Inconveniently Yours

The second the dorm door clicked shut behind Elphaba, Crope flung himself dramatically across the couch, kicking his legs like a schoolgirl in a gossip frenzy.

“Okay,” he declared, waving his hands. “Someone needs to start talking, because what the actual hell just happened?”

Boq, still looking a little pale, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I don’t know—”

“Oh, shut up,” Fiyero interrupted, shooting a look at Glinda. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Glinda, who was still sipping her drink like nothing had happened, just arched a brow. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

Crope shrieked. “YOU’RE EVIL.”

“I prefer charming,” Glinda said smoothly.

Boq blinked at her, still baffled. “So you have kissed Elphaba before?”

Glinda shrugged, far too nonchalant. “A few times. Games. Parties. You know how it is.”

“No. I do not know how it is,” Boq said, sounding genuinely distressed. “Because how is that not a bigger deal?!”

Fiyero leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Because the first time wasn’t just a game, was it?”

The room fell silent.

Glinda felt her stomach drop. “What are you talking about?”

Fiyero didn’t blink. “The first time you kissed her, back in middle school. It wasn’t just some game, was it?”

Glinda exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “It was a game, Fiyero.”

“But what happened after wasn’t.” His voice was calm, even. Knowing.

Boq, suddenly piecing things together, turned to Glinda, horror creeping into his expression. “Wait—hold on. Are you saying…” He trailed off, looking back at the door Elphaba had just left through. “Is that why—”

Crope gasped, eyes wide. “Glinda, please tell me you’re not saying that this whole thing started because of you?”

Glinda’s fingers curled into her sleeves. She forced a laugh, light, dismissive. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t just me.”

Boq looked physically ill. “Glinda—Elphaba was bullied for four years straight. You know that.”

Glinda’s chest tightened, but she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tell people to bully her.”

“But you did,” Fiyero said, voice quiet but firm. “You made sure she stayed beneath you. You made sure people laughed at her, Glinda. Don’t act like you don’t remember.”

Glinda’s stomach twisted painfully. She did remember. She remembered the taunts, the pointed remarks, the times she had deliberately ensured Elphaba was excluded. She had been cruel because she needed to be. Because she had wanted to bury the shame she didn’t want to name.

She had kissed Elphaba first. And when it felt like something, when it terrified her, she had done the only thing she knew how to do—

She made Elphaba the problem. She made sure everyone knew that Elphaba was the weird one, the wrong one, the one to laugh at.

And Elphaba had taken it. Every cutting remark, every cruel nickname, every time Glinda smiled and let people believe the worst about her.

Fiyero exhaled, rubbing his hands down his face. “You should check on her.”

Glinda froze.

“I—” Glinda started, hesitating for the first time all night.

Crope waved her toward the door. “Just go, you menace.”

Glinda scoffed, tossing her hair, but after a long moment, she stood up anyway.

She left the boys behind, pretending she wasn’t making a mistake.

-

Elphaba’s room was dark, the only light a soft glow from her bedside lamp.

Glinda hesitated for half a second before quietly knocking.

Silence.

Then, a long-suffering sigh. “What do you want, Glinda?”

Glinda slipped inside, closing the door gently. “Are you okay?”

Elphaba, who was sitting at her desk, rubbing at her temples, snorted. “What do you think?”

Glinda hesitated again. “I think…” she bit her lip, then softened. “I think I might have gone too far.”

Elphaba finally looked at her, expression unreadable. “Oh? Is that so?”

Glinda swallowed, then, impulsively, reached out, grazing her fingers against Elphaba’s wrist.

Elphaba froze.

“I wasn’t trying to be cruel,” Glinda said softly. “I just… I don’t know.”

Elphaba sighed. “You never do.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they weren’t kind either.

Glinda didn’t move away.

Instead, she murmured, “I can leave.”

Elphaba stared at her for a long, stretched moment—then, subtly, exhaled. “You’re already here.”

Glinda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

For a few moments, they just stood there, something heavy settling between them.

Then, quieter than before, Glinda whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Elphaba looked down at their barely-touching hands, then back at Glinda. And finally—

She nodded.

Glinda, inexplicably, felt her chest ache.

-

Elphaba was doing everything in her power to pretend nothing was wrong.

She had thrown herself into her schoolwork, spending extra hours in the library, going over material she already understood just to keep her mind busy. She had pushed herself to go for a run, running until her legs burned and her lungs ached. She had ignored the knowing looks from her friends, the way Crope and Tibbett whispered behind their hands, the way Boq kept hovering like he wanted to say something but was too scared to actually do it.

She had thought she was doing a pretty good job of keeping it together.

Then, they ambushed her.

“Elphie, darling, we need to talk,” Crope announced, sliding into the seat across from her in the library like this was some kind of formal intervention.

“I’m studying,” Elphaba said flatly, not even looking up from her book.

“Liar,” Tibbett chirped, plopping into the chair beside Crope.

Boq, looking hesitant but determined, sat on her other side. “We’re worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Fiyero added, casually appearing beside Boq, arms crossed. “It’s honestly concerning how bad you are at it.”

Elphaba exhaled sharply, snapping her book shut. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, ridiculous is you pretending like that little game last night didn’t break your brain,” Crope said, resting his chin in his hands, watching her with way too much amusement.

Tibbett tilted his head. “Are we sure she even has a brain left? Because I think it melted when Glinda said that wasn’t their first kiss.”

Boq rubbed his temples. “Can we not—”

“Oh, come on,” Crope interrupted, exasperated. “She was feral. I have never seen someone look more like they wanted to both fight and kiss someone at the same time.”

Fiyero, still watching Elphaba closely, sighed. “You know this isn’t just about last night.”

Elphaba went rigid.

For a second, no one spoke.

Then, her voice low, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Boq murmured.

Elphaba clenched her jaw, looking away.

Crope, of course, was incapable of not making things dramatic. “Ugh, this is so tragic.” He gripped Tibbett’s sleeve. “Unrequited love. Betrayal. A slow descent into madness—”

“Oh, shut up,” Elphaba snapped, but her voice wavered.

Fiyero, dropping the teasing completely, leaned forward. “Elphaba.”

She didn’t look at him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued, voice softer than before. “But we know. We see it.”

Elphaba’s throat felt tight. “See what?”

Boq, quiet but firm, said, “That you loved her, and she ruined you for it.”

Elphaba felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

No one spoke after that. The silence stretched, heavy, suffocating. She could feel all of their eyes on her, waiting, watching.

She swallowed, staring down at her book. Her fingers were trembling where they rested on the cover.

Finally—barely above a whisper—she admitted, “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

No one teased her. No one mocked her.

Crope, for once, was silent.

Tibbett just reached over and squeezed her arm.

Boq nodded, like he had already known.

Fiyero, voice steady, simply said, “Then maybe it’s time she earns that love back.”

Elphaba didn’t answer.

She didn’t know if she could.

-

Glinda could feel it. Something had changed.

Maybe it was the way Fiyero kept looking at her like he knew something she didn’t. Maybe it was the way Crope and Tibbett had suddenly become insufferably smug, whispering amongst themselves whenever she walked into a room. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time since they had started this mess, Elphaba was actively avoiding her.

Before, Elphaba had always been there—hovering, snapping back, engaging in their ridiculous game of push and pull. But now? Now it was different.

Elphaba wasn’t fighting, she wasn’t ignoring, or avoiding.

She was running.

And Glinda hated it.

-

The first time she tried to talk to her, it was at breakfast. She had casually sat next to her, as if nothing had happened, as if Elphaba hadn’t looked at her like she wanted to disappear the night before.

Elphaba had stood up before she could even say a word.

The second time, she sought her out after class—waited by the library doors, knowing it was the only place she could corner her. But Elphaba had taken one look at her and turned around before Glinda could so much as open her mouth.

By the third time, Glinda was fuming.

Fiyero watched, unimpressed, as she slammed her books onto the counter, glowering.

“She’s running from me,” Glinda snapped, arms crossed, chest tight.

Fiyero sighed, leaning against the counter with a knowing look. “What exactly did you think was going to happen?”

Glinda narrowed her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Fiyero tilted his head. “I mean, you have been messing with her head for weeks. And now that she finally broke, you expect her to just—what? Keep playing?”

Glinda’s throat tightened. “I wasn’t messing with her.”

Fiyero’s look said really?

Glinda pressed her lips together. Fine. Maybe she had been pushing a little. Maybe she had been testing the limits of what she could get away with. But Elphaba had always pushed back.

Until now.

“She won’t even look at me,” Glinda muttered, sinking onto the couch, arms still crossed tight. “She always looks at me.”

Fiyero sighed, walking over and nudging her knee with his. “Have you considered that maybe she’s hurt?”

Glinda flinched.

Because, no. She hadn’t considered that. Not really. Not until now.

And now that she had… it felt awful.

For weeks, this had been a game—a thrilling, dizzying dance between them, full of taunts and tension and moments that felt like holding a lit match between her fingers.

But this wasn’t a game anymore.

Not for Elphaba.

Glinda swallowed, her voice quieter than before. “What do I do?”

Fiyero gave her a small, knowing smirk. “Oh, my love. You chase her.”

-

Glinda found Elphaba exactly where she should have known she would be—

At the track.

It was nearly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the field. Elphaba was alone, stretching against the bleachers, her hair pulled up, her expression set into something stern and impenetrable.

Glinda hesitated for only a second before she marched straight toward her.

“Elphaba.”

Elphaba visibly stiffened.

For a moment, it looked like she was going to bolt, but then she sighed sharply, straightening, keeping her gaze trained anywhere but at Glinda.

“I’m busy.”

“I don’t care,” Glinda shot back. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

Elphaba let out a flat laugh, shaking her head. “You’re imagining things.”

Glinda scoffed. “Oh, please. You ran away from me. Twice.”

Elphaba finally looked at her then, her gaze sharp and tired all at once. “Maybe take the hint, Glinda.”

Glinda’s chest ached.

She stepped forward, voice softer now. “Elphie—”

Elphaba’s jaw tightened immediately. “Don’t. Don’t call me that.”

Glinda faltered.

For a moment, she just stared at her, taking in the exhaustion, the tension radiating from Elphaba’s posture.

Glinda’s voice dipped to something quiet, something real. “Please just talk to me.”

Elphaba exhaled through her nose, looking away. “Why?”

Glinda frowned. “Because I—” She hesitated, swallowed past something heavy. “Because I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Elphaba’s shoulders stiffened. She stayed quiet for a long, stretched moment. Then, finally, she said, carefully, “That’s all we do, Glinda. We fight.”

Glinda’s heart twisted painfully. "I-,"

Elphaba let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to push and pull and then just—decide when it’s over.”

Glinda bit her lip, feeling something deep in her chest ache. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Elphaba stared at her, expression unreadable. Then, quietly, she asked, “Then what do you want?”

Glinda didn’t have an answer.

Not yet.

But she did know one thing:

She wasn’t going to let Elphaba run away from her anymore.