Clarity and Distractions
By the time Elphaba returned to her dorm, the weight of the afternoon sat heavily on her chest. The memories, the old wounds reopened by Nessa’s pointed words, and the ache of being reminded of things she hadn’t allowed herself to think about in years—it all compounded into something nearly unbearable. She needed space. Silence. Something to shake the feeling that she’d been cracked open for sport.
Unfortunately, Glinda was home.
Elphaba barely stepped inside before Glinda took one look at her and frowned.
"What happened to you?"
"Nothing," Elphaba muttered, kicking off her shoes and heading straight for her room.
Glinda wasn’t having it. "Oh, no. You don’t get to stomp in here looking like you fought a war and then act like everything’s fine."
Elphaba froze in the doorway of her room, shoulders stiff. "I don’t want to talk about it."
"That’s unfortunate," Glinda said breezily, arms crossed. "Because I do."
Elphaba let out a long, slow exhale, tilting her head back in frustration before turning around. "Glinda—"
Glinda sighed and gestured toward the couch. "Come sit down, Elphie. I’m not about to have this conversation while you hover in the doorway like some brooding literary figure."
Elphaba rolled her eyes but, against her better judgment, crossed the room and sat on the farthest end of the couch. Glinda curled up on the opposite side, tucking her legs beneath her.
"You always do this," Glinda said, watching her carefully. "You bottle everything up, and then you act like you don’t care, but you do, and it’s exhausting watching you pretend otherwise."
Elphaba clenched her jaw. "Why do you care?"
Glinda faltered for half a second. Then: "Because whether you like it or not, I do."
That knocked the air out of Elphaba’s lungs more than she cared to admit.
She could have brushed it off. Could have made a sharp remark and ended the conversation. But something about the way Glinda was looking at her—expectant, challenging, and maybe a little worried—made her pause.
And before she could think better of it, she muttered, "Nessa brought up Sarima."
Glinda blinked. "Sarima?"
Elphaba ran a hand down her face. "Someone I knew when I was younger."
Glinda’s head tilted slightly, intrigued. "And?"
Elphaba hesitated, but something about the quiet, nonjudgmental way Glinda was waiting pulled the truth from her.
"She was the first person I ever had feelings for. And I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but…" She swallowed hard. "I do now."
Glinda’s lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her features. Then, slowly, understanding dawned. A realization settled over her, not with shock, but with something softer—something like relief. "Elphie…"
Elphaba scoffed, shaking her head. "It’s stupid. It was years ago."
"It’s not stupid," Glinda said quickly, her voice softer now. "It matters."
Elphaba exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "It shouldn’t."
"But it does." Glinda shifted slightly, angling herself toward Elphaba on the couch, hesitant but firm. "And that’s okay."
Elphaba stared at her, feeling too exposed, too raw. But for once, Glinda wasn’t mocking her. Wasn’t using this as ammunition. She just… listened.
And Elphaba wasn’t sure what to do with that.
"You’re impossible," Elphaba muttered, but there was no real bite to it as she looked away.
Glinda smiled, small and knowing. "So I’ve been told."
A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating.
Elphaba sighed, finally relenting. "I’m fine. Just… tired."
Glinda didn’t believe her for a second. But for once, she let it go.
Elphaba hesitated for a moment, her fingers curling against the fabric of the couch. She opened her mouth as if to say something—maybe a thank you, maybe a deflection—but in the end, all she managed was a quiet nod. It was small, but it was something.
Glinda, perceptive as ever, caught it. Her expression softened, and for the briefest second, she reached out, her fingers just barely brushing against Elphaba’s wrist before pulling away as if she’d thought better of it.
"Alright," she said softly. "Get some rest, Elphie."
Elphaba didn’t correct her about the nickname. And that, more than anything, said enough.
She disappeared into her room, and for the first time in a long time, the weight on her chest felt just a little bit lighter.
-
Elphaba didn’t go to bed right away.
Instead, she found herself in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, watching as her kettle slowly heated. The rhythmic tick of the burner was soothing, grounding in a way her thoughts refused to be. The day had been too much—too many old wounds reopened, too many things she hadn’t wanted to think about. She needed quiet, something to make sense of the way her mind still raced.
Footsteps padded softly behind her, and she already knew who it was before Glinda’s voice broke the silence.
"You’re making tea at—" Glinda squinted at the clock, "—one in the morning?"
Elphaba sighed but didn’t turn around. "And?"
Glinda hesitated for a second before slipping onto one of the kitchen stools. "And… nothing. Just seems very you."
A beat of silence stretched between them before Glinda added, "Make me some?"
Elphaba finally turned, raising a skeptical brow. "I’m making it my way, I thought you only drank expensive herbal blends."
Glinda shrugged. "I do, but I also like watching you make it. You always look so serious about it."
Elphaba rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She set out another mug, measuring the leaves with methodical precision.
"You didn’t go to bed either," Elphaba noted.
Glinda sighed, propping her chin in her hand. "Too much thinking."
"Same."
A small, quiet understanding passed between them.
Elphaba poured the tea and slid a cup across the counter. Glinda took it, wrapping her hands around the warmth, watching steam curl into the air.
"So," Glinda mused after a moment, "Sarima."
Elphaba groaned softly, tipping her head back. "Seriously?"
"What?" Glinda smirked. "You can’t just drop that and expect me not to be curious."
Elphaba narrowed her eyes. "You really don’t know how to let things go."
"Nope."
Elphaba huffed, taking a sip of her tea. "There’s not much more to say. She was just… the first person I felt that way about. And I didn’t get it at the time."
Glinda studied her for a moment, twisting the mug slowly in her hands. "And now you do."
Elphaba swallowed. "Yeah."
Glinda nodded, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she looked away. A pause. Then she asked, almost too casually, "Do you ever wonder if people assume things about you before you even realize them yourself?"
Elphaba stilled slightly. "What do you mean?"
Glinda’s fingers tapped against the ceramic. "I just mean—like, what if someone else knew something about you before you did? Would that bother you?"
Elphaba thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "I think people see what they want to see. That doesn’t make them right."
Glinda hummed, like she was weighing those words carefully. Then she shook her head slightly, snapping herself out of whatever spiral she’d been falling into.
"Well," she said lightly, "if nothing else, at least you have good taste. Sarima was beautiful."
Elphaba blinked, caught off guard by the statement. "How do you even know what she looked like?"
Glinda grinned knowingly before sipping her tea. "I remember Boq used to have the biggest crush on her, remember? He never shut up about her. I think he even showed me a picture once—she was beautiful. You and Boq actually agreeing on something? Shocking."
Elphaba scowled, but her ears burned.
They sat in silence for a while after that, tea cooling between them, something fragile but unspoken settling in the space between them.
Eventually, Glinda let out a soft yawn, stretching her arms above her head. "I should probably try and get some sleep."
Elphaba nodded. "Yeah."
Glinda slid off the stool, hesitating for just a second before she reached out and squeezed Elphaba’s arm.
"Goodnight, Elphie."
Elphaba exhaled slowly and shook herself head. "Goodnight, Glinda."
Glinda padded back to her room, shutting the door softly behind her.
Elphaba stayed at the counter a little longer, fingers curled around her mug, staring at the place where Glinda had just been.
-
Glinda flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, her heart annoyingly restless.
Everything about tonight had been—
She didn’t even know what. Too much. Not enough.
With a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand and scrolled through her messages until she found Fiyero’s name.
She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, before she typed out a message.
Glinda: You up?
It didn’t take long before the typing bubble appeared.
Fiyero: Of course. What’s up, darling?
She chewed her lip. What was up?
She could call him. She could invite him over. She could do something, anything, to remind herself that she wasn’tspending all her time thinking about her roommate.
Glinda: Just couldn’t sleep.
Fiyero’s response came instantly.
Fiyero: Want me to come over? I could help tire you out 😉
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. Of course he’d say that.
She hesitated again, then slowly typed:
Glinda: Not tonight. Just wanted to talk.
There was a pause before Fiyero responded again, his usual flirtation tempered just slightly.
Fiyero: Something on your mind?
Glinda stared at the screen, debating how much to say. She wasn’t sure she had the words for it—wasn’t sure she wanted them. Because what would she even say?
Hey, Yero, I think I might be having a sexuality crisis because I can’t stop staring at my roommate’s stupid green face?
Yeah. No.
Instead, she sighed and typed:
Glinda: Just needed a distraction.
Fiyero didn’t push. He never did.
Fiyero: Well, darling, I am always happy to be your distraction.
She smiled softly.
Glinda: I know.
She set her phone down, rolling onto her side, her mind still spinning.
She was trying so hard to make sense of it all. Of what she was feeling. Of what it meant.
But tonight? She wasn’t ready to find out.
She shut her eyes and tried to sleep.