Last winter
Elphaba had known from the second she stepped foot in this dorm that she was in for hell.
And now, Glinda was throwing a party.
Of course she was.
Elphaba had debated leaving, but the principle of the matter kept her rooted in place. This was her dorm too. She had no intention of being forced out just because Glinda and her entourage of overly groomed socialites wanted to sip cheap cocktails and pretend they were interesting.
So, instead, she chose violence.
She rearranged their bookshelf into the most irritating display imaginable, turning the spines inward, stacking books in precarious, gravity-defying piles, and muttering under her breath about Glinda’s atrocious literary taste. Every time Glinda glanced over, she visibly twitched.
Glinda was too wrapped up in her own world to truly notice what was happening beyond her carefully curated social scene. But if she had taken a moment to look, she would have seen the way Elphaba’s lips curled in satisfaction with every small disruption she caused. She would have noticed the amusement in her rival’s eyes whenever a tiny element of chaos slipped into the perfectly polished event.
The room filled with laughter and idle gossip, but Elphaba was watching. And waiting.
Glinda caught sight of Elphaba standing on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, watching the party unfold like she was gathering evidence for a formal complaint.
Glinda’s stomach tightened. Oh, for Oz’s sake.
She made her way over, bracing herself for whatever brand of condescending judgment Elphaba had in store.
The room pulsed with chatter and music, the perfect blend of casual exclusivity Glinda had curated so well. But Elphaba was watching—waiting—for the moment it all came crashing down.
It started with Pfannee, who shrieked when she took a sip of her drink, her perfectly glossed lips curling in horror. "This is NOT vodka!"
Shenshen, next to her, gagged as she took a sip of her own. "What the hell?" she spat, shoving her cup away. "This was supposed to be top-shelf, Glinda!"
Glinda’s stomach twisted as she turned, immediately locking eyes with Elphaba, who looked far too pleased with herself.
"You didn’t," Glinda hissed, stepping toward her.
"Didn’t what?" Elphaba feigned innocence, tilting her head.
Before Glinda could snap back, a loud crack echoed across the room. A group of frat boys, already swaying from too much alcohol, tumbled backward as a table leg collapsed beneath them, sending their drinks—and a suspiciously vinegar-scented punch—spilling over their expensive shirts.
"Oh, come on!" one of them groaned, wringing out his soaked collar.
Glinda whirled on Elphaba, eyes narrowing. "What did you do?"
Elphaba smirked, inspecting her nails. "I may have taken some creative liberties with the beverage selection. And, hypothetically, the structural integrity of that table. But only hypothetically, of course."
Glinda groaned, rubbing her temples. "Why are you like this?"
"Why do you act surprised?"
Before Glinda could retaliate, Pfannee and Shenshen stormed over, Pfannee dramatically flipping her damp hair over one shoulder. "This is a disaster," she hissed. "Glinda, do you know how embarrassing this is? We look like amateurs!"
"Tell me about it," Shenshen muttered, glaring at Elphaba. "And people are starting to leave."
Glinda was about to attempt damage control when Pfannee’s gaze sharpened on Elphaba, her lips curling into something cruel. "Of course," she sneered. "This is her fault."
Elphaba sighed dramatically. "Yes, because I personally forced you all to throw a party in a cramped dorm room with barely functioning furniture and overpriced, watered-down drinks. Truly, I hold all the power here."
"Why are you even here?" Shenshen snapped, voice dripping with contempt. "No one wants you here."
"Fuck off, Pfannee." Elphaba muttered under her breath.
Glinda’s stomach turned. This was getting out of control.
"Honestly, Glinda, it must be so humiliating sharing a room with this," Pfannee sneered, waving a dismissive hand toward Elphaba. "What even is she?"
Elphaba stilled. The smirk fell away. And for the first time all night, she was silent.
Glinda should have said something. She could have shut it down, cut Pfannee off with a sharp remark and ended it there. But she hesitated.
And in that hesitation, everything shifted.
Elphaba’s jaw clenched, her green fingers curling into fists at her sides. But when she finally spoke, her voice was smooth—too smooth.
"Wow," Elphaba drawled, looking Pfannee up and down. "It must be exhausting, keeping up this whole Mean Girl routine. Tell me, do you practice in the mirror, or does it just come naturally?"
Pfannee’s smirk didn’t waver. "Oh, sweetie, I don’t have to practice. Unlike you, I actually belong here." She gestured vaguely to the room, the party, the entire world they lived in. "You, on the other hand, look like you wandered in by accident. Shouldn’t you be in the library or wherever social rejects go to wither?"
Elphaba gave an exaggerated sigh, clasping her hands together. "Pfannee, I have to commend you—truly, it’s impressive how you manage to be this insufferable while contributing absolutely nothing of value to society."
Pfannee’s expression flickered, just for a second, but it was enough.
"At least society acknowledges I exist," she shot back.
Elphaba’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment before she recovered. "Right. You’ll be remembered for the grand achievement of peaking at nineteen. History books will be so kind to you."
Glinda swallowed hard, shifting awkwardly between them. This was escalating fast.
Elphaba shook her head. "You know what? This has been fun. Really. But I think I’d rather set myself on fire than be in this room for another second."
She turned on her heel, shoving past them.
Glinda reacted before she could think, grabbing Elphaba’s wrist. "Wait—"
Elphaba ripped her arm away.
"Don’t," she snapped. "Enjoy your perfect little party, Glinda."
And then she was gone, leaving Glinda standing in the middle of the chaos.
Glinda didn’t move, didn’t call out after her again. She just stood there, stomach twisting, watching Elphaba storm away. And then, against all better judgment, her mind pulled her back to last winter—to the freezing steps outside the debate hall, to the quiet companionship neither of them had acknowledged.
She hadn’t wanted to go home that night. Home was a house, not a place of comfort, a structure filled with expensive things but utterly empty of warmth. Her parents were never there—not really. Their attention came in the form of bank transfers, extravagant gifts, and messages relayed through their assistants. They had left long ago, and Glinda had learned to stop waiting for them to notice.
That night, she had just needed a little longer—a little more time before she had to step into a cavernous house where no one would ask how her debate had gone, where no one would care whether she had won or lost. So she had stayed, even though the cold bit into her skin, even though she had no real reason to sit on those steps alone.
And then Elphaba had come. Not out of pity, not because she had to, but simply because she had seen Glinda sitting there. And she had sat too.
No words. No prying. Just presence. A warmth Glinda hadn’t even realized she’d been desperate for until it was right there beside her. And Elphaba had sat there, despite the snow, despite the way she always avoided even the smallest risk of getting wet. Glinda had known about her allergy, of course—one of the few who did. She had wanted to tell her to go inside, to say something, but the words never came. Because for once, she hadn't felt so alone.
And tonight, Glinda had done nothing while Elphaba had been humiliated. Worse, she had hesitated.
The guilt settled heavy in her chest. She had always told herself she wasn’t like them. But wasn’t silence the same as cruelty, in the end?
Elphaba didn’t stop walking until she was outside, the crisp night air hitting her lungs like a slap. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and for a moment, she just stood there, fists clenched at her sides.
Stupid. She had been so stupid to think Glinda would be any different. That time or distance would make her something other than what she had always been—privileged, shallow, self-serving.
Elphaba scoffed to herself and started walking. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she needed to get away from the suffocating walls of that dorm. Away from the pink, the perfume, the bright, glittering lie that was Glinda Upland.
Eventually, she found herself in the old, half-abandoned part of campus, where the streetlights flickered unevenly, and the air smelled like damp stone and forgotten books. She breathed easier here.
She dropped onto a bench near one of the older buildings, leaning back and staring up at the sky. The stars were faint against the glow of the city, but at least they were real.
She exhaled slowly, the sting of disappointment settling deep in her chest.
She had never expected Glinda to be kind. She wasn’t an idiot. But for some reason, she had expected better.
And that was the most frustrating part. Because there had been moments, brief and fleeting, when Glinda had almost convinced her that there was something more beneath all the blonde curls and sparkling dresses.
She thought back to last winter, the night of the debate finals.
It had been late. The school had mostly emptied out, but Elphaba had stayed behind, re-running every word of her speech in her head, obsessing over how she could have argued better, pushed harder. She had stayed until the janitor had practically kicked her out, and when she finally stepped outside, it was snowing.
She had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Glinda sitting on the steps, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the ground.
Glinda had been an only child. It wasn’t something she talked about much, but Elphaba knew what it meant. She had read it between the lines of offhand comments, seen it in the way Glinda sometimes lingered too long in empty rooms, as if she were waiting for someone to notice she was there.
Elphaba had hesitated. Snow meant wet. And wet meant bad. But Glinda already knew that.
"You do realize it’s below freezing, right?" Elphaba had said dryly, keeping a careful distance.
Glinda had startled, blinking up at her before quickly schooling her expression. "I’m waiting for my driver."
Elphaba had tilted her head. "In the cold? Alone?"
Glinda had hesitated. And for once, her voice was quiet when she answered. "I didn’t feel like going home yet."
Elphaba had frowned. She had never seen Glinda like that before.
She had wanted to offer her coat, but the risk of snowmelt soaking through her shirt made her stomach tighten. Instead, she had sighed and sat down on the driest patch of steps she could find, keeping her hands stuffed in her sleeves.
They hadn’t spoken after that. They had just sat there, together, until the car pulled up.
Glinda had glanced at her before getting in, something unreadable in her expression. And then, just before the door closed, she had murmured, "Thanks."
Elphaba let out a bitter laugh. That moment had meant nothing, obviously. It had been an anomaly. A lapse.
She had been stupid to ever think otherwise.
Glinda sat on her bed, picking at the hem of her dress, replaying the night over and over in her mind. The party had been salvaged—mostly. But the weight of her own hesitation clung to her, heavier than she cared to admit.
She should have defended Elphaba.
She could have.
The realization made her stomach churn.
She had spent her entire life curating an image, building a world where she was admired, untouchable. And yet, for all her power in a room full of people, she had frozen at the moment it had truly mattered.
The guilt sat with her long into the night, as she stared at the door, waiting for a roommate who wouldn’t come home.