Chapter Text
Elphaba woke to the soft tickle of hair brushing her nose.
She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to. One slow inhale told her everything—vanilla, honey, and something faintly floral, like a summer bloom caught on the breeze. Glinda .
She often found herself tangled in Glinda’s wild curls. It had become a strangely comforting part of her days, the way her senses were slowly wrapped in golden softness. She didn’t mind it. Not at all.
Elphaba let herself drift closer, tightening her arms around the smaller girl nestled against her chest. Glinda slept like she loved—messily. She’d curl into Elphaba like she was the safest thing in the world, only to roll away not long after, dragging half the blanket with her in the process. Then, inevitably, she'd get cold and come crawling back, blindly seeking Elphaba’s warmth like she was something vital.
It was chaotic. And endlessly endearing.
It also meant Elphaba didn’t sleep much—but she didn’t mind that either. Not really. Not when she got to wake up like this.
Her thoughts blurred in the soft morning haze, and she let herself hover in that half-conscious space. Last night was still fresh, still lingering like heat under the skin. She could still feel the phantom press of Glinda’s lips—against her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Could still see the honey-brown of her eyes, wide and glassy, staring at her like she was made of something precious.
No one had ever looked at her like that before.
Not like she was real. Not like she was someone worth holding. Worth knowing. She wasn’t the girl with the cursed skin or the leftover child her parents hadn’t wanted. She wasn’t just the sister someone had pitied or apologized for.
She was Elphaba. And in Glinda’s eyes, that name—her name—meant something.
Glinda had looked at her like she hung the damn stars. And Elphaba didn’t know how to hold that kind of gaze, didn’t know how to carry that kind of love. Not when she’d spent her entire life learning to live without it.
But Glinda had given her words she’d never dared dream of hearing.
"You deserve the whole world, Elphie. And if I have any say about it, I’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure you get it."
She hadn’t let herself believe in things like that. Not in dreams. Not in change. But when Glinda had said it—when she’d meant it—Elphaba had believed her. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel the ground shift beneath her.
And in that moment, she believed it wasn’t her who had missed out on her parents—it was them who missed out on her .
She hadn’t planned to share so much. Not that fast. It wasn’t a lack of trust; it was just… disarming. Being the one on the receiving end of that kind of patience. Of someone waiting, hand squeezed gently in hers, while she dragged words up from places long buried. It felt like wading through ocean currents just to speak.
It was hard—more than she liked to admit. But it was also freeing. Terrifying. Different.
The way Glinda made her feel… that was a puzzle for another day. Preferably one where she wasn’t wrapped around said girl like a vine clinging to sunlight.
Instead, she let her thoughts drift to what she’d started for Glinda. The plan. The care. The small, serious promise she’d made herself to give this girl something better.
She thought about the paintings.
Glinda’s hesitant hands. Her eyes flickering with nerves. Elphaba hadn’t known what to expect when the blonde pulled out her work—some amateur painting, maybe. Something clumsy but sweet.
What she got instead had left her silent.
They weren’t just paintings. They were moments —preserved, pulsing with memory. Glinda didn’t just see the world; she felt it. She noticed the little things, captured them with reverence. And Elphaba, floored, could only wonder if she’d ever be a moment Glinda thought worth painting.
She could see it. Glinda doing this for real. For her future. So when the conversation shut down so suddenly, Elphaba was caught off guard.
She’d meant to take the shift seriously—Glinda’s mood turned prickly in an instant—but her scrunched-up face and the rare edge in her voice had made it hard to stay solemn. Elphaba had barely suppressed a laugh.
And the closeness between them? The constant touches, the way their limbs tangled like it was second nature? It didn’t unsettle her the way she’d expected. Not anymore.
She’d never been one for physical affection. Not really. Aside from the occasional hug from Nessa, she hadn’t had much experience with it at all. But this? With Glinda? It felt… right.
More than that, it felt wanted.
She still paid attention, of course—always reading the signals, respecting the unspoken lines—but Glinda was different now. Open. Receptive. And Elphaba made herself a safe place to land, one touch at a time.
She shifted, just slightly, and immediately felt the consequences. Glinda stirred.
Elphaba kept her eyes shut as the blonde shifted, head lifting from her chest only to settle again—once, twice—before huffing in frustration. Then she sat up slowly.
Elphaba mourned the loss of her weight instantly. Her arms dropped to the mattress, empty. Still, she feigned sleep, counting down.
One...
Two...
Three...
“Elphie?” Glinda’s voice was quiet, still heavy with sleep.
“Mhm,” Elphaba grumbled, voice muffled like she hadn’t been awake the past twenty minutes, completely consumed by thoughts of the girl beside her.
“Elphieeee,” Glinda whined, drawing out the nickname as she poked her cheek.
Elphaba didn’t answer this time, biting back the grin threatening to bloom.
Glinda huffed, loud and dramatic. “Fine. I guess I’ll just go downstairs and eat breakfast all by myself.”
That did it.
Elphaba’s eyes flew open just as Glinda began to scoot off the bed. She sat up quickly and reached out, wrapping her arms around the girl before she could move any further.
She didn’t miss the sly smile tugging at Glinda’s lips.
It had been a trap. And Elphaba had walked right into it.
And she didn’t even care.
Glinda laughed softly, the sound like windchimes catching the morning light. Her arms slid around Elphaba’s shoulders, easy and familiar, and Elphaba tightened her own hold around Glinda’s waist. The setup was intimate—far more intimate than it should’ve been. They were wrapped around each other like a secret, their foreheads nearly brushing, their breath mingling in the quiet space between.
Elphaba’s pulse jumped. She could feel it—loud and steady in her throat, in her fingertips, in the curve of her spine where Glinda’s body rested against her. Her eyes locked on Glinda’s, honey-brown and unreadable, wide and soft, and shimmering with something unspoken.
She didn’t know who leaned in first.
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was just gravity.
But neither of them pulled away.
The moment hung suspended, taut and electric, a breath from something they couldn’t name yet—but both of them felt it. Elphaba could taste the space between them, could feel the flicker of Glinda’s breath across her skin like a question she didn’t know how to answer. Her chest ached with the weight of how badly she wanted to.
And then—
Knock knock knock.
“Girls! Breakfast is ready!” Clara’s voice rang through the door, cheerful and oblivious.
The spell shattered like glass.
Glinda was the first to pull away, a slight gasp escaping her lips as she shifted out of Elphaba’s arms. The warmth between them dissipated, leaving behind only the ghost of it, clinging to Elphaba’s skin. Glinda stepped back, her eyes darting to the floor as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear with trembling fingers.
“I—um.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I take a shower first?”
Elphaba nodded—or thought she did. She was still trying to catch her breath, still trying to steady the thunder of her heartbeat, still watching Glinda like she might disappear if she blinked. Their eyes met, just for a flicker of a second, something raw and unspoken moving between them.
Then Glinda looked away again, disappearing behind the bathroom door. The soft click of the lock sounded too final.
A second later, the sound of running water filled the room, and only then did Elphaba let herself fall back into the pillows with a quiet exhale. She stared at the ceiling, as if it might have answers, as if it might tell her what that moment had meant .
She couldn’t believe how close they’d been. How natural it had felt to fall into each other.
But the thing that really made her breath catch in her chest—the thing she couldn’t stop replaying—wasn’t that they’d almost kissed.
It was the look in Glinda’s eyes right before the knock.
Hope. Hesitation. Want.
Like she wanted her to .
And that terrified Elphaba more than anything.
Clara had made a full spread of breakfast—fluffy pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, buttery toast, and a bowl of fresh fruit. It was way more food than necessary for just the three of them, but Elphaba couldn’t bring herself to mind. The scent alone had her mouth watering and her stomach twisting in anticipation. She could honestly say she’d never been in a home that felt quite this warm, this lived-in, this...inviting.
The two girls sat side by side at the table, their arms brushing occasionally as they reached for syrup or silverware. Elphaba piled her plate unapologetically, while Glinda only took two pancakes, cutting them delicately as if her appetite were something fragile. There was a shy kind of awkwardness floating between them now—a new hesitance in their body language, as if the night before had tilted the axis of whatever they’d been.
Clara, ever cheerful and observant, sat at the head of the table. As she began fixing her plate, she glanced between them with a curious smile. “So,” she said, voice light and teasing, “what did you two get up to last night?”
Elphaba nearly choked on a bite of pancake, coughing violently as she reached for her glass of water. “Sorry,” she rasped, clearing her throat. “Went down the wrong hole.”
Glinda let out a bright laugh and shook her head fondly, lifting her orange juice with a small smirk. Elphaba couldn’t help but watch her, momentarily mesmerized by that sound, by how it lit up Glinda’s whole face.
Glinda took over answering Clara’s question, retelling the story of the nail polish mishap with amusement in her tone. Her laughter, light and effortless, filled the kitchen, and Elphaba had to blink a few times to bring herself back to earth. Even Clara was laughing now, dabbing at her eyes as she chuckled at Elphaba’s expense.
The spell broke with a sharp knock at the front door.
All three of them froze, eyes flicking toward the source of the sound. Clara was the first to move, folding her napkin and rising from the table. “I don’t know who that could be—I’m not expecting anyone. Excuse me, girls.”
Glinda glanced at Elphaba, her smile dimming into something uncertain. There was a flash of fear in her expression, so brief Elphaba almost missed it—but her body reacted anyway. She rose to her feet without a second thought, following Clara out of the kitchen like a silent shadow.
She reached the entryway just in time to see Clara pull open the door—and there he was. Oscar, looking as surly as ever, arms crossed and jaw tight. And behind him, two familiar faces that made Elphaba’s heart lurch in a confused twist of irritation and relief.
“Elphaba!” Fiyero’s voice was bright, warm, and full of easy charm. She smiled despite herself.
“These two showed up at the shop last night looking for you,” Oscar said flatly. “They’ve been pestering me ever since. I finally got tired of it.” He turned to Clara, muttered something inaudible, and then stormed off back to his truck.
Fiyero and Boq looked appropriately sheepish now that they’d gotten what they came for.
Clara took it all in stride, smiling as she stepped aside to let them in. “Well, you boys came at the perfect time. I made enough food to feed an army.” She embraced them both like they were her own.
“Fiyero Tigelaar, ma’am,” Fiyero said with his signature grin.
“You can call me Ama or Clara, but never ma’am,” she replied with a wink. “I don’t look that old, do I?”
Boq went next, his voice quieter. “Boq Woodsman.” His freckles were darker from the sun, and his hair looked a shade lighter. He never fared well in the summer.
A flash of blonde at the corner of Elphaba’s vision pulled her attention. Glinda stood just barely visible from behind the wall, peeking out toward the front room. Elphaba turned slightly, offering her hand without a word.
Glinda stepped forward, slipping her fingers into Elphaba’s with barely a pause.
“Guys, this is Glinda,” Elphaba said smoothly. “Lyndie, this is Fiyero—another one of my friends from back home. And I believe I mentioned Bick to you before?”
Boq groaned audibly as Glinda giggled, catching on to the joke.
“I will smack you,” Boq muttered, and true to his word, he lightly cuffed the back of Elphaba’s head.
“Ow!” she snapped, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”
“For calling me Bick.”
She barely had time to retaliate before Fiyero stepped forward, tapping the same spot. She staggered slightly from the double hit and shoved him half-heartedly. “Okay, and what was that for?”
“For disappearing on us without so much as a call,” Fiyero said casually, as if it were obvious.
Elphaba’s brow furrowed just as the house phone started ringing in the other room.
“I’ll get it,” Clara said, walking off toward the kitchen.
As she disappeared, Glinda reached up and rubbed the back of Elphaba’s head gently. The pain faded instantly under her touch, and Elphaba gave her a small, grateful smile. Neither of them noticed the way Fiyero and Boq exchanged a look, quiet recognition passing between them as the girls fell into their own little world again—closer than close, like something private and unspoken was always blooming quietly between them.
The moment didn’t last.
“Duckie?” Clara’s voice floated back in. “The call’s for you.”
Glinda blinked, startled. “Who is it?”
“Your boyfriend. Avaric?”
The room seemed to go still.
Elphaba barely had time to register the words before Glinda visibly paled, all the color draining from her face in a heartbeat.
“Lyndie?” Elphaba said gently, her voice just above a whisper as she reached out instinctively.
But Glinda flinched, stepping away before their fingers could meet. Her eyes snapped to Elphaba’s, something raw and panicked flashing in them.
Elphaba held herself still, even as the rejection stung. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, not moving any closer, just watching with concern.
Glinda looked away, swallowing hard. Then something changed in her posture—her back straightened, her chin lifted just slightly. She looked taller somehow. Distant.
From the dining room, the sound of Fiyero’s animated storytelling drifted in, accompanied by Boq’s laughter.
Glinda opened her mouth like she was going to say something. Then closed it. She looked at Elphaba one more time—this unreadable, complicated look that made Elphaba’s stomach knot in dread.
And then she turned, walking silently toward the kitchen without a word.
Glinda walked toward the phone without a backward glance, and Elphaba couldn’t help but notice how robotic she looked. Her movements were stiff, mechanical—like she was running through a script instead of acting on her own will.
Elphaba’s entire body leaned toward following her. Every instinct screamed at her to step in, to linger in the doorway like some overbearing guard dog ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble. But she didn’t.
She stood frozen in place, her feet glued to the floor. It took every ounce of control to force herself to move—to turn away from Glinda and return to the dining room where Fiyero, Boq, and Clara were chatting casually.
Sliding back into her seat, she barely registered the conversation. Something about Boq stopping by the bakery soon, maybe. Fiyero was already spinning one of his tales, Clara laughing in disbelief, but Elphaba’s mind was elsewhere.
Her eyes kept flicking to the entryway. Her ears strained, listening hard for any sign of distress from the other room. She couldn’t focus on the food, couldn’t force herself to engage in the lighthearted banter. All she could do was wait—and hope Glinda would come back through that doorway looking like herself again.
“Galinda.” Avaric’s voice rang out through the receiver.
Glinda’s hands trembled as she held the phone to her ear. His voice was cold—like a bucket of ice water dumped straight down her spine.
She forced herself to sound steady, summoning every ounce of the girl she was expected to be. Galinda Arduenna Upland. Not Glinda. Certainly not Lyndie.
“Avaric, dearest,” she replied, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears. “Ho–How are you?” She cursed the stumble immediately. It was hard to slip back into old patterns when Elphaba’s scent still clung to her clothes like a comfort she wasn’t ready to let go of.
She tried to breathe it in, ground herself in it, chase away the spiral before it could drag her under.
“How am I, you ask?” Avaric sneered. “Let’s see. My father’s still an overbearing dick, my mother’s still a good-for-nothing slut, and oh—my girlfriend decided to have some kind of mental breakdown and got herself sent to some loser town in the middle of nowhere.”
Tears sprang to her eyes at the way he spoke to her—about her. It felt like whiplash. Her fists clenched in her lap, so tight she was sure she’d leave little crescents in her skin.
“And she didn’t even bother to call me to let me know any of this was happening,” he added, his voice thick with accusation.
“I know,” she said quickly, mechanically. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.” She paused, then added, “And I didn’t have a mental breakdown. My mother just wanted me to spend time with my Ama before I graduate.” A lie.
She still wasn’t sure how he got her Ama’s number—probably from one of her friends she’d naively trusted with it, back when she still hoped they’d want to keep in touch. Attention was fickle. Hard to keep when you weren’t in the same zip code.
“Yeah, well that’s not what I heard from Milla,” he snapped, itching for a fight.
He always came looking for one when things at home were a mess. He couldn’t scream at his parents, so he screamed at Glinda instead.
And she had used him too—more times than she wanted to admit. When her thoughts turned too dark, when her mother cut her too deep, she’d poke at him just to watch him burn. It used to feel like penance. She used to think she deserved it.
But after Elphaba—after warmth and softness and a kind of quiet safety—she knew better.
“Then believe whoever you want, Avaric,” she said, her voice flat.
It was the closest she’d ever come to brushing him off. Her heart thudded in her chest, a strange blend of fear and thrill pulsing beneath her skin.
“I miss you,” he said suddenly, his voice shifting—softer now, almost tender. Almost.
She didn’t answer fast enough.
“Galinda?” he asked again. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Uh-huh.” The response was automatic. She was thrown, off balance by the change.
“Do you miss me?”
No. Just say no. It’s easy. It’s the truth.
“Galinda?”
She blinked through the tears, her whole body trembling now.
“Sorry, I—” she began, but the words caught in her throat.
“What?” Avaric barked, voice hard again. “Did you find someone else in town to keep yourself occupied?”
“No!” she said too fast, too loud. “I mean—no, I don’t have anyone here. I told you, I’m just spending time with my Ama.”
It was a weak defense. She didn’t even believe herself.
She couldn’t let him find out about Elphaba—not just for her own sake, but to protect that fragile, beautiful thing growing between them. She didn’t want Avaric’s poison anywhere near it. And she sure as hell didn’t want to drag Elphaba into the mess of her past.
The truth was she got careless. She should’ve called him, should’ve kept up appearances. Her mom had even reminded her to. But she hadn’t wanted to. She’d liked having this clean little corner of her life untouched by Avaric. But now even that was gone.
He made a noncommittal grunt, clearly unconvinced. “So... it’d be okay if I came to visit, then? I could fly out tomorrow.”
Her stomach dropped.
She felt the blood drain from her face, her knees unsteady beneath her. Still, she forced herself upright.
“If you wanted to,” she said, carefully. Then, with a forced laugh, “But like you said, this town’s in the middle of nowhere. You’d probably hate it.”
He ignored her completely, too excited now to notice the panic rising in her voice. “That’s fine. I wouldn’t mind. Means I’d get to spend all my time with you and that warm treat between your legs.”
Her whole body recoiled. She felt sick. The idea of being trapped here with Avaric, without the buffer of school or routine—it felt like a nightmare.
The only person she could imagine touching her, the only one who made her feel safe, was—
Elphaba.
Elphie.
Oh.
Oh no.
Elphaba couldn’t know about this. Not because she was afraid of what Avaric might do—though she was—but because she knew exactly what Elphaba would do.
Glinda had seen the look in Elphaba’s eyes when she first heard Avaric’s name. She’d seen the rage she kept just beneath the surface. And Elphaba? She wouldn’t back down from a fight. Not for a second.
It could get bad. Really bad.
Glinda knew she had to say something. Had to stop this before it was too late. She had the words lined up, the perfect sentence poised on her tongue.
But before she could speak—
“Alright, babe. I booked the flight. It lands tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’ll see you then.”
Then the line went dead. Just like that.
Glinda stared at the phone in her hand, her vision blurring with tears she hadn’t realized were falling. For a long, suspended beat, she just stood there, frozen in place, her body tight with panic, grief, and shame.
Behind her, the creak of the door and the soft rustle of footsteps made her flinch.
“Duckie?” her Ama’s voice came gently, full of concern.
Glinda quickly set the phone down, wiping at her face with shaky hands. She didn’t want to be seen like this. Not again. Not by someone who loved her without conditions.
“I’m going to my room,” she said flatly—detached. Her voice felt like it belonged to someone else. She didn’t wait for a response. She couldn’t. She brushed past her Ama without making eye contact and moved quickly up the stairs, shutting herself in.
Only once the door was closed, locked, and the silence had returned did she let herself collapse.
She sank to the floor, curling into herself like she could disappear if she folded small enough. Her sobs came in sharp, heaving bursts she tried to quiet with her palms. Her head throbbed, and her chest felt like it had been hollowed out.
Why was it so hard for her to just say no?
Why couldn’t she open her mouth and speak when it mattered?
The room, which had felt safe just hours ago, now felt foreign—violated. She could still smell Elphaba’s scent on her clothes, soft and grounding, but it was already being chased away by the shadow of what was coming.
Even this space—her only safe place—would be tainted by Avaric. She imagined his voice echoing off the walls, his hands on her things, and bile rose in her throat.
She pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her forehead to them. Her tears soaked through the fabric of her pants.
She knew what she had to do now.
Elphaba couldn’t be part of this anymore.
Glinda had made a mistake—she’d let herself feel hope, let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could have something good. But she should’ve known better.
People like her didn’t get to keep good things. She was too messy, too broken, too full of sharp edges and secrets.
She knew Elphaba would come looking for her—Elphaba always did. But Glinda would end it. She would say what needed to be said. She would destroy whatever this fragile, beautiful thing between them was before Avaric could.
Before it got worse.
Before Elphaba got hurt.
Because if there was one thing Glinda knew for sure, it was that Avaric didn’t fight fair—and if he ever saw what she saw when she looked at Elphaba, he would find a way to ruin her too.
And Glinda couldn’t let that happen.
No matter how much it broke her.
After Clara gave her a knowing look, Elphaba left the table at once, cutting off whatever conversation she was having with Fiyero and Boq. Her half-eaten stack of pancakes sat there, forgotten, as her nerves suppressed any appetite she’d once had.
She took the stairs two at a time before knocking softly on the bedroom door. She heard a kind of muffled response, and she twisted the knob on the door slowly, pushing it open at a snail’s pace in case Glinda hadn’t wanted her to open it.
When she finally entered the room, her heart cracked. It felt like a million needles poking into her skin at once. The sight of a completely disheveled Glinda, crying in a broken heap on the floor, undid her entirely. She didn’t think before closing the door behind her and crossing the small distance. She knelt down on the floor, not thinking twice before she slid her arms underneath the blonde, pulling her into her lap as she sat back.
Glinda tried to protest the movement, her legs falling out from under her as she tried to stand on her own, but Elphaba didn’t let go. She held her firmly in her lap, one hand gently pressing against Glinda’s head, coaxing her to lay it against her chest, right over her heart.
As Elphaba rocked them slowly, she made a calming shh sound. She wasn’t sure who she was comforting more—Glinda, in her obvious distress, or herself, as guilt began to creep in. If only she’d stayed by Glinda, maybe she could’ve prevented this.
She felt the fight leave Glinda’s body as quickly as it came. The blonde melted into the embrace, her hands gripping Elphaba’s shirt, as she let the last of her sobs escape.
Elphaba kept rocking, a steady rhythm that felt as though it would never stop. Only when she was certain they’d both calmed enough did she allow the silence to settle between them. Glinda’s grip on her shirt remained, though it had loosened slightly.
“We need to talk.” Glinda’s voice cracked with finality, and Elphaba felt her throat go dry, her anxiety flaring. She could only manage a nod.
Glinda pulled away from Elphaba, creating as much distance between them as she could, which felt colder than anything Elphaba had ever known. The space between them, the tension in the air, spoke volumes. Elphaba couldn’t remember a time when Glinda hadn’t been in her personal space, always so close, always so warm.
“Lyndie,” Elphaba said, her voice breaking on the nickname, turning it into something almost desperate. Glinda felt it like a plea.
Glinda flinched when she heard it—her whole body pulled away, and Elphaba felt her stomach twist, her heart sinking. The room seemed to freeze as Glinda spoke again, her words sharp and cutting.
“Look, Elphaba…” Glinda started, the drop of her nickname feeling like an anchor pulling Elphaba down. “I know I agreed to let you help me with…” She faltered, still unable to name it. “You know,” she motioned weakly around the room and between them as if the explanation didn’t need words.
“But I think it’ll be better if we call it quits now.” Glinda’s voice trembled on the last words, the quiet finality of it stabbing at Elphaba’s chest.
Elphaba ignored the hammering of her heart, trying to keep herself from falling apart. “What did he say?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She knew this couldn’t be what Glinda truly wanted.
Glinda couldn’t meet her gaze, her eyes fixed on anything but Elphaba. For a moment, Elphaba saw the vulnerability, the fragile strength it took just to stand. But then Glinda’s resolve came crashing in, hard and cold. “Does it matter, Elphaba?” Glinda deflected, her voice strained, cracked. “We both knew this was only going to last the summer, didn’t we?” she added, almost bitterly, as if the idea of it being anything else was a distant, foolish fantasy.
Elphaba’s mind raced. She didn’t know that. She hadn’t wanted that. She had wanted more than just the summer. She had wanted to spend the rest of her life learning new things about Glinda, earning her smiles, her laughter. But Glinda’s tone… It made her question everything. Had she overstepped in assuming that after summer ended, their bond would still hold?
“I guess so,” Elphaba said, her voice hollow. The words tasted wrong in her mouth, not like her at all. She was replying how she thought she should, not how she truly felt. She could see the pain in Glinda’s eyes, the tears welling up again, her lower lip trembling. Elphaba knew she was the cause.
Glinda realized what had gone wrong only when she was curled into a ball on the floor of her bedroom. The realization hit her like a crushing weight. What it all came down to was fear. Fear that had been growing for years.
She might be the only one who knew what Avaric was truly like behind closed doors. The way his hands would grip around her throat, suffocating her until she felt dizzy. How his breath would come hot and harsh on her skin, the bite of his lips, the sting of his scratches after too much to drink. The way he’d grab her hair when he wanted to control her, to make her feel small, insignificant.
The thought of saying no to him terrified her. What would happen if she rejected him? She couldn’t risk it—not when her parents still saw the relationship as something perfect, something that would align with their plans for her life. She couldn’t risk Avaric turning on her, not when her future, her safety, was tied to his whims.
As much as it tore her apart to push Elphaba away, she knew that Elphaba wouldn’t hurt her. She could trust that. But Avaric was different. She couldn’t risk it with him. Not when depending on what she wore she still had to cover bruises from the last time. Not again.
She’d always underplayed the extent of his behavior, mostly because her mother told her to “suck it up” and because everyone else saw her as the lucky girl—the girl with the perfect life. No one could know. Not even Elphaba.
Glinda’s chest tightened as the words fell from her mouth. She hated that they made her feel small, that they made her sound foolish, just like everyone else who had ever brushed off her pain. Avaric was always the golden boy—the star quarterback, the one every girl in town wanted. And no matter how many times she tried to voice her hurt, she knew she’d only be reminded of his perfection in their eyes. He was the dream.
She hated that he was the dream.
Glinda wanted to scream, to lash out, to let her frustration tear through her. She wanted to tell them all that she would give him up without a fight. Whoever else wanted him could have him. It didn’t matter anymore. But that thought felt like a lie even as it twisted in her gut. How could she give up something that had poisoned her for so long? How could she tear herself away when he always came crawling back? Begging for forgiveness after every betrayal, like it meant something.
And yet, when he was gone—when he was tangled up in someone else’s arms—Glinda could almost breathe again. The peace that followed was fleeting, as fleeting as his remorse. She let herself savor those rare days, those days when he was well-behaved. It was the only time she could feel something close to safety. Until the cycle began anew, and he returned to his cruel, careless ways.
Her internal world was a mess of contradictions, the desperate ache inside her growing as she tried, for the thousandth time, to believe that something good might come from risking it. But every time she tried to leap, her wings would fail her, and she’d fall back into the same wreckage. “I guess so.”
And what did she expect from Elphaba? For her to deny that claim? To tell her that they weren’t just a couple of girls on a countdown to the end of their time together? That there was more to them than this town? Glinda foolishly, foolishly hoped that she could be something more, that Elphaba could be something more than a reminder of what she would inevitably lose.
Elphaba wouldn’t be there forever. As much as Glinda's body screamed for her to stay, to let herself bury everything she felt inside, her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She ached for something she could never have. The dizzying sensation wasn't from a lack of air, but from a lack of Elphaba, from a lack of something that made her feel human in a way Avaric never could.
Glinda’s gaze dropped, unable to meet Elphaba’s anymore. She couldn’t bear the weight of those emerald eyes. There was so much in them, so much unspoken emotion. So much love that she couldn’t even begin to understand.
It hurts to think , she thought. It hurts to breathe.
Her movements were a blur as she turned away, digging mindlessly through her drawers, trying to find something to occupy herself, anything to numb the ache. But she wasn’t looking for anything—just a way to block out the overwhelming presence of Elphaba’s gaze, the unspoken conversation she wasn’t ready to have.
“Then I think we should just end it now,” Glinda muttered. The words were empty, but they were the only thing she could say to avoid confronting the painful truth.
“Is that what you want?” Elphaba’s voice was tight, raw, but still laced with a calm she couldn’t shake. “Or is that what he wants?”
The question hit harder than any punch. Glinda’s pulse spiked, her anger surging—sharp, dangerous. “Why does that matter, Elphaba?” she spat, her breath catching as she turned to face her.
“Why can’t you just answer the question?” Elphaba’s voice didn’t rise to meet her anger. She stayed composed, careful, watching Glinda like she might shatter at any second.
That calm, that patience—it made Glinda want to tear her apart. Why wouldn’t Elphaba fight? Why wouldn’t she lash out, like everyone else? Why wouldn’t she just give in to the rage Glinda had inside her?
But Elphaba didn’t. She never did. It only made Glinda angrier.
“Why can’t you tell me why it matters?” Glinda shouted, her emotions spiraling out of control. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for anymore, but it felt so goddamn important that she needed something from Elphaba.
“I’m trying to,” Elphaba answered softly, taking a cautious step forward, her voice gentle. “But you’re not asking me what you really want to ask.”
Glinda froze, her heart racing in her chest. The air between them crackled with something that made her skin burn. She couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. Not when Elphaba was so close. She didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, they were face-to-face, too close, and then Elphaba’s arms were around her, pulling her off her feet, holding her against her chest.
They stood like that for a long, precious moment, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. It was too much, too close, too good. And all Glinda could feel was the warmth of Elphaba, the unspoken promises between them. She closed her eyes, the steady rhythm of Elphaba’s heartbeat echoing in her own chest.
And then Elphaba pulled back, just enough for their eyes to meet. They lingered there, caught in an unspoken question. Elphaba’s gaze flicked down to Glinda’s lips, then back up, asking for permission. Glinda nodded almost imperceptibly, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn’t hold herself back anymore. She moved in, closing the distance, and Elphaba met her with the gentleness she had always shown her.
The kiss was a whisper, soft and tentative, a question that didn’t quite need answering, because they both knew. It was a confirmation. But then Elphaba’s tongue brushed across the seam of Glinda’s lips, and the world tilted. Glinda’s lips parted instinctively, and she felt herself melt, her hands shaking as she pulled Elphaba closer.
When they broke apart, Glinda’s breath was ragged, her lips swollen from the kiss. Elphaba’s eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, as if she too was lost in the moment.
“Damn you, Elphaba,” Glinda whispered, her voice shaky, torn between anger and something else she couldn’t name. She felt… branded. Marked.
“Huh?” Elphaba asked, still trying to catch up with the sudden shift in Glinda’s mood.
“Damn you, Elphaba!” Glinda repeated, her voice trembling as she shoved her away, hard.
“Glinda?” Elphaba sounded confused, hurt.
“Damn you!” Glinda spat, pushing her again, this time shoving Elphaba into the door with all the strength she had left.
“Get out,” Glinda whispered, her voice breaking. She turned away, unable to face the storm inside her any longer. The air in the room felt too thick, too suffocating. The weight of her emotions pressed down on her, and everything—everything—felt too much.
“Lyndie, I—” Elphaba’s voice was soft, trembling with something Glinda couldn’t place. Sadness. Regret.
Glinda spun around, eyes wide with unshed tears. “GET OUT, ELPHABA!” she shouted, her voice cracked, heart breaking into pieces she wasn’t sure she could ever put back together.
Elphaba’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly as the echo of Glinda’s voice rang in her ears. For a few suspended seconds, she just stared—taking in the girl in front of her, flushed and shaking, eyes rimmed red with unshed tears and fury. Then her brain kicked in, scrambled into motion by instinct more than intention.
She shoved off the door, mechanical and too fast, like staying still another second might shatter her completely. Her movements were jerky as she gathered her things—jeans, keys, the pair of scuffed-up Converse she’d kicked off when everything still felt like it could be safe. Her hoodie dangled from her fingers as she crossed the room again, toward the door she’d walked through as if she belonged there.
She hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough to look back over her shoulder.
Glinda stood in the middle of the room, arms rigid at her sides like she didn’t trust herself to move. Her face was wrecked, pale and panicked and straining not to cry. She looked like she might fall apart if Elphaba so much as exhaled in her direction.
So Elphaba said nothing. She opened the door.
And just as she stepped out, her hoodie slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a soft thump .
She didn’t pause. Didn’t turn around to pick it up. And Glinda didn’t call out for her to come back.
The door clicked shut behind her like the end of a chapter neither of them were ready to finish.