Vows

Elphaba’s voice softened as she spoke, her words heavy with the memory, “…like our first fight, yet we found each other again”.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪  flashback starts

No, not small—petty. The kind of thing that, if either of them had been in a better mood, wouldn’t have even mattered. But it was one of those days. The air was heavy with late afternoon heat, their dorm window cracked open just enough to let in the faint, irritating buzz of distant chatter from other students enjoying the sunshine. Galinda’s hair wasn’t cooperating, and Elphaba’s patience had long since evaporated after hours of poring over spellwork that refused to make sense.

And then Galinda did it. She moved Elphaba’s notebook.

Not with malice. Not even really thinking about it. She was tidying up, trying to make space for her ridiculous collection of hair ribbons sprawled across the desk they technically shared, and in the process, she slid Elphaba’s carefully organized notes halfway under a pile of her own things.

Elphaba stiffened immediately. “Why would you move that?”

Galinda, already frazzled from wrestling her curls into submission, snapped back without thinking. “Because your mess was in the way!”

Elphaba’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like Galinda had just set her entire life’s work on fire. “Mess? It’s not a mess, it’s organized. Unlike—” She cut herself off, but it was too late.

“Unlike me, is that what you were going to say?” Galinda’s voice shot up a pitch, hands on her hips, her frustration bubbling over. “Well, excuse me for not living up to your perfectly alphabetized expectations, Miss Perfect!”

Elphaba stood, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re—” Galinda searched for the perfect insult, but her brain short-circuited in the heat of the moment. “—insufferable!”

They glared at each other, chests heaving with anger that neither of them really knew how to handle.

Then Elphaba grabbed her books and left.

Galinda stood there, furious and shaken, arms crossed tightly over her chest like it could hold in all the feelings she didn’t want to admit were there.

But the room felt too quiet without Elphaba’s soft muttering, too empty without her sharp presence filling the space.

And Galinda hated that.

The silence between them wasn’t the usual kind—the comfortable, soft quiet they often shared when Galinda read fashion magazines while Elphaba scribbled notes or when they simply sat side by side, lost in their own worlds but tethered by invisible threads of companionship.

No, this was a sharp, brittle silence. The kind that echoed.

The next morning, they avoided each other with precision that could’ve been magical in itself. Galinda got ready for class without her usual cheerful humming, her hair pinned meticulously in place as if perfection could mask the knot twisting in her chest. She’d hoped, deep down, that Elphaba would’ve returned last night. She didn’t.

Their shared sorcery lesson with Madame Morrible loomed like an ominous cloud. They were the only two students in the special class, which usually felt like a privilege. Today, it felt like a curse.

Galinda arrived first, settling stiffly into her seat, her heart doing anxious flips when Elphaba finally walked in. She didn’t spare Galinda a glance, her jaw set, dark eyes focused straight ahead.

It stung more than Galinda expected.

Madame Morrible’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. She was particularly stern that day, her patience thinner than usual as she barked instructions on elemental manipulation. Galinda tried to focus, casting her spells with shaky precision, but her heart wasn’t in it. She could usually glance at Elphaba—her steady, focused face—and find her center. But now? Nothing.

And then she messed up. Badly.

A flick of her wand, a mispronounced incantation, and instead of the controlled burst of light she was supposed to summon, Galinda sent a chaotic swirl of magic crashing into the wall, singeing the tapestry.

Morrible’s wrath was immediate. “Miss Galinda, are you trying to be a disappointment, or does it come naturally?”

The words hit like a slap. Galinda’s throat tightened. Her usual defense—charm, wit, or even defiance—failed her. She felt exposed, raw. Her eyes darted to Elphaba out of instinct, longing for just a flicker of reassurance. But Elphaba didn’t look at her.

Something cracked inside her. She blinked fast, forcing back the sting behind her eyes, her breath quick and shallow. Morrible moved on, but the damage was done.

Class dragged on, every second heavier than the last. When it finally ended, Galinda gathered her things with trembling hands, practically fleeing the room. She didn’t expect Elphaba to follow.

But she did.

Elphaba wasn’t sure what propelled her to follow Galinda out of the classroom. Maybe it was the way her shoulders had trembled ever so slightly as she rushed away, or the way Morrible’s words had left an echo too sharp to ignore. Or maybe it was just the truth—she couldn’t stand the distance any longer.

She found Galinda down one of Shiz’s quieter corridors, tucked into a small alcove where students often went to avoid prying eyes. Galinda’s back was pressed against the cool stone wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her head bowed. Her golden curls, once perfectly styled, were slightly disheveled, falling like a fragile curtain to shield her face.

Elphaba hesitated. This was new territory. They’d never fought like this before, never let things fester past a few hours. She wasn’t good at apologies, at soft words. But seeing Galinda like this—fragile in a way Elphaba rarely saw—stripped away all the excuses.

She approached quietly, her footsteps soft against the worn floor. “Galinda.”

Galinda flinched at the sound of her name, quickly swiping at her eyes before glancing up. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy with tears she hadn’t fully wiped away. She opened her mouth, probably to deliver some cutting remark or a dismissive brush-off, but nothing came out. Instead, her lips trembled slightly, betraying the cracks in her composure.

Elphaba leaned against the opposite wall, crossing her arms—not out of defiance, but to stop her hands from trembling. “She was out of line,” she said softly. “Morrible.”

Galinda let out a shaky breath, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s fine,” she mumbled, voice brittle. “I’m used to her thinking I’m… disappointing.”

Elphaba’s chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to list every reason why that wasn’t true, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she blurted out, “I hated fighting with you.”

Galinda’s eyes flickered, a flicker of vulnerability cracking through the hurt. “Then why did you yell at me?” Her voice wavered, thick with the frustration she’d bottled up since yesterday.

Elphaba’s shoulders slumped. She took a breath, then another, before slowly lowering herself to sit beside Galinda, their shoulders almost touching but not quite. The cool stone of the wall pressed against her back, grounding her.

“I don’t know,” Elphaba admitted quietly. “I was frustrated. Not at you—at myself. I didn’t want to mess up, and when you panicked, I felt like I did. So, I lashed out. It was stupid.” She stared down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I’m sorry.”

Galinda’s breath hitched, a small, sharp sound that seemed to slice through the air. And then—she broke.

The sob burst out of her like a dam giving way, raw and unrestrained. She buried her face in her hands, her whole body shaking with the force of it. The sound of her crying was different now—messier, louder, as if she couldn’t hold it in even if she tried.

Elphaba’s heart clenched. Without thinking, she reached out, gently tugging Galinda’s hands away from her face. “Hey,” she whispered, her voice softer than she thought possible. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She pulled Galinda into her arms, and this time Galinda didn’t resist. She collapsed against Elphaba, her sobs muffled against the fabric of Elphaba’s dark coat. Elphaba wrapped her arms around her tightly, one hand cradling the back of Galinda’s head, fingers threading into soft curls.

“I’m sorry,” Elphaba murmured again, her words nearly lost in Galinda’s cries. “I’m so sorry.”

Galinda didn’t respond—not with words, at least. But the way she clung to Elphaba, gripping her like she was the only thing keeping her afloat, said everything.

And Elphaba held her, vowing silently to never let go.

Galinda’s sobs eventually softened, tapering into hiccupping breaths and quiet sniffles. But she didn’t pull away, her face still pressed against Elphaba’s shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her as if afraid letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing they’d just pieced back together.

Elphaba didn’t rush her. She just sat there, her chin resting gently atop Galinda’s head, fingers absentmindedly stroking soft strands of blonde hair. She wasn’t good at this—the comforting, the holding. But with Galinda, it felt less like something she had to figure out and more like something her body already knew how to do.

When Galinda finally pulled back, her face was blotchy, eyes red and puffy. She let out a shaky breath, her hands still clutching the front of Elphaba’s coat like she didn’t trust herself to fully let go.

Galinda groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against Elphaba’s shoulder again. “I look like a mess.”

“You look like Galinda.” Elphaba’s voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. “Which is… always beautiful.”

Galinda’s breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t from crying. She slowly lifted her head, her watery blue eyes meeting Elphaba’s. There was a pause—a fragile, delicate pause where neither of them seemed to know what came next.

Then Galinda spoke, her voice small. “I was scared you didn’t care about me.”

Elphaba’s face softened further, her thumb gently brushing a tear track from Galinda’s cheek. “I care too much for you. That’s the problem.”

Galinda stared at her, the weight of those words sinking in, and then—without thinking—she leaned in, pressing her forehead against Elphaba’s. Their noses brushed, and Elphaba’s breath caught in her chest.

They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing the same air, the tension between them shifting into something fragile but warm.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Galinda whispered.

“Me too.” Elphaba’s voice was thick, rough with emotion she wasn’t used to letting out.

Galinda pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again. “We’re okay?”

Elphaba nodded slowly. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪  flashback ends

“…for richer, for poorer,” Elphaba said with a soft chuckle, remembering their time together.