Inconveniently Yours

Glinda had always been good at controlling a room. At shaping conversations, setting the tone, making sure things went the way they were supposed to. She had spent years perfecting the art of social navigation, of keeping things light and charming and effortless.

But tonight, alone in her room, she couldn’t control her own thoughts.

She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling restless in a way that wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—but had never felt quite like this before.

Elphaba had given her an out.

She had understood. Had looked at her—not with hurt or resentment, not with bitterness—but with patience. With understanding.

And Glinda didn’t know what to do with that.

She had spent so long hiding behind expectations, behind perfectly rehearsed smiles and perfectly chosen words, that she had no idea how to be seen without all of it.

She turned over, pressing her face into her pillow, as if she could smother the thoughts threatening to consume her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be able to brush it off, to move forward, to laugh and pretend nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

And the worst part?

She had felt this before.

A memory bubbled up, uninvited, unwelcome.

Milla.

Glinda had almost convinced herself that she had imagined it. That it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been a silly crush, a fleeting admiration, a thing that never needed to be acknowledged, much less examined.

She had been fifteen, and Milla had been in the marching band, and Glinda had never been more fascinated by anyone in her entire life.

She had watched her twirl her flute between her fingers effortlessly, had listened to her laugh too loud at her own jokes, had found herself gravitating toward her at lunch, at practice, at parties.

She had told herself it was envy.

Milla was confident, unapologetic, effortlessly cool in a way Glinda had never quite managed to be.

But envy didn’t make your stomach twist when someone smiled at you.

It didn’t make your heart race when they stood too close.

It didn’t make you dizzy when they said your name.

Glinda had buried it deep. Had thrown herself into dating Avaric at the time, had leaned into boys and parties and everything she was supposed to want.

And it had worked.

Mostly.

Until one stupid night at a stupid party, when she had been tipsy and reckless and tired of pretending, and Milla had pulled her aside and said, You know, if you ever wanted to, I wouldn’t mind.

And Glinda had felt the air leave her lungs.

She had laughed. A short, sharp, wrong kind of laugh. Had brushed it off, made a joke, excused herself.

And the next day at school, she had acted like it had never happened.

She hadn’t spoken to Milla again.

And Pfannee and Shenshen had noticed.

They had asked why she was avoiding her, and Glinda had shrugged it off, rolled her eyes, said something cutting and cruel.

And that had been that.

Milla had left her alone after that.

And Glinda had told herself she was relieved.

But now, in the quiet of her dorm room, she realized how familiar this all felt.

She had done it again.

Brushed it off. Laughed. Pretended. Let someone who saw her believe they had imagined it.

Elphaba hadn’t been mad at her.

But maybe she should have been.

Because Glinda had taken something small and fragile and unspoken and pretended it had never been there at all.

And she hated how easy it was for her to do that.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t ready for this.

But maybe… maybe she wanted to be.

Maybe she was tired of pretending.

Maybe she was tired of hiding from herself.

She exhaled slowly, rolling onto her back again, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t have to know all the answers yet.

But for the first time in her life, she wanted to start asking the right questions.

-

For the first time in weeks, Glinda woke up without feeling like she was holding her breath.

The morning was quiet, soft, the early light filtering in through the window as she blinked away the last remnants of sleep. Her thoughts weren’t racing the way they had been the night before—there was no urgent panic, no overwhelming need to shove things down or push them away.

She didn’t have all the answers.

But maybe she didn’t need them yet.

She stretched lazily before rolling out of bed, going through the motions of her morning routine without the usual tightness in her chest.

By the time she made it to the common area, Elphaba was already there, sitting at the table, scribbling something in a notebook. She looked up briefly when Glinda walked in, her sharp green eyes scanning over her as if checking for something.

Glinda smiled.

A real one. Easy. Unforced.

“Morning,” she said, grabbing her tea from the counter.

Elphaba lifted a brow, like she was trying to figure something out. “…Morning.”

Glinda felt the way her stomach flipped slightly at the way Elphaba was looking at her—but, for once, she didn’t try to shove the feeling away.

She sat across from her, sipping her tea, watching as Elphaba flipped through her notes. “What class?”

“Ethics,” Elphaba muttered, scowling slightly at the textbook beside her. “It’s a wonder Morrible even manages to find ways to make a subject like morality somehow seem unethical.”

Glinda huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “She does have a talent for that.”

Something warm and easy settled between them.

Maybe it wasn’t so complicated after all.

-

Class was… surprisingly nice.

Glinda found herself less restless, less on edge, more present.

She sat with Boq and Fiyero in Dr. Dillamond’s lecture, actually paying attention instead of just pretending to take notes.

She let herself laugh at Crope and Tibbett’s antics in the library.

She let herself breathe.

And it felt good.

At lunch, she sat with the boys, listening more than talking for once.

Fiyero nudged her with his elbow, giving her a knowing look. “You’re weirdly quiet today. That’s either a good thing or a concerning thing.”

Glinda rolled her eyes, but it lacked the usual bite. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to complain about today.”

Boq blinked. “You? With nothing to complain about?”

Tibbett gasped dramatically. “She’s sick. Someone check her temperature.”

Crope leaned in, studying her. “Or she’s secretly plotting something. That seems more likely.”

Glinda just smiled into her drink.

It was nice, she realized, to just let herself exist. To not feel like she had to be performing all the time.

To not feel like she had to be one thing or the other.

Maybe she wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe she was still figuring it out.

But today?

Today, she just let herself be.

And that was enough.

-

It had been Crope’s idea, obviously.

“Well, we can’t just study all the time,” he had declared dramatically, draping himself over one of the library chairs. “We need balance in our lives. We need art. We need culture. We need to force Elphaba to watch a movie that wasn’t made before the invention of color television.”

Elphaba had rolled her eyes. “I have seen modern films.”

“Oh? Name one.”

Elphaba had opened her mouth, paused for too long, and Crope had clapped his hands together victoriously. “My point exactly. Movie night, our dorm, non-negotiable.”

And somehow, that’s how they had all ended up squished together in the common area of Crope and Tibbett’s dorm, balancing takeout containers on their knees while Crope and Tibbett debated which film would be both tolerable for Elphaba and enjoyable for everyone else.

“Nothing too romantic,” Boq had chimed in. “Or she’ll literally set herself on fire.”

“I would not,” Elphaba muttered.

Glinda smirked into her drink. “Wouldn’t you?”

Elphaba pointedly ignored her.

-

By the time they actually started the movie, the seating arrangement had turned into a disaster.

Crope and Tibbett had taken the floor, sprawled out with pillows and blankets like they were making a sleepover out of it.

Boq had taken the armchair, Fiyero had stretched himself across half the couch, and somehow that had left Glinda and Elphaba sharing the other half.

Glinda had barely thought about it—had just curled up into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, leaning against the armrest.

Elphaba, on the other hand, had stiffened the moment they ended up shoulder to shoulder.

Glinda noticed.

And Glinda took advantage of it.

She didn’t move away. Didn’t shift to make more space. Didn’t acknowledge how very aware she was of the tension sitting between them.

If Elphaba wanted to make a fuss, she could.

She didn’t.

The movie played on, and at some point, the inevitable happened.

Glinda’s body betrayed her.

It had been a long day, and the warmth of the room, the low hum of background noise, the sheer comfort of being surrounded by people she actually enjoyed had made it too easy to let her guard down.

Her eyes had grown heavy, her muscles had relaxed, and at some point—

She had fallen asleep.

Elphaba noticed immediately.

One second, Glinda had been smirking at something Crope had said, and the next—

She had tilted slightly, head dipping forward before she caught herself, blinking heavily.

Elphaba had thought she’d straighten up.

Instead, she had shifted, turning toward Elphaba ever so slightly, head dropping against her shoulder.

Elphaba went rigid.

It wasn’t that she minded—it wasn’t even that unexpected. Glinda was the kind of person who draped herself over people easily, who curled into soft spaces, who had probably been doing this her entire life.

It was nothing.

And yet—

Elphaba was frozen.

Because Glinda was warm.

Because Glinda smelled like expensive perfume and something inherently her.

Because Glinda had never done this to her before.

She could feel every breath Glinda took, slow and steady against her shoulder. She could feel the weight of her, the way she fit into her side like it was something natural.

She should move. She should definitely move.

But Glinda sighed softly in her sleep, and Elphaba didn’t.

She just sat there, unmoving, while the screen flickered and the boys murmured quietly in the background.

-

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

At some point, Fiyero had moved from the couch, probably to get a drink or stretch his legs.

At some point, Boq had gotten up, complaining about the movie choice and launching into a monologue about how they should’ve picked something actually interesting.

At some point, Crope had started half-heartedly shushing him, and Tibbett had tried to push an entire pillow into his face.

And at some point—

Glinda had stirred.

Elphaba barely had time to register the shift before Glinda let out a quiet, sleepy hum and burrowed further into her.

Elphaba held her breath.

Glinda nuzzled into her shoulder.

Elphaba felt every nerve in her body scream.

And then—

Glinda mumbled something.

Something quiet, something unintelligible, something Elphaba might have ignored—

Except it sounded a hell of a lot like her name.

Elphaba felt her pulse slam into her throat.

She turned, just slightly, and—

Glinda’s face was so close.

Close enough that Elphaba could count every fair eyelash, close enough that she could see the way her lips were slightly parted, soft and relaxed and right there.

The movie didn’t exist anymore. The rest of the room didn’t exist anymore.

Elphaba was very aware that this was a stupid idea.

But Glinda was right there.

And Elphaba was weak.

She barely moved.

Barely shifted forward, barely let her nose brush against Glinda’s, barely even let herself breathe

And yet—

Glinda’s eyes fluttered open.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

Neither moved. Neither spoke. Neither breathed.

And then—

Someone snorted.

Elphaba snapped back to reality.

Crope and Tibbett were cackling about something ridiculous. Boq was still ranting about the movie.

Glinda was blinking up at her, still half-asleep, still warm, still close.

And Elphaba—

Elphaba forced herself to look away.

She shifted slightly, clearing her throat. “You, um—fell asleep.”

Glinda made a small, content noise, stretching slightly but not moving away.

“Comfy,” she murmured sleepily, settling against her again.

Elphaba squeezed her eyes shut.

She was not surviving this night.

-

Elphaba had barely survived the night.

She had spent the entire movie stiff as a board, pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of the warm, soft weight of Glinda resting against her, pretending she hadn’t felt the brush of her breath, the slight shift of her head, the way her nose had almost grazed Elphaba’s.

It had been a disaster. A slow, torturous, heart-pounding disaster.

And now, it was morning.

And Crope and Tibbett were not letting it go.

-

They had barely made it to breakfast before the interrogation began.

“So,” Crope said, stirring his coffee with entirely too much enthusiasm. “How was everyone’s night?”

Tibbett smirked. “Particularly those of us who found themselves in… compromising positions.”

Elphaba glared. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Crope cooed, grinning. “You and Glinda looked so cozy.”

“Did we?” Glinda asked far too innocently, lifting her cup to her lips.

Elphaba gritted her teeth.

Crope and Tibbett exchanged a look—a look that promised nothing but chaos.

“Oh, you definitely did,” Tibbett said. “I mean, the way you just melted into Elphaba, it was so—”

“Adorable,” Crope finished. “Like a little lovesick kitten.”

Elphaba nearly choked on her tea.

Glinda hummed, setting her cup down. “Well,” she said, all faux nonchalance, “I was very comfortable.”

Elphaba shot her a look. Betrayal.

Crope clapped his hands together. “See? She admits it! That’s practically a confession!”

“Of what?” Elphaba demanded.

Crope shrugged dramatically. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you two are absolutely, painfully, insufferably into each other?”

Elphaba went deep green.

Glinda just smiled into her drink.

“I hate both of you,” Elphaba muttered, stabbing at her toast with unnecessary force.

Tibbett sighed dreamily. “Oh, our darling Elphie, if only that were true.”

Crope leaned in, grinning deviously. “So, tell me, Elphie—did she say your name in her sleep, or were we just imagining things?”

Elphaba froze.

Glinda nearly spit out her drink.

Silence.

And then—

Crope and Tibbett absolutely lost it.

Elphaba stood up so fast she nearly knocked her chair over. “This has been fun,” she said through gritted teeth, “but I have to go die somewhere.”

She stormed off.

Glinda was pink, flustered, half laughing, half covering her face.

Crope beamed. “Oz, I love being right.”

Tibbett sighed, blissful. “We should torment them more often.”

Glinda, still embarrassed but smiling, exhaled and picked up her fork. She was so screwed.

-

Glinda had been in a good mood.

Truly, she had been. The morning had started easily enough, her thoughts still lingering on the warmth of Elphaba’s shoulder from the night before, still half-smiling at the way Crope and Tibbett had so gleefully embarrassed them at breakfast.

It had been a good morning.

And then—

Pfannee and Shenshen had ruined it.

Glinda should have known better than to engage, should have just smiled and kept walking, but the moment she had run into them between classes, it had been inevitable.

The conversation had started casually enough—Shenshen complimenting her outfit, Pfannee bragging about some party Avaric was throwing—but it had shifted quickly.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with those weirdos lately,” Pfannee had noted, eyeing her critically. “Is that, like… a phase, or should we be worried?”

Shenshen had giggled. “You’ve really changed lately, Glinda. It’s almost like you’re... reinventing yourself.”

Glinda had laughed, forced and bright, because that was what she always did.

But something had curdled in her stomach.

She had made some offhand excuse about how of course she still had time for them, had made some joke about how she was just keeping things interesting, and had excused herself before she had to examine the feeling too closely.

By the time she had made it back to the dorm, her hands were clenched, her shoulders tense, and her entire body felt tight with something she couldn’t name.

She closed the door harder than necessary.

And Elphaba, from her spot on the couch, immediately noticed.

Glinda wasn’t usually subtle with her moods—she was sunshine when she was happy, radiant and untouchable, and she was cutting when she was angry, sharp and impossible to ignore.

But this was neither.

This was quiet.

Elphaba set down her book. “What happened?”

Glinda exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Nothing.”

Elphaba tilted her head, searching Glinda's face. “Liar.”

Glinda huffed. “It’s not important.”

Elphaba considered her for a long moment before standing up. She crossed the room slowly, stopping just a few steps away.

Glinda wasn’t looking at her.

Elphaba nudged her chin up gently. “Talk to me.”

Glinda let out a small, humorless laugh. “I had an interaction with Pfannee and Shenshen. It was fine.”

Elphaba’s expression flattened. “Oh, I’m sure it was delightful.”

Glinda rolled her eyes, but it lacked its usual bite.

Elphaba was watching her carefully now, taking in the tightness around her mouth, the way she was holding herself like she was bracing for something.

And before Glinda could think of something clever to deflect, Elphaba reached for her.

She hesitated—just for a second, just long enough for Glinda to push her away if she wanted to.

Glinda didn’t.

So Elphaba pulled her in.

It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t desperate or overwhelming—it was steady, solid, warm.

Glinda let out a shaky breath, burying her face against Elphaba’s shoulder before she could think too hard about it.

Elphaba didn’t say anything, didn’t push, didn’t ask for more than Glinda was willing to give.

She just held her.

After a moment, Elphaba’s fingers skimmed over Glinda’s cheek, smoothing out the tight, frustrated furrow between her brows with the pad of her thumb.

Glinda sighed, tension easing just slightly under the careful touch.

And Glinda—

Glinda let herself be held.

Just for a little while.