Back at square one
Elphaba was not a morning person, though her body usually woke her up the second the sun rose. So when the obnoxious pounding on her door started, she barely managed to bite back a curse before throwing her pillow over her face.
"Go away."
"Nope!" Boq’s annoyingly chipper voice rang through the wood. "We’re getting breakfast. You’re coming."
Elphaba groaned. "Not if you value your life."
"Elphie, darling, we both know you need coffee before you start your whole ‘brooding intellectual’ act," Crope added.
"And you’re out of coffee," Tibbett chimed in.
That got her up.
A few chaotic minutes later, she was begrudgingly shoved into existence, her sweater barely on the right way, mismatched socks hidden beneath her boots, and hair slightly mussed from sleep, a few stray strands stubbornly refusing to cooperate no matter how much she ran her fingers through them. She had swiped on a bit of oil to tame the worst of it, but the overall effect still screamed ‘not a morning person’ loud and clear. She scowled at the morning sun like she was a vampire, muttering under her breath as she was herded across campus like an unwilling prisoner of friendship.
The café was packed, filled with students nursing hangovers and clinging to caffeine like it was their last hope for survival. It smelled like burnt espresso, sugar, and bad decisions from the night before.
She was still too tired to process much of the noise until she heard a voice that made her want to walk straight into traffic.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Across the café, Glinda was sitting with Fiyero.
And of course, she looked perfect. Hair curled, makeup flawless, laughing at something he was saying with a delicate tilt of her head. The image of effortless beauty and privilege.
Elphaba immediately regretted not stabbing Boq for dragging her out of bed.
"This should be fun," Crope muttered under his breath as they grabbed a table far too close to Glinda’s.
-
Glinda had been pretending to listen to Fiyero for the past five minutes. He was always bouncing between groups, between roles, seamlessly fitting wherever he pleased. Sometimes with Boq, Elphaba and the boys, sometimes at her side. He never committed too deeply to any one space, always floating, always watching. And this morning, he had chosen her. Maybe because he liked the chase, or maybe because she made things easy. Fiyero was effortless, uncomplicated, exactly the kind of distraction she needed. At least, that’s what she told herself.
She had agreed to breakfast because it was normal, because Fiyero was normal, because being around him meant she wouldn’t be thinking about things she shouldn’t be thinking about.
Except then Elphaba had walked in, looking like she had just rolled out of bed—messy dark hair, an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, and black leggings tucked into worn combat boots. It was the kind of look that should have been careless, should have gone unnoticed. And yet, it was impossible to ignore. Effortless, unpolished, completely unintentional—somehow, it still managed to command attention in a way that made Glinda’s stomach twist.
Glinda was painfully aware of her the second she stepped through the door, of the way she looked so effortlessly undone in that way that should not have been attractive. But it was. And that was a problem.
And suddenly, Glinda was extra aware of the way she was touching Fiyero’s arm.
She laughed at nothing in particular, let her fingers linger, made sure her body language screamed I’m completely into him and not at all distracted by my infuriating roommate—because that would be absurd, ridiculous, and absolutely not happening.
Fiyero, of course, wasn’t buying it. He followed her gaze, spotted Elphaba, and smirked knowingly.
"You keep staring at her," he murmured, leaning closer. "Should I be jealous?"
Glinda stiffened. "Don’t be ridiculous."
"You always get like this around her. It’s fascinating."
"I do not get any way around her."
Fiyero just laughed, sipping his coffee like this was the most entertaining thing he had ever witnessed. "Honestly, watching you two is better than any play Tibbett drags me to. I should be paying admission for this." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Tell me, Glinda, when exactly are you going to stop pretending this is just mutual loathing and admit that you’re both deeply obsessed with each other? Because I gotta say, it's getting painful to watch."
Glinda, who had been stirring her coffee with deliberate care, froze mid-stir.
Her grip on the spoon tightened just slightly before she forced a light laugh. "Oh, please. You’re being ridiculous."
"Am I?" Fiyero arched a brow, tilting his head. "Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve spent the entire morning trying to convince everyone—yourself included—that you don’t care. But, my love, you do."
Glinda’s smile sharpened. "You think you’re terribly clever, don’t you?"
"I know I am." Fiyero grinned, leaning back lazily. "And I know you hate that I’m right."
Glinda huffed, setting her spoon down with just a bit too much force. "This conversation is over."
Fiyero just chuckled, sipping his coffee. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, dearest."
-
Boq, predictably, kept sneaking glances at Glinda, looking like a kicked puppy.
Elphaba sighed, shaking her head as she pushed her coffee cup away. "Just go talk to her, Boq. She's not some untouchable deity." She paused for effect, then added with a smirk, "Though I suppose if she were, she'd enjoy that even more."
"She’s busy," Boq murmured, glancing at Fiyero. "They look… close."
Crope snorted. "Oh, honey. Glinda’s trying to look close."
Elphaba scowled into her coffee. "I don’t care."
"Of course not, darling," Tibbett said, the nickname rolling off his tongue with the same exaggerated affection he always used with her. It had started as a joke—Crope and Tibbett had decided long ago that Elphaba, despite all her sharp edges and biting sarcasm, was secretly the most dramatic of them all. The kind of person who sighed heavily, made sweeping declarations of doom, and scowled at sentimentality like it personally offended her. So, naturally, they had started calling her darling—a title dripping in irony, one that stuck far longer than any of them had expected. "Which is why you’ve been glaring at them like you’re plotting a murder."
Before Elphaba could properly respond to that accusation, the universe decided to hate her a little more.
Because at that exact moment, Glinda turned, locked eyes with her, and smirked.
And Elphaba hated the way her stomach twisted at the sight.
"You were saying?" Crope whispered.
-
The tension only got worse when Glinda and Fiyero stood up to leave.
As they passed Elphaba’s table, Glinda paused just slightly, tilting her head.
"Morning, Elphie," she purred.
Elphaba clenched her jaw. "Don’t call me that."
"Oh? But it’s cute," Glinda teased, eyes shining with amusement before she deliberately laced her fingers through Fiyero’s.
Elphaba did not react. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Because there was no reason—absolutely none—for her stomach to twist at the sight of Glinda’s fingers slipping so deliberately into Fiyero’s. No reason for her pulse to quicken when Glinda smirked at her like she had already won something. It was muscle memory, nothing more. Years of irritation, of rivalry, of knowing exactly how to get under each other’s skin. That was all it was. Right?
At least, that’s what she told herself as Glinda swept past, leaving behind the scent of vanilla and victory.
Crope and Tibbett exchanged a look.
Boq sighed mournfully.
And Fiyero? Fiyero just smirked, but instead of walking away, he kissed Glinda goodbye and he lingered. "You know, Elphaba, you should really work on your poker face."
Elphaba scoffed, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. "And you should work on minding your own business."
Fiyero chuckled, dropping into the empty seat beside Crope. "Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, this dynamic—" he gestured vaguely between her and where Glinda had just exited, "—is absolutely fascinating."
"Nothing about this is fascinating," Elphaba muttered, stirring her coffee aggressively.
"Mmm," Fiyero hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. "If you say so."
Crope, delighted by the interaction, leaned in. "So, Yero, how was breakfast with our dear social queen?"
"Oh, you know," Fiyero mused, leaning back in his chair. "She spent half of it pretending she was very into me and the other half making sure Elphaba saw."
Elphaba choked on her coffee. "Excuse me?"
Fiyero grinned. "I’m just saying—this is going to be so fun to watch."
Crope nodded. "You two are going to be so fun to watch."
Elphaba considered arson. And also, possibly, self-exile. Because she had been so close—so incredibly close—to putting this whole ridiculous, inconvenient attraction behind her. It had been fading, fraying at the edges like an old memory. She had almost convinced herself that whatever had sparked in her years ago had been nothing more than frustration, that the way her chest ached sometimes in Glinda’s presence was just residual irritation, a leftover grudge.
But then Glinda had looked at her like that. Had smirked and laced her fingers with Fiyero’s like it was some kind of game. And Elphaba had felt it again, that stupid, infuriating pull, like something inside her was shifting out of place.
And now, she was back at square one.