Archive of Our Own ^beta

Despite it all—all meaning familial trauma and neglect, casual social ostracization, and the general crushing weight of existence—Elphaba liked to think of herself as an optimist.

If she wasn’t, after all, she certainly wouldn’t be doing this.

Fiyero’s ideas were consistently, utterly brainless, and yet she had been convinced of the plausibility of this one. “You’re a really good match, I swear,”  he’d said. “She’s my ex, actually, but we’re still good friends!” he’d said.  “She’s a very colorful person in general. She’ll like the-”  he’d said, gesturing vaguely in the general shorthand for her unfortunate green skin. 

None of them were very compelling arguments, objectively. But Fiyero’s blasé confidence, Elphaba’s desperation to believe in something good (somewhat related to the fact that she’d recently submitted her fall transfer applications), and the fact that he’d picked her favorite Quadling place just around the corner had been enough to sway her.

“She’ll be sitting at the bar, wearing pink,”  he’d said. And when Elphaba glanced through the window, she could indeed see a flash of an effervescent bubblegum color. So at least her blind date had actually shown up.

Feeling, despite it all, the tiniest bit of hope, she pushed the door open.

The bubblegum figure—oh Oz, Elphaba realized, she’d forgotten her name—glanced up at she entered. For a moment they regarded each other with mutual surprise. She was very pretty, Elphaba thought, and then a tilt of the jaw had her revising that assessment; she was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that belonged in a museum, that drew the eye in and then held it ruthlessly, magnanimously captive.

For a moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Elphaba’s heart did a strange sort of spasm as she met wide brown eyes and held them. Then her gaze trailed up, to watch manicured eyebrows knit together; then down, to watch lips shiny with perfectly color-matched lipstick part in unmistakable dismay.

The passage of time resumed its normal service. Or perhaps not, because the blonde’s phone had seemingly teleported to her hand, and she was holding it up to her ear faster than Elphaba could blink. “Fiyero,” she said, in a terrifying, sugar-sweet voice, “what the hell is this?” Elphaba just stood there, awkwardly frozen as a voice garbled inaudibly on the line. Her maybe-not date glanced at her sidelong, and then looked away quickly, as if the sight of her caused physical pain. “You said black pants, white shirt, always in green-” Oz, so he hadn't been upfront about her condition. Elphaba was going to murder him. Maybe she should ask the girl to hand over the phone, and they could do it together- “well, she just walked in.”

Her probably-not-date was already standing up, sliding her card over to the bartender. Fiyero said something else, and the girl held up a hand that he couldn’t see. “Don’t,” she said tightly. “I’m coming over, and we’re going to have a little chat. If you’ve already packed away all of your hideodious chairs, then start unpacking them.” As she spoke, she shifted the phone seamlessly to her shoulder, collecting her card and stowing it in an absurdly small, bubblegum pink (of course) purse. 

Elphaba still hadn’t moved from the entrance, and as the blonde approached, their eyes met briefly for the second time. “Sorry,” her definitely-not-date said, an artificial, high-pitched thing, the first—and last—word she directed towards her. Then she was scooting past Elphaba, turning sideways to maximize the distance between them even though Elphaba had already stepped aside instinctively. And in another second she was gone, leaving behind only the echoing clip of heels and the trace of some floral perfume that clung expensively to the nose.

A vaguely familiar young man hurried up to the host stand. “How can I help you?” he said.

“Yes, hi,” Elphaba stammered, commanding her brain to stop reeling. “Can I place an order for takeout, please?” May as well, she supposed. She had a lot of work to do, and her fridge was depressingly empty. 

She deliberately chose a different seat at the bar to wait and ordered one of those cheap interchangeable beers, hoping to displace the bitter taste in her mouth. Her gaze drifted over to the stool where the blonde had been sitting, which was still slightly askew.

She would never say it. Not about anyone. She hated exclusionary language; she was a feminist through and through; she'd heard it directed at her more times than she could count in her nearly twenty-six years. But she couldn't quite stop herself from thinking it.

What a bitch.

***

The hallway was muggy, the June air too warm and too still even at this late hour. Elphaba could feel sweat collecting at the small of her back. She made her way carefully down the steps, clutching the railing to compensate for the last drink Fiyero had pressed into her hands. To celebrate her graduation, ostensibly. No, actually, that had been the drink before. This one had been an apology for that disastrous definitely-not-date three weeks ago. He’d started to fumble out an explanation, some excuse for his so-called friend’s horrendous behavior, but as soon as he’d faltered, Elphaba had brushed him off. 

It had been a major error of judgement on his part, thinking a girl like that would want someone like Elphaba. Having met her, however briefly, Elphaba was sure that she was disgustingly shallow in her choice of partners—especially on the evidence of her dating Fiyero, who was unsettlingly good-looking himself. But Fiyero had been so genuinely apologetic, and he was her first real friend, and Elphaba would hopefully be leaving Emerald City in a couple of months anyway. So she'd forgiven him, told him firmly to just forget about it, and turned the conversation to his new place with a remark about his obnoxious bachelor-pad decor.

Horse sculpture (which Fiyero had apparently given a name, the imbecile) and other such trappings aside, it really was an amazing apartment, a top floor on a historical-looking brownstone with the kind of windows that could single-handedly stave off seasonal depression. Elphaba had to fight down the glimmer of envy that arose when she thought about how nonchalantly Fiyero had talked about the massive space, and how easily he'd filled it with friends. Though from the sound of it, about half of them had been needed helped him move in, and Elphaba certainly didn't envy him that task. The only substantial item she'd ever had to get down the six steps to her basement level was her tightly packaged Ikea bed. She couldn't imagine trying to move an entire set of furniture up three flights of these narrow spiraling stairs. Especially when the noise in the hallway carried, to the point that she could distinctly hear multiple sets of footsteps clambering up the stairs.

“-I told him we probably weren't going to make it, but I do feel a sort of- obligation, you might say, to at least drop by a housewarming if I’m invited.” The airy voice reached Elphaba in distorted echoes, bouncing off the walls. It sounded vaguely recognizable, but Elphaba couldn't think who it might be. (That second drink had perhaps done more than skew her balance.)

“Oh, Galinda, you're too good,” a voice simpered. Elphaba frowned. The name had an awful sense of familiarity to it. 

Another voice. “You're hardly going to get any design inspiration from a place like this, though, are you? I mean, it's hardly half as nice as yours.” Elphaba scoffed inwardly. Did this girl own a mansion?

“Well, yes, that's true, but-”

Elphaba rounded the corner onto a landing, and was met with a battery of screams.

Echolocation was such bullshit, she thought irritably, having had her own yelp startled out of her. The clamor had sounded like five or six people at a distance, not three people within spitting distance. They stood abreast, obnoxiously blocking the entire stairway instead of going up one by one like normal, non-entitled people. And in the middle of the trio was-

Her. Galinda. Well, if Elphaba had been under any illusions about her being extra dolled up for their not-date, they would have been thoroughly dispelled with this outfit. She looked like an honest-to-goodness princess in an intricate yellowgold skirt with matching eyeliner, along with a white blouse that her face was steadily turning to match. They looked at each other for a moment, long enough to read something like terror in Galinda’s eyes. Probably didn't want her friends to hear about how abominably she'd behaved. 

“Oh my Oz. What is that?” the man said, in genuine horror. He didn't seem to recognize the irony of saying such a thing while wearing a hat that appeared to be sprouting an entire peacock.

Elphaba would have liked to tell Galinda that there was no need to worry. These friends seemed like birds of a feather—peacocks of a feather, really—and would probably have done the exact same thing. Instead, she pulled out one of her now rote theatrics, glancing over her shoulder in mock fear. “Oh no, where?” she gasped. Then without pause she strode toward them, feeling an ugly satisfaction as Galinda’s cronies retreated clumsily, nearly tripping down the stairs. 

Galinda herself remained rooted to the spot, much like Elphaba had been during their last encounter. “Excuse me,” Elphaba said impatiently. 

Galinda’s blood vessels seemed in the mood to showcase their versatility—her entire face flushed pink. “Sure,” she murmured, sounding a touch sullen, perhaps. Maybe she'd wanted to come up with an insult herself, and couldn't manage to turn any of the dusty gears in that blonde head. Maybe she was upset that the number of words she'd said to Elphaba had been unwillingly doubled. 

Still, she took a shuffling step to the side, and Elphaba brushed past her. She was tiny, Elphaba realized as their shoulders grazed, hardly of a height with Elphaba even with her physically-improbable heels. The discovery was more than a little satisfying, and Elphaba couldn’t hold back a smirk as she continued down the stairs.

After several moments of silence, Galinda spoke again. Her words were too low to decipher, but the way her sidekicks reacted was clearly distinguishable: loud, braying laughter that drifted out of the door as Elphaba wrenched it open.

Elphaba breathed deeply, which calmed her down a little. Then she imagined conjuring a gust of wind that would send them all cartwheeling down the stairs, which calmed her down a lot. And then she thought about the last two exams that still awaited her this week, which did the opposite of calming her down but at least put the trio of self-absorbed dipshits firmly out of her mind.

***

The next order read “shellfish allergy.” In fact, it read “shellfish allergy” once in the item notes, and once in the order notes. The “allergy” box was also checked, and SHELLFISH written underneath. In all caps. So putting all of the pieces together, Elphaba was guessing this person had a shellfish allergy. 

She sighed, stripped off her be-shrimped gloves, and ducked under the counter for a new pair.

They were almost at the end of the dinner rush. In another two hours they would close, and in another two after that Elphaba would be staggering out of the door to hopefully catch the 12:56am night bus, which she succeeded in around two-thirds of the time. The unlucky third of the time found her walking the thirty-seven minutes back to her apartment.

It was raining today. Elphaba would have liked to be an optimist, but there was a pit in her gut that suggested otherwise. Or maybe that was just hunger; she still hadn't taken her dinner break. But her least favorite manager was in today, sweeping around the kitchen with a sharp, critical eye. Since Elphaba had given notice that she would be leaving in August for Shiz, and modified her summer availability to request as many hours as possible, she'd been scheduled for every single day that Morrible was onsite. She wasn't sure what it meant, only that she didn’t like it at all, and she hadn’t caught the bus even once this week.

She assembled the bowl in what felt like record time, considering the order was one of those annoying ones that added nearly every topping and sauce in the entire menu, and she'd had to go to the back to get uncontaminated salmon.  She grabbed the cutlery packet and took a brief look over the counter, only to do a double-take at the sight of immaculate blonde waves.

It was her again, of course. She had been staring at Elphaba intently, as if willing her to move faster and be a good little capitalist minion. When Galinda realized she had been caught she didn’t even give a sign of acknowledgement, only glanced down at her hands, tugging at the pleats of her sleeveless lavender skirt suit. If Elphaba had to guess—that is, if you tied her to a chair and forced her at gunpoint to think about stupid loathsome Galinda—she would say that she seemed a little…tired. The barest suggestion of shadows under those enormous eyes.

Elphaba looked down at the name on the lid just as the pit in her gut widened its ominous maw, and sure enough she could see the -inda on the sticker where her thumb wasn't covering it. 

Here was the fulfillment of her bad luck premonition. The girl who had run away at the thought of sitting down for dinner with hideous green-skinned Elphaba, now summoned to see her at her worst. She was exhausted and dubiously greasy, her hair back and under a net to expose all the pointy angles of her face, wearing the restaurant orange-yellow polo that made her look like a Ninja Turtle. And of course she was required to catch Galinda’s particular attention to make sure she saw it all up close.

She would still take it, all things considered, if it meant Morrible didn’t fire her and she caught the bus tonight. 

With a sigh that was more in her soul than her lungs, Elphaba went over to the pick-up window. “Galinda?” she called. Galinda didn't look up from her phone, typing away rapidly. Elphaba couldn't hide the flare of annoyance. “Galinda,” she snapped.

Galinda’s head jerked up, and she wandered over to the counter. Elphaba thrust out the plastic bowl towards her. A hand extended, but instead of taking it, one perfectly manicured fingernail tapped at the order sticker. “See this?” 

It appeared she had given up her quest to not speak to Elphaba, albeit for a potential life-or-death reason. “The shellfish allergy?” Elphaba frowned. “Yeah, I made sure there wasn't any cross-contamination.” Unfortunate that she'd done that before seeing who the customer was. It might have been worth losing the remaining five weeks of pay.

“Thank you, not that,” Galinda chirped. She tapped the same spot on the lid. “Here.”

Elphaba looked down, then back up, uncomprehending.

Galinda huffed. “My name, Elphaba,” she clarified, her eyes flicking down to Elphaba’s nametag for emphasis. “I go by Glinda now.” She smiled, a small, gracious tilt of the lips, like she was doing Elphaba a favor somehow.

Elphaba dropped the bowl unceremoniously onto the counter with a thud. Galinda’s—Glinda’s, whatever, she seriously could not care less—hand flinched back, clutching at her chest dramatically. A sort of bewildered hurt crossed her face.

Unbelievable. “Go by whatever you want, as long as you go away,” Elphaba growled. She turned away from the counter, taking the cutlery packet with her, and dropped it back at the top of its stack. Glinda could get another by the drinks counter hardly ten feet away, but she relished the small victory. Her anger was burning too hot to even care whether Morrible had seen it. That pretentious, entitled-

Back at her station, she chanced a look up and spotted a flash of purple trudging out of the door. She'd better not come again during my shift, Elphaba thought, trying to will it into reality.

(She missed the bus by two minutes. Glinda didn’t return to the restaurant.)

***

Elphaba hurried across the quad, feeling the strap of her bag creak precariously at the rough pace. She wasn't running late, exactly, but she wasn't running early, either, and when it came to the first day of her most anticipated class that amounted to basically the same thing. She'd taken the afternoon yesterday to wander around the Shiz campus, familiarizing herself with all locations of interest. The other students had uniformly blanched at the sight of her, which was an unwelcome change from Emerald City, where the blanching rate was only around fifty percent. Still, Elphaba reminded herself, the students were all undergraduates here; half of them were still teenagers. They didn’t know any better—not that age led to less judgement, in Elphaba’s experience.

Unfortunately, her forward planning had come to naught. A casual rereading of her schedule revealed her history lecture to be in Diggs Hall, not Diggs Library, and a panicked scouring at her campus map found her actual destination to be just about as far away from her apartment as it was possible to be. Whoever this Diggs guy was, he needed to cool it on the whole commissioning buildings to name after himself gig, and apparently demanding they all be emerald green? It made things unnecessarily confusing.

There was a shortcut through the architecture building, Elphaba remembered, to avoid navigating the hill that led to South Campus. She haphazardly unfolded her map to double-check her memory as she yanked open the doors, and promptly collided with a vibrant magenta obstruction.

They glanced off each other like two fated bowling balls. The obstruction shrieked and dropped her vibrant magenta folder, whose paler pink contents scattered across the vicinity (let it not be said that Fiyero lied about Glinda being colorful). Elphaba's messenger bag, meanwhile, swiftly seized its chance at freedom. The deteriorating strap snapped clean in two and sent the entire bag sailing into the air, landing on the tiled floor and skidding several feet like a decrepit leather hockey puck. 

“Elphaba!” Glinda screeched, kneeling down with improbable grace considering her fitted suit and gleaming stilettos. “You've ruined my- why are you here?”

“Why are most people at an institution of higher learning?” Elphaba retorted, scurrying over to assess the damage to her bag. “Oh, shit,” she swore, her heart sinking. Not only had the strap broken, but there was an ink-dark stain seeping through the bottom. She was probably going to need a new one, but her bank account was already looking dismal, what with her last apartment’s security deposit still unreturned. In the ever time-constrained present, she fished out the leaking ink cartridge and hurriedly dumped it in the trash can by the door, smudging her fingers black in the process.

“You can’t be an undergrad?!” Glinda said the word like someone else might say serial killer, eyeing Elphaba’s clearly emblazoned campus map. “Fiyero wouldn’t- how old are you?” she demanded, obviously terrified that her not-date was barely of legal age. Elphaba wondered whether being eighteen would have been a greater sin than being green. “And what is that filth on your hand- here, take this. I can’t have you staining my notes.” She unzipped a compartment in her purse and flung over a packet of wipes.

Even when Glinda was ostensibly being helpful, she managed to be presumptuous and infuriating.  “I’m twenty-six,” Elphaba snarled, extracting one wipe and handing the rest back. The ink came off in a single pass, leaving behind only an annoyingly pleasant lavender scent. Did designer makeup wipes exist? If so, Elphaba couldn’t think of a single person more likely to own them.

With a glance at the clock above the entrance (which was five minutes behind, though she didn’t yet know it), she obligingly gathered the papers nearest her and started to shuffle them into a stack. Even the most vindictive part of her had to admit that the collision was entirely her own fault, but still the idea of just walking away and leaving the other girl to deal with the chaos was incredibly tempting. Only a begrudging assessment of the sheer quantity—there must have been almost twenty pages and twice as many flashcards, each numbered and covered in excruciatingly neat writing—kept her there, gathering up the mess.

Glinda sighed in relief. “I’m twenty-four,” she offered, as if Elphaba had shown the slightest interest. “And I’m giving a presentation to the first-years in Intro to Architecture. Are you in that class?” Her round eyes looked almost hopeful.

“No,” Elphaba answered. “I’m a third-year in history,” she elaborated reluctantly, at an entreating gesture of a hand. Oz, what was wrong with her? Why was she answering all of these ridiculous questions—with the truth, no less? “And I hope you’re not using these nonsense words in your lecture,” she snapped, feeling a little better.

Glinda’s brow furrowed as she reordered the pages. “What nonsense words?”

“Thrillify,” Elphaba read off of one flashcard.

“That’s a word,” Glinda insisted. “It has the same root as rejoicify.” She blithely misinterpreted Elphaba’s look of utter confusion. “You know, like: ‘Elphaba rejoicified to meet someone as lovely and beautiful as Glinda.’” She gave an affected little toss of her curls for emphasis.

“Neither of those are words!” Elphaba’s voice raised helplessly in incredulity. She didn’t have time for this. She handed the last stack to Glinda and rose back onto her feet.

“Huh,” Glinda frowned a little harder. Her face looked unused to the expression. “What should I use instead, then?”

“Thrilling,” Elphaba answered, before she could stop herself. Perhaps Fiyero was right: she really was too much of a know-it-all.

She had absolutely no desire to continue the exchange, and yet she rocked back on her heels for another moment, unsettled by—she didn’t even know, the entire horrendous coincidence. Then, with a brisk, reorienting shake of her head, she turned away and hurried down the hall, clutching her stained bag by its tiny, uncomfortable handles. The pieces of the strap fluttered uselessly in her wake.

“It was thrilling to run into you again, Elphaba!” Glinda called after her.

Elphaba ground her teeth together. She despised two-faced people more than anything, a hatred born from unpleasant familiarity with mean girl shenanigans. (For reference, see: her incredibly humiliating first kiss. Or don’t—she would prefer not to relive it.) But compared to those encounters, Glinda’s game was on another level altogether. Strange, ridiculous, and—she kept coming back to this—confusing. So confusing. What was the point of all this?

***

“-and the point of all this,” the professor said, gesturing animatedly with one hand. “is that we can model the evolution of the activation patterns in the language-learning parts of the brain.”

“That’s incredible,” Elphaba breathed. She felt a little silly, knowing she sounded like a broken record at this point, but Dr. Dillamond’s research on Animal heritage was truly the most fascinating thing she'd ever heard. There were only two points of regret in the back of her mind: mostly, that it was too late for her to consider a double major, but also, a little bit, the knowledge that Fiyero was going to be absolutely insufferable when she told him about this. 

As an alumnus himself, he had insisted upon giving her an extensive list of “must-dos” at Shiz. Most of them involved sexual activities, drugs, and an assortment of other irresponsible buffoonery, half of which were so ludicrous that Elphaba doubted Fiyero had even done them. But one of the few genuine items had been “take a class with Dr Dilly! the GOAT on the Animal Extinction.” Elphaba took his academic advice with a hefty grain of salt, and initially filled her elective slot with both Dr. Dillamond’s class on Animal biohistory and a lecture on philosophy methods.

She hadn't even gone to the philosophy course, just unenrolled right after Dr. Dillamond’s first lecture.

The professor was a slender man, with a kind face and a head of scruffy white hair that concealed a formidably brilliant brain. He was also, by some distance, the single nicest person Elphaba had met at Shiz. Her most recent bout of questions after lecture had been met unexpectedly with an invitation to the bar where the entire neurobiology department went for happy hour on Thursdays. Elphaba suspected the kindness was half out of pity, as the other undergrads mostly gave her a noticeable berth—whether that was due to her age, her verdigris, or her admittedly unpleasant personality was anyone’s guess.

But conversations like these were the reason she had transferred to Shiz despite the prospect of increased isolation. This was real, groundbreaking research, so advanced and multifaceted that she could hardly keep up with what he was saying.

Fortunately, Dr. Dillamond seemed more than happy to give her some time to think. “Please excuse me for a moment,” he said, nodding towards a group of professors at the nearby table. “Us neuro heads like to think of ourselves as very important. We get rather cranky when ignored,” he confided, with a conspiratorial grin.

“Of course,” Elphaba smiled back at him. As he drained his drink and slid off his stool, she contemplated her own forgotten glass, which was now watery from melted ice. Her mind was still spinning. She wondered—would it be strange to take notes on a casual conversation over drinks? 

Probably. 

Even if it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever heard…

Under the bartop, she slid out her phone and opened the notes page.

“So I looked it up,” the voice came suddenly from her other side. 

Elphaba startled with a yelp, bumping her knee viciously into the counter. Glinda carried on unperturbed, as if it was perfectly natural to continue what might generously be termed a conversation from a month ago. “‘Thrillifying’ is part of the Olde Ozian dialect. It was changed as part of the standardization of modern Ozian, but lots of the Olde words are still used in the more historical counties in Gillikin, which happens to be where my Momsie is from.” 

She regarded Elphaba with a smug expression. Elphaba could only stare back, eyes watering a little from the pain.

“Hello,” Dr. Dillamond trotted back to the counter. “Who do we have here?” He peered at Glinda and her pristine white jumpsuit with poorly concealed intrigue. Elphaba couldn’t blame him; people this glamorous usually didn’t come within ten feet of her.

“Glinda Upland,” Glinda extended a confident hand. “I’m a friend of Elphaba’s.” 

Elphaba just barely managed to avoid choking on her drink.

“Dr. Dillamond,” the professor said, completely unaware of the blatant falsehood. “Are you a student as well, or…?”

“No,” Glinda smiled, flashing absurdly white teeth. “I graduated three years ago. I was in architecture, so I didn’t have the honor of taking any of your classes. I’m just in town for work—I'm on the project for the new boathouse, the one near the botanical gardens?”

“Oh, of course. How wonderful!” Dr. Dillamond exclaimed. “Goodness knows we’ve needed a new one for a long time.”

“Well, I’m just so glad that I can contribute to a place that gave so much to me,” Glinda gushed. Elphaba tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “And it's been wonderful to come back here. Of course, it’s not a complete visit to Shiz without stopping here for one of Yackle’s otherworldly pies,” she joked.

“No, indeed!” Dr. Dillamond laughed, thoroughly charmed. “Well, you know, I ought to turn in. Why don't I leave you two ladies to catch up.”

“Are you sure, Professor?” Elphaba interjected, alarmed. “There’s really no need.” Please, she thought. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was a premature end to her first meaningful social interaction at Shiz to catch up with Glinda fucking Upland.

Despite being a foremost expert in neuroscience, it appeared that Dr. Dillamond had failed to unlock any secrets of telepathy. With a lackadaisical wave of his hand, he demurred, “Thank you, Miss Elphaba, but it is past this old goat’s bedtime. It was lovely talking with you. And a pleasure to meet you, Miss Glinda,” he added, nodding to them both.

“Likewise,” Glinda waved charmingly. “Have a good night, Professor.”

The door closed behind him, and Elphaba turned to stare at Glinda. “Friend?” she repeated.

Glinda didn’t answer right away. “Hi,” she grinned at the bartender, who immediately tripped over his own feet, evidently dazzled into befuddlement on the spot. “Could I have a slice of the bozzleberry pie, please? With two forks,” she tacked on. Then, batting her eyelashes at Elphaba, “Yes. What else do you call someone you’ve met so many times?”

“Colleague, acquaintance, irritant, pest…” Elphaba listed off on her fingers, letting her tone growing increasingly pointed.

“Well, you’re none of those things,” Glinda laughed airily. 

“I’m not your friend!” said Elphaba fiercely. She could feel her temper spiking, her ears getting hot. The nerve of this girl, to think she could just waltz in here and- “And you’re just the shallow, entitled dirtbag who walked out on a dinner at the sight of me.” 

She slammed a bill on the counter and stormed out of the bar without a second glance.

And as she walked home, she discovered the newest, most infuriating thing about Glinda. How did she manage to make Elphaba feel like the shitty person in this scenario?

***

Fiyero Tigelaar had meticulously carved out an entire Friday night to indulge in one of his favorite activities: absolutely nothing.

At this precise moment he was laying on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He may have smoked half a joint out the window fifteen minutes ago. Perhaps in another fifteen minutes he would go get a carton of ice cream from the freezer and pop on another episode of that housewives reality TV show. Or perhaps he would just fall asleep—both sounded equally appealing.

A video popped up on his feed of a black cat doing flips through an improbably tiny hoop. “What do you think, Feldspar?” he asked, holding it up for the horse to see. 

The horse said nothing, of course, since it was a sculpture. Fiyero considered the video for another moment, then copied the link and swiped over to his messages. It had been too long since he had sent Elphaba any witticisms about her-

The door flew open, banging ferociously against the stopper. Fiyero screamed, clutching his phone to his chest.

“Fiyero Tigelaar-” Glinda barreled inside. Her gaze swept across the room until she found him, at which point she shrieked and covered her eyes. “Why are you naked?!” she squeaked.

“This is my apartment!” Fiyero protested. He was going to take back his key after this, nevermind that she sometimes forgot her leftovers in the fridge after dropping by.

Glinda found her voice again. “So you just lie around putting your dick on-” The words echoed horrifically into the hallway, and they both cringed. Several long seconds of silence passed as Glinda fumbled to close the door with her eyes still screwed shut. “-on all the furniture?” she finished promptly, without losing any of her volume or indignation.

“No, I just showered, okay?” Fiyero said defensively. And he liked to smoke naked so the smell wouldn't get into the fabric, but he swiftly decided not to mention that. 

He walked into the bedroom to hunt for some clothes. “I don't know why you're so bothered,” he called over his shoulder. “You've seen all this before. And, you know, done a fair bit more than that…”

“Ugh, don't remind me,” Glinda whined, with more disgust than was warranted in Fiyero’s personal opinion. “I'm a lesbian now!”

Fiyero pulled a t-shirt over his head and flinched as Glinda came into view less than two feet from his person. He frowned. “Isn't the point that you’ve always been a-”

“And speaking of my romantic life,” Glinda continued as though he hadn’t spoken, a terrifying sort of intensity coming into her eyes, “what in Oz’s name did you tell Elphaba about me?”

Fiyero wondered whether this conversation would make any more sense if he was sober. He suspected not. “Elphaba?” he repeated. “Elphaba Thropp?”

“How many Elphabas do you know?” Glinda snapped.

Fiyero pretended to count on his fingers. Glinda did not appreciate this attempt at humor and began to wallop his shoulder. “Ow, okay, jeez,” he protested, out of dramatics more than pain. “Uh…” he took a moment to remember. It had been over four months, after all. “Nothing, really. I purposely told you guys as little as possible beforehand because you both love snap judgements, and I didn’t want to put either of you off. I mean, she did know you were a woman,” he added sheepishly, “and, you know, my bad again on that one.”

“Fine,” Glinda said impatiently, clearly not in the mood to rehash past transgressions. “What did you tell her afterwards? When you explained and gave my apologies.”

“Oh,” Fiyero realized, and laboriously restarted the thinking process. “Not much, actually.”

“Not much?” Glinda echoed, eyes narrowing.

“I tried, but she didn't want to hear it!” Fiyero said. “And obviously you don't know her, but I'll tell you—she isn't someone you defy lightly.”

“Is that right?” Glinda’s voice held a certain edge to it, which was making him increasingly nervous.

“Plus she was moving out of the city in a couple of months anyway—she started at Shiz, actually, which is kinda fun. I told her I'm going to come visit and take her out to-” he cut himself off as Glinda’s expression began to take on the same edge. “Anyway, she got real testy when I mentioned it, and she was all nervous about transferring at the time, so I figured I’d let things settle down before bringing it up again. Don’t worry, I'll clear things up before I invite you both to something.” 

Realization dawned on him. One might argue that realization should have been well into the sunset stage already, but his brain wasn't at its most efficient.

“Wait,” he said slowly, “why are you asking?”

***

Her phone buzzed twice in quick succession. 

Elphaba ignored it. She spared only two active text threads from ruthless deletion, and one only due to despite-it-all optimism, since Nessa hadn’t messaged in two years. Fiyero’s texts, on the other hand, were always deeply unserious, and could wait without consequence until she finished this essay.

Her phone buzzed three more times. Evidently this would be another series of idiotic online videos that he liked to send in batches. They were usually intolerable, and Elphaba had stopped watching all of the ones that didn't have a cat in the thumbnail. 

As she waited by the printer, she finally allowed herself to glance at the screen, and saw with some surprise that the messages were not from one of her seven saved contacts.

hi elphaba. it’s glinda 

upland

fiyero gave me your number

im around shiz until the weekend. could i meet you somewhere?

anywhere thats convenient for you. im off all of friday just let me know please!

Elphaba considered the messages, which were shockingly polite and free of emojis. Then she closed the app, and didn’t reopen it until the next day. 

Really, she hadn’t even meant to look at the texts again at all. It must have been the relief of submitting a midterm that was jumbling her brain. And maybe just a little bit of reluctant curiosity, because she was still so damn confused, and she was never confused. Before she could think twice about it, she was typing out a response.

I’ll be studying at Brick Road tomorrow.

She realized the next morning as she was sliding into one of the booths that she hadn't mentioned a time, and surprisingly hadn't been asked for one. If the positions were reversed, Elphaba would think the omission some strange sort of power play. In reality, social butterfly and party animal that she wasn’t, Elphaba just planned to spend her entire Friday there. Oh well, she shrugged to herself, and didn't bother to send a clarifying text. Glinda had mystified her enough over the course of their acquaintance; she could handle a taste of her own medicine.

She wondered idly if Glinda had even set foot in the cafe before, given how far from campus and unfashionable it was. Brick Road was the only place near Elphaba’s apartment that had both suitably strong coffee and opening hours that extended through the evening. On the other hand, its food menu consisted of to-go options that looked like they hadn't been touched in years and the decor was all a headache-inducing yellow, which was enough to deter most of the other students. (This was another plus for Elphaba, who found that frightening the first-years away to get a table in Diggs Library quickly lost its shine.)

Having untangled her earbuds—which shouldn’t even have knotted in the first place since they’d been kept in a case, but that was just Elphaba’s usual luck—she put one in, keeping the other ear open to listen for the telltale clip of stilettos. Any vague feelings of apprehension were left quickly by the wayside as she slid into a stress-fueled focus. The paper was due on Monday, and she had an outline and sources but little else.

Five pages and two hours later, she was jerking her head up. 

“Elphaba?”

Trust Glinda to still manage to take her by surprise. Though as Elphaba looked her over, she realized where her attempt at early detection had failed. Glinda wasn’t wearing her usual heels. In fact, she was dressed almost…casually.

Of course, Glinda’s version of casual was still nicer than literally everything Elphaba owned besides the single outfit she used for interviews. A snug black sweater was tucked into her olive green pants, which flared out over those shockingly low-heeled boots. It was strange to see her in such dark clothes (such Elphaba clothes), and Elphaba wondered if she had chosen them on purpose. A few months ago she would have said that no one would possibly coordinate an outfit for a quick drop-in on their adversary. She still didn't think it was true in this instance, but that was only because Glinda wouldn't go through the trouble for her, though she certainly might for somebody else.

“Hi,” Glinda said with a tiny smile. “May I?” she indicated the other side of the booth, and Elphaba nodded curtly. Unlike every single one of their previous encounters, Glinda’s timing wasn’t absolutely atrocious. She could actually use a quick break, provided this meeting didn’t leave her fuming and completely unable to concentrate…like every single one of their previous encounters.

“I’ve never been here before,” Glinda observed, eyeing the walls like Elphaba might eye a particularly egregious grammar mistake. She leaned over the table, peering at Elphaba’s notes. “What are you working on?”

“A sociology paper. Is this why you wanted to meet?” Elphaba said pointedly. It had been less than a minute, and already she was feeling like she shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.

Glinda blinked. “It’s called small talk,” she retorted, a little peevishly. “But no, it’s not. I wanted to…clarify some things about our first meeting.” She steepled her hands together, like she was about to make a business proposition rather than amends.

“Our not-date?” Elphaba said, injecting plenty of acid into her tone.

Glinda bit her lip. “Yes. The reason why I left, it had nothing to do with you. Or, almost nothing,” she faltered.

“Oh, really?” Elphaba half-closed her laptop and crossed her arms. She had hoped, despite it all, for something better than a bald-faced lie. At least this would be entertaining. “Let me guess: it's nothing to do with me because you're sure I have a great personality, it's just that I happen to be green and-”

“What?” Glinda interrupted, eyes wide. “No, it's not- I like the green.”  

“Glinda, I literally heard you on the phone,” Elphaba said sharply. “You can't just-”

“I was closeted,” Glinda blurted.

Elphaba’s jaw clicked shut. 

Glinda took her silence as permission to continue (which was indeed the standard best practice regarding Elphaba Thropp). “I came out to Fiyero when I was very drunk. So drunk that I didn't remember it when I woke up the next day. Honestly, I probably tried to forget,” she laughed ruefully, shaking her head. “ because I hadn't even admitted it to myself at the time.” 

“And then he set you up on a date,” Elphaba filled in. It was Fiyero to a tee: presumptuous, brainless, and unquestionably well-intentioned.

Glinda nodded, ponytail bobbing vigorously. “That idiot wouldn't even tell me your name,” she said plaintively. “So then you showed up and I panicked and ran to his place and had a breakdown. Which was apparently almost identical to the first time.” Elphaba hid a smile at the mental image. It shouldn’t have been so clear, considering she hardly even knew Glinda. And yet.

“And he was supposed to tell you what happened, and apologize on my behalf,” Glinda huffed.

That was a cop out if Elphaba had ever heard one. She knew she should just accept it, instead of trying to provoke her only friend’s close friend. But the words were already coming none-too-kindly out of her mouth. “You didn't see fit to do that yourself?”

“I’ve been trying to apologize!” Glinda protested, her pretty face the picture of earnestness.

“Have you?” Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

Glinda hesitated. “I’ve been trying to make it up to you,” she corrected, twisting her fingers. “I’m- I’m not very confrontational, I guess.” She looked Elphaba full in the face, and swallowed. “I'm sorry, Elphaba,” she said quietly. “I shouldn't have run out on you, and my explanation and apology are long overdue.”

Elphaba contemplated for a moment. “Okay,” she said, leaning back and lacing her hands together on the table.

Glinda’s face lit up. “Really? You forgive me?”

“Yes,” Elphaba assured, feeling her lips curl at the corners. Glinda had been a little foolish and a little cowardly, but she had also given the best apology Elphaba had ever received—not that she had much competition, really, but that just emphasized the point.

Glinda smiled back, wide enough to show the dimples pressed into her cheeks. It made her look younger, somehow. “Have dinner with me,” she said suddenly. 

“What?” Elphaba said. 

“Tonight,” Glinda confirmed. She reached across the table and put a hand on top of Elphaba’s. 

“That’s…really not necessary,” Elphaba flustered, feeling hot at the contact. She was beginning to think that Glinda was just a disorienting person in general. “We’re okay, you don’t need to-”

“It’s not an apology,” Glinda cut her off. Her thumb stroked across the back of Elphaba’s hand. “It’s a do-over. I want to take you out.”

“Why?” Elphaba asked helplessly. She knew in the back of her mind that it was a stupid question, but at that moment she found herself unable to answer it.

Glinda looked at her intently. “Elphaba- if I wasn’t insanely attracted to you, I wouldn’t have run away on our first date.” 

Elphaba’s stomach did a funny little swoop. “Oh,” she said eloquently, evidently having been reduced to monosyllables.

Glinda was blushing now, wavering in her boldness. “That is- unless you don’t want to?”

The logical thing would be to turn her down, Elphaba thought dimly. Her paper was due in three days, and they still hardly knew each other. Glinda didn’t even live here.

“No, I do,” she heard herself say, a little breathless.

***

Glinda showed up exactly on time. Elphaba glanced at the incoming text, allowed herself a roll of the eyes at the three different emojis tacked onto the end, and took one last look in the bathroom mirror.

It wasn't much. She'd dug out a loose button-down and her nicest pair of jeans. Both black, obviously. She'd kept her hair down at first, and then agonized self-consciously about it for so long that she had gotten fed up with herself and thrown it into a braid. Her nails were also trimmed. Not because she was expecting anything to happen, or even wanted anything to happen! But the clippers had been in her (very small, very empty) makeup bag, and once she impulsively cut one, she was forced to do them all.

Her hand trembled as she pushed the button for the elevator. She was jittery and out of control and she didn't like it at all. Perhaps most people felt this way before their first ever date—but most people weren't Elphaba Thropp, and Elphaba Thropp absolutely refused to turn into an idiotic bumbling mess just because of some girl. “Relax,” she muttered sternly to herself, and stepped decisively out of the door.

Glinda was waiting right next to the entrance, and she glanced up from her phone as the door opened. “Wow,” she said, pushing off the wall. “Why, Miss Elphaba, you’re beautiful.”

She was one to talk, Elphaba thought. 

Glinda was a vision in powder blue. The fabric clung devastatingly to her body, from the hem at mid-thigh to the off-the-shoulder neckline. Pearls gleamed at her throat and ears, framed by the artful tumble of her hair. She ought to be at a gala or a photoshoot, not standing outside Elphaba’s crusty old building.

She fought with herself to remain unmoving as Glinda stepped right into her personal space, and then closer still. “Hi,” Glinda hummed. She tilted up to press a kiss to Elphaba’s cheek, her lips barely ghosting over the skin. 

“Good evening,” Elphaba croaked, idiotic bumbling mess that she was. She pondered the merits of turning around and going right back into the building. 

Glinda’s eyes crinkled. “I certainly think it will be,” she said smoothly, her gaze sweeping over Elphaba’s body. “May I?” 

Elphaba nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing to. 

Glinda's hands moved to her shirt. Slowly, glancing up at Elphaba to gauge her reaction, she undid first one button, then another. “There,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing against Elphaba’s sternum as she adjusted the fabric, letting it hang open. “Perfect.”

Elphaba looked down at her chest, the newly exposed triangle of green, and felt dizzy. She didn't know what was coming over her. Was all this, the complete collapse of her mental faculties, happening because she'd finally given herself permission to notice how gorgeous Glinda was? Or was it the absurd, unmistakable desire in those dark eyes?

“You look incredible,” she mustered, the words feeling grossly inadequate, and watched in amazement as Glinda’s cheeks pinkened.

“Thank you,” Glinda said, with a pleased smile. She turned slightly and tilted her head. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Elphaba asked, falling into step beside her. Relax, she chanted to herself.

“It's not far,” Glinda said in lieu of an answer, shooting an impish look in her direction.

“I figured, with heels like those,” Elphaba said dryly, and finally let herself smile at Glinda’s noise of indignation.

They were walking in the opposite direction of the university, towards the actual residential town area. Elphaba would have liked to say that she had gone exploring at some point during her first months in a new place, but the truth was that she was lost after they had gone a few blocks. As they continued, however, it became quite clear that Elphaba wouldn’t have been spending much time in this district regardless. The residences gradually morphed from apartments into townhomes, the department stores into boutiques, the grocery stores into organic markets. Half the restaurants seemed to be vegan farm-to-table. By the time Glinda led them into a swanky-looking wine bar, it was safe to say that Elphaba was feeling a little out of place. 

The hostess looked to be a Shiz student, or about that age, and she openly gawked as they entered. Elphaba stiffened, ready to field a less-than-well-intentioned comment, when she felt a delicate hand slide briefly around her arm. “Upland, reservation for two,” Glinda said, with a smile that didn’t quite touch the rest of her face. It was enough to snap the hostess out of her goggling, and she politely led them to the very back of the restaurant. 

Elphaba realized, as she slid into her chair, that she was entirely out of view of the rest of the patrons. Whether it was the hostess’ idea or Glinda’s, she found herself a little grateful for the privacy.

“Have you been here yet?” Glinda asked.

“No, this isn't my usual style,” Elphaba said, opting for a bit of diplomacy. “It's nice, though,” she hurried to add, though as she eyed the entrée prices she began to think it was a little too nice for her wallet. “Have you been?”

“My last trip, for a work dinner,” confirmed Glinda. “They have an enormous wine selection—here.” She nudged the drinks menu over, which was of a similar heft to Elphaba’s textbooks.

Elphaba opened it obligingly. “What do you recommend?” she asked. The options sprawled over the page looked like an entirely different language, and that out-of-place feeling returned with a vengeance. For a moment she wondered if this had been a mistake. Perhaps she had been imagining the pull she felt towards Glinda, or perhaps the pull was dead wrong, and they were just two very different people who were meant to lead two very different lives.

“Oh, I have absolutely no idea,” Glinda said cheerfully. “I usually just pick whichever one sounds like the best name for a cat.”

Elphaba was startled into laughter. Glinda grinned right along with her, looking terribly pleased with herself.

“I have a cat,” Elphaba offered, smiling now as she scanned the list. “His name is Chistery.”

“That could totally be the name of a wine,” Glinda said. Her voice took on a muddled accent. “2012 Chateau de Chistery Merlot. Notes of- wait, show me a picture,” she said in her normal voice. Elphaba tapped the power button on her phone and turned it around to show Glinda the lock screen. Chistery was laying on his back, striped paw extended lazily towards the camera. “Oh, he's cute! A very nice brown,” Glinda remarked. “Okay, um, the merlot: very earthy, with notes of chocolate and, hm, walnuts.”

“I'll have to tell him the good news. He'll be thrilled to be so tasty,” Elphaba said dryly.

“I'm sure it's a family trait,” Glinda said, looking at Elphaba from under her lashes.

“Glinda,” Elphaba protested half-heartedly, thoroughly undermined by the heat blossoming in her cheeks.

“And I'm paying for tonight, by the way,” Glinda continued swiftly, “because I picked this place. So get something that actually looks good.”

“Glinda!” Elphaba repeated, this time with a bit more feeling. However bad the hit to her bank account, the idea of being a grifter was worse.

“Elphaba,” Glinda mimicked. “This is my first date with someone of my preferred gender. Let me do it right.” Her expression was equal parts earnest and determined.

“Technically, it's our second,” Elphaba pointed out, and then worried the reminder was poor form. She tried to lighten her tone. “But it is actually my first, so you're in good company.” Only after the words were spoken and Glinda looked up at her sharply did she wincingly consider that it was even worse form to admit to being a total loser.

Fortunately, the waiter appeared at that very moment. He regarded Glinda for few beats too long, then Elphaba for another few, before he said smoothly, “Hi, my name is Chuffrey and I'll be your server for tonight. Can I get anything started for you guys?”

“I think we'll need another minute to decide, thank you,” Glinda answered, hardly sparing the waiter a glance. To Chuffrey’s credit, he wilted away rather expeditiously, leaving them to page through the food menus in silence for several seconds. “Do you want to do the shared plates?” Glinda suggested.

“I'm vegetarian, actually,” Elphaba said.

“That's fine with me.”

“Oh. Then all of them look good, honestly.”

“I'll just pick a few, then. And if you don't mind whites, we can start with this one I got last time. It was really good.” 

“Sure,” Elphaba agreed, only vaguely glancing at where Glinda was pointing on the menu. Nearly all of her experience with wine had been of the boxed variety, so she wasn’t going to have any opinions.

“You know,” Glinda said, in the exact same conversational tone, “Fiyero told me you were very oblivious,” 

“What? That's not true,” Elphaba squawked, indignant. She was good at ignoring the way people tended to look at her with horror and/or disgust, but that wasn’t at all the same.

Glinda didn't look up from the menu, though the corners of her mouth ticked up. Surely, Elphaba thought, she was deliberately trying to make a habit of flustering her. “It's quite true that he told me, yes. He said he used to flirt extensively with you, only for you to tell him that you had absolutely no romantic interest in anybody right as he was trying to ask you out.”

It wasn’t possible. She couldn't even remember a conversation that fit Glinda’s description. “But…Fiyero flirts with everyone,” Elphaba protested. 

“He does,” Glinda allowed. “But I'll bet our waiter doesn't look at everyone like that.”

“He was looking at you like that,” Elphaba corrected.

“Everyone looks at me like that,” Glinda said matter-of-factly. “But he looked at you the same way. My point is,” she continued over Elphaba’s sorry attempts at speech, “that I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you haven't really dated. You're intimidatingly pretty, intimidatingly sharp, and intimidatingly oblivious. Now, do you want the goat cheese salad, or this one with the sprouts?”

There were so many things to address in that little speech that Elphaba didn't even know where to begin. So she didn't. “Sprouts,” she said weakly.

“Wonderful,” Glinda smiled serenely.

***

Though she had precisely zero experience to compare it to, Elphaba thought the date was going well.

She hadn’t spilled any food on herself. She had avoided going into detail about her family, including all mention of her horrible father and his horrible death. She (mostly) hadn’t let her gaze stray to her date’s very inviting neckline, even when she had leaned her forearms onto the table. She had made Glinda laugh six glittering times. She had even, when they ordered second glasses of wine, finagled a delicate brush of her hand against Glinda’s—albeit after Glinda had already found an excuse to touch her four separate times, but it was something.

So when the check came and went, Elphaba scrounged together the necessary courage to suggest, very tentatively, “I’ll get it next time.”

Glinda looked at her like she’d performed a feat of magic. “You want there to be a next time, then?” she said, sounding shockingly uncertain. For the first time, Elphaba considered that she may not have been the only one fighting nerves. Glinda continued, wringing her napkin between her hands, “It’s just that- well, I won’t be sent down here so often in the next few months, and the project will be finished in March, so I would understand if you don’t want anything official or-”

“I want there to be a next time,” Elphaba interrupted. Truth be told, she was a little surprised with herself at how badly she wanted it. (Oz, Fiyero was going to be insufferable.) “Why don’t we just take it one date at a time and do what feels right?” she suggested. She wasn’t generally someone who was very good at feeling what was right, but she ignored that fact with the helping hand of some despite-it-all optimism.

“Okay,” Glinda agreed, setting down her napkin with a deliberate movement. “Now,” she tossed her hair, “I can’t say it feels right to leave so soon, but it does appear that the restaurant is about to close.” Her confident exterior was back as if it had never left.

Elphaba peered around and realized that they were indeed the only customers left. The rest of the tables were spotless, and their waiter was standing in a corner, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. “I guess that’s our cue,” she agreed.

The street outside was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Elphaba supposed that anyone who wanted to be out this late would have gone somewhere closer to campus, where the gormless, incessant pounding of the bass could be heard even from outside the buildings. Here it was pleasantly silent, as if the whole world had stopped to let them breathe. The lamps leeched the green from her skin and cast the angle of Glinda’s cheekbones into statuesque relief. 

Having been given definitive confirmation that Glinda liked her and wanted to see her again, Elphaba felt bold enough to offer an arm. They walked slowly back the way they’d come, peering idly at the half-lit storefronts. 

A light breeze carried through the air, and Glinda shivered. “Are you cold?” Elphaba asked.

“Mm, a little,” Glinda answered. 

She looked a little too pleased with herself. “You didn’t bring a coat?” Elphaba said skeptically. In all their encounters, she had never known Glinda to be less than perfectly dressed.

“No,” Glinda said innocently.

“You forgot it?” Elphaba pressed.

A smile touched Glinda’s lips. “Not exactly.” She eyed Elphaba’s shirt expectantly.

What a strange creature she was. So sure of herself, at ease in the world in a way that could only mean the world had never made things hard for her. And yet somehow, Elphaba could only manage to like her for it. 

Elphaba huffed in feigned exasperation, and stopped walking to undo her shirt, determinedly ignoring the self-consciousness that threatened to overwhelm her. Glinda had said she liked the green, after all. “And what would you have done if I didn’t give you something of mine?”

“I would have pressed closer to you, of course,” Glinda said coyly. She watched Elphaba’s fingers move down the buttons with blatant interest, which of course only made Elphaba feel like a fumbling fool. When she finally stripped the shirt off, leaving herself in just her tank top, Glinda’s lips parted. “Oz, Elphaba,” she murmured, “warn a girl next time, won’t you?”

“What?” Elphaba asked, looking down at herself nervously.

Glinda sighed. “You are absolutely impossible.” Then she was grasping Elphaba by the forearms, ignoring the proffered shirt, and steering her three steps backward into the wall of the nearest building.

Glinda’s mouth was hungry, pressing into hers with determination and swallowing the gasp that pushed out of Elphaba’s lungs as her back made contact with the brick. Elphaba kissed her back clumsily, not daring to move much more than necessary in case she ruined whatever miracle was happening. The dizzying scent of Glinda’s perfume was in her nose, in her veins. 

Glinda’s hands weren’t so shy, tracing demandingly up her arms, squeezing at her biceps. “Shit,” she panted, nosing at the corner of Elphaba’s mouth, “Hiding arms like these is a crime, Elphaba. What the hell-” Elphaba felt a strangled noise come out of her mouth, and a strange sort of snap in her gut that she would later identify as her last shreds of restraint giving way. Without hesitation she closed the distance between them again, finding Glinda’s waist blindly and pulling her back in. 

Elphaba lost track of time entirely when Glinda’s mouth parted against hers. Somewhere in the remnants of her rational mind was the knowledge that this was far too heated to be happening on a sidewalk. But she just couldn't find it in herself to care when Glinda’s teeth were on her bottom lip, hips flush against hers, a hand pressing into the bare skin above her neckline and pinning her in place. The brick scraped against the back of her shoulders, but Elphaba couldn't even think of moving from exactly where she was. She let her palms drag deliberately along the satiny material of Glinda’s dress—lower, then dangerously lower still—and then, spurred on by the way Glinda pressed even closer, slotted a knee between her legs. 

For one heart-stopping moment, Glinda ground down against her thigh, letting out a muffled whimper that made Elphaba’s breath seize in her lungs. But almost instantly they both froze, the sound jolting them back to the ridiculously inappropriate reality of what they were doing. With one last lingering kiss that had Elphaba chasing the contact, Glinda wrenched fully away and there was air between them once more. 

“Sorry,” Glinda said, her chest heaving unsteadily.  She took a few steps backwards for good measure. Her lips were shiny and swollen. “I shouldn’t have jumped you like that.”

Elphaba laughed breathlessly. Her blood was singing to the rhythm of her thundering heartbeat, something wonderful and wild. She felt, for the first time in a very long time, like she was as she should be, young and happy and stupid. “Please don’t apologize,” she said. “Really, I-” she hesitated for only a moment. Fuck it- “I’d actually like to walk you back to your hotel, if you want.” She immediately cursed herself for being too forward as Glinda bit her lip and glanced away. Elphaba opened her mouth to backtrack; it had been a silly impulse, anyway, there was no reason to-

“I checked out of my hotel this morning.”

Elphaba stared.

“The company only booked it through Thursday night,” Glinda explained, fidgeting with the ring on her finger, “because I was supposed to take the train back to Emerald City tonight. I rescheduled it to tomorrow afternoon, but I, um, haven’t reserved another room yet.” She looked up at Elphaba to add nervously, “They still have a lot of vacancies, so I figured I could always-”

“You’re unbelievable,” Elphaba started to laugh. “Glinda, you are absolutely unbelievable.” She couldn’t quite stop laughing as she closed the distance between them. It was just so ludicrous, the idea that the most gorgeous woman she’d ever met would rearrange her entire schedule and pay for a hotel just for the honor of taking Elphaba out to dinner. 

“Well, I was raised to go after something when I really want it,” Glinda tried to pout, but her lips kept curling up into a relieved smile. “Besides, you seemed like the type of person that prefers to- do things, in your own space.” She was blushing now, an adorable shade of pink.

“I am,” Elphaba said, though she wondered vaguely if that was true—it wasn’t quite borne out by her prior experiences. She took one step closer, and now she was the one blushing as she murmured, “It’s just that my walls are very thin.”

“I could work with that,” Glinda said carefully.

“Hm,” was all Elphaba said, though she knew from the lingering weakness in her knees that she would be giving Glinda the chance to prove it. She stooped to pick up her shirt where she’d dropped it unceremoniously on the pavement. “Do you still want it?” she offered.

“No,” Glinda answered, giving Elphaba a look that she felt in the base of her spine. “I’m quite warm enough now.”

They resumed their walk, though it was now encumbered by a weighty, anticipatory silence. Elphaba’s world had never been so narrow as it was then, limited to the feeling of Glinda’s hand around her bare elbow and the cocktail of nerves and arousal buzzing under her skin. She had only had sex twice before, back when she had established her independence but not yet her self-worth. Both times it had been a spontaneous, fumbling affair, with no time to feel excitement or worry. This would be different, she knew, in the best possible way. She wondered what Glinda would be like—whether she would be impetuous and decisive or if she possessed some as yet unseen patience, whether she would fall asleep right afterward or get up to brush her teeth and change into pajamas.

The thought stirred up a question. “Where did you leave your things?” Elphaba asked, as they turned the corner onto her block. “Do you want to go get them from the hotel?”

“No, I brought my suitcase to yours,” Glinda said. “I left it with the doorman.”

Elphaba stopped walking, bringing Glinda to a startled halt. “Glinda…” she said slowly, “I don’t have a doorman.”

Glinda blinked. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Elphaba answered firmly.

“That’s not good.”

“It’s not,” Elphaba agreed. Part of her wanted very badly to laugh, but another part of her thought of Glinda’s elaborate wardrobe with a pang of sympathy.

Glinda stood still for another moment, her expression so blank that Elphaba feared she was about to burst into tears. Then she nodded to herself. “Well, we won’t find it tonight,” she said breezily. “So I’ll wait until tomorrow to get terribly upset. Who knows, maybe he didn't just steal it.”

“Maybe,” Elphaba echoed, though that was a little too much despite-it-all optimism, even for her. But who knew? Better things had happened, she thought, looking at Glinda, from much worse odds.

(They found the suitcase in the mail room the next day, untouched. Glinda declared it to be the second best part of her morning.)