She's losing it
The bar was warm, dimly lit, familiar.
It was the kind of place that wasn’t meant for wild nights, but for late-night conversations over strong drinks, for the kind of trouble you could almost explain away the next morning.
And Glinda had dragged them all here.
“We’re going out,” she had said. Final. Certain.
And no one had dared to stop her.
Which was why they were now crammed into a booth, drinks in hand, caught between two very different conversations.
On one end of the table, Crope and Tibbett were locked in an increasingly ridiculous debate over which professor had the most tragic backstory.
Boq, exasperated, was failing to get them back on track.
And Fiyero—
Fiyero was watching.
Not quite involved, not quite looking at them—but aware.
And Elphaba knew better than to trust that kind of silence.
But for now, Glinda was too close, her voice too low, and Elphaba was too focused on keeping her composure to care.
Because Glinda had her own agenda tonight.
And Elphaba was quickly becoming the only person in the room who knew it.
“You need a drink, you look miserable.” Glinda tilted her head, grinning, fingers tracing the rim of her glass.
They were pressed close in the booth—Glinda tucked against Elphaba’s side, her legs crossed neatly, her shoulder brushing Elphaba’s arm every time she shifted.
Elphaba, stiff as ever, arms folded, unmoved, sighed. “I’m always miserable.”
Glinda leaned in slightly, voice dipping just enough to keep this conversation private.
“Yes, but you could be miserable and tipsy.”
Elphaba arched a brow. “Not a compelling argument.”
Glinda smirked, her knee knocking against Elphaba’s under the table, casual, teasing.
“Are you afraid?”
Elphaba scoffed. “Of what? Bad decisions?”
Glinda’s grin turned sharp, teasing, something wicked behind her eyes.
“Oh, Elphie,” she purred, shifting her weight slightly, letting their thighs press together beneath the table.
Then, before Elphaba could react, Glinda’s hand lifted, pressing lightly against Elphaba’s chest—just enough to feel the rapid beat beneath her palm.
Elphaba went absolutely still.
“I think you like bad decisions.”
Elphaba inhaled slowly, carefully, evenly.
And then—
She grabbed Glinda’s wrist, gently but firmly, pulling her hand away.
“I think you’re already drunk.”
Glinda beamed.
“I think you’re right.”
And Elphaba was doomed.
“Oh, Oz,” Glinda gasped suddenly, sitting up straighter, eyes lighting up.
“We should play a game.”
Elphaba exhaled heavily. “Glinda—”
“Truth or dare!”
On the other side of the booth, Crope groaned.
“No, no, no,” he said dramatically. “I refuse to let another ‘innocent’ game of truth or dare end in disaster.”
Tibbett laughed. “You literally thrive on disaster.”
“Exactly,” Crope countered, taking a sip of his drink. “Which is why I know this is going to escalate quickly.”
Boq, desperately trying to finish his beer in peace, sighed. “Can we just—not do this?”
Glinda ignored all of them.
Her focus was singular.
She turned toward Elphaba again, shifting slightly so she was half-facing her now, her elbow resting against the back of the booth.
“Oh, come on, Elphie,” she whispered, voice sickly sweet, teasing, tempting.
And Elphaba hated that it worked.
Hated that she could already feel herself losing this battle.
Glinda’s lips curled, triumphant.
“Truth or dare?”
Elphaba sighed. “Fine. Truth.”
Glinda pouted, unimpressed. “Coward.”
“I am a coward,” Elphaba agreed immediately.
Glinda rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
She tilted her head, considering.
And then—
Her grin turned mischievous.
“Tell me what you were thinking about last night.”
Elphaba went utterly still.
Glinda knew exactly what she was doing.
Knew exactly what she was referring to.
And Elphaba refused to answer.
So she did the only thing she could think to do.
She grabbed Glinda’s drink and took a sip.
Glinda’s eyes widened.
Elphaba set the glass down with deliberate care.
“I believe that means I’m choosing dare now.”
Glinda lit up.
And Elphaba immediately regretted everything.
Glinda leaned forward slightly, her knees knocking against Elphaba’s beneath the table.
Then, in one smooth, deliberate movement, she shifted—turning fully toward Elphaba, crossing her legs, facing her directly now.
She reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Elphaba’s ear, fingers lingering just a little too long. “I dare you…”
Elphaba swallowed.
“…to kiss me.”
Elphaba’s stomach dropped.
The bar was still loud around them.
Crope and Tibbett were locked in their own world, Boq was half-listening, Fiyero was watching—casual, unreadable.
No one was paying attention.
No one would know.
And Glinda knew that.
And Glinda wanted her to break.
Elphaba inhaled slowly, carefully, measured. She leaned in, close enough that their breaths mingled, close enough to feel Glinda still against her.
And she stopped.
Letting the weight of the dare hang there.
Letting the tension suffocate.
And Glinda’s smirk faltered. “Elphie—”
Elphaba leaned back.
“I think you should finish your drink.”
Glinda blinked. Then narrowed her eyes. She threw back the rest of her drink and slammed the glass onto the table.
The boys turned, startled.
Crope grinned. “Having fun?”
Glinda grinned back.
“Oh, plenty.”
And Elphaba had the deepest sense that this was far from over.
Glinda hadn’t expected her to play along.
She had expected the same tight-lipped restraint, the same exasperated huff, the same begrudging tolerance of her antics.
What she hadn’t expected—
Was this.
Elphaba, relaxed, amused, smug in a way that made Glinda want to both kiss her and strangle her.
She had flipped the game on its head without warning, again.
And Glinda was suddenly the one fighting to keep her composure.
Glinda tapped her nails against her empty glass, watching Elphaba with narrowed eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
Elphaba tilted her head, just slightly, just enough. “Astute observation.”
Glinda leaned in, chin resting on her hand. “And here I thought you weren’t any fun.”
Elphaba hummed, tapping a slow, lazy rhythm against the table. “Oh, Glinda,” she murmured, voice low, smug, teasing.
Too smug.
“I think you’ve seriously underestimated me.”
Glinda’s stomach flipped.
Elphaba leaned in, casual, controlled, close enough to make Glinda aware of every breath between them.
Then—slow, deliberate, far too measured—she reached out.
Fingers brushing the rim of Glinda’s glass.
Trailing along the edge.
Tipping it ever so slightly, inspecting it with mild interest.
Then—
She pushed it toward Glinda.
Glinda stared at it.
Then at her.
Elphaba lifted a single brow. “You need another drink.”
Glinda narrowed her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
Elphaba smirked. “And yet, you can’t stop looking at me.”
Glinda’s stomach tightened.
And Elphaba knew it.
The others were still half-engaged in their own conversation, oblivious.
Or at least, pretending to be.
And Elphaba was using it to her full advantage.
Her fingers drifted absently toward Glinda’s thigh, trailing lightly, barely touching.
And Glinda’s breath caught.
Not enough to be obvious.
But enough.
And Elphaba smirked.
“Something wrong?”
Glinda hated her.
Hated how calm she was.
Hated how easily she had turned the tables.
And, most of all—
Hated how much she liked it.
Glinda tilted her head, trying to regain control.
“I think you’re bluffing,” she murmured, fingers drifting over the back of Elphaba’s hand, teasing, challenging.
Elphaba’s fingers curled slightly against the table.
But her expression didn’t waver.
She exhaled a quiet laugh. Low, smooth, easy.
“Are you sure about that?”
Glinda’s stomach flipped violently.
Because Elphaba wasn’t bluffing.
She was watching, waiting, playing.
And Glinda was suddenly the one who couldn’t breathe properly.
Elphaba leaned in, just slightly.
Close enough to let her lips hover at the shell of Glinda’s ear.
And then, in the most maddeningly slow voice imaginable— “Truth or dare?”
Glinda’s breath hitched.
Her hands tightened into fists beneath the table.
And she knew.
She had lost.
And Elphaba knew it too.
Glinda had spent years perfecting the art of control.
She knew how to tease, how to get her way, how to bat her lashes and smile just right and make people fold under the weight of her attention.
And it had always worked.
Until Elphaba.
Because Elphaba was playing along.
And Glinda was losing.
And she had no idea how to handle it.
“Truth or dare?”
Elphaba’s voice was low, slow, deliberate.
Her breath barely ghosted over Glinda’s ear, a whisper of warmth, a quiet invitation.
And Glinda’s entire body betrayed her.
Her spine locked up.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers twitched against the table.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Because if she moved, if she reacted, she would lose.
And she had already lost enough.
She wet her lips, forced herself to tilt her head slightly, just enough to meet Elphaba’s eyes.
Tried to pretend she wasn’t unraveling.
Tried to keep the smirk on her lips, the teasing light in her eyes.
Tried to ignore the way her pulse was hammering, the way her skin burned beneath Elphaba’s touch.
Tried.
And failed.
Miserably.
Because Elphaba was still watching her.
Still close, still in control, still looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Glinda hated her.
And she wanted her.
And it was so unfair.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, nails pressing against her palm, grounding herself.
And then she exhaled.
Long. Slow. Defeated.
And then she did something she never did.
She let herself lose.
She let Elphaba win.
She licked her lips, forced herself to swallow the last of her pride, and said—
“Dare.”
Elphaba blinked.
Just once.
Like she hadn’t actually expected that answer.
Like she had been waiting for Glinda to fight back, to take control again, to keep this going.
But she didn’t.
And Elphaba had her.
And oh, Glinda saw the moment she realized it.
The way her lips curled into something slow and smug and dangerous.
The way her hand drifted slightly—casual, featherlight—just enough to press against Glinda’s thigh beneath the table.
The way her voice dropped even lower, turning the knife just a little more.
“Well then,” Elphaba murmured, fingers tapping against Glinda’s knee, maddeningly slow.
“I dare you to sit right here.”
A pause.
“Next to me.”
Glinda’s stomach dropped.
Elphaba’s smirk deepened.
“…And keep your hands to yourself.”
Glinda’s entire body tensed.
But she wouldn’t back down.
Couldn’t.
So, without breaking eye contact, without giving Elphaba the satisfaction of hesitation—
She shifted.
Scooted away, until her thigh was no longer flush against Elphaba’s, until there was just a bit of space between them.
She smirked, feigned indifference, tilted her head.
“Happy?”
Elphaba just laughed.
And that was worse.
Elphaba leaned back slightly, like this was effortless.
Like this wasn’t a game at all.
One arm draped lazily over the back of the booth.
The other resting so lightly on Glinda’s thigh, it was barely a touch.
Like she wasn’t even holding her there.
Like Glinda wasn’t struggling for air.
Glinda swallowed.
Shifted slightly.
And Elphaba hummed.
Not a word.
Just a hum.
Glinda wanted to throw herself off a cliff.
Elphaba tilted her head slightly, tightening her grip a bit, watching Glinda with mild curiosity.
“You seem uncomfortable.”
Glinda gritted her teeth. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
Glinda’s breath hitched.
And then Elphaba did something unforgivable.
She leaned in, just slightly, just enough.
And her breath skimmed just beneath Glinda’s ear.
“You seem tense.”
Glinda completely lost her mind.
Her hands moved without thinking, gripping Elphaba’s arm, bracing herself.
A mistake.
Because the second she touched her, Elphaba’s fingers curled against her waist, holding her still, pulling her into her side.
And then—
Elphaba laughed.
Low. Smug. Smoldering.
And Glinda hated her.
Absolutely, completely, fully hated her.
Because she had lost.
And Elphaba knew it.
Elphaba leaned back, tilting her head like she had all the time in the world.
Her fingers tapped lightly against Glinda’s waist—casual, effortless, infuriating.
“Oh, Glinda.”
Glinda’s stomach tightened.
“You made it, what 30 second?”
Glinda gritted her teeth. “Shut up.”
Elphaba’s smirk deepened.
But she didn’t push further.
She didn’t gloat.
She just let her hands fall away, entirely too satisfied with herself.
Glinda wanted to crawl under the table and scream.
Glinda had lost.Completely. But if there was one thing Glinda was good at, it was regaining control. And she wasn’t about to let Elphaba have the last word.
So she did what any reasonable person would do in her situation.
She changed the subject.
Dramatically.
“So, Crope.”
Crope blinked, mid-sip of his drink.
“Yes, my dear?”
Glinda tilted her head, grinning. “Tell me. How’s the romance?”
Boq groaned instantly.
Tibbett perked up immediately. “Oh, fabulous.”
Boq groaned louder. “Oh, no.”
Elphaba, who had just been seconds away from further tormenting Glinda, smirked instead. “Do elaborate.”
Boq shot her a look of pure betrayal.
Crope, clearly delighted by the invitation, leaned in.
“Oh, well, last night—”
Boq immediately slammed his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear this. I refuse to hear this.”
Tibbett, completely ignoring him, continued.
“So we’re in bed, right?”
Boq made a pained noise.
Fiyero, not even pretending to help, was grinning behind his drink.
Glinda leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Go on.”
Boq gasped. “Glinda!”
But it was too late.
Tibbett was fully committed now.
“And Crope gets this idea—”
Boq, already suffering, whimpered. “Oh, Oz.”
Boq slammed his drink down.
“Why—why do you do this to me?”
Crope looked at him innocently. “What?”
Boq gestured wildly between them.
“Every time. Every single time, you two share the most unholy details of your lives, and I—a completely innocent bystander—am forced to suffer.”
Tibbett snorted. “Boq, sweetie, you are never innocent.”
Boq glared. “I am in this.”
Crope shrugged, completely unbothered. “Maybe if you weren’t so repressed, you’d enjoy our stories more.”
Boq made a strangled noise.
Fiyero, who had been suspiciously quiet, finally spoke.
“Alright, I have a very important question.”
Everyone turned to him.
Fiyero grinned. “Who’s more dramatic? You or Crope?”
Tibbett gasped.
Crope clutched his chest. “Oh, how dare you.”
Boq looked to the heavens for strength.
Elphaba, who had spent the last ten minutes observing in amusement, finally leaned toward Glinda.
“So this is your strategy?” she murmured.
Glinda, pleased with herself, sipped her drink. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Elphaba tilted her head slightly, studying her. “You lost the game. So now you’re distracting everyone.”
Glinda beamed. “And it’s working beautifully.”
Elphaba huffed a quiet laugh.
“You’re shameless.”
Glinda tapped her nails against her glass, smirking.
“You love it.”
Elphaba rolled her eyes—but didn’t argue.
Boq, who had been attempting to steer the conversation into anything else, was failing miserably.
Tibbett was still ranting about Crope’s terrible life choices.
Crope was still offended.
Fiyero was clearly fueling the fire.
And Boq?
Boq had finally had enough.
He stood, downed the rest of his drink, and turned to Elphaba and Glinda.
“I am going to the bar. If either of you want to save yourselves from this, now is your chance.”
Elphaba, smug, leaned back in her seat.
“Oh, but I’m enjoying myself.”
Glinda grinned. “Me too.”
Boq sighed.
Then stormed off.
And the second he was gone—
Crope and Tibbett absolutely collapsed into laughter.
Fiyero, grinning, raised his glass.
“To Boq. The purest, most suffering soul among us.”
Glinda clinked her glass against his, laughing.
Elphaba, watching Boq retreat, smirked.
“That poor bastard.”
-
Boq had fled.
The poor man had endured enough.
And for a brief, fleeting moment—Elphaba and Glinda thought they were in the clear.
Until Crope, gleeful, wicked, absolutely thrilled, turned to them.
“So…”
His eyes flicked between them.
“…what happened?”
Elphaba immediately tensed.
Glinda, smooth as ever, tilted her head.
“What do you mean?”
Tibbett leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“You two are… different.”
Elphaba exhaled. “We are not.”
Boq, arms crossed. “Yes. You are.”
Fiyero, casual, sipping his drink.
“You left our last get-together one way, and now you’re—”
He gestured vaguely.
“This.”
Glinda blinked. “This?”
Crope narrowed his eyes.
“This.”
Tibbett, dramatic as ever. “Something happened.”
Before Elphaba or Glinda could deflect further, Fiyero finally spoke.
And his voice? Smooth. Unbothered. Certain.
“Oh, I know what happened.”
Silence.
Elphaba’s stomach dropped.
Glinda’s grip on her drink didn’t falter.
Crope and Tibbett snapped their attention to him.
Boq, leaning in. “Tell us.”
Elphaba tilted her head. “Do you, now?”
Fiyero, completely relaxed.
“Oh, yeah. It’s obvious.”
Glinda arched a brow. “Is it?”
Fiyero’s smirk was maddening.
“Completely.”
Elphaba exchanged a look with Glinda.
Then—calm as ever—turned back to him.
“Oh?” she said smoothly. “Then by all means… enlighten us.”
Fiyero set his glass down, leaned forward.
“You two,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “Hooked up.”
Crope choked.
Tibbett gasped.
Boq froze.
Glinda took another sip of her drink.
Elphaba did not blink.
Tibbett, stunned. “WHAT.”
Fiyero grinned. “They hooked up.”
Crope grabbed Boq’s arm.
Boq, horrified. “No. That would mean—”
Fiyero nodded. “Yup.”
Tibbett collapsed into the table. “No.”
Fiyero smirked. “Oh, yes.”
Boq groaned. “Oz help me.”
Elphaba and Glinda? Utterly unbothered.
Fiyero turned to Glinda.
“You know I’m right.”
Glinda arched a delicate brow.
“Do I?”
Fiyero tilted his head.
“I know you, Glinda.” His voice dropped just slightly. “I know how you lie.”
Glinda kept her expression calm, but her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.
Fiyero caught it.
“You do this thing,” he continued, slow, deliberate. “You hold the glass just a little too carefully. You blink just a little too much.”
He leaned back, completely confident.
“And you’re doing it right now.”
Crope grabbed Boq again. “He knows.”
Boq, stressed beyond belief. “I hate this.”
Elphaba, thoroughly entertained, turned to Glinda.
“You blink too much?”
Glinda scoffed, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
“Fiyero’s being dramatic.”
Fiyero grinned.
“Am I?”
Glinda gave him a perfectly unimpressed look “Yes.”
Fiyero leaned in again. “You’re slipping.”
Glinda lifted her glass, took a slow sip, and smiled.
“And yet,” she murmured, “you still have no proof.”
Fiyero laughed.
“Oh, that’s not going to last forever.”
Glinda took another sip.
“We’ll see.”
Boq, rubbing his temples. “This is hell.”
Crope patted his arm. “This is entertainment.”
Tibbett sighed. “And it’s only going to get worse.”
Fiyero, smirking, swirled his drink.
“Oh, absolutely.”
Glinda leaned back, still composed.
Elphaba? Watching. Enjoying.
Because Fiyero?
Fiyero knew.
And it still didn’t matter.
Because they weren’t breaking.
Not yet.
Fiyero was right there.
Watching Glinda too closely, waiting for her to slip—
And then—
CRASH.
Every head snapped toward the noise.
Two guys—wasted, stumbling, knocking drinks over.
One tried to stand. Failed. Took the table with him.
A bartender shouted. Glasses hit the floor.
Tibbett, grinning. “Incredible.”
Boq, relieved. “Thank Oz.”
Fiyero, glancing back.
Glinda, sipping leisurely.
Elphaba, unbothered.
The moment? Gone.
Fiyero sighed. “Lucky.”
Glinda smirked.