Letters
Glinda received the letter in the morning.
She didn’t open it right away.
She had recognized the handwriting immediately, neat and elegant, stamped with her family’s crest.
She had known exactly what it would say.
She’d been ignoring her parents calls and texts. So they sent a letter, it’s so like them.
She had slipped it into her bag and walked away.
And for the rest of the day, she had pretended she didn’t feel the weight of it.
The library was as loud as ever—not in sound, but in presence.
Pens scratched against paper, pages turned, students whispered in hushed voices, the occasional groan of frustration over an impossible assignment.
Tibbett and Crope had all but given up on subtlety, murmuring theories back and forth, watching Glinda and Elphaba far too closely.
Fiyero, for once, wasn’t egging them on. He was reading, lazy and disinterested, content that he already knew the answer and was simply waiting.
Boq, bless him, had his nose buried in a textbook, pretending they didn’t exist.
And Glinda?
Glinda was pretending she wasn’t staring at the sealed envelope sitting in front of her.
Elphaba Noticed.
She wasn’t supposed to.
She was supposed to be focused on studying for midterms, scribbling notes in the margins of her book, shoulders hunched over in that familiar way she did when she was actually interested in something.
But she wasn’t.
She hadn’t turned a page in at least five minutes.
Glinda knew because she had been counting.
Instead, Elphaba’s eyes kept flicking toward the letter.
Casual. Unassuming. Like she wasn’t actually looking.
But Glinda saw it.
She felt it.
The way Elphaba’s jaw tensed slightly whenever her gaze landed on it.
The way she would glance, then pointedly look away again.
She wasn’t going to ask about it.
Just like Glinda hadn’t asked about Nessarose.
And suddenly, Glinda understood.
Because this wasn’t something she wanted to talk about.
And neither had Elphaba.
So she let the silence hold.
Elphaba, apparently, did too.
But for the first time in a very long time, Glinda wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.
“You know what’s weird?” Tibbett said, voice conspiratorial and loud enough for Elphaba and Glinda to hear.
Boq sighed. “What now?”
Tibbett gestured between Glinda and Elphaba, eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion.
“They’re STILL not fighting.”
Crope blinked, sitting up slightly. “Oh.” He turned to Fiyero. “Oh.”
Boq groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“I’ll tell you why, Boq,” Tibbett said, leaning in as if he were about to deliver the biggest scandal of the season.
Boq did not look up. “I don’t want you to.”
Tibbett ignored him entirely. “Because they’re hiding something.”
Crope nodded sagely, as if this was groundbreaking news. “It’s true. Something is off lately.”
Fiyero turned a page in his book, utterly unbothered. “Or you just haven’t had enough coffee.”
Crope huffed. “I know what I’m about.”
Glinda smiled sweetly. “Oh, Crope, dear, you don’t know anything at all.”
Tibbett whipped around to Elphaba, pointing at her. “See? And you didn’t even react to that! Normally you’d roll your eyes, or scowl, or—” He gestured vaguely. “Make a noise.”
Elphaba, who had been still and quiet this entire time, finally moved.
She picked up her pen.
And continued writing.
Tibbett gasped. “She’s IGNORING ME.”
Boq, desperate to return to anything else, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tibbett, please.”
Crope narrowed his eyes at Elphaba. “She’s never this quiet.”
Glinda, who had not taken her eyes off Elphaba once, hummed. “Maybe she’s just very focused today.”
Fiyero smirked into his book.
Elphaba did not look up.
But Glinda swore she saw the smallest hint of a smirk.
Glinda did not open the letter.
She placed it in her bag, let it get buried beneath notes and assignments and anything else that wasn’t her parents’ expectations.
Elphaba did not ask.
Glinda did not offer.
And for now, that was enough.
Elphaba didn’t sleep.
She hadn’t planned it that way.
She had meant to—truly, she had. She had left the library with every intention of collapsing in bed, ignoring the world, and chasing at least a few stolen hours of unconsciousness.
But the second she had settled beneath the blankets, something in her brain had clicked back on.
And she hadn’t been able to shut it off.
Which was how she ended up here.
At a quiet corner of their living room, hunched over a book that she had been staring at for at least two hours without absorbing a single word.
She had her pen in her hand, had pages in front of her, had a mind that refused to be still.
There was something about exhaustion that made thoughts louder, not quieter.
Her hand had started writing at some point—words that barely made sense, half-finished notes, equations she had already solved.
Distraction. That’s what it was supposed to be.
But nothing was working.
Because all she could hear was Nessarose’s voice.
You think I want to watch you burn?
Elphaba set her pen down and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, dragging in a slow, deep breath.
She wasn’t thinking about that.
Not now. Not when she had spent her entire life carrying that weight already.
But Oz, she was so tired.
Not just in the way her body ached, but in the way her thoughts refused to let her rest.
She let her head tip forward, eyes closing for just a second.
And then—
A voice.
Quiet.
Soft.
“Elphie.”
Elphaba didn’t move right away.
For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered pretending she hadn’t heard.
But Glinda was already there, moving around the lounge chair to stand in front of her, arms folded, her expression impossible to read.
So Elphaba sighed, blinked up at her slowly, and lifted a brow.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
Glinda arched a brow right back at her. “Shouldn’t you?”
Elphaba let out a quiet, humorless laugh, reaching for her pen again. “I don’t sleep much.”
Glinda didn’t sit—not right away.
She stood there, hovering, watching her.
And then, slowly, she moved.
The lounge chairs in the common area weren’t exactly made for sharing, but that had never stopped Glinda before.
She perched on the edge of Elphaba’s, one leg folding gracefully beneath her, her elbow resting against the back of the chair.
She was close enough now to see everything—the dark smudges under Elphaba’s eyes, the way her fingers were still lightly tapping against her open book, restless and twitching.
Elphaba tried to ignore it.
Tried to pretend she wasn’t being studied like a specimen under a microscope.
Glinda shifted slightly, tucking her knees up and tilting her head toward her. “You’ve been up all night.”
Elphaba kept her eyes on her page. “I wasn’t aware you were tracking my movements.”
It was little sharper than Glinda deserved.
Glinda huffed a soft laugh. “I don’t have to. You look like hell.”
Elphaba lifted a brow. “Charming.”
Glinda didn’t laugh this time.
She reached out instead, fingers barely ghosting over Elphaba’s wrist, brushing against the fabric of her sleeve.
And that? That was worse.
Because Elphaba was exhausted, and exhaustion made everything feel different.
The touch felt warmer than it should have. More deliberate. More intentional.
She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
Glinda’s fingers stilled.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was quieter this time.
“Liar.”
Elphaba exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down her face.
She was too tired for this.
She was too tired for a lot of things.
Glinda was still looking at her, watching her too closely, Elphaba didn’t have the energy to argue with her.
So she sighed, finally meeting Glinda's eyes.
“What do you want, Glinda?”
Glinda was silent for a second.
Then she hummed, tilting her head.
“I think you should sleep.”
Elphaba let out a quiet, sharp laugh. “And I think you should mind your business.”
Glinda didn’t even blink.
Instead, she reached forward—
And took the book right out of Elphaba’s hands.
Elphaba stilled. “What are you—”
The pen was next.
Glinda plucked it from her fingers, slow and effortless, like it belonged to her now.
And then, before Elphaba could protest, could react, could do anything at all—
Glinda moved.
She slipped into the space between Elphaba’s arms, fitting against her like it was always supposed to be that way.
Her head rested against Elphaba’s shoulder, her knees tucked up slightly, the warmth of her pressing in, grounding, steady.
And Elphaba’s entire body forgot how to function.
Her hands hovered for a second, like her brain couldn’t catch up to what was happening.
But Glinda wasn’t moving away.
And Elphaba wasn’t pushing her off.
So she gave up.
She let her arms settle around Glinda’s waist, holding her there.
Firm. Sure.
Glinda sighed, completely at ease, like she had been waiting for this.
Her hand rested lightly against Elphaba’s ribs, her fingers curling just enough into the fabric of her shirt.
Glinda wasn’t moving away.
And Elphaba didn’t want her to.
So she didn’t.
She just held her there, in the dim light of the common room, in the heavy silence of things that could not be said.
Glinda’s fingers brushed absently against her side.
Elphaba’s grip tightened.
Oh Oz.
She was in trouble.
The room was quiet.
Not silent-the distant creak of the old wood floors, the occasional shuffle of movement from the dorms, the low hum of the world existing around them.
But it was quiet.
Enough that Elphaba could hear Glinda's breathing.
Slow. Measured. Too even.
She wasn't asleep.
Elphaba knew because she wasn't breathing like someone at rest.
And maybe that should have been her first warning.
Because Glinda was waiting.
Waiting for something to break.
Waiting for Elphaba to let go.
And Elphaba wasn't ready for that.
So she kept her eyes closed.
Pretended.
Except—
Glinda's fingers slid underneath the fabric of her shirt.
Slow. Intentional.
And Elphaba felt it everywhere.
Glinda knew Elphaba wouldn't stop her.
Knew that Elphaba was wired too tight, too tense, too much in her own head to fight back.
So she moved deliberately.
Adjusting.
Slowly, she lifted herself from Elphaba's side and swung one leg over, settling into her lap.
Not tentative. Not shy.
Like she belonged there.
And Elphaba?
She went rigid.
Breath catching.
Hands hovering, unsure, like she didn't know what to do with them now.
Glinda began pressing kisses along Elphaba's jaw, moving downward. She smirked against her neck and mumbled. "Tell me to stop,"
She pressed closer, chest brushing against Elphaba's, lips hovering just over hers.
Not touching.
Not yet.
Waiting.
Daring her.
Elphaba shook her head slightly and surged forward, capturing Glinda's mouth with hers, grip firm at her waist, pulling her down, pulling her close.
And Glinda gasped into the kiss-just slightly, just enough.
Elphaba's fingers dug in, keeping her right where she wanted her.
And Glinda?
Oh, she loved it.
Because Elphaba never let herself take.
But she was taking now.
Glinda tilted her head, parting her lips, letting Elphaba deepen the kiss, letting her take whatever she needed.
And Oz, she needed.
Elphaba's hands slid up Glinda's back, fingertips pressing into soft curves, tracing over delicate fabric, feeling the warmth of her.
Glinda sighed into her mouth, rolling her hips just slightly, just enough.
And Elphaba groaned.
Low.
Quiet.
Like she hadn't meant to let it slip.
Glinda grinned against her lips, pleased with herself.
"Needy, aren't you?"
Elphaba bit her lip in retaliation.
Soft. Teasing. Just enough pressure to make Glinda's breath hitch.
And Glinda let out a quiet, delighted laugh.
"Oh, Oz."
Then Elphaba did it again.
And Glinda wasn't laughing anymore.
Glinda's hands weren't still anymore.
They moved-restless, searching, fingers slipping under the hem of Elphaba's shirt, dragging against bare skin.
Elphaba shivered.
Her breath was uneven now, shallow, her hands tightening against Glinda's hips like she was trying to steady herself.
And Glinda wasn't making it easy.
She tilted her head, trailing her lips along Elphaba's jaw, down her throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp lines of her collarbone.
Elphaba sucked in a sharp breath.
Her head tipped back slightly, letting Glinda do what she wanted, letting her take her time.
Her fingers traced fire along Elphaba's stomach, her sides, slow and deliberate.
And Elphaba was losing her mind.
She let her hands slide down, gripping Glinda's thighs, squeezing before sliding her hands back up, under the front of Glinda's nightshirt. She found two, perfectly stiff nipples and pinched ever so slightly.
And Glinda gasped, pressing in, pressing closer, her mouth finding Elphaba's again, lips parting, heat spilling between them.
She wasn't playing anymore.
And Elphaba was drowning in it.
She tilted her hips just slightly, grinding up into Glinda's weight, her hands firm at her waist, guiding her, chasing something she wasn't ready to name.
It wasn't careful.
It wasn't gentle.
It was too much and not enough.
It was everything neither of them wanted to talk about, spilling between them in the way they touched, in the way they breathed, in the way they refused to stop.
Until-
Elphaba was the one who slowed first.
Her hands, once eager and insistent, softened, lingered.
And Glinda felt it the moment something shifted.
The moment Elphaba realized what they were doing.
And for once?
Glinda made the merciful choice.
She didn't push.
Didn't chase.
She just brushed her nose against Elphaba's, soft, barely-there, a quiet reminder that this had happened.
And Elphaba exhaled against her lips, shaky.
And then—
She rested her forehead against Glinda's.
And breathed.
Glinda didn't move away.
Didn't break the moment.
She just let it sit.
Let it hold.
Until Elphaba's grip finally loosened, and she let Glinda go.
Just a little.
Just enough.
But not completely.
Because Glinda was still there.
And Elphaba wasn't ready to let go of that.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Glinda received another letter in the morning.
She didn’t open it.
Not immediately. Not even when she had recognized the crest, the perfectly scripted handwriting, the weight of expectation pressing against her fingers.
Instead, she had folded it neatly, tucked it into her bag, and carried on like she hadn’t seen it.
And Elphaba noticed.
She didn’t ask.
Didn’t look at her too long.
Didn’t say a word.
But Glinda knew she saw.
She could feel it, in the way Elphaba’s eyes flickered toward her, in the way she tapped her fingers against the table, in the way she was pretending very hard not to care.
And Glinda?
She was pretending too.
But the weight of it all was creeping in.
-
Crope and Tibbett were mid-rant about something entirely meaningless.
Boq was actually trying to work.
Fiyero was watching them like they were a live performance, sipping his drink, utterly entertained.
And Glinda was zoning out.
Elphaba noticed that too.
Because Glinda wasn’t reading.
She wasn’t even pretending to read.
Her pen was resting against an untouched page, her eyes unfocused, distant.
And Elphaba—Elphaba hated that she wanted to ask.
So she didn’t.
She turned a page.
She pretended not to see the way Glinda’s shoulders tensed when her bag shifted slightly, the unopened letter peeking out from inside.
And she pretended not to feel the weight of something unspoken between them.
She was good at pretending.
Until Glinda sighed.
Soft. Quiet.
But enough.
Enough that Elphaba’s fingers tightened slightly around her pen.
-
It wasn’t immediate.
Elphaba held out for as long as she could.
But as they packed up for the day—as Glinda shoved her books into her bag with a little too much force, as the letter got caught on the edge and crinkled slightly, as she scowled at it like it had personally offended her—
Elphaba caved.
“…What is it?”
Glinda stilled.
She didn’t look at her right away.
Instead, she smoothed the corner of the envelope carefully, deliberately, avoiding Elphaba’s gaze.
Then, finally—
“It’s just my parents.”
Elphaba watched her.
Waited.
But Glinda didn’t offer anything else.
And Elphaba could have let it go.
She should have.
But oh Oz, she was so tired of pretending.
So she pressed.
“And?”
Glinda let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“And they expect me home for Lurlinemas, of course.”
Elphaba didn’t react.
Didn’t shift, didn’t frown, didn’t give anything away.
She just nodded once.
And then—
Glinda laughed again.
Quieter this time.
More bitter.
“They’ll probably have the guest list finalized already,” she murmured, tucking the letter deeper into her bag. “The decorations, the seating charts, the carefully curated conversations. It’s all very civilized, you know.”
Elphaba tilted her head. “And you don’t want to go?”
Glinda smiled. Sharp, tight, something close to exhaustion. “Oh, Elphie.”
And that was all she said.
But it was enough.
Elphaba didn’t push again.
Didn’t ask what Oh, Elphie really meant.
She just watched as Glinda stood, bag slung over one shoulder, back straight, chin lifted.
Like she was steeling herself for something she had no choice but to walk into.
And Elphaba hated that she understood that feeling.
She hated that this was the first time she had ever seen Glinda look like she didn’t belong in the life that had been so neatly laid out for her.
And maybe, just maybe, she hated that she couldn’t do anything about it.
So she said nothing.
And Glinda left first.
But Elphaba kept thinking about it.
And that?
That was a problem.