Hot? Mostly Bothered
Glinda barely slept.
She tossed, turned, flipped her pillow over at least a dozen times, and nothing helped. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw green skin, sharp eyes, and that insufferable smirk. Heard Elphaba’s voice, low and teasing—
You want me to kiss you, don’t you?
Glinda groaned into her pillow, pressing her fists against her burning cheeks. She’s impossible. She’s infuriating. She’s—
She was right.
And that was the worst part.
She shoved her blankets away, sitting up, her heart still racing. This is fine. This is fixable. She could push it away, pretend tonight never happened. That’s what she did best, wasn’t it?
And yet—
Her lips still tingled from where Elphaba hadn’t kissed her.
She needed to get a grip.
-
Elphaba wasn’t doing much better.
She stared at the ceiling, arms crossed behind her head, scowling at absolutely nothing.
She hadn’t expected Glinda to react like that.
She had expected more teasing, maybe some snarky comeback. But instead, Glinda had fled—storming off with wide eyes and a look that had been way too raw.
And now Elphaba couldn’t stop replaying it in her head.
She sighed, shifting onto her side, glaring at the wall. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be affected.
But she was.
More than she’d ever admit.
-
Glinda woke up miserable.
Her head was pounding, her mouth was dry, and worst of all—she had to face Elphaba.
She dragged herself out of bed, throwing on the first sweater she could find, barely running a brush through her hair before stumbling out into the common area.
And there she was.
Elphaba, already awake, already dressed, sitting at the counter with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, looking utterly unbothered.
Glinda hated her.
She took a breath, smoothing her hair back, trying—desperately—to act normal. Casual. Unaffected.
"Morning," she muttered, heading straight for the coffee maker, refusing to look at her.
Elphaba didn’t respond at first. She let the silence drag just long enough for it to feel intentional.
Then, softly—"You ran."
Glinda’s hand froze on the coffee pot.
She forced a laugh, tight and forced. "I left."
Elphaba turned a page in her book. "You ran."
Glinda’s chest tightened.
She exhaled through her nose, pouring her coffee, gripping the mug tighter than necessary. "I didn’t run. I decided the conversation was over."
Elphaba hummed. "Interesting. Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were terrified. And now you're having a meltdown because you got a taste of your own medicine."
Glinda snapped.
"Oh, and what, you’re not terrified?!"
Elphaba blinked, surprised at the sudden bite in her voice.
Glinda turned then, finally looking at her, eyes sharp with frustration. "You’re acting like you’re completely unbothered by last night. Like none of it meant anything. But you’re sitting here, bringing it up first thing in the morning, so tell me, Elphaba—who’s really the one running?"
Elphaba’s jaw tightened.
A slow beat passed before she spoke, her voice quieter, but sharp.
"You are."
Glinda scoffed, shaking her head. "That’s rich."
Elphaba set her book down, eyes dark and unreadable. "If I wanted to run, I wouldn’t be here. I’d pretend it never happened—like you’re trying to do right now."
Glinda’s pulse pounded in her ears. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She had always been in control, always the one to tease, to keep things light and flirty without it ever meaning anything. But last night had felt different. Elphaba had turned it around on her—had given her just enough to make her want more, only to leave her stranded with that awful, breathless feeling. It had been a game until it suddenly wasn’t. And that terrified her more than anything.
She wanted to argue. Wanted to say something.
But she couldn’t.
Because Elphaba was right.
And she hated that more than anything.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, too many things unsaid between them.
Elphaba exhaled through her nose, shaking her head, reaching for her book again. "Forget it."
Something in Glinda cracked.
Her fingers twitched against her mug. "No."
Elphaba paused. "No?"
Glinda swallowed hard, pulse racing. "You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say something like that and then brush it off like it’s nothing."
Elphaba’s grip tightened around her mug. "What do you want me to say, Glinda?"
Glinda hesitated.
She didn’t know.
And that terrified her.
Her mouth opened—then closed. Her fingers curled against the counter, throat tight with frustration.
Elphaba sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."
And just like last night—
Glinda walked away.
Only this time, it wasn’t because she wanted to.
It was because she didn’t know how to stay.