She’s alive
Brunch was already in full swing by the time Glinda and Elphaba arrived.
The boys had claimed their usual spot—a large booth tucked into the corner of the restaurant. Fiyero and Boq were on one side, Crope and Tibbett on the other, leaving just enough space for Elphaba and Glinda to slide in beside them.
Elphaba was tucked into the inside of the booth, her back pressed against the worn leather, while Glinda sat comfortably beside her, their knees brushing under the table.
She didn’t move away.
Neither did Elphaba.
Fiyero, already stirring his coffee, glanced up as they settled in and wasted no time.
“Okay, so we need to talk about how you nearly died.”
Elphaba sighed dramatically.
“I did not nearly die.”
Boq, across from her, scoffed. “You passed out, Elphaba.”
Glinda leaned into her shoulder. “And you were feverish for days.”
Tibbett huffed. “You looked like death warmed over.”
Crope shuddered. “It was horrifying.”
Elphaba, unimpressed, picked up her menu. “You’re all very dramatic.”
Fiyero arched a brow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did we imagine the part where you literally collapsed in the hallway?”
Glinda, for her part, tilted her head, smiling sweetly.
“You should be grateful, Elphie.”
Elphaba sighed, glancing at her. “For what?”
Glinda fluttered her lashes. “For me.”
Elphaba rolled her eyes, but there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
Fiyero leaned forward, grinning. “Glinda was ready to fight God for you.”
Boq nodded. “She nearly kicked us out of her own apartment.”
Glinda huffed, crossing her arms. “I did not.”
Crope snorted. “You absolutely did.”
Elphaba smirked. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame her. You guys are unbearable.”
Tibbett gasped dramatically. “And yet, you bear us.”
Glinda giggled, leaning into her.
Elphaba, without thinking, draped an arm over the back of the booth behind her.
Crope narrowed his eyes. “You’re getting soft.”
Elphaba sipped her coffee. “No, I just like to keep you all confused.”
Boq groaned. “It’s working.”
The transition from lazy weekend to Monday academia was a rude awakening.
Elphaba had three back-to-back lectures, a stack of reading to get through, and—somehow, despite being sick—still managed to be ahead of the syllabus.
Glinda, on the other hand?
She had perfectly color-coded notes but zero motivation to actually pay attention.
Instead, she spent most of class glancing at Elphaba when she thought she wasn’t looking.
She was always looking.
And when Glinda caught her watching, Elphaba would just smirk and look back down at her notes, infuriatingly unaffected.
By the time they made it to the library, Elphaba was ready to buckle down and study.
Glinda was not.
Elphaba had claimed their usual spot—a corner tucked away near the windows, where the afternoon light filtered in softly.
She was sprawled on her stomach across the couch, book open, pen tapping idly against her notes.
Glinda was curled beside her, legs tucked beneath her, book in her lap.
She was pretending to read.
Elphaba wasn’t fooled.
She could feel Glinda watching her.
Every few minutes, Glinda would shift, brush her fingers against Elphaba’s arm, lean in just slightly.
And Elphaba, against all reason, was distracted.
She finally sighed, closing her book.
“Something you’d like to say, Miss Upland?”
Glinda beamed.
“I think we should take a break.”
Elphaba arched a brow.
Glinda tilted her head.
“You have one minute to convince me.”
Glinda grinned.
Elphaba already knew she was doomed.
The library had been comfortable.
A rare kind of peaceful, where the world outside didn’t matter.
Elphaba had been studying—actually studying—for once, her notes spread haphazardly across the table. Glinda had curled into the seat beside her, occasionally nudging Elphaba’s knee under the table when she got too focused, silently reminding her to breathe.
But of course, that peace couldn’t last.
“Elphaba.”
The sound of her name cut through the quiet like a blade.
Elphaba immediately stilled.
Glinda, without thinking, started to get up—this was a family thing, wasn’t it?
But Elphaba’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, firm and steady.
“Stay.”
Glinda blinked.
Elphaba’s grip didn’t loosen.
Glinda slowly sat back down.
She didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance across Nessarose’s face.
Nessa, seated in her wheelchair, perfectly composed, had parked herself just at the end of the table, hands folded in her lap, posture rigid.
She glanced between them once before exhaling.
“I wanted to speak with you,” she said, voice measured.
Elphaba, still holding Glinda’s wrist, tilted her head. “So speak.”
A pause.
Then—
“I’ve been thinking about our last conversation.”
Glinda’s spine straightened.
Nessarose’s hands tightened against each other.
“I wasn’t fair to you,” she admitted.
Elphaba didn’t move.
Nessarose’s gaze flicked toward Glinda before quickly returning to Elphaba.
“I should not have dismissed you so quickly.”
Glinda’s fingers curled around Elphaba’s under the table.
Elphaba’s grip, ever so slightly, tightened.
“And?” Elphaba prompted.
Nessarose exhaled slowly.
“I just… I just want you to come home.”
Glinda’s breath caught.
Elphaba’s shoulders stiffened.
“You don’t have to make this harder than it needs to be,” Nessarose continued, voice softer now, almost pleading. “You could come back. You could—”
She hesitated.
Elphaba already knew where this was going.
“You could repent,” Nessarose finished, quietly, but firm.
Glinda’s fingers tightened around Elphaba’s wrist.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Nessarose,” Elphaba said, voice measured. “This is not something I regret.”
Nessarose’s expression twisted.
Glinda, for once, couldn’t hold her tongue.
“She’s not broken,” she said, voice sharper than usual.
Elphaba’s fingers tightened suddenly over Glinda’s, grounding.
Glinda felt it—the weight of it, the meaning of it.
But she didn’t look.
Didn’t need to.
Because Nessarose wasn’t finished.
“I do love you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper now. “And I hate that we’re like this.”
Elphaba inhaled slowly, controlled.
“I know,” she said.
For a moment, Nessarose looked hopeful.
But then Elphaba’s voice hardened.
“But I am not going to change.”
Nessarose flinched.
Glinda exhaled.
Elphaba let go of her wrist completely.
For a long moment, Nessarose didn’t speak.
Then, softly:
“I wish you would.”
Elphaba’s jaw tightened.
Nessarose, without another word, wheeled herself back from the table.
Her hands hovered over the wheels, as if she wanted to say something else.
She didn’t.
She turned.
And she left.
The silence she left behind was deafening.
Elphaba let out a slow breath, sinking further into her chair.
Glinda was still watching her.
“Elphie…” she started.
Elphaba shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Glinda’s fingers brushed over the back of her hand.
“You’re not broken.”
Elphaba huffed a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
But when she finally turned, her expression had softened.
“I know.”
Glinda made her almost believe it.
Glinda didn’t plan to tell them.
She had intended to walk past their table in the student lounge without incident—just a perfectly normal day, with perfectly normal levels of forced civility between them.
But then—
“Oh, Glinda,” Pfannee trilled, barely looking up from her latte. “Tell me, is it true that you and Elphaba are practically inseparable these days?”
Shenshen smirked over her cappuccino. “Because you must be working on some kind of charity case.”
Glinda stopped walking.
And turned.
And before she could think better of it, she tilted her head, smiled sweetly, and said—
“Oh, no, it’s not like that at all.”
She watched their smirks grow, waiting for her to say something suitably cruel about Elphaba.
Instead—
“I’m in love with her.”
Silence.
Shenshen blinked.
Pfannee’s straw slipped from her fingers, landing in her cup with a soft plop.
Glinda kept smiling.
“And yes,” she continued, folding her arms, watching their entire worldviews crack in real-time, “we are very much together.”
More silence.
Shenshen opened her mouth—
Closed it.
Pfannee looked vaguely like she needed medical intervention.
Glinda tilted her head innocently.
“No comments?” she asked, delighted.
Nothing.
Not a single sound.
Pfannee’s eye twitched.
Glinda smirked.
“Well,” she said lightly, spinning on her heel. “Lovely chat. We must do this again.”
And with that—
She walked off, completely victorious, leaving them too stunned to function.