Inconveniently Yours

The library at Shiz had a peculiar hum to it.

Soft, but constant—whispers of pages turning, pencils scratching, the faint muttering of students memorizing formulas under their breath.

It was one of the few places Elphaba could breathe.

Which was why, in retrospect, it was a mistake to let Glinda join her here.

Glinda was, by every definition, a distraction.

And the problem was? She didn’t even mean to be.

She wasn’t playing the game right now—not like she had been during brunch.

No, this was worse.

Because she wasn’t trying to be subtle.

Which meant Elphaba could feel her.

The warmth of her thigh pressing absently against her own.

The way Glinda’s fingers traced absentminded shapes along the back of her hand whenever she stopped writing.

She wasn’t teasing her.

She was just touching her.

And the worst part? Elphaba let her.

Crope, Tibbett, and Fiyero were seated across from them, not even pretending to focus anymore.

Boq, on the other hand, was actually doing his work, occasionally throwing them a tired, pleading look—like he was begging them to stop making this his problem.

Tibbett leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

“Look at them. Just look at them.”

Crope nodded, crossing his arms. “It’s sickeningly domestic.”

Fiyero grinned. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

Boq groaned, dropping his pen. “Please, I am begging you all to shut up.”

Tibbett ignored him entirely, eyes locked on the way Glinda casually reached for Elphaba’s pencil, twirling it between her fingers.

He leaned closer, whispering in pure, horrified fascination:

“They’re not even aware they’re doing it anymore.”

Crope shook his head, gripping his own heart as if this revelation physically pained him.

Fiyero smirked. “How long do you think we can keep them thinking we're oblivious?”

Then, Nessarose Rolled In.

Elphaba felt her before she saw her.

That shift in the air. That tight pull in her chest she’d never been able to name.

Glinda must have noticed her body go rigid, because she finally glanced up from her textbook—

And froze.

“Oh.”

Nessarose sat just inside the entrance of the library, perfectly composed in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t scowling.

But she was watching.

And she was watching them.

Elphaba didn’t need to look at herself to know what Nessa was seeing.

Glinda, practically leaning against her, one hand resting lightly against her wrist.

From a distance? It was the kind of closeness that was unmistakable.

A moment passed.

Then—

“I need to speak with my sister.”

Nessarose never needed to yell.

Her voice was always calm, always steady, but there was a weight behind it—a weight that had been crushing Elphaba since childhood.

And right now? That weight was suffocating.

Elphaba had pushed her to a quieter corner of the library, where they wouldn’t be overheard, but Nessa hadn’t moved a muscle since she wheeled herself into place across from her.

She hadn’t accused her of anything yet.

That was worse.

“You’re getting reckless,” she said simply.

Elphaba clenched her jaw. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Nessarose blinked. “Yes, you do.”

A beat.

Elphaba looked away, staring down at her hands instead.

“You know what Father would say if he saw you like that,” Nessarose continued, voice just as level as before. “You know what the Book says.”

Elphaba’s nails dug into her palm.

She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

But Nessarose was never one to let silence end an argument.

“You can lie to everyone else, Elphaba,” she said softly. “But you can’t lie to me.”

Elphaba’s throat was tight.

She forced herself to look up.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Nessarose held her gaze.

She didn’t blink.

Her voice was gentle when she said it.

“You think I want to watch you burn?”

Elphaba went completely still.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

That was the thing that sat between them, unspoken.

It had always been there—the thing neither of them wanted to say aloud.

Nessa loved her.

But Nessa believed she was damned.

And Elphaba had never known what to do with that.

-

Glinda should have let it go.

She should have let Elphaba handle it.

But she didn’t.

Because the look on Elphaba’s face before she left was something she had never seen before.

So she followed.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the library was silent, and Nessarose’s words carried just enough.

And when she heard the way she said burn, something in her chest locked into place.

Because she had known—of course she had known.

Elphaba had never hidden it, not really.

But hearing it?

Hearing Nessarose say it like that?

She felt sick.

Because this wasn’t just about Elphaba keeping a secret.

This was about Elphaba’s entire life being a war.

And Glinda wasn’t prepared for how much she wanted to fight it for her.

-

Elphaba returned to the table like nothing had happened.

Like her sister hadn’t just condemned her to hell.

Like she hadn’t just sat across from the one person in this world who was supposed to love her unconditionally—only to be reminded, again, that some loves come with conditions after all.

She dropped into her seat, picked up her pencil, and turned a page in her textbook with clinical precision.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t flinch.

To anyone else, she was the picture of unaffected indifference.

To Glinda—who had heard everything—she was devastatingly quiet.

Nothing Had Changed—Except Everything Had.

The boys didn’t notice, maybe Boq did, but he didn't make it known.

They didn’t notice how still Elphaba’s hands were now, how her fingers weren’t tapping, weren’t adjusting her papers, weren’t moving at all.

They didn’t notice how her spine was a little straighter, her shoulders a little tenser.

They didn’t notice how the air around her felt different.

But Glinda noticed.

She had spent so much time watching her—too much time, probably—and she had seen Elphaba pretend before.

But never like this.

Never with this level of precision.

Like she had been preparing for this moment for her entire life.

Like she had already lost this battle a hundred times before.

Glinda watched her turn another page without reading a word.

She watched her grip her pencil too tightly.

And she knew.

Knew that if she said anything, if she asked even one question, it would break the illusion.

And Elphaba needed the illusion right now.

So, Glinda didn’t say anything, but she reached out, anyway.

Her fingers skimmed against the back of Elphaba’s hand, light as a whisper, barely there.

Much to her surprise Elphaba, without looking up, flipped her hand so their palms touched, lacing her fingers through Glinda's.

Elphaba didn’t move away.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

Didn’t react.

So Glinda tightened her grip—just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

Tibbett was still debating Crope over something meaningless.

Boq was painfully invested in his studies, probably praying for silence.

Fiyero was leaning back in his chair, feet propped up, amused by something that had nothing to do with them.

None of them saw it.

None of them noticed Glinda tracing small, slow patterns against the back of Elphaba’s hand with her thumb, something so casual, so natural, that even Glinda wasn’t entirely sure she was doing it on purpose.

Glinda watched her fingers twitch, just once.

Watched her exhale, slow and measured.

And that was all she needed.

Because Elphaba wasn’t fine.

And she knew Elphaba would never admit it.

But this—this, right here, this tiny, unnoticed moment between them—was an admission all its own.

Fiyero yawned, finally looking toward them. “You two have been freakishly quiet.”

Glinda smiled, all sweetness. “Maybe we’re just better at studying than you.”

Fiyero snorted. “Doubtful.”

Crope leaned forward, suspicious. “No bickering today?”

Elphaba finally spoke, voice dry. “I can start if you want.”

Tibbett narrowed his eyes. “Something is weird.”

Glinda hummed, tilting her head in faux innocence. “Oh, Tibbs. You always think something’s weird.”

Tibbett gestured between them, flustered. “Because it is! There’s a shift! I can feel it!”

Boq groaned, rubbing his temples. “Please let me study in peace.”

Glinda, still smiling, finally pulled her hand away from Elphaba’s.

Slow. Unrushed. Like nothing had happened at all.

Elphaba turned a page in her book.

Didn’t look at her.

Didn’t speak.

But Glinda saw the way her fingers flexed slightly, like they missed the contact already.

-

Glinda let them keep guessing.

Let them watch and speculate and come to the wrong conclusions.

Because the only truth that mattered was the one none of them would ever see.

The way Elphaba had let her touch her, even when she didn’t want to be touched.

The way she hadn’t flinched, hadn’t pulled away.

The way she had let Glinda hold her there, in that moment, just long enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

The way she had needed it.

And the way Glinda had needed to give it.