’s my son you’re talking about,” Galinda says, and pushes the door shut with her hip. “Well! Here it is, what do you think?”

The old lighthouse is stuck somewhere between historic and abandoned. It is clean, though— of course it is, Galinda wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t. It’s fairly empty but for some fishing nets in one corner and a tide chart all pinned up, the rickety metal staircase up to the tower and butter yellow walls. For some reason Galinda can’t quite pin down it smells faintly of nutmeg.

“I like it,” Elphaba says, wiping some dust from an old fishing rod leaning against the wall. “Who exactly do you know, by the way? To get in here?”

“Mr. Hammond, he used to let me in back in high school,” Galinda chirps. “He’s pretty old, if he’s even still alive, so I don’t think he minds.”

Elphaba laughs. “What were you doing out here in high school?”

“God, I don’t even remember,” Galinda laughs right back. “Not much else to do in a town this size. It’s pretty romantic out here.”

“Oh?” Elphaba asks, tone pitching up. “So you brought boys, or…?”

“No, never,” Galinda grimaces. “I think I’ve decided I’m not big on romance and boys being in the same sentence, Elphie, you’re giving me hives over here.”

Elphaba giggles and she seems strangely free with it. Galinda, to occupy herself, leans over to tug on a dangling chain. The pentagon shaped room is bathed in warm yellow light, light that echoes off the matching walls and lingers on the double glazed window glass that has finally stopped rattling from their entry.

“So just me, then?” she asks shyly a moment later and it takes Galinda a beat to remember what they’d been talking about, to trace Elphaba’s soft voice back to the chain it’s adding itself onto. When she does piece it together she feels her toes burn in her boots, thick woolen socks prickling at her ankles and she feels a bit insufficient suddenly. She looks darling, of course, hair and hat and precious coat, and she knows the winter gives her a lovely pink dusting across her cheeks. Elphaba will want her, there’s no doubt about that, but still. December has felt like pulling back her skin just a bit, baring her soul a little more than she wants to. And they’re not even… this isn’t even…

She swallows, and does not blush or cough or stammer, and she lets Elphaba’s eyes fall all over her. She sheds her coat and then she’s there just in her clothes, that pale cashmere sweater and a lined pair of jeans, denim warm enough even without the fur inserts, and she feels pretty from it. “Yeah,” she says, smiling with half her face, “just you.”

Really Galinda hadn’t meant for this to happen but she’s not entirely surprised either, not with the way things have been shaking out these days. She’d brought along a deck of cards so she and Elphie could play like sailors, there’s even a bag with two rolls and two clementines and a wedge of cheese in case they got hungry. This, Elphaba careening forward across the floor to meet her up near the wall, isn’t what she’d had in mind but she’ll take it, she’ll take it gladly.

Elphaba has earrings in, little gold studs that sit in the dimpled space of her earlobes. Galinda feels them against the dip of her palm and wants to suck on it, to feel that cold metal on her tongue all raspy and like a leftover coin. She kisses her way over to it now that she has the chance, shaky breathing hope along Elphaba’s cheek.

Elphaba doesn’t always talk, there’s something so focused and secure about her. Galinda can tell her face is all wrinkled up and thoughtful when she slips a hand down her hip and along that pink cashmere. It flits along the edge of her leg, her thigh and the seam of her denim pants. Galinda starts to shudder.

So Galinda tangles herself up in the moment, tangles herself up in Elphaba. She’s got a hand around her neck and they walk backward just a bit until Elphie’s pressing her against the wall ever so slightly, careful not to push or demand. Galinda goes willingly and sucks on her jaw, her neck, relishes in the smell of her.

Elphaba lets a hand glance lower— the center of Galinda’s thigh, her pinky hovers just above her and slots itself near enough that she could almost crawl out of her skin.

“Baby,” Galinda says, and she hasn’t really meant to say it but it feels appropriate now, in this old lighthouse against a wall the color of a daffodil. “Please?”

Elphaba pulls back for a second, blinking. “You want…?”

She can be like this sometimes, a little skittish and unsure. She’s so capable in the moment, she handles Galinda and lets herself be touched and does it all so thoughtlessly. Or so it seems; of course, Elphaba Thropp is never thoughtless. She cares too much for that. So no, all the thinking is still there, blended into the before when she second guesses and only half believes Galinda wants her anyway. “You’re so beautiful,” she will sometimes murmur into Galinda’s chest, and it makes Galinda sick with pleasure until she notices that, when being told the same thing, Elphaba freezes just the slightest bit. Almost unknowable.

“Yes,” Galinda nods, and makes sure Elphaba sees her do it, makes sure she can trace her attraction all across her pale face. “Please, baby, I want to.”

Elphaba flushes— there it is, baby again, and Galinda knows now that she can’t repeat it any more times now but it feels so right. They aren’t anything yet, they are still floating in limbo, only maybe Galinda’s almost ready now. Maybe she is.

And Elphie is so careful. She lets Galinda hold onto her and makes sure she’s steady, all pressed up against the wall with a covered green thigh propping her legs apart. Elphaba leans in and tugs at her, the skin of her neck and the curve of her face. She can’t help but move into it, her hips grinding and waist clenching. Elphaba loves it when she’s loud like this.

Maybe Galinda is almost ready. Maybe they will come back to Shale Shallows after the holidays and be really ready, maybe when they celebrate New Year’s together or maybe at the start of January, maybe Galinda can pick up some nice little gift for Elphaba in Lake Chorge and remember how grippingly awful it is not to have her, maybe then she’ll be sure.

A finger glances across her clit, messy and slick and far more comfortable than it should be to find yourself up against a wall in December with clothes still on and only flickering yellow lamplight to guide you. Out the window there is nothing but river. She’s always thought it looks a little bit like being in the sky; she could live like this forever. Forever, she’s sure of it now.

Elphaba is teasing her. She’s moved back to the seam of Galinda’s hips, the inside of her thighs, and when she pushes forward with a little whine Elphaba just holds her steady and there’s nothing, no relief or satisfaction. Galinda whines a little louder, deliberate, until Elphaba glances up at her.

“Be patient,” she murmurs, and Galinda darts out to bite at her green cheek, her jawline. It makes Elphaba laugh in a single puff of air, quiet like there’s something to be hidden from their surroundings; she uses one palm to pin Galinda’s left hip to the wall firm enough to make her moan, which she does. Elphie smiles at that.

“You’re perfect,” she says, and drops her head to Galinda’s neck. Galinda can feel her murmur something else into the skin there but, with the haze of the moment, she can’t quite figure out what it is and then Elphaba’s hand comes back to her clit and it’s so much that she forgets to wonder.

Their sex has always felt so distinctly different from what Galinda has known. She wonders if it’s different for Elphaba too. It’s more… it’s slower, maybe, flush with care and attention and Galinda isn’t sure what else. She leans her head back and feels, whimpers and moans when Elphie touches her because she likes it that way, she’s told her so, and Galinda will do anything Elphie likes.

It doesn’t take long for her to get close. One hand comes up and clamps at Elphaba’s shoulder blade and her knees are trembling just a little bit, leaning on Elphaba’s leg where it’s propping and pressing her up and Galinda never wants this to end but it is going to, and soon. She whines again, loudly, and then flushes with the sound of it, swallowing. She’s never been this loud with anybody else.

Elphaba glances up at her with her big eyes and she doesn’t say anything but she does watch, lip wet and twitching when Galinda comes and she exhales into it, blowing a thin stream of air out onto her skin and making her shiver. Galinda gasps.

“That was okay?” Elphaba asks ridiculously, straightening back up and steadying Galinda as she does it. Her head is cocked like a dog’s, like Killyjoy when he’s gauging his reaction to some new variable. Galinda feels her lips bunch up with her smile.

“More than okay,” she says, and lurches forward to kiss Elphaba firm and steady. “The best. The best, I—”

She cuts herself off before she knows what she is going to say, swallows, and then continues.

“You’re perfect,” she tells Elphaba, and it’s a copy of what she’s just been told but it feels like the only thing to say in the moment. She traces the line of Elphaba’s swallow and runs her hands down Elphaba’s arms, clothed but still strong through the fabric of it. “So, so…”

She isn’t sure why it feels so different with her. Later, with Elphaba leaned up against a table in the corner and Galinda down on her knees kissing and tugging and sucking, relishing in the way Elphaba pulls her hair to get her closer, she feels it again. She wants Elphaba to grab, wants her to need, wants to wallow in her own desire so badly that she feels a little choked up when Elphie pulls like that. It’s something in that, in the way Elphaba is never rough with her except in moments where she’s overcome. It’s something in the way she feels when she does this, the way she has to press her own legs together on the dusty old ground. The words are escaping her and she keeps ending her sentences around a breath, half cut off in the middle and dangling.

It’s different with Elphie because— I want her all the time and I— The way she feels and the way she sounds and god, I—

When Elphaba comes she forgets it all and the sentences rot there all unfinished. What else can she do?

There are eight days between when Elphaba leaves and when Galinda does. That time between is positively awful, made worse because of the lapsing of it. Crope makes apple cider donuts for her because she’s been so pouty and it doesn’t help. She switches out the candles, gingerbread and peppermint and one appropriately titled ‘snow on the mountaintop’, and it doesn’t help. She thinks about Elphaba when she’d left, the way she’d smiled and tugged on the end of Galinda’s hair and told her not to worry. What a terrible thing it is to let somebody else comfort you, sometimes.

Galinda can’t stop drawing. It’s all to cover up little things, the fact that the inn has been demanding her attention in those eight days. She eats an almond croissant and then she hammers a board back into the wall on the first floor and then she lights a candle and sketches for hours, until her hand cramps up and she decides she likes the little house she’s drawn from nothing.

A day passes. She eats a crumbly piece of coffee cake and salts the steps up to the front door and sits on the floor behind the desk, hands caked in residue, and draws another house in a little college town that she imagines would be painted dark red, almost maroon. Elphaba doesn’t call.

She likes to imagine what she’s up to, it helps somewhat. Elphaba hasn’t told her much about the house she grew up in, just that it was big and cold, but Galinda pieces it together between turns of forcing the front door shut against icy air and lying awake staring at that knot of wood in her ceiling. She should draw it. There is Elphaba in front of a mirror and out on the grounds, walking with her father like she did back here. There is Elphaba eating little bites of dinner and reading with one leg spread out impolitely. Does anyone call her Elphie there, does anyone know her like Galinda does? It helps her to imagine that no, there is no one else.

It’s true, anyway. Galinda is rather sure she is quite singular. She has perfected the art of a good hair toss, after all, and that is a tricky thing to master so she’s made her mark in some way.

She’s bored, and so she gets unsatisfied. Milla comes by to drink and they do each others’ hair and makeup, and Milla goes home in one of Galinda’s best tops, and then when she’s gone the night crashes back down. Tibbett and Crope take her to the movies out of pity, she has fun and is near to bouncing off the walls all hyperactive and breathy, and then she gets back and shuts the door behind her and all she can feel is that the third stair from the bottom is creaky, and the light in room five is about to start flickering, and that this stretch of time had better go away fast. Room seven is the emptiest it’s ever been, ever.

When she makes it to Lake Chorge on the twenty third with suitcases and her best winter hat it’s all starting to feel the slightest bit better. She loves the feeling of taking the train, the performance of it and the inherent loveliness of the journey. She catalogs every bit of it for later— she’s going to have a whole host of things to recount to Elphaba when they’re back together again, maybe curled around each other in Galinda’s bed and maybe Elphie will let her trace the shape of her face while she talks.

“There’s our girl!” Popsicle booms when she makes it off the steaming train and he wraps her up in a big hug, firm and lovely enough that Galinda can let herself drift in it for a while.

“Where’s Momsie?” Galinda asks when they’ve broken apart finally, face flushed and smiling. “I love this coat on you, by the way, you’re looking very stylish.”

“She’s busy wrapping presents, she didn’t want you to see them until Lurlinemas day in case it ruined the surprise,” Popsicle tells her with a wink. Galinda laughs.

“I’m twenty eight years old.”

“You’re still her baby,” he says, and leans down to pick up one of her suitcases. “Shall we, then? I need to spend time with my little innkeeper while I can.”

Even though Galinda has never lived in this house, this iteration of who Momsie and Popsicle are now that they’re older and tucked off in a spot they’ve somehow deemed more idyllic, it feels as familiar as her childhood home. All the same things are here only spruced up, Momsie has even insisted on hanging up Galinda’s old posters in one of the guest bedrooms so that when she sleeps she’s got bygone pop stars looming over her like specters.

Momsie tells her she looks happier, which could mean anything, and Popsicle spends an ungodly amount of time on a rotisserie chicken that appears on the table all braised and perfectly golden. “Shouldn’t we be saving the feast for Lurlinemas Day?” Galinda asks with a hum of laughter when they sit down to eat, spooning herself garlic roasted potatoes and heaping piles of broccoli.

“Oh, we’ll be feasting then too, don’t you worry,” Momsie dismisses with a wave of her hand. “This is our first feast. Our ‘Galinda is home again’ feast.”

And it’s all very familiar. The music looping in the background, the clink of silverware, the way Popsicle holds his glass and the cadence of Momsie’s conversation. Galinda always worries she won’t be able to slip back into it so easily but then she visits and it happens, without fail— the last time she’d seen them had been a short vacation in mid-June and now, in this moment, there is nothing more familiar.

“Tell me all about this Elphaba,” Momsie says after dinner, when Popsicle is washing dishes at the window and pretending not to listen. The way she says her name gives Galinda a jolt and a shiver. “It just broke my heart to hear that she couldn’t make it, I was about to pick up a Lurlinemas present for her!”

Galinda tries not to laugh at that, at the image of her Elphie politely unwrapping one of Momsie’s gifts— a doily or one of those hideous crocodile handbags or something. The look on her face would probably be worth the strength it’d take not to collapse in hysterics.

“Maybe next time,” Galinda says vaguely, because she’s realizing that perhaps it’s not the most normal thing to invite one’s not quite anything, not quite nothing along to the holidays at one’s parents’ house. Elphaba is such a good sport. Elphaba is her friend, too, first and foremost.

Still, she can’t help but think about the wall of the lighthouse, or of that expanse of floor in her apartment where Elphaba had leaned forward to kiss her. Not quite nothing, either.

“I’ve barely heard anything,” Momsie sighs, collapsing most dramatically onto the couch and clutching a pillow to her chest. She looks like a child at a sleepover and all of a sudden Galinda can picture her at twelve, at thirteen, sharing secrets with girls Galinda hadn’t ever known. With Pfannee’s mother, actually— Galinda shudders at the thought.

“What do you want to hear?” Galinda asks, and she almost blushes. She’s being rather coy about this but it’s fun that way, and it’s a little easier too. Things with Elphaba feel too big to disclose. Crope and Tibbett and Milla don’t even know, or at least she hasn’t told them in as many words. She’s not even sure she quite knows. Life is complicated like that, she thinks sagely.

“Is she your… lover?” Momsie asks, eyes wide, and Galinda bursts out laughing. “What! What do you want me to call it?”

“Is she your girlfriend, Galindabear?” Popsicle asks, coming up behind the two of them and clapping his big hands on Galinda’s shoulders. “You know we’re just thrilled for you, did you ever talk to that girl your Momsie knew of? The, well, the lesbian?”

“I think I’m good on that, Popsicle,” Galinda giggles. “And no, she’s not… not really.”

“More of a benefits situation, then?”

“Momsie!” Galinda exclaims, face bright red.

“Oh, don’t be precious about it, I just want to know how to think of her! She’s a nice girl, my Galindaberry?”

“She’s,” Galinda starts, and then cocks her head. “She’s lovely.”

Momsie lets out a squeal, rather undignified and rather Galinda-reminiscent. Galinda smiles fondly and shakes her head, meets her Popsicle’s affectionate gaze in the same beat.

“She’s very kind,” Galinda says slowly. “And smart— interesting, you know? Funny. She likes me.”

“And who wouldn’t,” Momsie says with a smile. “Oh, Galinda, I’m going to get misty.”

“Don’t do that,” Galinda says hastily. “Please don’t do that. Why don’t we watch a movie, Momsie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Momsie gets misty at the movie instead, weeping through the climax. Galinda would show this to Elphaba as proof that she’s hardly histrionic— see? Look at what I came from.

But that’s a conversation for another time.

It’s quite odd to have your childhood bedroom transported across districts and provinces and dropped with quite a bit of fanfare in a house that the girl who made that room, that fifteen year old who painted her nails every morning to ensure none of them were even the slightest bit chipped, wouldn't recognize. It’s a little bizarre. Galinda spends her nights here like she’s in a shrine to some other girl. Momsie had been tasteful about it— she’d framed the posters, something she and Galinda had gotten into a fight about back when she was in high school. There are no tacky stickers on the fine oak dresser. It’s all around nicer, and Galinda concedes that maybe Momsie had been right way back when.

Not, of course, that she would ever admit it.

Galinda crawls under the covers in her silky nightgown and realizes that Elphaba fucked her in it once. She hadn’t packed it on purpose but it feels special now because of it, branded and set apart somehow. When the loose straps trace along her arm and the silk slips and slides against the expanse of her stomach she shivers.

She wants Elphaba here. Is that ridiculous? They aren’t even dating, not really, but they’ve been on dates and they’ve kissed and they’ve fucked and Galinda has helped her father get into the bathtub so, all things considered, aren’t they about as close as two people can be? Galinda’s certainly never been closer to another person in her life. It’s the way she feels about being with herself, in all honesty. Being with Elphaba is like spending time inside her own mind.

She’d said, back in November, that she had to figure some things out. And here they were, figured out, or at least somewhat. And still New Year’s is forever away, eight whole days, how positively awful. Whoever invented Lurlinemas was surely a positively awful person.

Well. Lurline, she supposes. “Sorry,” she murmurs into the cool air of the guest bedroom— her bedroom?— and tugs the covers up to her chin. She’s always been a fan of covering all of her bases.

Galinda sleeps like the dead in a room preserving the person she was thirteen years ago and, when she wakes up, she feels fifteen again for the splittest of seconds. Then, of course, she remembers who she is. Once she remembers she forgets the feeling, ironically, and within seconds the torment and insane magnitude of fifteen is nothing but a blip, never to be heard from again.

So Lurlinemas passes in a blur and so do the days that follow. She goes on a snow covered hike with Momsie and Popsicle that leaves them half stranded in an icicle filled forest, following fox prints back to civilization. They eat and eat and eat some more, Galinda puts chili powder in her hot chocolate and, though it makes her momsie cough and tear up, it makes Galinda’s lungs burn happily.

She’s back on the train before she knows it and she’s finding it rather idyllic to sit and watch the lake district filter past outside the window, playing soul music in her head and thinking about Elphaba. Tomorrow, tomorrow— Galinda doesn’t know how she feels, not entirely, but people have started relationships on far less, haven’t they?

Crope is going to kill her, she hasn’t kept a real secret from him since middle school. Milla is going to be thrilled, she loves drama and loves a secret relationship more than anything. Elphaba will be…

Well. Galinda isn’t quite sure yet. Isn’t that the whole point?

But then three things happen at once. That is not a good sign, is it?

First, when the train is busy pulling into Shale Shallows she gets a bad feeling.

This has always happened to her, ever since childhood. It’s done nothing but make her superstitious and that comes out right about now; she can’t help but fidget uncomfortably as she gets off the train and take a big gulp of the air. It smells different, for some reason she can’t quite place. Something is not right, something has shifted in an immeasurable sort of way. It’s tingly at the edges of her skin, the curve of her hips and the slide of her fingertips on her bags. Nothing can shake it. She used to be able to predict the future, way back when.

Second comes when she’s picked up Killyjoy and given Milla little cheek kisses and dropped off her Lurlinemas present and a fancy bottle of champagne as a thank you. “He was perfect, as always,” Milla tells her but speaks the words into Killyjoy’s face as she scratches his head. “Weren’t you, baby? Weren’t you so good for Auntie Milla?”

So the second thing— when she reaches the inn’s gate Killyjoy hardly recognizes it, looking all bemused up in her direction, because a tree is down. She can’t get a handle on what that means, not yet.

It doesn’t even look real, does it? When she’d been little one of her cousins had a fancy train set, the type with the model stations and snow covered houses, foamy trees and children the size of her pinky nail. If one of those scenes came to life it would look a little like this, she thinks, snow all along the roof of the inn and the sign dripping icicles and one of those fake foam trees lying across the path. Galinda blinks.

Well. That certainly can’t be a good omen.

She has to get to work as soon as she can, of course— Killyjoy runs straight to his dog bed and Galinda makes a call, and then another, and sweet talks one man and then two and finally someone’s agreeing to come clear it out of her front yard before New Year’s Day. A win, even if it’s a miniscule one.

But bad things come in threes, she’s always known this. Galinda can’t shake the feeling. Little Galinda would know what to make of it, would have prophesied all the things that would surely go wrong because of that blasted tree— and it’s a shame, Galinda had really liked that one!— but she’s older now.

She can’t settle so she decides to dust. She’s busy with the top of the doorframe leading from the front hall into the breakfast nook when— there, the third thing.

It’s another one of those moments, the ones that stick out. The ones that ring loud and shrill in her ears, remind her that they are important, that she can’t look away even if she tried. She will tell it slowly because that is how it happened.

She’s dusting the top of the doorway and she finds a little cobweb. She checks it for a spider and, upon finding none, sweeps it away. The tips of her toes are starting to hurt from standing on them. She thinks of Elphaba, of the way she will touch Galinda along her waist and her back and suddenly she wants it so badly she can hardly breathe.

Maybe it’s the wanting that does it. Galinda isn’t good at wanting things. She turns toward the desk like she’s expecting it, which she isn’t, and her gaze locks on that cherry red rotary phone with its dial all worn from use. There is the cord where she always winds her fingers, there is the pile of notes laid beside it that she needs to get to, there is the list of reservations. Guests will be here starting on the first, it’s a brutal sort of system and Galinda loves it more than anything.

Maybe she wanted too much, flew too close to the sun, and this is what it gets her.

So— she’s looking, and waiting, and then the phone rings. It is shrill and so, so piercing in the quiet of the inn and Galinda darts to it, lifts it so that Killyjoy won’t get scared and start barking like he sometimes does, and then pauses.

The anticipation in her stomach has reached a fever pitch. She could throw up, she could run a mile— not that she ever would, of course, it’s about the symbolism of it. Trying to swallow over the frog in her throat, Galinda lifts the receiver to her ear.

“Hello?” she says, and her voice sounds very small. Usually it would be brighter, usually she’d say something like Shale Shallows Inn, how can I help you today? She doesn’t, of course. There is some nagging feeling that this is just for her.

“Galinda,” the phone says, and Galinda finally swallows. It is Elphaba, but of course it is.

Galinda relaxes, foolishly. “Elphie? You have good timing, I just made it back. A tree fell, would you believe that? But hopefully it’ll be cleared away by the time you get home, I was very persuasive with the tree men on the phone.”

Elphaba laughs a little but it sounds wrong and raspy. Galinda bites at her cheek and waits.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Elphaba says, and Galinda wrinkles her nose.

“Don’t tell me you knocked down my tree,” she jokes, because she’s naive and foolish and she’s never been right about anything, never ever. “I wouldn’t admit that if I were you, Elphaba, or else I’ll be forced to take legal action.”

“It’s not that,” Elphaba says uselessly, because obviously Galinda knows it isn’t, she’s not an idiot. “It’s just, well…”

“What is it, Elphie?” Galinda asks, and she hears a shaky little sigh over the phone that sits all crackly in the space between their voices. “You’re not—”

“I can’t come back,” Elphaba says all in one burst. “To the inn, to Shale Shallows, I… they need me here.”

“Who?” Galinda asks stupidly, merely playing along because it doesn’t feel like a conversation she’s meant to be having. Something’s gone wrong and the universe has gotten her mixed up with someone else, a Galinda from another reality.

“My sister, my father,” Elphaba says. “She wants us to stay. She says I have to. And I’ve told her but…”

“He likes it here,” Galinda says easily, like a tennis match she’s playing on autopilot. “He… it’s good for him, and I have all his music, and—”

“I know,” Elphaba says.

“You like it here,” Galinda murmurs, even quieter, and hopes that it hurts to hear. She needs it to hurt. “Elphaba, you have to come home.”

“I know,” Elphaba says, and she does sound hurt— tired, wrecked, voice overused like she’s been arguing and straining her vocal chords with the effort of it. “I don’t have a choice.”

“What about your things?” Galinda replies, dumb and blank and blinking. “Your clothes, your…”

“We took everything we needed, I think,” Elphaba says quietly. “Whatever’s left there isn’t important. Not really.”

“Were you always going to do this?” Galinda bites out, fury pooling low in her chest. “Elphaba Thropp, so help me…”

“No,” Elphaba says quietly. “I told you, Galinda, I don’t have a choice.”

“Right,” Galinda says. The air is still. Outside she can see the bark of that ridiculous tree, she wants someone to come chop it up and burn it down with all the moss and fungus on it. Horrible things. “So I guess that’s it, then. With us.”

There’s a terrible shaky breath on the other line. “Galinda—”

“You’re wrong, you know,” Galinda says, and bites her lip as hard as she can stomach. “You always have a choice.”

And that’s the thing about inns, in the end. One day you check out and you don’t even realize how quiet it’s gotten without you there. When Galinda hangs up the phone her own voice lingers shrilly in the silence. There is no one else there to hear it.

Chapter Text

On the first day of the new year it sleets horribly. Killyjoy slips and slides his way around the garden and Galinda watches the thick sludge of it out the window with a grim satisfaction. Yes, this seems about right.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the way Galinda operates in the coming days. She’s here one minute and gone the next, keeping herself busy with inane chores like sorting each individual cloth napkin in the whole inn and trying to sew up a tear on the couch cover, pricking her fingertip with the needle four times before she gives up and leaves the threaded needle hanging there.

“Do not ask me about Elphaba, I don’t want to talk about it,” she tells Crope the first day he’s back. She’s been waking up early and sitting behind the front desk for no reason and so she catches him on his way in, taking off his hat. He jumps about a foot in the air.

“God, Galinda, you’re starting to get really creepy,” he mutters. “Hello, Crope. How are you, Crope? How was your Lurlinemas, Crope?”

Galinda levels him with a stare. She still looks good, of course, fuzzy sweater and navy blue corduroys, pretty silver jewelry all the way up her ear. She has tried quite hard from her hair down to her shoes, the ones Killyjoy is chewing on at the moment. She feels a rush of such affection toward that silly dog that she almost tears up.

When Crope meets her eyes he blanches. “Woah,” he mutters. “Galinda, are you—”

“I think I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” she hisses. “Want to be helpful? You can go shovel the front if you’re not going to bake this morning.”

“You go shovel it,” Crope says weakly, and then glances at her again. “On second thought, I’ll do it. Give you a little break, maybe that would be good.”

“I bet that’ll cheer me right up,” Galinda says sardonically and Crope looks baffled, a crinkled furrow between his eyebrows that would be funny if Galinda were in that sort of a mood. She, of course, is not.

“I’ll, um… I’ll go and do that,” Crope says awkwardly, pointing towards the door. “Okay. Did you… okay.”

He’s gone into the frigid air so fast that his face hasn’t even returned to its normal color. Galinda bites at her tongue, worrying her front teeth over the spot where she’d burned it yesterday evening on scorching hot tea, and sighs loud enough to make the pages of the guest book ruffle.

“She didn’t even leave a review,” she says. “How’s that for rude, Killyjoy?”

Killyjoy rolls over, unties the laces of Galinda’s left shoe, and gets to work biting at them. She nods once, picks up a pencil, and starts to draw.

Galinda dreams again now, she supposes. This time she’s out in the river— in it, submerged up to her neck— and it’s wintertime but it’s also summer and the trees are green and overripe, the water warm enough that it feels like sinking into a bath.

Elphaba is there. Galinda knows it’s a dream because of that. Even though she has been trying for a week now to get Elphaba out of her head Elphaba just won’t go. She always has been so damn stubborn, hasn’t she?

“You didn’t book a room,” she tells this warped dream Elphaba, and feels the press of river water against her stomach. It’s chilly and she isn’t sure if she’s dressed properly for it, can’t tell if the flutter around her skin is fabric or water or something else entirely.

“I’m staying in the river,” Elphaba says matter-of-factly. “So I don’t have to.”

“That’s not how it works,” Galinda says, but right then she looks down and the river water has cleared, no longer murky but perfectly pristine and below her feet— she can see her feet treading water, can see the long skirt she’s now inexplicably wearing float around her ankles— there is a bed and a desk and even a little window up to the surface.

“See?” Elphaba says, and she’s further away now. Galinda half registers that they are beside the lighthouse but also at the very edge of town and also at the shore of Lake Chorge, and even a little bit at the vacation rental her family had stayed at for a week when she was seven. They all melt together like candlewax and Galinda feels so very tired all of a sudden.

In the dream Galinda floats around in a circle and peruses. There on the shore there are the outlines of people, people pointing and watching and humming at her things she can’t quite make out. In her head something is rattling around, something brilliant and revolutionary and the best idea she’s ever had but it won’t come out polished, she’s already forgetting it with each breath she takes.

“You can’t have an inn underwater,” Galinda scoffs. “How would you dust?”

But when she turns back Elphaba is even further. It’s the current, she knows that much, this is how it acts and it moves with a mind of its own. No point in trying now. She can’t even see Elphaba anymore, she’s just a speck in the distance. The water goes smooth and wrinkly like Galinda’s best bedsheets, Elphaba is strewn across them but too far for Galinda to recover. Predictably, a stab of desire. Galinda rolls her eyes.

“This is a little on the nose, isn’t it,” she mutters, and then she’s awake and her throat is dry and she coughs once into her silk pillowcase and falls asleep on her stomach.

The next morning Galinda decides she is fed up. She stalks into the kitchen, Killyjoy at her heels and pressing his nose into the space behind her knees, and snatches a bear claw from the tray Crope has been meticulously arranging.

“Galinda!” he squawks in alarm, wrestling with her to grab it back. “That tray is for the guests, and there actually are some guests, you can’t just—”

“I can do whatever I want, it’s my inn,” Galinda says bitterly. Crope makes another grab for the pastry and so Galinda leans down and licks it, one smooth line across the top. Crope makes a noise like he’s been shot.

“That was the prettiest one,” he says quietly, looking shell shocked.

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I took it,” Galinda replies and then she leans down, shaking his hand off of her arm, and takes a big bite.

“So I can’t ask about the elephant in the room but I’m just supposed to pretend this,” he pauses, gestures lamely to Galinda’s face with a wrinkled nose, “is normal? Because no offense, Galinda, but it seems like you’re having a bit of a breakdown.”

“What elephant,” Galinda scoffs, taking another bite. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” Crope drawls disbelievingly. “Hey, so the cross country ski place up the road is opening tomorrow.”

“Who cares,” Galinda says around a mouthful of almond. Crope raises an eyebrow.

“You, probably,” he says, “because it means you’re going to be all booked up starting this weekend.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Galinda hums. “Okay, well you’d better make sure the food is good, then.”

“And it might be smart to have all your open rooms ready,” Crope continues slowly, delicately. Galinda squints at him, chewing.

“What are you talking about?”

Crope lets out a loud sigh and leans across the kitchen counter, slamming his hands down in front of Galinda. She jumps and swallows her bite of breakfast hastily. It sticks in her throat on the way down, scratching at her skin.

“Listen,” he says, “Tibbett told me to give you time or space or something before I made you talk about whatever is going on with you but Galinda, you’ve got to snap out of it at least a little bit. Room seven is filled with stuff and we can’t just leave it there. I can’t exactly tell a guest that sorry, they can’t book a room because our innkeeper is hoarding the possessions of her last psychosexual relationship.”

“That’s not—” Galinda huffs, but Crope cuts her off.

“We don’t have to talk about it, okay, I understand.” All at once he sounds quite caring, the boy Galinda’s known since kindergarten who used to hold her still while they traced the outlines of their handprints in chalk on the pavement. “Look, you remember how I was when I had my first real breakup. I got your nice skirt all covered in tears and blue raspberry slushy.”

Galinda does remember and she almost says as much before she half chokes on an almond, face beet red. Crope sees her glance back up and takes a step backward guiltily.

“It wasn’t a breakup,” she says, and his mouth opens and shuts. “Elphaba and me? Why would you think we were…”

Crope looks at her and doesn’t say anything, looking a bit like a fish with the way his mouth is moving. Galinda blinks and then shuts her eyes.

“Can it be a breakup if you weren’t really dating in the first place?” she asks, and then slumps forward and slams her head against the kitchen island. “God, Crope, this is why I’m always right.”

“It’s— how, exactly?” Crope says, and Galinda swings her head back up with a groan.

“I’m always saying not to date guests! I’m always saying not to show your hand! I’m always saying, Crope, that the world is out to get people who feel as deeply as I do!”

“I have quite literally never heard you say any of that, you sound out of your mind,” Crope says. “And besides, I thought you weren’t dating.”

Galinda growls with frustration. “You are so annoying,” she huffs. “God, Fiyero gives the worst advice, he should’ve told me to just push this down until I forgot about it.”

“Fiyero knew before me?” Crope shouts, slapping her arm. “Galinda, I thought we were friends! Best friends!”

“We are,” Galinda mutters. “You would’ve told me the same thing.”

“What did he tell you, then?”

Galinda blushes. “That I should… that the only way to know how I felt was to just… you know.”

Crope nods, bottom lip jutting out, and considers the point. “Yeah,” he agrees finally. “I probably would’ve.”

Galinda groans again and rips another piece off of her pastry angrily, chewing it as firmly as she can manage. Almonds crack beneath her teeth.

“It’s just, like,” she starts, and huffs out another sigh. “What does that even mean, I don’t have a choice? Of course she had a choice. She had a choice between that depressing horrible house with all the… the cultists, you know… or this wonderful inn with a beautiful woman and a beautiful dog.”

“And beautiful food,” Crope adds on, gesturing towards the tray of bear claws, and Galinda shoots him a glare. “Right. Sorry.”

There’s something to be said, Galinda thinks, about choices. Life isn’t so inevitable anymore. She can’t put her finger on it but things are different now, aren’t they?

“It’s not even about Frex, is it? Because she told me this whole thing about how he was doing so much better here and anyway, if he goes back to Nest Hardings all those crazies are going to get him all jumbled up again.”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about, or…”

“And besides,” Galinda continues, impassioned, “what was the point in even coming in the first place? It’s been almost five months, Crope, at that point you might as well stay forever. Not that I want her to come back. Or well, do I?”

“I don’t think she left because of you, if that helps,” Crope says tentatively. “It sounds like it’s complicated. And, sorry— cultists?”

Galinda ignores him. “Of course it’s not about me, that wouldn’t make any sense!” she exclaims. “I mean, look at me! No, this is about her. Or about her sister, or something.”

“True,” Crope nods sagely. “You’re a catch. Want me to badmouth her, would that help?”

“No,” Galinda mutters, feeling rather pitiful. “No, don’t do that. She’s perfect.”

“Right,” Crope says. He clears his throat.

“So you knew?” Galinda asks, and Crope’s eyes go wide again. “What, did everyone know? We weren’t even official, Crope!”

“Not everyone, just me and Tibbs,” Crope says. “And… well, you’re going to hate me, but I’ve kind of suspected. I mean, Galinda, did you ever like even one of the men you went out with?”

“That’s beside the point,” Galinda huffs. “You shouldn't speculate on other people’s love lives, Crope. It’s rude to do in polite company.”

“Good thing you’re not polite at all, then,” Crope says and dodges Galinda’s well timed slap. “Anyway, it was barely speculation, I saw her come out of your room about a hundred times.”

Galinda stuffs the last of her bear claw into her mouth and chews it morosely. The air feels very still and stuffy all of a sudden, Galinda wishes someone would open a window. At least the freezing January morning air would be better than this.

“I guess I should go flip room seven,” she mutters. “It’s really not like her, Crope, she’s always so careful and thoughtful and slow—”

“Ew, please don’t say anything else,” Crope says, plugging his ears. “Sorry about your girlfriend, can you leave now?”

“Not my girlfriend,” Galinda says lowly, and blinks long and slow. “Fine. I’ll see you, okay?”

Elphaba had been right, everything left in room seven is garbage. A half used roll of dental floss, a pair of Elphaba’s gloves that Galinda most definitely does not put on and stretch her fingers wide in, a magazine about kitchenware that Galinda throws into the trash without a second look.

It’s not much. She looks high and low for something useful, something important— for the drawing she’d given Elphaba, maybe, or one of the books— but comes up with nothing. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad. Does she want Elphaba to be thinking of her or not? It’s rather humiliating to be seen sometimes, rather pitiful.

If Galinda could choose she’d make sure nobody knew a thing about her ever again.

She wears the gloves down to the beach and they’re terrible, all filled with holes and they don’t even warm up her pinkies. What a waste, in her opinion, to own something so imperfect. She tucks them in the back of her dresser in the cup of a strapless bra she never wears and tries to forget they existed at all.

This is, in any event, how her days progress. She’s busy and that’s something— the inn fills up fast and then it’s two nonstop weeks of a rush, cookies baked and eaten and skis propped up outside the front gate. Galinda pins her hair up and lets the flyaways frame her face delicately, all curly cues and charming. When she has to put a couple in room seven she dry heaves into the sink— she’s never claimed not to be dramatic, has she?— and comes back out with her teeth glittering and her blouse straight.

It’s too cold for bonfires. Milla hosts a party at her place, too crowded for Galinda’s taste and she keeps seeing flashes of green in corners and rubbing her eyes to clear them. She drinks fireball and cider because it’s warm, and because it’s cinnamony, and because it gets her drunk fast. She sits on a window seat with Crope and Tibbett, knees up to her chest, and tries to ignore the roiling of her stomach.

“Love’s complicated,” Tibbett says kindly, but it’s rather hard to take him seriously when he’s sitting next to Crope, the both of them all loving and attentive and established. Honestly, it’s like they’re rubbing it in her face.

“She wasn’t in love,” Crope replies easily with a finger in his glass, and then glances over at Galinda. “Were you in love?”

“No,” Galinda huffs, feeling less and less sure of it by the hour. “Want to go walk on the beach?”

“It’s, like, zero degrees outside,” Tibbett mutters. “Galinda, would it help to write a letter to her or something? Clear the air?”

“And say what? No, that’ll never work,” Galinda decides with a quick shake of her head, clouding shampoo around her face. “Listen, I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

Crope and Tibbett both look at her, unimpressed. “It’s okay if you aren’t, you know,” Crope murmurs. “Remember— crying into your pants? Blue raspberry slushy?”

“No offense, Crope, but I think I can handle my emotions better than a fifteen year old boy. No, I just need to get over it,” Galinda says, and pins a smile on her face. “There’s plenty of girls out there.”

It feels wrong to say. Maybe boys had been easier. Tibbett smiles encouragingly but he looks like he’s swallowed some sour milk, grimacing into his cheeks.

“Let’s dance or something,” Galinda demands to cut through the terrible awkwardness and stop the two of them from exchanging what they seem to think are covert little glances. “Come on, I bet I can talk Milla into playing our song. Remember senior prom, Crope?”

“I do, do you?” he mutters, “Because I’m remembering you with an endless supply of wine coolers.”

It’s easier this way, to brush him off and go to the middle of the room and dance with Milla and even twirl Fiyero around. To know there are eyes on her and not in the searching real way that she’d grown to love. To know that people know her, but they don’t know all of her. To know that she can keep it that way.

Galinda is fine. When all the guests have left for the day she puts on a record, one of those alternative ones where the woman has a scratchy sort of voice and yells when she sings. She’s loved this one since middle school, since dancing along in the kitchen with her parents and pretending she didn’t notice any of the bad words so that Momsie wouldn’t turn it off.

“Can you turn this down?” Crope yells from the kitchen. “I can barely hear myself think!”

“That’s fine, you don’t do much thinking anyway,” Galinda tells him cheerily. She can’t turn it down, that is the thing, because the record player is all the way over in the parlor and she’s knee deep in the broom closet cleaning out old boxes that haven’t seen the light of day since before Mrs. Sharpe’s time, maybe even.

The boxes are proving extremely boring and even more extremely tedious but she’d so much rather have boring tedious work to do than time to sit and think. Stewing, brooding, and pondering are the enemies of well adjusted people. Galinda is going to be well adjusted, she’s decided it. Way back in the summer she’d decided to be normal, how ridiculous that had been! Honestly, it’s like Galinda doesn’t know herself at all. Be more well adjusted, she’d said, and now a handful of months later she’s had a whole affair and uncovered a stowaway and redrawn the lines of her whole entire life and had some really good sex while she was at it.

Maybe in some other world things are simpler. Although, Galinda thinks grimly as she pulls a moth eaten tablecloth from a bin with a shudder, some part of her doubts it.

The music rattles the baseboards. “I mean, I just wish she’d have sent some word,” Galinda scoffs to no one, to the inn. “Or something, you know? It’s just as rude as inviting yourself over, in my opinion, to disappear with no warning. It’s a wonder I didn’t think she was dead!”

The inn doesn’t answer but Galinda sighs anyway.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says solemnly. “At least it’s nothing like that. At least she’s definitely thinking about me. Maybe about the lighthouse that day, she really liked that, did I mention?”

So now she is the sort of person who talks to walls, or ghosts, or to the dusty interiors of closets. It’s all a part of the process, a long and winding road. Galinda decides not to sweat it too much. There’s no use splitting hairs.

February comes. The ice cracks and then grows back again. Galinda tries not to go outside if she can help it, spends lots of evenings holed up in front of the fireplace with Killyjoy and decidedly not reading the small stack of books Elphaba had pulled aside for herself on the bottom row of the bookshelf. Because she does not care. Because Elphaba’s probably read a million books since getting back to rotten old Nest Hardings. Galinda hopes, quite selfishly, that she regrets it. Hopes that things are horrible there. It should be raining and sleeting and freezing all at once. It should be nighttime during the day and daytime during the night. In fact, all of Nest Hardings could flip upside down and shake all its people loose. It would serve them right.

Galinda does something rather stupid in the first few days of February, just after the little Time Dragon statue in the Emerald City has clicked and clacked to life for its once annual moment in the spotlight and announced an early spring. It’s because spring is on her mind that she does it.

And, of course, because spring won’t come for weeks and weeks. So in the end it’s just as self destructive as anything.

She mails Elphaba her gloves back. She isn’t going to, she is going to let it be a clean break but one day she’s bored and flipping through a Munchkinland directory and finds her finger stopped by a Thropp, Frexspar and it feels a bit fated then. And besides, the stupid old gloves have been burning a hole through her nice dresser, irritating that nice old strapless bra, scorching her eyes all through the night. They’re pesky. She bets that if she just sends them off into the abyss it will help.

So she gets a box, one that’s a little too big for just the gloves, and folds them in there. No card, no note, but Elphaba will know who it’s from. She thinks, hums to herself, and then tears a single page from her sketchbook to use as padding. She doesn’t mind that it’s rumpled. It’s not a very good drawing either, just a study of Elphaba in an armchair with her father beside her. Their faces don’t exist, even, just the outline of their bodies. So it doesn’t matter.

Writing the address label is the worst part. She tries to disconnect from it but there’s something terribly intimate about handwriting, isn’t there? In the end she pens the Elphaba Thropp of it all in the most neutral hand she can manage, all capital block letters so none of her seeps through. Better that way.

It’s gone off with the rest of the mail before she can think to regret it. Her underwear drawer is safe again. Galinda sleeps and wakes and eats and masturbates and listens to her loud music and tries desperately not to think of it again.

It works so well that she actually has forgotten, just a little, when the letter arrives. It’s mixed in with a stack of spam mail, some bills, a late Lurlinemas card from a pair of her momsie and popsicle’s friends up in Gillikin. Hire the best lawn care specialists this side of the Munchkin River, one flyer proclaims, and Galinda scoffs and looks out at her iced over lawn before tossing it aside. And then there it is, of course. It looks different from all the other mail, distinct in some way. Galinda can tell just by how it feels, by the shimmering edges of it in her memory. It’s all starchy and parchment and ink lines. Elphaba doesn’t do things in halves. Neither does Galinda, of course.

Galinda A. Upland, ℅ Shale Shallows Inn is what it says and Galinda is so overwhelmed by it she can’t quite breathe. The inn’s name is embedded with her own. Elphaba’s even remembered her middle initial, an extra little A that makes the whole letter look a little more official. And besides, the paper does enough of that work itself. Galinda almost expects it to be closed with a wax seal.

It isn’t, of course. It’s licked shut and Galinda wedges her fingertips under the envelope and pries, and she tries not to think about touching the space where Elphaba’s mouth has been. It rips messily and there inside is a perfectly crisp piece of paper, one single page filled up with Elphaba’s familiar scrawl. Galinda holds it tight just to crumple it a little, just to make sure that the press of her thumbs leaves divots in the paper. Just so it’s not so perfect anymore.

Galinda, it starts, and Galinda settles herself in. Curiosity gets the better of her far too often.

Thank you for sending me the gloves; you really didn’t have to do that but I’m sure you know already. I’m also sure there’s some strange Galinda reason that you’re sending them now instead of a month ago, but I guess it’s probably not my place to ask anymore and that makes me sad. Sorry to be inarticulate, you make me that way.

I’m honestly not sure if you’re going to read this letter. It feels so old fashioned to write to you like this. Not writing letters in general, I do that all the time— no, it’s about writing to you specifically, because you’re someone I care about so much and so deeply and also somebody I feel guilty about. I am sorry, truly, but I know that isn’t going to help.

I suppose I’ll tell you about me, then? Lurlinemas was fine, it would’ve been better if I was with you. Then my father fell down the stairs— he’s fine too, before you get worried— but it made my sister all testy. We got into a big fight, she told me we should stay. She told me that it’s not ideal but maybe it works better to have us close. I told her she couldn’t keep changing her mind. She told me I’m her sister, as if I didn’t know that. I’m getting off track here, this part doesn't matter. What matters is I want to be back at the inn and so does my father. I know you don’t like it when other people love it there more than you so just know that I never will. No one could! But I do miss it. I miss the view from room seven and the way the stairs creak. Also having breakfast made fresh every morning, it’s such a hassle to make toast sometimes.

And obviously I miss Crope and Tibbett and Killyjoy. And I miss you (I saved the best for last, did you notice? I thought that might make you happy). I think about you all of the time. I would like to think I know you well enough by now to know that you most definitely do not want to hear this from me so I’ll stop there, how’s that? Just know that I miss you terribly.

I hope the inn is treating you well and you’re not getting any more bad feelings. I’m sorry about your tree, I always did like that one. Say hi to Killyjoy from me.

Elphaba

P.S. I did love your drawing even if I had to flatten it with a dictionary for a few days. It’s up on my wall next to the first one you gave me, do you remember?

Galinda hates it when stupid things make her emotional. She’s mastered the art of performance, after all, and it’s moments like this that challenge her reputation. The silly thing is that it’s not any of the actually kind parts that gets her that way, not the way Elphaba’s knowledge of her creeps through with every word. No, it’s the thought of Elphaba tucking her sketch into a dictionary that does it. Stupid, silly, absurd.

And yet.

She won’t write back, she decides. She’s sure Elphaba doesn’t expect her to.

Dear Galinda,

I’m guessing you’re not going to respond to my letter, which is alright. Like I said, that is what I expected. You always called me stubborn but I think you are too, maybe even more so. But I had to write because I realized I forgot to say some things in my first letter, and it was bothering me, and right now my sister and I are sitting in front of the fireplace and she’s writing a sermon and it’s extremely uncomfortable, and I needed something to do, so I started talking to you in my head and then decided I’d just write it down. Easier that way.

You know when you’re reading a book and one of the characters does something that’s completely wrong? Actually, I know you do, because that’s how you felt about the book I had you read. I know she turned it around at the end, according to you, but remember that in between part where you were so angry? And it felt like she was going against everything logical just to deliberately ruin everything?

I never really understood that sort of thing until now, because now I’m the one who’s done the thing completely wrong and ruined things. Which, of course, is unfortunate but I know there’s not much going back now. All I will say is that you probably were right, and I have really enjoyed getting to see you learn to choose things over the past few months, and I should’ve paid more attention. I bet you think I should learn to be more selfish— sorry, you’d probably tell me it’s not selfish to do what’s best for myself. I bet you think I should do more of that.

Anyway, it’s freezing here. I wore the gloves out to the store because I was being all romantic about it and wondering if you ever wore them, and then one of the holes caught on a nail and unraveled half of the left one. And then my hand was cold.

Sorry to write again, I just needed to say that. I hope your February isn’t going too terribly, all things considered.

Elphie

Galinda receives this letter exactly a week after the first and it makes her laugh, actually, because it is so inherently Elphaba. Elphaba, who can never finish thinking. The idea of sending a second letter expecting it to end up in the garbage is certainly something. Galinda doesn’t throw it away, of course. She tucks it into the front desk and glances at it every time the phone rings.

It’s a bit unfair of Elphie not to give her a clean break. She says she thinks about Galinda all of the time and so she must know Galinda thinks about her, she really must. Letters are terribly intimate. Galinda will not write back, she will not.

Galinda writes back. All it takes is some well timed creaking from the inn, pipes rattling and keeping her awake long after she should’ve drifted off. Killyjoy is sleeping at the foot of her bed because she’s too lazy to get him down. She feels the start of a cold coming on, throat tender and scratchy every time she swallows.

She’s doing what Elphaba had been doing, she realizes with a start, having a conversation with her in her head. She’d been wondering what Elphaba would say if she was here, if she’d have helped Galinda change the porch lightbulb the other day when Crope had to hold the ladder steady for her and complained about her belly button being in his face. Yes, she decides as she mulls it over, Elphaba would’ve helped.

Originally she’d been planning to draw, she’d taken out a crappy pencil and some fancy sketchbook paper and everything, and then the motion of her wrist had changed and she’d found herself writing a line without addressing it to anyone, just hanging there in the balance and sloping downwards as it reaches the end of the page.

You’re allowed to miss the inn and you’re allowed to love it because you understand it. That makes it different, Elphaba.

And at that point it’s too plate to turn back, isn’t it? So she steels herself, clenching and unclenching her jaw, and starts to write.

Your letters were very inconvenient for me but I’m sure you know that. You are sort of inconvenient for me, at this point, so I guess it’s appropriate. I am not having a good February, thank you for asking. Killyjoy misses you too.

I don’t know if I have a lot to say besides the obvious— yes I am upset with you, no I was not going to write back, yes I am writing back anyway, no I don’t know why. I’m sorry to hear about your father falling. I’m not sorry to hear that you’re unhappy. Serves you right. I’m glad you’re thinking of me, that’s the least you could do. What are you thinking about? No need to respond to that, of course, it was mostly rhetorical.

Galinda A. Upland

P.S. I’m glad you ripped your stupid gloves.

She gets a response within the week, the curve of her name on the envelope tantalizing enough that she rips it open in front of Crope, forgetting herself, and has to act very casual about it as she reads.

Dear Galinda,

It is so, so good to hear from you. Nessa said I had a letter and I assumed it was one of those horrible alumni donation newsletters or something, and then I saw it and knew that it was from you before I even saw the handwriting. Maybe your sixth sense is rubbing off on me, but I hope not, because it seems like it would be a bit of a pain.

I’m sorry to be inconvenient. Your letter was inconvenient for me, too, because I kept smiling and then Nessarose wanted to know why and then she had this pinchy face when I told her. Maybe she’s lonely, that’s what I think, only she could’ve left Nest Hardings too. She just chose not to.

I know, I know— I shouldn’t be talking about choices, right? At least I didn’t leave the inn to become a conservative minister for a bunch of old men. In another life, maybe.

I am going to answer your question even though you said I shouldn't. You can be contrarian and so can I, would you believe it? I think of you all of the time, like I said, and so it’s a lot of different things. Sometimes I’m eating breakfast and thinking about how much better it’d be if you were here with me, and then I realize you’d despise it here so maybe that’s a bad daydream. Sometimes I think about that first time we talked down on the beach, or the night you made me tell you my favorite things about the town. Sometimes I think about things I know I shouldn't think about, and they’ll probably make you mad but you can’t glare at me if you’re there and I’m here so I will say them anyway. The first time we kissed, or that day we walked to the lighthouse, or how soft your skin is. Stupid things.

It’s pretty rude to say you’re glad my gloves ripped. I’m glad you’re having a bad February. If you weren’t it would make me very jealous.

I love you very much, Galinda, and I know that’s probably an awful thing to say now and like this but you’re an adult, you’ll get over it.

Elphie

Galinda doesn’t write back again. It’s easier this way, she decides, because she’s entirely sure that if she tried to pick up a pen she’d lose all semblance of a voice, of a brain and a heart and the nerve to write a single word. And anyway, what would she say?

It’s just that she can picture it so clearly, Elphaba in that rotten old house seeing her letter in her sister’s hands. And Galinda doesn’t even know what the house looks like, does she, she’s invented a version of it in her head complete with curving banisters and austere candle holders all along the wall. She’s envisioning a haunted mansion, really, an old gothic estate with peeling wallpaper and creaky old floors. It’s ridiculous. Elphaba doesn’t live in a nightmare.

Galinda takes a walk on the beach one day. It is freezing out, really very cold and Galinda’s jaw starts to ache and her head starts to pulse with the iciness of it. Killyjoy is delighted, running in figure eights all up and down the pebbled shoreline and bouncing into the air. Galinda giggles.

“What do you think I should do, Killyjoy?” she asks him, letting out a little sigh and watching her breath curl and linger in the air. “I should just move to the top of Mount Runcible, shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I, baby?”

Killyjoy snorts happily, cocking his head and ramming it into her leg.

“No, but I can’t,” Galinda muses. “She was right, I can’t leave. And I won’t say her name, you know who I’m talking about,” she continues forcibly. Killyjoy snorts again.

“I’m an adult, I’ll get over it,” Galinda scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean? And she thinks she loves me? Well, she should. It’s the least she could do, really.”

The waves crash and she hears a squeak from a bird off in the distance. She huffs.

“Not, of course, that I remember what she wrote. Because I don’t.”

Killyjoy cocks his head again, a few feet ahead of her, and his little dog brow seems to pull together. Galinda squints at him.

“Oh, honestly. What would you know about it, you’re a dog.”

He might know more than you think he does, Elphaba had joked teasingly once. Galinda had reminded her that Killyjoy thought of nothing but bones and walks and scratches under his chin. Elphaba had laughed after that, and Galinda had kissed her, and she doesn’t remember what comes next after that. Typical.

Galinda is in a funk again. She’s trying hard not to be but sometimes it’s inevitable, isn’t it? She can’t control something like that, it’s not like she decided to come out this way. Blame Momsie and Popsicle and this whole town for making her sentimental, blame the washing machine that decided to break with a whole load of damp towels in it for her bad mood. Blame her if you want, that works too. She’s just about had it by now.

The upside of winter, if you think that sort of way, is that people are more in their heads. There’s always hot chocolate brewing and the ski crowd will sip at it contemplatively in the parlor but they’ll stay quiet by the fire, and so Galinda can sit at the front desk and look out the window and think big mournful thoughts. She likes to do that sometimes, it’s an indulgence she allows herself once in a blue moon.

The moon is blue. Maybe it’s green like Elphaba’s face above her in bed or pearly white like the buttons on that one shirt of hers. Galinda used to mix up her lefts and rights when she was little, used to never know which direction her fives were meant to point, but she never mixed up her colors.

So, anyway— at the desk, afternoons all lazy with cocoa powder staining the bottom of a mug. Outside the window a kid runs after his parents, holding skis above his shoulders. The bits of grass that manage to poke above the snow waver in the wind. The sky is shot through with blue and white and it’s striking in a way that can’t be captured. It’s silent so she can hear the wind coming in from the river and hitting the side of the inn hard and fast, blanketing and sweeping and holding. Galinda’s stomach turns.

There’s something there, she thinks, about seeing the world outside your window and knowing it is perfect. There’s something else about joining it, because wouldn't she only make it worse? The line of snow covered tracks is perfect and her boots would only widen it. She’d trample the grass and move the gate and shake snow from her head and the world would be changed, then, and it would never go back. One person can do so much damage.

But oh, how Galinda hates to stew! She shakes these dreadful boring thoughts loose, stands up, and sits back down because she’s got nowhere better to go. Stupid Elphaba and her pondering. The way she thought about the world has wedged itself in where Galinda doesn’t want it like a tick or a leech. Awful, horrible things.

Why hasn’t Elphaba written back? Galinda hasn’t, of course, responded to her last letter— the charade and drama of it all! All that to-do about loving people very much! It is just silly, that’s what she tells herself, and she has no room for silly things.

But still— Elphaba hasn’t answered. She hasn’t written a follow up to her follow up. Galinda isn’t sure if that’s what she wants or not— it’s certainly easier this way, that’s for sure, but maybe she wants the drama of it just a little bit. Is that such a bad thing?

And fine, she still thinks about it all. It’d be such a waste to throw all that wanting away. The tension of it, the broadness and the sensation of having, getting what she wanted. What it felt like to bite down on Elphaba’s cheek, the sound of her breath in Galinda’s ear. She’s angry because she cares and she cares because she’s angry. Fiyero and Tibbett and everyone can sit with that for a while and see where it gets them.

“Are you looking for something specific?” Crope asks her as she rifles through the mail once, and then starts again, back to front this time. “A mail order bride, maybe? One of those porny magazines, the ones where they dress the girls up like lumberjacks and grease up their arms?”

“Is there a reason you seem to know so much about lesbian porn?” Galinda asks him idly, flipping a letter over and tossing it down with a clench of her lips. “Something you’re not telling me, Crope?”

“In your dreams,” he mutters, and then his face morphs into something a little more unnerving. “Galinda, you know I’m, like, here for you, don’t you?”

Galinda turns to him, face wrinkled, and blanches. “Sorry?”

“I don’t know, Tibbett made me say it. It’s true, though. You should come out to dinner with us sometime.”

“I think I’m good,” Galinda tells him. “I’ve got my own fish to fry, what with my mail order brides and my porn and everything.”

Crope gives her an indulgent eye roll. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Well, I’d better head. I’ll let you know if I see any Elphaba shaped letters heading to our neck of the woods, okay?”

Galinda splutters after him, yelling something like, “that’s not what I was looking for, for your information!” But Crope is gone with a laugh into the wind and Galinda is alone again with a pile of boring old regular mail.

She groans, rips one open and lets her mind wander to a day out on the beach, a warm body by her side and not many words spoken at all.

Is it even still February? This time of year seems to drag on and on and on. Galinda is feeling very testy lately, very very. Crope makes her take a day off after she bursts into tears looking at a mop bucket, but it doesn’t do all that much. What’s she meant to do with her time, anyway? Walk?

Galinda is not, of course, waiting for anything. She’s overflowing with purpose, thank you very much! Her nights have gotten a little aimless but that’s only because she’s lost a routine, there’s no longer a certain someone to block out those after dinner hours until she’s too tired to keep her eyes open. And anyway she feels a resistance to that time of day now, an unwavering resolve to keep it under control.

One cold night Galinda sits in bed and writes a letter to Pfannee and Shenshen and listens to music and flops on her back and tries to ignore the flutter of her stomach, the sparking between her legs. She doesn’t want to touch herself, she doesn’t want to, but then she does it anyway. She thinks of Elphaba.

The next morning she is especially annoyed, because she knows something is going to happen. The day is all clenched up and tightly wound and by the time evening comes Galinda’s had it. She hauls the record player in from the parlor, puts it behind the front desk, and turns on the loudest record she can find. It’s one of the ones with a woman who yells a little bit, one of the ones Popsicle had always pretended not to hate when she’d played them as a teenager. She feels like a teenager now, so it’s appropriate. We could all stand to learn about their anger sometimes, couldn’t we?

Galinda is listening, Galinda is waiting. Galinda is drumming her fingers and waiting for her favorite part of the song— she’s always liked the moments where you can tell something’s real, the squeak of a guitar string or a singer swallowing. Here it comes, right with the beat, that shaky breath that makes her voice hitch up as she sings, crack as it gets louder…

The bell rings. Of course it does. Galinda, behind the desk with a halfway to stale scone she’s been picking at for dessert, looks up.

“No,” she says, teeth grinding against each other. “No, absolutely not. We’re all filled up.”

“Really?” Elphaba says, pointing at the window. “Because your sign says vacancy. You might want to fix that.”

She looks the same as she always has— it’s only been two months, after all, so Galinda supposes that makes sense. Just as green, just as long and pointy and soft and there’s that same curve to her eyebrows. She loves Galinda, isn’t that what she’d said? Honestly.

“There’s vacancy in the garden,” Galinda says cheerfully, quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, I think I cleared out all the stinging nettle.”

“It’s raining,” Elphaba says flatly. “My father can’t sleep in the rain.”

And oh, Galinda hasn’t even noticed but Frex is standing beside her. He looks a little worse for wear. He’s aged a lot, too much for two months— he is decidedly thinner, grayer, almost gaunter. Galinda’s eyes flick back to Elphaba for a moment and there’s something real in her gaze, a vulnerability about her that makes Galinda nervous.

“Hi there, Mr. Thropp,” Galinda says slowly. “It’s nice to have you back.”

For a moment it’s silent, Galinda looking to Frex and Frex looking to Elphaba and Elphaba looking really rather lost, all things considered. Galinda wants to groan and scream and roll her eyes but instead she smiles tightly at Elphaba’s father.

“Why don’t you take a seat in the parlor,” Galinda says, taking his arm and guiding him towards the entryway. “Right there, see? Good to get off your feet after you’ve been traveling, don’t you think?”

“Such a sweet girl,” Frex says, or something like it. Galinda’s not entirely sure but he’s going, that’s the most important part. She waits by the doorway until he’s inside, in his favorite armchair and Galinda knows he doesn’t like to be helped but she’s ready to help regardless, hovering on the sidelines in anticipation. His eyes drift shut peacefully when he’s sitting down, though, and he runs a hand over the meaty cushion of the chair. That’s one thing settled, then.

“What are you doing here,” Galinda hisses when she’s turned back around. She feels a lot shorter than Elphaba all of a sudden, perhaps because the floor is slanted and she’s barefoot— it’s nighttime, after all!— while Elphaba is wearing thick soled snowboots, the kind where the laces crisscross. They look like tracks on a ski slope, black and white across the dusting of snow and ice on the arch of the shoe.

“He’s not doing very well,” Elphaba hisses back. “He wants to be here.”

“Yeah, well,” Galinda starts with a huff, and then trails off. What is she supposed to say to that? “God, Elphaba, that’s low. You’re going to use a sick old man to make me hear you out?”

Elphaba blinks and stares, mouth falling open. Galinda hears herself, flinches ever so slightly, and tries to think about how to spin this when Elphaba starts to laugh, surprised and a little incredulous.

“Galinda!” she says, and it’s soft and breathy and it hits Galinda in the knees. “You can’t say things like that, honestly!”

“Probably not,” Galinda recovers. “Fine, how about this— your father stays here, you sleep out in the mud. There’s a groundhog living out there too, I hope he bites your face.”

“Honestly,” Elphaba repeats, and there’s a twitch of a smile on her face.

“Fine,” Galinda groans. “Fine, you can stay. But you’re paying extra. There’s a fee that gets added on, you know, when you antagonize the innkeeper through snail mail.”

“I’m sure there is,” Elphaba says. “Listen, Galinda—”

“I should make you sleep in room four,” Galinda mutters. “That’s the worst room, by the way. In case you couldn’t tell by my offering it to you.”

“First you were happy about my gloves ripping, now this?”

“Fine! Room seven, then, does that make you feel better? Has anyone ever told you you’re extremely manipulative?”

“No, I can’t say anyone ever has,” Elphaba replies lowly. “Galinda, I would’ve come back sooner but I—”

Galinda leans over and plucks a plaque from the inside of the desk, pointing at it: the front desk is now closed. Elphaba raises her eyebrows.

“Okay,” she says slowly, “is it closed for private conversations? Personal ones?”

“Yes,” Galinda mutters. “I’m going to bed, you know where the keys are. Don’t rob me, that’s just a hat on a hat.”

“What?” Elphaba laughs, face scrunching its way up, but Galinda is already pushing her way down the hall to her apartment. She brushes her teeth firm and hard, so hard that the bristles of the toothbrush warp and split. She’ll fix it tomorrow.

Chapter Text

“You don’t think this is all a little… I don’t know, immature?” Crope asks her one properly cold March morning, taking a jam jar from Tibbett with a little kiss as they touch. Galinda rolls her eyes.

“No, in fact, I do not,” she says delicately. “It’s extremely reasonable, actually.”

Crope gives her a look, glancing purposefully down at the breakfast plate she’s preparing for Elphaba, the plate where she’s arranged blueberries in a frowny face and dumped the ugliest croissant from the stack haphazardly in the middle.

“Really,” he says, and Galinda nods.

It’s been a week or two since Elphaba had arrived back, something like that. It’s been raining the whole time so the days have started to blend together, trips out to the store and the post office where Galinda tugs on a nice hat and tries to ignore the biting early March rain on her cheekbones. In that time Galinda has stooped to new lows— taking all of Elphaba’s laundry out of the washer and leaving it in an old hamper, blocking off the back staircase for an hour longer than she really needed to change that one lightbulb, hiding one of Elphaba’s suitcases in the supply closet.

“I don’t think she’s planning to leave until she gets to talk to you,” Tibbett says helpfully. “And to be honest, Galinda, I don’t know that a blueberry frowny face is really going to do much one way or the other.”

“What if I put syrup on it?” Galinda asks, cocking her head. “Better or worse?”

“Am I allowed to talk to her, at least?” Crope asks. “Seeing as I’m not the one she had a repressed affair with?”

“You can talk to her,” Galinda chirps. “You can give her this, and say the innkeeper sends her best wishes. Stick your finger in the croissant while you’re at it, it still looks a little too nice.”

“How long are you planning to keep this up?” Tibbett asks her quietly when Crope has left, muttering something under his breath that he should be grateful Galinda couldn’t hear. “Aren’t you a little curious about where she’s been? And why she’s back now?”

“I know where she’s been, she’s been writing me love letters,” Galinda mutters. “Don’t tell Crope that, by the way, I really do mean it. He’d have a field day.”

“She— sorry, she wrote you what?” Tibbett says, voice sounding pinched. Galinda helps herself to a croissant and looks up to find Tibbett’s eyebrows all crunched together, eyes squinty and glimmering. She shrugs.

“Letters. Saying she loves me. And that she hoped I was having a bad February. It’s personal business, actually, so I’d rather you didn’t pry.”

Tibbett laughs. “I’m sorry, that’s absurd. Galinda.”

“Tibbett,” she replies, poking him in the arm.

“Please talk to her. This poor girl.”

“I will not,” Galinda sniffs. “And don’t call her a poor girl, she’s absolutely fine. More than fine, actually! Is it too late to make her sleep outside? I think the worms are really getting around this time of year.”

When it finally stops raining Galinda gets another feeling. March is always like this, sometimes ominous and sometimes hopeful by nature of being on the cusp of something. Soon it will be spring. Galinda gets a feeling about the door hinges, and the china in the cupboard, and then a big overarching one that morning that tells her she should go down to the beach again. She does.

Killyjoy is busy eating a rock when the source of the feeling emerges from behind the cattails. Galinda groans exaggeratedly, waits for Elphaba’s reaction— there, good, she’s heard and she’s rolling her eyes about it.

Galinda might be loath to admit it but it is rather fun to have Elphaba back here. Just for the teasing of it all, of course, just because it’s really quite delightful to annoy her. Elphaba might not seem all that annoyed but she is, Galinda knows it. She sighs louder.

“Hello Galinda,” Elphaba says from behind her. “Not so happy to see me, I’m guessing?”

“No,” Galinda says huffily. “You’re disturbing the peace.”

“Sorry,” Elphaba says cheerfully. “You don’t mind if I sit, do you?”

“Of course I do,” Galinda mutters, but Elphaba plops herself down on the still half damp rocks anyway, humming out at the river. It’s obnoxious and Galinda tries to hate it but she really can’t help the stupid magnetism of Elphaba Thropp. The water comes up closer like it’s listening in, it glances the bottoms of Galinda’s shoes and hovers around the edge of the stone she’s sitting on. Well, then.

“I figured you probably weren’t going to talk to me unless I forced you to,” Elphaba says. “Thanks for the blueberries, by the way, that was very good.”

“I let spiders loose in your room,” Galinda mutters. Elphaba blanches.

“What, really?”

“No,” Galinda grumbles, slouching. “I didn't think of it. Damn.”

Elphaba laughs at that, long and loud and it will travel across the river, Galinda knows. Her momsie used to warn her not to gossip near the river because the sound echoes all the way down it, flawed logic for a true statement. Galinda rolls her eyes again, this time with a little less enthusiasm.

“So,” she says, leaning her head toward Galinda’s hopefully and planting a hand solidly on the rock near Galinda’s hip but not touching it, Elphaba would never. “Can I talk to you, then? You don’t have to talk back.”

“Fine,” Galinda huffs theatrically, toss tossing her hair and pointing her chin up. She’s more curious than she’d like to admit, of course. Elphaba probably knows as much. “But I don’t have all day, Elphaba, there are pressing matters that need my attention.”

“Of course,” Elphaba agrees, with only a little smirk. “Okay. Okay.”

“Well talk, then! Don’t just sit there,” Galinda says, glaring and poking Elphaba firmly in the bicep. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t have all day? Where is your sense of urgency?”

The problem is that it’s all too easy to forget. If it had been two months ago, three, four, this would be normal. She and Elphaba would be sitting here all curled together. The banter would get flirty, and Galinda notices it’s veering that way now and she’s not able to stop it. It’s just how her words come out around Elphie, as much as she tries nothing will sit right. She fidgets with her nightgown, tugs it down her legs which are beginning to feel a bit prickly with hair, around the bend and lump of her knee bone. Elphaba watches.

Elphaba always watches. Galinda wants her eyes back on her. She does it again, tugging at the hemline of her dress and stretching her legs out carefully, even though it is chilly, even though she knows better. Elphaba, loyally, watches.

She clears her throat. “So Nessa and I got into another fight,” she says. “Kind of about you, actually. Don’t be too flattered, it was really about a lot of things.”

“Let me guess, she was jealous that you got to fuck the prettiest girl in Shale Shallows?” Galinda teases, tossing her hair again, and then turns bright red. She keeps speaking without thinking around Elphaba, hell and Oz, and—

“Um, no,” Elphaba continues with only a little hitch in her breath and cough to her voice. “More about her calling me selfish, actually.”

Galinda clears her throat, still red. “I don’t think—”

“I know,” Elphaba cuts her off delicately, “I don’t think it’s selfish to want things. Or to realize you’re not happy. Or to listen to your father when the only half coherent thing he says is that he wants to be back with the good music and the pretty girl who plays it for him.”

“He said that?” Galinda smirks, shaking out her hair. “I’m very popular with the Thropps, it seems.”

Elphaba gives her a look, one of those flat but amused ones she gets sometimes, and nudges Galinda’s hip until she giggles. God, she really should stop.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” Elphaba murmurs, and leans forward to meet Galinda’s eyes. “Really, truly, I should’ve stayed. And I’m sorry, Galinda. I won’t do it again.”

“Wish you would,” Galinda mutters on reflex but there’s no bite to it, she doesn’t mean it at all. Elphaba ignores this, which makes sense. She just sighs.

“I did mean what I wrote in the letters, all of it,” she says, and then she glances over at Galinda. Her eyes are big like they always are, circles and green and brown and all speckled together like mosaic and plaster. Galinda’s heart clenches.

“That’s not fair,” Galinda says softly. “You left, Elphaba.”

“I know,” Elphaba says. “I understand if it changes things, really I do. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“Well, I’m not,” Galinda snaps. This whole conversation is wearing on her nerves, grating and chafing and making them all rubbery. Elphaba’s eyebrows go up and then down as she breathes, moving on their own, and Galinda watches them in a bit of a haze. Oh, how awful— she wants to kiss her again, she finds. What a terrible and horrible thing to know about yourself!

“Okay.” Elphaba looks out at the water and then up at the sky, lips pressed together, and she’s fidgeting with her fingers and wrenching them together, tying them up in knots. “Okay.”

“Of course it changes things,” Galinda says finally. “I mean, Elphaba, we were never together.”

A crack on Elphaba’s face, a sinking in Galinda’s stomach. “I know,” she says, and there’s more to the sentence but she doesn’t say it. Galinda nods.

“And you don’t live here,” she adds on softly, and reaches out to hold Elphaba’s hand— why not, right? It’s there, and Elphaba’s hands are always so soft and just the right size, and no one is here to see it. She could probably convince Elphaba that it was just a dream, probably she could convince herself the same thing. “I can’t… it doesn’t make sense for you to be… to feel that way about me, because you’re not going to stay forever.”

Elphaba swallows. “I could,” she says. Galinda scoffs.

“Really I made an exception for you, we don’t have permanent residents at the inn,” she admits. “I can’t be bothered to deal with it. Liability and stuff like that, you know.”

“Not at the inn, not forever,” Elphaba replies. Her voice has gone low and neutral, familiar in its emotion. Galinda remembers it from being in bed with her, from the rough way her tone will trace over the curves and sharp edges of her letters. She liked to talk Galinda through it, sometimes, because that is the sort of person she is.

“What does that even mean,” Galinda starts, and opens her mouth to say more but Elphaba cuts her off again kindly.

“There are houses in town,” Elphaba says. “Apartments, cottages. Maybe someplace without so many stairs so that my father could get around easier. Eventually maybe he’s going to need more help but I could stay close, and… I mean, and it’d be close to you, too.”

“What about your sister?” Galinda says. Elphaba’s hand has started to move, her thumb tracing little paisley swirls over the back of Galinda’s hand. It makes her crazy, shivery and overripe and she wants to roll to the side and clamber on top of Elphaba again, wants Elphie to hold her by the waist. She breathes.

“This is what’s best for her, I think,” Elphaba says, and then laughs at Galinda’s alarmed face. “No, it’s not a bad thing! She’s got her life and I’ve got mine. Her life is the church. She doesn’t have the space for all three of us.”

“But you fought,” Galinda says meekly.

“And we’ll make up,” Elphaba says cheerfully. “We’re sisters, that’s how it goes. She made us stay because she was worried, alright, and because she wanted to have control over the situation. She’s like that sometimes. She knows this is what’s better.”

“And what about you?” Galinda says softly, leaning slightly closer. “What will you do if you’re here, Elphaba?”

Elphaba looks her way with big, big eyes. “I don’t know yet,” she murmurs. Galinda feels her heartbeat in her throat.

“Listen,” Elphaba continues, and smiles. “It’s not just because of you, okay? I mean, a lot of it is, but we like it here. I like it here. I like it more than Nest Hardings. I did journalism before, maybe I could do some freelance work, and stay here for the spring and the summer and…”

Galinda watches her trail off. They are very close together now. They both draw in a shaky breath at the same time and Galinda can feel Elphaba’s pulse in her wrist, she tugs on their linked hands just to feel Elphaba’s hand move. Elphaba’s eyes go back to her again.

“Okay,” she nods. And Elphaba nods back, and that is that.

They hold hands back up to the inn. Killyjoy lingers behind and then races ahead, sporadic and jumpy. He always runs with his mouth wide open and his tongue hanging out, close to the ground but quick to come back to Galinda’s side. He does this now, snorting happily and pressing his drooly face to her leg. Elphaba watches him with a smile.

“I might need time again,” Galinda admits softly. “If you… god, Elphaba, you should just stay away from me. Not really,” she hastens to add, which makes Elphaba laugh. “Just… not yet, okay?”

“Not yet,” Elphaba nods. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Galinda nods.

“Will you make me another frowny face at breakfast today? I thought it really set the mood,” Elphaba laughs, and Galinda shoves her halfheartedly. It feels good to have this again, maybe.

When Galinda was a little girl, seven and eight and nine, she’d get growing pains so bad that she’d lie awake in bed with tears on her cheeks and her popsicle rubbing circles into the muscle of her legs. She’s thought of this before, she thinks, back when Elphaba was a new phenomenon. And she remembers the feeling of it still because this is the sort of person she is, the sort of person who remembers things like the patter of his goodnights and the pilling of her favorite sheets, the ones with polar bears on them. The sort of person who remembers the ache of it just as much as the rest, the seashell rug in her childhood bedroom and the pink butterfly mobile on the ceiling.

Growing pains were one thing, hard to sit through but in the end easy enough to explain. Headaches and stomachaches and skinned knees, all that physical sort of discomfort, sitting on the surface. Whenever Galinda had shot up another inch she’d slam into chairs and tables, bruising along her hips and knees.

But there’s always something else there too, isn’t there? A certain discontentment, one of Galinda’s bad feelings. Neutral feelings, good feelings, those too, creeping in with the ache in her bones, vines around her ankles and legs and latching onto her heart. And how could someone explain that?

March is like that a little bit, existential. Galinda feels herself changing and recoils at the sight of it, because it is a horrible thing. She loves to look at herself and always has but there’s something too intimate about this, like looking into her own skin and seeing the pulse and curl of her blood and organs. Sick and disgusting, nauseatingly human. No one wants things to change.

It’s extremely disconcerting. Galinda feels that oddness every day and finds herself doing odd things, things like going out to get the mail in her socks and watching them soak through before it occurs to her to put on a pair of shoes. Things like crying in her room to a gospel album, and she’s never even been to church but it’s the style of it, there’s this one song about dying and flowers and cups of coffee and it makes her heart feel like it’s being wrung out. Things like telling Elphaba to stay away and then seeking her out every chance she gets, finding her and wanting to bite and consume and hold. If all of these things were combined she’d be nothing but a wet socked tearful vampire, a vampire listening to country music with a frog in her throat.

It rains a lot. The worms come out of the ground and the full moon hovers overhead. Spring is in a handful of days. By this time last year Galinda and Fiyero were broken up, quite officially, and she’d walked through the inn and touched everything she could find and reminded herself that it was hers, hers, all hers.

“There’s something different about me,” she tells Elphaba. “Have you noticed?”

Elphaba looks her up and down. “Is it something obvious? You didn’t get a haircut, did you? I’m terrible at noticing those.”

Galinda wrinkles her nose. “No, not physically,” she scoffs. “Besides, if I do something different with my hair you’d better notice, it’s something I require. But I meant, like, inside.”

“No,” Elphaba says softly, and yes, her voice is just as soft as her eyes and Galinda wants to touch her cheeks and her hands and—

This is how things go. Springtime comes and Galinda goes out into the garden and turns soil until her hands are caked with mud. Elphaba is there, which she often is these days. She hands Galinda bulbs, daffodils and lilies and dahlias. “The lilies are going to be pink,” Galinda says happily.

“Just like you,” Elphaba says, and pokes the pink bandana tugging her blonde hair back. Galinda smiles into it and lets herself be happy for a moment.

“So I was going to look at a place later,” Elphaba says slowly after a minute, waiting until Galinda has bent down to dig a hole so that she can’t look up, how very clever of her. “Not too far from here, just behind the bait and tackle place?”

“A house?” Galinda says, and there must be something in her voice because Elphaba hesitates.

“Yes,” she says softly. “It’s a small one, a kitchen and two bedrooms and not much else but I was wondering if you wanted to come look at it with me? Get Crope or Mrs. Sharpe to cover the desk?”

“So you’re staying, then,” Galinda says into the dirt. She tries not to think about it. Instead she focuses on the bugs, the watery earthy smell emanating from the ground that makes her almost hungry. Elphaba pauses.

“I’ll stay if you want,” she says finally. “If you want me to.”

So Galinda turns, because this is important, and drops the bulb she’d been holding into the dirt. “Elphie, of course I want that,” she says, and tries to convey something with her eyes and face only she’s staring into the sun so it’s probably coming out all muddled. She can hardly see Elphaba but for the lines of her face and well, they seem to be smiling. So there’s that, at least.

She wipes her dirty hands on Elphaba’s pants and Elphaba squawks with indignation. Galinda puts on the gospel country record she can’t get out of her head for Frexspar before they leave and he sits there on the parlor couch thinking about prairies.

Galinda had said not yet. She’d said she needed space and time again and all of the things. Elphaba, because she is the most loyal and dutiful and careful person in the world, follows the instructions to a t. It’s almost annoying how good she is, because Galinda on occasion wants to push or be pushed up against a wall, wants to drift together and kiss and eat breakfast side by side. Elphaba asks her if she’s sure a hundred times, is always careful to leave space between them.

“She’s so thoughtful it’s basically just bad,” she tells Fiyero out at the bar one night. He just snorts.

So Galinda makes a decision. She’d said not yet, but she hadn’t said no flirting. She and Elphie are always flirting a little bit, after all, even if Elphaba apologizes whenever their hands graze. But she thinks she can make it a little worse, light a fire under Elphie and see what happens. Elphaba has been looking at rental apartments a lot these days, crappy upstairs places and lovely cottages with grape vines on trellises outside. Galinda comes along and asks a lot of questions and taps her heel impatiently until Elphaba hisses at her to stop, that it’s rude.

So yes, the flirting. It’s harmless, really! Galinda has done it a dozen times, a hundred. She resolves to try it starting on the first really warm day of the year, mid March but firmly false spring. There are kids playing on the gravel streets after school, bikes and hopscotch and enough abandoned sneakers to shoe an army. Crope, eating toast in the kitchen all slathered with a new jam Tibbett is trying out, rolls his eyes about it.

“That used to be us, Crope,” Galinda huffs. “Hey, remember that time you cried during pickup dodgeball?”

“You were targeting me, me specifically!” Crope exclaims. “I think I’m going to stop being friends with you now, Galinda.”

“Good luck with that. Are these cinnamon rolls?”

“Wait, don’t take the pretty one, that’s for Tibbett!” Crope yelps, dodging Galinda’s fist as she leans over him to grab one. “Don’t you want a pretty one for Elphaba, anyway?”

“I thought you were under strict instructions not to talk about her,” Galinda says, taking a bite of the edge of her cinnamon roll.

“Still?” Crope exclaims. “I thought you two were good now.”

“None of your business,” Galinda says, and blushes just a little bit. “Okay, I’ve got to go, I need to go meet with the florist about that wedding party, remember them?”

“Is that why you’re all dressed up?” Crope asks, nose wrinkled, and Galinda pinkens even more.

She’s not really all dressed up, Crope is being hyperbolic! It’s just part of her plan, her harmless and very usual and typical plan. This is the dress she’d bought with Pfannee and Shenshen, the one Pfannee had likened to a goddess’s on their most recent phone call. She looks pretty, sure. Her hair is done up and curled ringlets frame her face, and she’s even put on a spot of her best lip tint. Is it a crime to look good?

Galinda repeats this for Crope. “Is it a crime to look good?” she asks, tossing her hair even though it’s mostly up in a swoopy bun. He raises an eyebrow.

“No,” he says slowly, “it’s just, well, the dress makes you look like you’re going on a date or something. Wait, are you?”

“Ew, no,” Galinda scoffs and tries to ignore the jump of her heart. “I’m going to the florist, I just said.”

Terrible timing, fate is not on her side, because at that very moment Elphaba’s head peeks around the corner of the kitchen door. “Ready to go?” she asks, and smiles at Crope. “Hi, Crope, good morning.”

Crope’s eyes just about bug out of his head. He’s looking back and forth from Galinda to Elphaba, a furrow in his brow.

“I’m taking another cinnamon roll for Elphie,” Galinda says quickly before he can say anything, which he is certainly gearing up to do. “See you, Crope. Don’t kill the dog and don’t burn down the inn.”

“Bye, Crope,” Elphaba calls, and Galinda grabs her arm and yanks her around the corner, past the front desk with its Gone Fishing sign, and out the front door. She sighs.

“This is for you,” she tells Elphaba while handing her the pastry when they’re safely past the gate, glancing toward the new baby tree that the group of them had planted a few weeks back. “They’re actually good, it’s a shame Crope is so talented. It’s always the most annoying ones.”

“Just like you,” Elphaba says tentatively, and Galinda gasps. She still hasn’t let go of Elphaba’s arm.

“That was funny!” she exclaims, poking Elphaba, and then frowns. “Now don’t say it ever again, you’re still on thin ice. Eat your breakfast.”

Elphaba nods. The florist is across town, Galinda went to school with her nieces a million years ago and so they’ll inevitably be in there for a while. She needs her sustenance.

“You look pretty,” Elphaba tells her shyly when they’re walking past the movie theater, the smell of popcorn drifting out at them. Galinda inhales.

“Thank you. We should go see a movie again sometime, they do a discount every weeknight of the summer. If you’re still here by then, of course.”

“We’ll go,” Elphaba says, and then gives Galinda another glance. “Is that a new dress?”

“No,” Galinda says. “Yes, kind of. You haven’t seen it before.”

“I’d remember,” Elphaba says with a smile, and maybe Galinda has gotten stupid or just positively moony because she bites down on her teeth at that, heart speeding up and letting her hand graze over Elphaba’s arm purposefully.

“You can stop staring now, I know I look good,” Galinda teases, and Elphaba blushes and demurs and the conversation moves on anyway, something about pulling weeds and ice cream and Frex requesting a new nighttime read but Galinda is still stuck there a little bit, just a little.

And through it all she still has that deep low feeling, that sensation of change that just won’t quit. It’s gotten bad enough that she’s waking up with it now, in the middle of the night from some dream where she’s in a movie or a book and she’s read ahead and knows what’s going to happen next but no one believes her. It’s like that shock of waking up with a leg cramp but slower and achier, more spread out and less concentrated.

Sometimes Galinda thinks Elphaba’s feeling it too, or maybe she’s the one causing it. It feels inextricably linked to her in some odd way, causal or just coincidental or maybe both. A lot of life is like that, actually, planned and random all at once. Galinda falls asleep to the sounds of an indie record, a singer with such a low deep voice that it reverberates through the room and into her bedsheets. The whole world feels moist and wet with rain.

They hold hands a lot now, too. Elphaba doesn’t initiate it but she doesn’t let Galinda let go of her either, hardly ever. They’re at breakfast and Galinda holds her hand under the table and steals bites of her danish, even though she's got her own sitting even closer to her. They’re looking at another house for Elphaba, an old carriage house that’s been converted into a cozy blue cottage that seems just about perfect for her and is only a stone’s throw from the inn, and Galinda lets their pinky fingers lace together. It’s things like that, that’s all.

One night it is warm enough to be summer. By the evening it’s cooled down a bit but it’s still hot enough to be outside without a jacket or a sweater and Galinda wouldn’t miss this for the world, she couldn’t. She grabs onto Elphaba’s hand and begs and pleads and gets her out finally, one hand caught up in green and the other holding a bag of chocolate malt balls. Elphaba eyes them warily.

“What’s your plan, Galinda,” she says, and there’s that specific Elphaba cadence to her voice that makes Galinda giggle as they clamber over the dune, floating to their usual perch near the water.

“You sound so suspicious,” Galinda teases. "Nothing's my plan, can’t a girl go out to look at the stars? With her chocolate? And her…”

“Her?” Elphaba says, cocking her head.

“Her leech of an inn guest,” Galinda finishes primly. “Sit down and eat the candy and don’t ask any questions, Elphaba.”

Elphaba salutes clumsily and Galinda’s giggling again. She’d tried so hard to stay away but it just isn’t in the cards for them, is it? Elphaba had waltzed into her life in August and now Galinda just can’t imagine a word without her in it. How absolutely horrible. She feels that changing feeling inside her again, the wrap and unwrap of a snake in the grass. She shivers.

Elphaba’s face pinches. “Are you cold?”

“Of course not. The opposite, actually,” Galinda says, leaning back and opening her arms wide for the world. “Thank god winter is over, I didn’t think I could stand another second of that. January should be canceled next year.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Elphaba says, and leans over to pop a piece of chocolate into Galinda’s open mouth. She smiles.

“We should swim,” Galinda suggests around the candy, and repeats herself once she’s chewed and swallowed. “Come on, it’s going to get cold again tomorrow, I can feel it in the air.”

“But it’s so warm,” Elphaba says, and Galinda laughs.

“That’s how it works around here. There’s always a week in March or April or something where you think it’s going to be nice forever and then you get hit with a wall of snow— oh, don’t make that face, you’ll live. You’re the one moving here, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I should change my mind,” Elphaba jokes, and Galinda laughs and steals another malt ball.

“Not a chance,” she says. “So? Are we swimming?”

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” Elphaba says softly. “Or a towel. Or—”

“Psh, who needs that,” Galinda says with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like we’re going in deep, that’s actually quite dangerous. Haven’t you read my warning poster about the tides? The one behind the checkbook? This is why I don’t pay you to work the desk, Elphie.”

“So we’ll go in the morning,” Elphaba suggests, but there is a fierce fire in Galinda now. She needs to go tonight, she feels it, and she shakes her head.

“Please?” she asks, and she knows Elphie will never say no to that. This is where the flirting comes in handy— light flirting, of course, just a well placed hand and some big pouty eyes and lips, just an angling so that her chest and shoulders are in Elphaba’s space and the tips of her hair graze Elphie’s neck. Easy.

Elphaba gives her an unimpressed look. “That’s not going to work,” she says, and Galinda blinks innocently.

“What do you mean?”

There is a beat. Elphaba stares at her, still unimpressed, and Galinda stares right back with feigned innocence. She could do this all day and she will, and Elphaba must know as much because she lets out a long suffering sigh and raises an eyebrow.

“If I say yes to this will you—”

“Anything, anything you want!” Galinda exclaims, jumping to her feet. “Oh, thank you Elphie! You’re going to love it. Just up to your hips, okay, don’t you worry.”

Galinda, of course, doesn’t take her own advice. She strips down to her plain black bra and underwear and lets herself get swallowed up by the water, leaving only her hair and face dry. This is her river after all, and it may be freezing but it’s been gone from her all winter and she has no choice but to come back to it, of course!

“Hi river,” she murmurs, and Elphaba laughs at her from the shore. “It’s good to see you melted again.”

“Do you think it talks to anyone else?” Elphaba asks, and Galinda politely averts her eyes as she takes off her pants and leaves her shirt on, wading in up to her knees.

“It doesn’t talk to me, not yet,” Galinda tells her. “I’m hopeful, though. Maybe tonight is the night.”

Elphaba doesn’t answer. She lays her hands a few inches on top of the water, though, like she’s feeling its chest and checking for the vibration of it. The water flicks up to meet her, coating her hand and falling below it like it’s bending to her will. Galinda watches, in up to her chin, and hums.

“Do you ever think I could be more interesting?” Galinda asks. “Maybe I should take up a new hobby. Paranormal investigations or smoking cigars or something, do you think that would be a good idea?”

“Smoking cigars?” Elphaba says, and comes a little closer to her. The water she displaces laps against Galinda’s cheeks. “Is that a hobby?”

“Maybe it’d make me more interesting, that’s what I’m saying. Would I look good with a cigar in my mouth?”

“You’re plenty interesting,” Elphaba mutters. She is pretending to be annoyed and stoic and scoffing but it’s all very tender, this is something she does. Galinda wants to swim over and squeeze her, wants to get her shirt all wet and tug them both down deep.

“Fine,” Galinda grumbles. “I’m just thinking ahead, really. It’s good to shake things up in the springtime, don’t you think?”

“You shake things up every day, Galinda,” Elphaba mutters again with a twitch of a smile. “At least my father thinks so, he really enjoyed your recount of your middle school breakup the other day.”

“Gossip is good for the soul,” Galinda nods sagely. “Anyway, that’s not the point. I’ve been getting a weird feeling.”

Elphaba smiles finally, really and truly, and hums. “Oh, yeah?”

“Did I ever tell you that I knew something special was going to happen right before you came here for the first time?” Galinda asks. Her bra is sticking to her, soft cotton and thin straps, and Elphaba is looking at the freckles on her shoulders. “You know how?”

“No,” Elphaba says, humoring her. “What, did Killyjoy tell you?”

“Not quite,” Galinda smiles. “The lightbulb in front of room seven went out. So then I knew.”

She has half swam and half waded closer to Elphaba, knees on the riverbank and pressing up against pebbles. Elphie looks down at her and blinks.

“And what did you know, exactly?”

“Just… something,” Galinda says softly, and then flops her head back. “God, Elphie, are you really not going to get in all the way? You’re just going to stand there?”

“You— Galinda!” Elphaba exclaims, laughing, “you told me to do this. You said to go in up to my hips.”

Galinda wrinkles her nose. “What, did I?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind, then!” She reaches up and tugs at the soft fabric of Elphie’s nightshirt, the wear and tear of it. She looks good and sleepy, it reminds Galinda of nights they spent together before and there is that shock through her again, the live wire at the hollow of her throat. She swallows and pulls. “Get in, it’s not even that cold!”

Elphaba listens because she always does, she always listens to Galinda. “It is that cold,” she hisses, wincing as the water comes up to her stomach and chest through the shirt. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Galinda pouts, “because you’re so far away from me. I can’t even hear you, Elphaba. How can we have a conversation under these circumstances?”

Elphaba mutters something that Galinda truly can’t hear and oh, how delightful it is to be around each other like this! Elphaba playing at annoyed, Galinda teasing her and Elphaba letting her do it. She’s quite pleased, also, because Elphaba is right up next to her now. It’s dark out and the river makes her feel different than usual, a little wilder. Drops of water stick to her eyelashes and make everything around her glitter. There’s something very desirable about it, something that makes her hungry. She slips closer.

Her leg grazes against Elphaba’s underwater and Elphaba almost pulls away, Galinda can tell, but then blessedly she doesn’t. She doesn’t press closer either, just stays there and lets Galinda’s knee brush against that expanse of skin— her thigh, maybe?

Elphaba’s eyes swish over to her and she looks nervous, a little caught up in her head. She hasn’t been like this lately but Galinda understands— she’d never felt nervous before Elphaba, not in this particular way. She cares about stupid things now like how well she can keep up a conversation, how Elphaba’s breakfast tastes.

“Can I say something,” she blurts, and she knows she’s going to have to say it no matter what. It’s not appropriate, there’s no catalyst except her own desire, the feeling of Elphaba’s leg against hers. Sometimes Galinda needs to talk things through in order to understand them, sometimes she has to give real voice to whatever is pattering around in her head. Elphaba blinks and nods, close and closer. Galinda wants the feeling of those dark eyelashes on her cheeks.

“It’s not… I don’t think it’s what you’ll want to hear,” she admits, and Elphaba’s face crinkles.

“What is it?”

Has there ever been a day in her life where Elphaba hasn’t cared? She is perhaps the most caring person in the world, although she probably wouldn’t want to admit it. There’s the Elphaba Galinda had met back in August who was aloof and tall and proud and then there’s this one, the woman who would get her shirt all wet with river water just because Galinda asked her to. Both of them care so much it hurts. She breathes in deep and it smells like copper and that entirely familiar smell of this place that she’s never seen replicated anywhere else, not exactly.

“You’re the best I’ve ever kissed,” she says, and smiles. “Or slept with. Like, by a lot. I don’t think I expected it to be as good as it was.”

It’s hard to see in this light but she can make out the bob of Elphaba’s throat, the upturn of her cheekbones. “Galinda…”

“What,” Galinda says resolutely. “I mean it, and you can’t tell me how I feel. It’s never been like that before, never.”

“You… Galinda,” Elphaba says, huffing out a strained little laugh, and oh, she’s blushing! “That’s not fair.”

Galinda pouts. “Well, why not?” she says, and leans in closer. “You brought it up first, didn't you, in your letter. You said you were thinking about me all of the time. All of the time, remember?”

“Of course I—” Elphaba starts, and then lets out air through her nose. “You said you needed space.”

“I believe I said ‘not yet,’” Galinda says thoughtfully. “And besides, that was forever ago. Weeks and weeks.”

Elphaba still doesn’t move. She’s very still but the water shimmers with the moonlight and the glance of her skin. Galinda looks at her and sees her as she is, part of this place as much as anyone is.

“Besides,” she adds, “you’re staying, aren’t you? I know you’re going to rent that house.”

Elphaba laughs softly, strained still. “I don’t know how to want things normally. Or, I know how to want but I don’t know how to have.”

“You do now,” Galinda says thoughtfully. “You just have to choose to do it. That’s what I’m doing now. That’s what you’re doing now, too; you did it when you came back here.”

“Galinda,” Elphaba says, and they’re even closer together now. Galinda can feel her heartbeat in her lips, her ears, the tip of her hairline. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Galinda mutters. “I don’t do things I’m not sure about, not anymore.”

Elphaba nods. Galinda reaches out for her, her hand lost in the night and the water, and touches her shoulder, the side of her face. Elphaba leans into it.

“I want you so much,” she whispers. “So much, so badly. I think about you all the time, I can’t—”

For the first time there is no question that Elphaba moves in first. It’s quite messy and quite inelegant, bad planning and Galinda’s feet slide and slip against the smooth algae coated rocks beneath her. She steadies herself, though, and loops her arms around Elphaba so that she’s pressing her in by the back. Elphaba’s mouth is warm and slippery and smooth.

This is different. They’ve kissed before, so many times and Galinda expects it’ll happen many more if she has anything to say about it. It’s happened before and it will happen again but this is something unlike others. That’s true of all the best things in the world, Galinda thinks, that they are entirely themself and nothing can be like them. The way the river smells, for instance, and the way Elphaba kisses.

There are many things that Galinda doesn’t know the answer to. Why this particular feeling won’t go away, why things are the way they are, why she’s spent so much of her life doing the wrong thing and why she doesn’t even regret it. Because it’s springtime everything feels so young.

She presses in closer. They’re configured oddly, walking back to hit the shore so that Elphaba is sitting on solid rock with her drenched shirt and Galinda, without much on, is sitting where her lap would be. She’s between her legs really, on her knees and pressing closer and closer until Elphaba has to lean back to accommodate it, until she finally lies back into the ground and lets Galinda move. It’s got to hurt, all those sharp pebbles, and yet Elphaba doesn’t complain.

Sometimes when they kiss Galinda talks, little words into Elphaba’s neck or chest or mouth. She doesn’t do that now. It’s dead silent except for the sounds of the little beach, sand and pebbles scraping up her knees, she almost hopes they leave a mark. And still Galinda moves closer and closer. She’s burning with attraction and all of the other things, lust or desire or whatever you’d call it. She wants to press them together and hard, she wants to fall into Elphaba so that not a single spot of her skin goes untouched. She wants.

Elphaba seems to know. She shifts around so that one of Galinda’s hands is on her green thigh and moves again so that her other thigh is between Galinda’s legs, pressing carefully but with enough lightness to be deniable. Elphaba never does this, she always waits for Galinda to take the lead and now here she is and she’d kissed her first. What could Galinda make happen? Would Elphaba ask her out on a date, if she tried, would she kiss her again? How far could it go, how long would it take?

Elphaba presses and Galinda moans into her mouth, breathy and surprised. It’s all been rather fast, they’ve flopped their way out of the water like beached whales or dying fish and now they’re going to wiggle around on the shore, kissing and touching and making noises? It’s not how it’s meant to be. Galinda likes messy, though, and she never would’ve thought that before Elphaba. Things always had to be just right, before.

But then Elphaba is pulling away, horribly! Galinda blinks and pouts just a little but Elphaba puts a finger in the divot of her lip and rubs it softly, smiling.

“Why’d you stop?” she murmurs, and Elphaba laughs quietly.

“Just thought we should go inside,” she replies, equally soft. Galinda bites at the tip of the finger, sucks on it just a little bit until it’s wet with her spit but only a tiny bit, only where the fingernail is. She smiles.

“Yeah?” she teases, pitching her voice low and squinting down at Elphaba. “And why’s that, Elphie?”

Elphaba shrugs, blushing. “It’s cold.”

Galinda squints harder and leans in, stomach fluttering. “And what’s the real reason?”

Elphaba swallows and waits a moment. Galinda takes the opportunity to press down harder on her thigh, to trace up her pantsless leg with her own fingers and draw tiny circles as high as she will dare.

“I need to touch you,” Elphaba admits finally. “Now, preferably, but I don’t want to do it out here.”

“Why not?” Galinda hums, tracing up until her index finger is between Elphaba’s breasts, tracing a line up to her chin. She leans in so that they are nose to nose.

“Just,” Elphaba huffs, and presses her nose into Galinda’s stubbornly. “Please?”

It is a messy walk up back to the inn. Galinda doesn’t bother to change, there’s no one to see her anyway, and they’re wearing untied shoes and stopping to kiss every few steps. Galinda won’t let go of Elphaba’s arm even when she’s trying to open the door, even when they bump into the wall on their way down the hall, even when she presses Elphaba up into the door to her apartment to kiss her as she opens it. Two birds, one stone.

Galinda will remember the circumstances of it all forever. Two lamps on, curtains drawn, one window open and making the drapes flutter. The air smells like flowers and rotting leaves and dryer sheets. Elphaba leaves her shirt in Galinda’s bathtub and lets Galinda take everything else off of her, underwear and bra and the rings on her fingers. She lets Galinda touch and bite and pull Elphaba closer, move her around, jostle her.

“Is this fun for you?” Elphaba asks around a laugh, lips pulled up, when Galinda squeezes the side of her stomach just to feel her ribs through the skin. Galinda pouts.

“Be quiet,” she says, and Elphaba giggles. “Get on the bed, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Elphaba asks again, because she’s always asking, and Galinda just about rolls her eyes.

“What happened to oh, Galinda, I need to touch you!”

“I did not say it like that,” Elphaba mutters grumpily, but she does move back until she’s perched on the bed, and wiggles back to hit the mountain of pillows, and tosses a few of them off the side of the bed.

“You’d better get ready to do my laundry later if you’re going to be throwing my pillows around the room like that,” Galinda warns her with an eyebrow raised, and then topples forward to lay a hand on Elphaba’s thigh.

Galinda feels a little insatiable. She slips her finger over, teasing, and goes inside on Elphaba’s inhale, pressing as deep as she can and curling it ever so slightly. Elphaba’s mouth opens like she’s going to say something so Galinda waits, tracking the blush moving across her face like clouds passing the moon, until Elphaba opens her eyes and grinds her jaw and nods. Glinda presses a kiss to her collarbone and moves. She could listen to Elphie forever, the breaths and whines and silences of her, the way she squeezes at Galinda.

Sometimes Galinda feels a little insatiable with it. When Elphaba comes she feels a shock of pride every time, when Elphaba moves her hand or grabs her arm she feels it in her blood. She wants to ask a hundred questions, wants to make Elphie tell her how good it feels and let her keep going and going only Elphaba’s too focused for such a thing. Still, Galinda shivers with it.

She’s made Elphaba come once, twice, and is gearing up for a third before Elphaba brings a hand to her wrist, face flushed and freckles out and tongue licking at her lips. Galinda pauses, entranced.

“Not that this isn’t good,” Elphaba says breathily, and Galinda agrees— it is really good, really really good. She’s thinking about the way Elphaba tightens around her fingers and the way she’d gripped onto Galinda’s back harder when she’d called her baby, about the way Elphaba had whimpered into her ear. “But, well…”

“Well?” Galinda asks, smoothing a finger across Elphaba’s upper thigh thoughtfully.

“I want to touch you too,” Elphaba whispers, and sucks on Galinda’s neck just a little bit until she realizes just how turned on she is.

The funny thing is that she overthinks, she’s busy thinking even while Elphaba’s between her legs. Fiyero had been right. The best way to know how she feels is to do this, nothing else. She doesn’t want it to stop.

Galinda has been having this strange feeling for months now, rumbling on in the background like radio static, and now in the blink of an eye it’s gone. Elphaba’s hands come up to hold her legs open, and she’s shaking and holding a pillow with one arm and Elphie’s hair with another, and lots of things can be true at once.

Elphaba loves her, she’d said as much. Galinda loves her too, she’s realized as much just now. She hasn’t been able to finish a sentence in months, that sentence in particular, and now it’s all cobbled together and Galinda inhales, breath hitching, and pulls Elphaba closer.

Elphaba hums into her and Galinda loves her. She sucks and rolls her tongue and Galinda loves her. If things had always been like this life would've been so different, but then Galinda might not know what it’s like to want like this. And, she finds, she wants to know.

“Elphie,” she whimpers, and Elphaba hums back into her again. “I have to tell you something.”

Elphaba doesn’t resurface. Galinda tugs at her hair just a little bit and Elphaba picks her head up warily— horrible, though, because Galinda whines at the change and misses it, bucks her hips up and whines more when Elphaba holds them down.

“Can’t it wait?” Elphaba mumbles into Galinda’s hipbone, which she sucks on. Galinda shakes her head and Elphaba chuckles. “Okay, what is it?”

“I love you too,” she mumbles. “Okay, now start again or I’m going to tear my hair out. Please, please, pl—”

Elphaba has been staring at her for about three seconds with a shellshocked sort of expression, not an ounce of anything on her face, and then she listens and lowers her head again and she’s moving with even more delicacy now. It doesn’t take Galinda long at all after that.

Just before she comes she opens her eyes again, looks up and sees Elphie watching her so steadily from between her legs. Her brows furrow and Galinda lets out a gaspy breath, reaching down for something to hold onto. She catches Elphaba’s hand and tugs it into hers, green fingers laced in with her own, and squeezes. She can feel just about everything. Elphaba’s moving so softly, so careful and delicate against her.

“You really like doing that for me, don’t you,” Galinda teases when she’s finished, when she tugs Elphaba up by the neck to hover over her, when she presses a kiss into Elphie’s collarbone. Elphaba blushes again.

“I mean,” she mutters, and Galinda giggles.

“That’s good, I like it,” she whispers, and wiggles up to bite Elphaba’s earlobe. Elphie yelps, laughing.

“Galinda!”

“What!” Galinda laughs, so happy she can hardly stand it. “You’re pretty, I can’t help it.”

“You’re pretty too,” Elphaba smiles, and then she clears her throat. “So, what you said before…?”

“Hmm?” Galinda hums lazily, tugging Elphaba down so that she’s pressed on top of her in full, stretching out so that her legs unlock. She yawns and Elphaba presses a finger to her lips again, smiling fondly, before tapping on Galinda’s nose and then reaching up for her hair. Galinda purrs.

“You said you—” Elphaba starts, and then pauses, and then starts again. “Okay. You said you love me.”

“Yeah,” Galinda mumbles into Elphaba’s neck. “I’d been trying to figure out what that feeling meant. It’s been driving me absolutely nuts, Elphie, just like you. Hey, that was really good, by the way. Want to go again?”

She feels Elphaba’s laugh before she hears it. “You are such a special person, Galinda. I love you too.”

“Well, good,” Galinda huffs. “Do you want to?”

Elphaba laughs loud this time, into Galinda’s mouth, and they spend as long as they can like that. Whenever Galinda smells springtime air, late March with that familiar browning of leaves melting into the grass and the puff of dryer exhaust out in the countryside, she will think of this moment.

Aftermaths are hard things to pinpoint. No one ever seems quite sure what they are and anyway, the during of it all always takes all the attention, so you forget they’re coming.

Galinda thinks about this when she wakes up the next morning and pretends she’s still asleep. She can’t quite tell if Elphaba’s stayed but she thinks that she is, it seems like something she would do. Galinda wants it to be true more than anything. Schrodinger’s Elphaba, there and not there for as long as Galinda waits to open her eyes.

It gets spoiled by a big gust of wind through the still open window, which is positively frigid and yes, there’s the end of that false spring. Galinda’s been sleeping with the covers down by her knees and shins and she wiggles back slightly, seeking some warmth and colliding with a long firm torso in the process. She freezes.

“Good morning,” Elphaba murmurs into her ear. This part, this part is nice. This part is good. Elphaba kisses her temple and runs a few fingers through Galinda’s hair and she leans back into it, sighing.

The goodness stops. She mumbles and groans, moving Elphaba’s hand back to where it had been.

“I thought you were asleep,” Elphaba explains smugly, “because you didn’t say it back. And I’m not going to play with your hair if you’re asleep.”

Galinda opens her eyes just to roll them. She flips onto her back and makes eye contact with morning Elphie, the one all awash with fading light and all smiley and funny looking in her blush pink sheets.

“Good morning, Elphie,” she says slowly and sarcastically. “Now play with my hair, please, you owe me.”

“When are we going to get past the stage of me owing you?” Elphaba wonders aloud. “I mean, just think about all the things I do to pay you back— I play with your hair. I buy a house in your town. And last night, that definitely seemed like—”

Galinda cuts her off with a hand over her mouth, sighing contentedly while Elphaba’s hands work into her scalp.

“You’ll owe me until you make up for it all,” she says primly. “I’ll tell you a secret, though, you’re pretty close.”

Elphaba mumbles something into her hand and Galinda ignores her.

After a while, though, the hand recedes and Galinda’s eyes drift closed again, humming contentedly as Elphaba’s long fingers card through her hair. Those gold rings are resting on Galinda’s bedside table and that is the most intimate part about it all, possibly. They sit there next to all of Galinda’s things, next to the book Elphaba wants her to read next, next to an old glass of water she’d forgotten to rinse out. Little things.

“What if I took you out tonight?” Elphaba asks thoughtfully a minute later. “I’ll buy you dinner and ice cream too, if you want it. Whatever you want, actually.”

Galinda raises an eyebrow with her eyes still shut. “I’m listening,” she says. “Anything else you want to ask me, Elphie?”

Elphaba sighs theatrically, poking her cheek. “Like a date,” she says with a long suffering sigh— entirely put on, by the way, Galinda knows it. “Galinda Upland, with an A in the middle and an inn in her possession, will you go on a date with me?”

Galinda wiggles happily, moving her feet up and down in the sheets like a cricket. “Yes,” she smiles. “I thought you’d never ask!”

“You were the one who—” Elphaba starts, and then lets out a loud breath. “Alright. Good.”

“Dress code is springtime chic,” Galinda tells her, eyes still shut. “I’ll wear whatever you think I look prettiest in, or— oh, you like that dress I bought in the Emerald City, don’t you? I’ll wear that. It looks very good on me, don’t you think?”

Elphaba giggles and pokes her in the ribs and the morning goes on like that, Crope eyeing them from the doorway to the breakfast nook while Galinda talks around a mouthful of scone. It feels right that way.

By the end of it all Galinda thinks she’s rather satisfied. She’s always been sure of herself, she’s never been lonely. She has been unhappy and she’s known it well.

“I can’t believe I was ever thinking of leaving here,” Galinda shouts to Elphaba while a late spring rainstorm rages outside, throwing her head out the window with a fond smile. “I mean, I would’ve gotten bored in a day!”

It’s true, though. March turns to April turns to May and Galinda realizes she’s been happy for a very long time.

“Second lightbulb on the left,” she tells Elphaba when she stops by one morning, and Elphaba goes to fix the lightbulb Galinda knows has just gone out. She doesn’t know how, of course, she just knows.

Elphaba’s little house is close enough that Galinda only has to trample through one field to get there, paranoid of tick bites and snakes in the tall tall grass. Killyjoy likes the walk better than she does. It doesn’t matter, really, because Elphaba spends most of her time over at the inn anyway.

“My momsie and popsicle are coming in June,” Galinda announces to Elphaba at the front desk, leaning her head in a black dress’s lap with a postcard in her hand. “My momsie would like you to know that she is ever so absolutely delighted to meet you and that she will probably cry, on account of me having a most real and official girlfriend, but that’s not your fault. My popsicle says he is also looking forward to it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Elphaba mutters, and Galinda pinches her leg. She gets a kiss out of it regardless, so she’s not too worried.

Galinda doesn’t like the look of change. Sometimes in the night she still feels sick with it, the room spinning and disorienting like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Her insides are bared and the world can see it, Crope and Milla and Mrs. Sharpe and everyone can see her in love and it’s quite real, isn’t it? It’s positively terrifying to be known so well. She doesn’t mind it too much anymore, either.

“Killyjoy is eating paper,” Elphaba announces. Galinda shrugs.

“I’ve learned to pick my battles,” she says. “We’ll walk him by the river later, if you want. Could even take you up to the lighthouse.”

Elphaba laughs and Galinda feels the rumble in her chest and her stomach. When the bell on the door rings she sits up, and smiles, and starts her day again. Just like every day before.

It’s almost summer. Galinda gets her candles ready.