Chapter Text
Elphaba’s POV
In high school, everyone knew Galinda and Elphaba as a unit.
They weren’t the obvious kind of pair, the matching outfits or synchronized lockers, but the quieter, more undeniable kind. Galinda was brightness: head cheerleader, student council darling, the kind of girl teachers trusted instinctively. Elphaba was the sharp edge beside her, honor-roll, debate captain, the one who argued when something was unfair and didn’t care who disliked her for it.
Elphaba knew the exact cadence of Galinda’s moods. She could tell, from the way Galinda twisted her rings, whether a smile was real or just performance. Galinda, in turn, knew when Elphaba was about to retreat into herself and would wordlessly sit closer, their knees brushing beneath desks.
They did homework together, walked home together, stayed up late texting even when they’d just said goodnight.
Elphaba fell in love the way careful people do: slowly, privately, and with the full understanding that it was probably a mistake.
She never said anything. Not during late-night drives when Galinda sang off-key. Not during prom, when Galinda rested her head on Elphaba’s shoulder and whispered, “Promise me we won’t become strangers.”Elphaba promised, because promising was easier than hoping.
Acceptance letters arrived like small, controlled explosions. Elphaba got into Shiz University, prestigious, intense, tucked into a city that smelled like rain and old libraries. It made sense. She belonged somewhere that demanded too much and rewarded precision.
Galinda went to Gillikin College, a private liberal arts school near the coast. Beautiful campus, ivy-covered buildings, the kind of place that looked like it had been designed for her.
They celebrated together. Cried a little and promised each other that nothing would change. And for a while, nothing did.
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College did not turn out to be the clean break everyone warned them about.
Shiz University demanded Elphaba in full. Her days filled quickly with lectures that moved too fast, professors who expected certainty, and nights that stretched long and sleepless beneath the greenish glow of her desk lamp. She learned the campus by instinct, where the paths flooded after rain, which stairwells echoed, which corners of the library stayed warm past midnight.
She adapted the way she always did: fiercely, silently, alone. Except she wasn’t entirely alone.
Almost every night, once the noise of the dorms softened into something manageable, her phone would light up: Galinda.
It became a ritual: A call at night, stretched thin by distance but held together by familiarity. Sometimes Galinda fell asleep first, her breathing soft and even, and Elphaba stayed on the line longer than necessary, listening, memorizing the sound as proof that this still existed.
Gillikin College, on the other hand, sounded different through Galinda’s descriptions. Brighter. Lighter. Galinda talked about ocean air and communal dinners and professors who knew everyone’s name. She talked about people she met, classes she loved, outfits she wore like small acts of joy. And she talked about Elphaba.
“I miss you,” Galinda said often, casually, as if it was nothing dangerous at all.
“I wish you were here.”
“You always know how to make my day better.”
“You’re my favorite person to talk to.”
Elphaba learned to carry those words with her through the hardest parts of her days. Through failed experiments and endless readings and the quiet loneliness that crept in when she least expected it.
On nights when Shiz felt too large and impersonal, Galinda’s voice warmed her from the inside out. It reminded her of being known.
Elphaba didn’t name what she felt—not at first. She told herself it was nostalgia. Habit. The residue of having been inseparable for so long. But hope is a persistent thing.
Galinda was affectionate in a way that blurred lines without quite crossing them. She sent photos of sunsets captioned “thinking of you”. She remembered the smallest details—exam dates, favorite teas, the exact phrasing Elphaba used when she was overwhelmed.
And Elphaba began to wonder. Not boldly. Not foolishly. Just enough to let herself imagine that maybe distance had clarified something for Galinda too. That maybe the softness in her voice meant more than friendship. That maybe what Elphaba had guarded for years was no longer a secret held alone.
So when Galinda mentioned, almost offhandedly, that she’d have a free week after midterms…
“I could come visit you,” she said. “If you want.”
Elphaba said yes immediately. Too quickly.
Her heart raced afterward, panic and excitement tangling in her chest. She spent the next few days pretending she hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary while quietly planning everything.
She made lists. Coffee shops Galinda would love. A bookstore with crooked floors and handwritten recommendation cards. Long walks through campus at golden hour, when Shiz looked almost romantic despite itself.
Elphaba told herself not to expect too much, but she did. And as the date of Galinda’s arrival drew closer, Elphaba surprised herself by becoming… lighter.
She woke earlier. Walked across campus with a kind of buoyancy that felt unfamiliar. Even Shiz seemed to soften around the edges, the stone buildings less severe, the air less heavy. She caught herself smiling at nothing during lectures, distracted by the countdown unfolding in her head.
She imagined the sound of Galinda’s laughter echoing down the hallways. Imagined introducing her to the quiet corners of campus she’d claimed as her own. Imagined—carefully, guiltily—moments that might finally tip into something more.
Then Fiyero appeared.
At first, he was just a presence at the edge of things. A shoulder in the background of a photo. A voice laughing somewhere off-camera during a video Galinda sent of the campus quad.
“Hold on,” Galinda had said once, turning her phone. “Fiyero, stop stealing my fries.”
A male voice—warm, easy—laughed and replied with something Elphaba didn’t quite catch.
Elphaba felt something twist sharply in her chest. After that, she couldn’t stop noticing him.
Fiyero in Galinda’s stories, leaning in close. Fiyero tagged in photos, always smiling, always too comfortable. Fiyero’s name mentioned casually—Fiyero and I went to the beach, Fiyero convinced me to skip my reading.
Elphaba watched each update with careful neutrality, telling herself it meant nothing. Galinda had always drawn people to her. She always had admirers—boys who mistook her warmth for invitation, girls who lingered a second too long when Galinda laughed. But there had never been a boyfriend. That was the difference.
This felt… different.
Elphaba found herself listening more intently during their calls, straining for context. Once, Fiyero’s voice drifted through the background again. “Are you still on your call?”
“With Elphie,” Galinda daid easily. “Yes.”
The way she said her name—familiar, fond—sent a conflicting rush of warmth and dread through Elphaba.
She considered asking. Practiced the question in her head: “So, who’s Fiyero? Is he… important to you?”
Each version felt like stepping off a cliff. Elphaba didn’t ask.
She was too afraid of the confirmation. Too afraid that saying it out loud would make it real—that Galinda would laugh gently and explain, kindly, that of course Fiyero was her boyfriend, that Elphaba was reading into things again.
Galinda still called every night, still said sweet things, still fell asleep on the line, murmuring Elphaba’s name like a habit she couldn’t break.
Which only made it worse. Elphaba didn’t know how to recalibrate her hope. If Galinda had a boyfriend, then everything Elphaba had allowed herself to imagine was a mistake. A private misreading she would now have to undo quietly, without letting it show.
So she did what she always did when something threatened to hurt too much. She prepared to retreat. She told herself that when Galinda arrived, she would be careful. Thoughtful. Friendly.
She would not hope. She would not reach. And she would certainly not ask about Fiyero. Not unless Galinda brought him up first.