Inconveniently Yours

The next class was Philosophy and Political Theory with Professor Auster, an older man with a perpetual frown and an obsession with critical thinking. Unlike Morrible, he had no patience for flattery. He wanted arguments, debate, and proof.

Elphaba was immediately at home.

Glinda, however, had a different kind of talent. While Elphaba dismantled ideas with brutal logic, Glinda charmed her way into persuading people to see things her way. Two different types of intelligence—both dangerously effective.

Which is exactly why, when Professor Auster announced the semester-long project, Elphaba knew she was doomed before he even called her name.

"Each pair will be assigned a moral dilemma to debate," Auster explained. "You will be expected to argue both for and against your assigned topic and submit a draft at midterms and in-depth research paper at the end of the term. Partnering is non-negotiable."

Elphaba’s stomach sank as soon as she heard it.

Because, of course, she was paired with Glinda.

Across the room, Glinda’s entire posture stiffened.

She turned slowly, locking eyes with Elphaba, and for the first time in days, there was something other than avoidance between them.

It was frustration. Wariness. Something simmering beneath the surface.

"Perfect," Elphaba muttered under her breath.

"Oh, I’m thrilled," Glinda shot back, voice saccharine. "I love working with partners who think they’re the smartest person in the room."

Elphaba tilted her head, offering a sharp smile. "Then you must love yourself a great deal."

Elphaba’s fingers curled into a fist beneath the desk. Across the room, Glinda’s grip on her pen visibly tightened. They hadn’t even spoken directly to each other in days, and now they were supposed to work together? For an entire semester?

Professor Auster continued, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. "You will have weekly check-ins with one another. If I find that one partner is doing all the work while the other coasts, you’ll both fail."

Glinda’s lips parted slightly, her outrage barely concealed. Fail? She didn’t fail at anything.

Elphaba exhaled through her nose, already dreading the hours she would be forced to spend arguing with Glinda over everything.

Auster clapped his hands together. "Alright, partners, take the last few minutes to exchange schedules and set up your first meeting."

A few chairs scraped against the floor as people turned toward their designated partners, murmuring quietly. But at the center of the room, Glinda and Elphaba remained seated, rigid, neither making the first move.

Finally, Glinda huffed, tapping her manicured nails against the desk as she turned, slowly, toward Elphaba. "Let’s just get this over with. When are you free?"

Elphaba lifted a brow, her voice smooth as ever. "Oh? No condescending remark about how unfortunate it is that you’re stuck with me? You must be devastated."

Glinda’s jaw tensed. "I am, actually. I had hoped to work with someone who doesn’t think debating means insulting people."

Elphaba smirked. "Funny. I was hoping for someone who doesn’t think persuading people means flirting until they agree with you."

Glinda let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."

"That we can agree on," Elphaba deadpanned. "Now, are we going to be adults and schedule this thing, or would you rather I’d keep pretending you don’t exist?"

Glinda inhaled sharply, but before she could retort, Crope leaned forward from the desk behind them, chin resting on his palm. "Oh, don’t stop now. This is fantastic entertainment."

Tibbett nodded eagerly. "The tension? Exquisite."

Elphaba shot them a withering glare. "Shouldn’t you two be focusing on your own project?"

Crope waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, we’re fine. This? This is so much more interesting."

Glinda groaned, rubbing her temples. "Library. Seven. Tonight."

Elphaba tilted her head. "Wow. A full sentence without an insult. I’m impressed."

"I’ll make up for it later," Glinda muttered, gathering her things as the class wrapped up.

This was going to be a disaster.

They both snapped their mouths shut.

Crope, sitting behind Elphaba, whispered, "This is going to be extraordinary."

Tibbett nodded. "Absolutely catastrophic. I love it."

Elphaba ignored them, focusing on the person across from her.

Glinda lifted her chin, eyes burning with defiance. If she wanted a fight, Elphaba was ready to give her one.

Because like hell was she going to let Glinda Upland win again.

-

The library was buzzing with quiet activity, students murmuring over open textbooks, fingers clicking against laptop keys. It was the perfect setting for serious academic work—which was why it was the worst possible place for Elphaba and Glinda to meet.

Elphaba had arrived first, taking a seat at one of the study tables tucked into the back corner of the library. She pulled out her notebook, flipped to a fresh page, and tapped her pen against it, waiting.

Glinda was late.

Of course she was.

When she finally arrived, it was with the usual flair of dramatics—hair perfectly styled, heels clicking against the polished floor, the scent of expensive vanilla perfume announcing her presence before she even sat down.

"I wasn’t sure you’d show up," Elphaba muttered as Glinda slid into the seat across from her.

Glinda sighed, setting down her bag with a little too much force. "Elphaba, I know you’re determined to make this as miserable as possible, but I am trying to be civil."

Elphaba arched a brow. "Oh, you’re trying? Well, gold star for effort."

Glinda huffed. "Can we just—just get on with it?"

Elphaba leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Fine. The project is on moral dilemmas in governance. What’s your stance?"

"My stance?"

"Yes, Glinda. Your stance. Surely you have some opinion beyond ‘whatever sounds the prettiest.’"

Glinda groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Elphaba, please—can we just work? I don’t want to fight."

Elphaba frowned slightly. Something about the way Glinda said it felt… different. Tired.

Glinda inhaled sharply and, to Elphaba’s surprise, leaned forward. "Look—I need to say something."

Elphaba stiffened. "Oh, here we go."

"No—seriously, just—just listen, okay?" Glinda’s voice was quieter now, less sharp. "I am… I am so sorry."

Elphaba blinked. That was new.

Glinda bit her lip, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I wasn’t thinking. And I don’t mean that as an excuse—I mean, I didn't think. About you, about how serious it was. I was angry, and I was petty, and—" She exhaled, shaking her head. "And it was awful of me."

Elphaba stared at her, waiting for the usual Glinda defensive backpedaling, but… it didn’t come.

Just raw, uncomfortable sincerity.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you like that," Glinda added softly. "But I did. And I hate that."

Elphaba didn’t know what to say.

Her instinct was to be sharp, to cut through the moment before it could settle—but something in Glinda’s face stopped her.

So instead, she simply said, "Okay."

Glinda blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay," Elphaba repeated, exhaling as she picked up her pen again. "Now, can we figure out how we’re dividing the research?"

Glinda let out a breath—half relief, half something else. "Yeah. Okay."

It wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

-

The rain started in the evening—soft at first, the occasional patter against the windows, a slow build-up of gray clouds on the horizon.

By nightfall, the storm had fully arrived.

Elphaba barely noticed at first. She had spent the evening at her desk, rewriting notes, attempting to read, doing anything but acknowledging the growing weight pressing against her skull.

But then the thunder cracked.

And the sound that followed was not from outside.

A soft, muffled whimper carried through the thin dorm walls.

Elphaba’s head snapped up, her brow furrowing. She knew that sound.

She had heard it before, years ago, when they were younger, when the storms had rolled through their old school and Glinda had tried so desperately to hide her fear.

She had mocked her then. Just a little. Had rolled her eyes and called her dramatic.

Another crash of thunder. Another stifled noise from the other room.

Elphaba let out a slow breath, rolling her eyes at herself before she stood.

She didn’t even hesitate before walking to Glinda’s door.

She knocked once. Firm. Not giving herself the chance to second-guess.

Silence.

She knocked again. "Glinda."

Nothing.

Elphaba sighed, then—softer this time—"It’s just a storm."

Still, nothing.

She frowned, glancing down before trying the door handle. It wasn’t locked.

The room was dark when she stepped inside, save for the occasional flicker of lightning that illuminated the small space.

Glinda was curled up in her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin, her eyes shut far too tightly to be asleep.

Elphaba hovered, unsure for a moment. What was she even doing?

She should turn around. She should leave. She should—

Another sharp burst of thunder.

Glinda flinched. Barely. But Elphaba caught it.

She sighed, stepping forward. "Do you want me to go?"

Glinda didn’t answer. Just opened her eyes, meeting Elphaba’s in the dim light.

And that was answer enough.

Elphaba hesitated only a second longer before she sat down at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over her chest, gaze fixed on the darkened window.

Neither of them spoke.

Another rumble of thunder rolled through the room, not quite as sharp as the last. Glinda tensed, her fingers curling into the blanket—but this time, just barely.

Elphaba exhaled, tilting her head slightly toward her without looking directly. "You know, statistically speaking, you're safer in here than anywhere else," she murmured, voice low and even.

Glinda huffed, though the sound lacked its usual bite. "That’s not as comforting as you think it is."

Elphaba smirked slightly. "Figures."

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting Elphaba’s profile in stark relief. When the next crack of thunder followed, Glinda didn’t flinch quite as hard.

She let out a slow breath and, for the first time all night, her body relaxed. Just a little.

Elphaba noticed.

She said nothing about it, just shifted slightly closer—so subtly that Glinda could pretend she hadn’t noticed, that it hadn’t meant anything at all.

And for a while, they simply sat there, the storm raging outside, but inside—inside, it was quiet.

Eventually, the tension in Glinda’s shoulders eased completely, her breathing evening out as exhaustion overtook fear. Elphaba didn’t move at first, unsure if she should, but when the next flash of lightning came and Glinda didn’t stir, she exhaled softly. She was asleep.

Elphaba stood carefully, ensuring she didn’t wake her, and made her way back to her own room. The storm still raged outside, but somehow, it felt... muted now. Less suffocating.

-

By the time morning arrived, the storm had passed. The air smelled like rain, the campus damp and quiet in the early light. When Elphaba finally stepped out of her room, she noticed something small on the coffee table—a neatly folded napkin with something wrapped inside.

Frowning, she unfolded it to find a perfectly flaky croissant from Glinda’s favorite café. Next to it, scribbled in elegant, looping script, were two words:

Thank you.

Elphaba stared at it for a long moment, then, with a shake of her head and the smallest hint of a smirk, she picked it up and took a bite.