Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a crisp autumn morning at Shiz University, the kind of morning where the air was sharp enough to wake even the most sleep-deprived students trudging to early lectures. The campus was alive with the usual buzz—gossip whispered behind gloved hands, bursts of laughter from tight-knit circles, and the occasional magical mishap that left an unsuspecting freshman singed, soaked, or temporarily levitating three feet above the ground.

Elphaba Thropp, the green-skinned future wonder (or terror, depending on who you asked) of the west, sat cross-legged on the quad, her long fingers turning the pages of an ancient tome titled Advanced Theories of Levitation. The book was massive, its spine nearly crumbling under the weight of centuries of knowledge, but she barely seemed to notice. Around her, students unconsciously gave her a wide berth—whether out of fear, respect, or the simple fact that Elphaba’s presence often led to unexpected, and sometimes flammable, consequences. It could have been her sharp tongue, her unsettling ability to catch people in their lies, or, perhaps, the incident last semester where a sneeze had resulted in an entire row of textbooks spontaneously combusting. No one was willing to take the risk.

Across the quad, Fiyero Tigelaar strolled with his usual effortless grace, the very embodiment of privilege and charm. He was draped in rich velvets, his high cheekbones kissed by the autumn light in a way that would have been irritatingly picturesque if he weren’t so infuriatingly aware of it. A flock of admirers trailed in his wake, their eyes bright, their laughter just a little too eager. He nodded at all the right moments, murmured the occasional really? how fascinating, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

Or rather, on someone.

His gaze kept flickering toward the girl with her nose buried in an oversized book, utterly oblivious to the world around her. He tilted his head, smirking slightly. There was something deeply amusing about the way Elphaba existed at Shiz—so utterly unimpressed by the things that seemed to matter to everyone else. He could charm just about anyone with a well-placed smile, a wink, a casual joke. But her?

She barely looked up.

And, Oz help him, that only made him all the more determined to make her.

Elphaba didn’t look up as he approached, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed that she was fully aware of his presence. He stopped in front of her, hands in his pockets, and tilted his head with a lazy grin.

"You know, Elphaba, if you keep burying yourself in books that thick, you’re going to ruin your eyes," Fiyero drawled, hands in his pockets as he strolled up to her. "Ever considered a lighter hobby? Something that doesn’t involve dust and impending blindness? Like… oh, I don’t know… enjoying yourself?"

Elphaba didn’t look up immediately, turning a page with deliberate slowness before finally lifting her gaze. Her emerald eyes squinted against the sunlight, irritation flickering across her face like a passing shadow.

"And what, pray tell, would you suggest, Your Royal Irrelevance?" she said coolly. "Joining your ever-expanding circle of admirers? I hear membership comes with a free sense of self-importance and a lifetime supply of empty compliments."

A chorus of scandalized gasps erupted from the nearby students—offended on Fiyero’s behalf, though he hardly seemed to notice. If anything, he looked delighted. He grinned, a lazy, golden thing, before dropping onto the grass beside her without so much as an invitation.

"I’ll have you know my fan club is very exclusive," he countered, stretching out with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he had never once considered being unwelcome anywhere. "They only accept people with exceptional taste, impeccable fashion sense, and a high tolerance for sarcasm. You’d fit right in."

"Tempting," Elphaba deadpanned, snapping her book shut with a decisive thud. "But I’m afraid I’m too busy saving the world from idiots like you."

"Harsh," Fiyero said, pressing a hand to his chest as though she had struck him. "I prefer to think of myself as strategically unmotivated."

Elphaba snorted. "Strategically unmotivated—that’s a new one. Did you come up with it all by yourself, or did one of your admirers write it down for you so you wouldn’t forget?"

Fiyero gasped dramatically, tipping back onto his elbows. "You wound me, Thropp." Then, flashing her an insufferable smirk, he added, "But I appreciate your concern. Should I be expecting a handwritten apology, or will you simply glare at me until I feel remorse?"

Elphaba rolled her eyes but, despite herself, felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

"Actually, I—" Fiyero began, but he was cut off by a loud, panicked squawk. A second-year student came sprinting across the quad, a spellbook clutched to his chest and a small, angry dragon made of fire snapping at his heels.

Elphaba sighed. "Why is it always fire?" she muttered, rising to her feet. With a flick of her wrist and a muttered incantation, a jet of water shot from her fingers, extinguishing the fiery creature in an impressive cloud of steam. The student skidded to a halt, panting and looking thoroughly chastened.

"Thanks, Elphaba!" he squeaked before scurrying off.

Fiyero watched the whole scene with an amused expression. "You know," he said as Elphaba sat back down, "you’d make an excellent hero. You’ve got the whole selfless saviour thing down."

"And you’d make an excellent court jester," she shot back, barely glancing up from her book. "You’ve got the whole fool thing down."

Fiyero grinned, utterly unbothered. “See? This is why we’re perfect friends for each other.”

“Perfectly insufferable,” she corrected, though the corner of her mouth twitched in what could almost—almost—be mistaken for a smile.

And so they sat—the self-proclaimed fool and the reluctant hero—locked in their familiar rhythm of bickering and banter, the world continuing its indifferent spin around them. Fiyero lounged back on his hands, the very image of effortless charm, his smile lazy but satisfied. Beside him, Elphaba sat cross-legged, her book perched precariously on her knee, an obvious shield against his relentless teasing. Their words moved between them with practiced ease, a sharp-edged symphony of wit and sarcasm that left anyone within earshot struggling to keep up, caught somewhere between admiration and bewilderment.

“Honestly, I don’t even know why you talk to me,” Fiyero sighed dramatically, picking an imaginary piece of grass off his sleeve. “You clearly can’t stand me.”

“It’s a mystery,” Elphaba muttered, still not looking up. “One for the ages, really.”

“Maybe you secretly like me,” he mused, his grin widening. “You know, as a challenge.”

She finally glanced at him, eyes glittering. “Believe me, you’re not that challenging.”

Fiyero clutched his chest as if she had mortally wounded him. “Now that’s just hurtful,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You’re going to ruin my carefully cultivated self-esteem.”

“That assumes you had any to begin with,” she shot back, her lips quirking in what was definitely not a smile.

The occasional passerby glanced their way—some with curiosity, some with mild disbelief. Elphaba and Fiyero together weren’t exactly unusual, but no one could ever quite understand how this—this infuriating, fast-paced exchange of mockery and mischief—had come to exist between them.

But the two of them? They didn’t notice.

Or, if they did, they simply didn’t care.

Fiyero tilted his head, studying her with open amusement. “You know, you’re kind of fun when you’re not being completely terrifying.”

“And you’re tolerable when you’re not talking,” she replied smoothly, not even glancing up as she turned a page.

For a moment, silence settled between them—not awkward, but comfortable. The usual sounds of the bustling quad filled the space: laughter, distant conversations, the occasional magical mishap gone horribly wrong.

But Fiyero was nothing if not restless. He shifted, then smirked. “You think anyone’s figured out we actually enjoy this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely between them.

Elphaba finally looked at him over the edge of her book, unimpressed. “Not if you keep announcing it.”

He grinned, leaning back on his elbows. “Our secret’s safe with me.”

And though she rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitched just enough to suggest she didn’t entirely mind.

-

Later that afternoon, Fiyero found himself standing in front of Elphaba’s dorm room, precariously balancing a mountain of books. His arms ached, and he had to stop every few steps to readjust the wobbling pile before the entire thing came crashing down.

This had been her idea, of course. Something about “research purposes.” She hadn’t elaborated, and he hadn’t thought to ask—mostly because he’d already agreed before he could think of a decent excuse not to.

When he finally reached the door, he let out a slow breath, shifted the books to one arm, and knocked with his free hand.

A second later, the door creaked open, revealing Elphaba—hair pulled back in a messy bun, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Galinda was nowhere to be seen, and her side of the room was in its usual state of organized chaos—potions bubbling on a small table, scrolls piled high on her desk, and an unmistakable scent of burnt toast lingering in the air.

She arched an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably late,” he corrected, stepping inside. “And for the record, this stack of books weighs more than I do.”

Elphaba gave him a dry look. “Then you should probably eat more.”

He sighed dramatically, shifting the books onto her desk with a thud. “Remind me why I agreed to this?”

She plucked a book from the pile, flipping it open as she perched on the edge of her chair. “Because you have a tragic inability to tell me no.”

Fiyero huffed, flopping onto her bed. “Yeah, I should probably work on that.”

She hummed, distracted, already absorbed in whatever she was reading. He watched her for a moment, watching the way her brows furrowed in concentration, the way she chewed absently on the inside of her cheek.

No, he thought. He definitely wasn’t going to work on that.

As he got up to examine the books, one of them began to hum ominously. Fiyero jumped back. "Uh, Elphaba? Is it supposed to do that?"

She barely glanced at it. "Yes. Don’t open it."

"Noted," he said, eyeing the book warily. "So, what’s today’s project? Are we turning lead into gold? Making a potion for eternal youth?"

"Nothing so trivial," she said, her lips curving into a sly smile. "We’re testing a spell for instant transportation."

Fiyero’s eyes lit up. "You mean like… poof! And we’re on the other side of campus?"

"That’s the idea," she said, pulling out a handful of glittering powder. "But it’s still in the experimental phase, so… try not to touch anything."

"Famous last words," he muttered, stepping back as she began to chant. The room filled with a shimmering light, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze in place.

There was a pop, a sudden rush of displaced air—then silence.

Fiyero blinked.

He was no longer in Elphaba’s dorm.

He was in the middle of the very full Shiz dining hall.

And he was covered in glitter.

The usual lunchtime chatter died instantly, replaced by a stunned, almost reverent silence. Dozens of wide-eyed students turned to stare, their forks frozen mid-air, their faces caught somewhere between shock and delight. The sunlight streaming through the grand windows caught on the glitter coating his skin and clothes, making him shimmer like a particularly festive chandelier.

Fiyero slowly exhaled through his nose, assessing the situation.

Then, with the resigned air of a man who had long since made peace with his own ridiculous life, he brushed a futile hand over his chest—only for another shower of glitter to rain down onto the floor like a tiny, sparkling avalanche.

"Well," he said finally, his voice carrying through the silent room, "at least I’ll be easy to find. Anyone seen my dignity? No? Alright, carry on."

A ripple of laughter spread through the dining hall, hesitant at first, then growing louder as students clapped, some even whistling as if this were a grand performance rather than a very unfortunate accident.

Fiyero, ever the showman, took the attention in stride. With an exaggerated bow—causing yet another explosion of glitter—he grinned. "Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week. Unfortunately."

More laughter. A few students threw bits of bread in appreciation, because apparently, this was a thing now.

Deciding he had suffered enough, Fiyero turned on his heel, attempting to make a swift, dignified exit. It would have worked, too—if not for the fact that every step he took left behind a sparkling trail, as though he were an enchanted forest creature rather than a mildly inconvenienced prince. The snickers followed him all the way out the door, and as he rounded the corner, he could still hear someone call, “You missed a spot, Your Highness!”

Back in her dorm room, Elphaba leaned back in her chair, smirking as she inspected the now-empty bottle of enchanted glitter powder. Around her, the remnants of her spell lay scattered—open books, chalk markings, a faint shimmer of residual magic in the air.

The experiment itself had been a technical failure. The transportation spell was still… temperamental at best. But the entertainment value? Impeccable.

She could practically hear Fiyero’s exasperated voice in her head, complaining about the mess, demanding an explanation, dramatically declaring vengeance.

"Strategically unmotivated, my foot," she muttered, tossing the empty bottle into the trash.

She tapped her quill thoughtfully against her spellbook, already considering improvements. A more controlled burst next time, maybe. A precise incantation to neutralize unintended side effects. And, of course, she needed a test subject.

Preferably one who was easily goaded.

Elphaba smirked to herself. Convincing Fiyero to help again wouldn’t take much. A few choice words, a pointed remark about his bravery, and he’d be back in her dorm before he even realized what had happened. For all his bravado, he never could resist her challenges.

"Poor Fiyero," she mused, amusement curling at the edges of her voice. "He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into."

With that thought, she leaned over her desk and began scribbling down notes, already planning the next spell.

--

Two weeks later, Fiyero leaned casually against the doorway of Elphaba’s dorm room, his trademark grin firmly in place. “You called? Or is this just another excuse to admire my charm up close?”

Elphaba didn’t even look up from her desk, where a small cauldron was bubbling ominously. “Yes, I called,” she said, her tone brisk. “I’m testing a hair growth spell, and you’re the perfect subject.”

Fiyero immediately ran a protective hand through his already-flawless hair, as if just speaking about it might cause damage. “I’ll have you know my hair is a masterpiece. People stop me in the street just to compliment it.”

“Yes, and now they’ll stop you because it’s down to your ankles,” Elphaba deadpanned, shoving a chair toward him. “Sit.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he eyed the glowing vials on her desk with deep suspicion, arms crossed like a man who had absolutely learned from past mistakes. “Hang on. Define ‘perfect subject.’ Because last time I was your perfect subject, I spent a week cleaning glitter from places glitter should never be.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic and sit down,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “It’s reversible. Probably.”

“‘Probably’ doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence,” he replied, but he sank into the chair with the exaggerated air of a martyr. “If I end up looking like a deranged poodle, you’re paying for my therapy.”

Elphaba ignored him, pouring a viscous green liquid into a smaller bottle. It emitted a faint puff of smoke that smelled vaguely of mint and… possibly garlic. Or sulfur. Fiyero leaned back, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you sure that’s supposed to smell like that?” he asked. “Because it smells like something my grandmother would use to chase raccoons off her property.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she muttered, uncorking the bottle.

“Not when I’m about to be turned into a magical science experiment,” he retorted. “So, what happens now? Do I drink it? Do you pour it on my head? Is there some kind of interpretive dance involved?”

Elphaba shot him a withering look. “Hold still and stop whining.”

With a flick of her wrist, she dripped the liquid onto his head, muttering an incantation. A faint green mist rose around him, swirling in lazy spirals. For a moment, nothing happened.

Fiyero relaxed, leaning back with a smug grin. “See? No big de—”

He didn’t get to finish. His hair suddenly erupted into a cascade of golden waves, spilling over his shoulders and pooling on the floor like a shimmering waterfall. Fiyero grabbed two fistfuls of it, his eyes wide in horror.

“Elphaba!” he yelped. “I look like I belong on the cover of a trashy romance novel! Call me Fabio and toss me a pirate ship!”

Elphaba, for her part, was doubled with glee, clutching the edge of her desk to stay upright. “This… this is better than I expected,” she wheezed. “You look incredible! Just add a windswept cliff and a tragic backstory!”

Fiyero tried to stand, but his newfound mane tangled around his feet, sending him crashing back into the chair. “This is a safety hazard!” he exclaimed, flailing like a disgruntled octopus. “I could file a complaint with the magical health and safety board!”

“If you survive,” she gasped between fits of laughter. “And honestly, you’re not making a strong case for yourself.”

He attempted to toss his hair over his shoulder in a move he’d clearly seen Galinda do, but it ended with a strand in his mouth. “Fix it! Right now!”

“Alright, alright,” she said. With a flick of her hand, the spell reversed, his hair snapping back to its usual length with an audible whoosh.

Fiyero ran his hands through it, making sure everything was back in place. “Next time,” he said, standing with as much dignity as he could muster, “give me a heads-up before you turn me into the poster child for melodrama.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Elphaba asked, her lips curling into a smirk. “Besides, you make an excellent test subject.”

“And you make an excellent villain,” he shot back, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his amusement. “One day, Elphaba, I’ll get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she replied smoothly, already jotting notes in her spellbook. Fiyero sighed, shaking his head as he walked out, leaving behind a faint trail of glitter he hadn’t quite managed to scrub off from their last encounter.

-

A week after the hair growth debacle, Elphaba was back at it—this time with a bubbling cauldron sitting ominously on her desk. Fiyero leaned against the doorframe, watching her stir the potion with the intensity of someone plotting world domination.

"Another spell?" he asked, stepping into the room without waiting for an invitation.

"No," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m just making soup. Care to try some?"

"Is this another experiment that’s ‘perfectly safe’ or ‘probably safe’?" he asked, peering into the cauldron. The liquid inside glowed an unsettling shade of neon purple.

“Neither,” she replied, smirking. “This one’s guaranteed to be dangerous.”

He grinned. “Sounds like fun. What’s it supposed to do?”

“Improve agility,” she explained. “A few drops, and the subject should be able to move faster, react quicker, and have better balance.”

“And let me guess,” he said, plopping into the chair across from her, “you want me to test it.”

“Well,” she said, her voice light and teasing, “you’re the most uncoordinated person I know. Might as well see if it works on extreme cases.”

“I am not uncoordinated!” Fiyero protested. “I dance with grace. I have impeccable balance.”

As if to prove his point, he reached out to grab the edge of the table, knocking a small vial to the floor in the process. It shattered with a faint hiss, releasing a cloud of glittering smoke.

Elphaba stared at him, unimpressed. “Impeccable, huh?”

“Okay, fine,” he admitted sheepishly. “Maybe I should stick to dancing.”

Before he could change his mind, she handed him a tiny vial of the glowing potion. “Drink this. And try not to spill it.”

He eyed the liquid suspiciously. “If I start spinning uncontrollably, I’m blaming you.”

“Noted,” she said, suppressing a smile.

He downed the potion in one gulp, grimacing at the taste. “Ugh. It’s like sour blueberries and regret.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, without warning, he shot out of his chair, his movements a blur.

“Whoa!” Fiyero exclaimed, narrowly avoiding the desk as he skidded across the room. “Okay, this is… fast.”

Elphaba bit her lip, torn between concern and amusement as he darted around the room like a hyperactive hummingbird.

“This is incredible!” he shouted, attempting to leap over the chair. He cleared it—barely—before stumbling into the wall.

“Fiyero!” Elphaba said, trying to stifle a laugh. “Stop before you hurt yourself!”

“I can’t stop!” he yelled, his voice a mix of exhilaration and panic. “This is your fault!”

With a flick of her hand, she muttered a counterspell, and Fiyero collapsed into the chair, panting.

“You’re a pest,” Fiyero said between breaths, still brushing dust from his hair after his less-than-graceful landing. Despite his words, a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And this,” he gestured vaguely at the circle of powder around him, “was not in the job description.”

“And you’re a terrible test subject,” Elphaba shot back, crouching down to clean up the silvery powder with a few quick sweeps of her hand. “All you had to do was hold still.”

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning back against the desk with exaggerated flair. “I think I nailed it. Did you see that jump? I’m basically a gazelle.”

Elphaba paused, giving him a pointed look. “More like a drunk squirrel.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair and sending another puff of dust into the air. “I’ll have you know squirrels are very nimble. Anyway, is this what you call ‘perfectly safe’ magic?”

“It was safe,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The spell worked. You didn’t fall, did you?”

“No,” he admitted, crossing his arms. “But I hit the ceiling. That wasn’t in the brochure.”

“Oh, poor you,” she said with mock sympathy, standing and brushing her hands off. “If you’re finished complaining, I still have more spells to test.”

Fiyero raised a skeptical eyebrow. “More spells? Why do I feel like this is going to get worse before it gets better?”

“Because you have excellent instincts,” Elphaba said dryly. She turned back to her desk, already rummaging through a pile of glowing vials and half-finished notes.

Fiyero groaned but followed her anyway, leaning against the desk to peer over her shoulder. “Alright, fine. What’s next?”

“Levitation,” she said, pulling out a fresh pouch of silvery powder and glancing at him over her shoulder. “Proper levitation this time.”

His expression immediately shifted from playful to nervous. “Wait, proper levitation? What was that last one, then?”

She smirked, sprinkling the powder into her hand. “That was an experiment.”

He stepped back, hands raised. “Hold on, I thought we were past the experimental phase.”

“Not even close,” she said, motioning for him to step back into the circle. “Don’t worry. This one’s even safer.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” he muttered, eyeing the powder as she began sprinkling it around him in a careful circle. “Levitation spells, huh? What could go wrong?”

Elphaba straightened, dusting her hands off. “Absolutely nothing… as long as you don’t panic.”

Fiyero froze mid-step, narrowing his eyes at her. “Why would I panic?”

“Oh, no reason,” she said casually, but her smirk was anything but reassuring.

Before he could question her further, she snapped her fingers, and in an instant, Fiyero shot three feet into the air. He flailed wildly, his arms windmilling as he tried—and failed—to grab onto anything solid.

“Elphaba!” he shouted, his legs kicking at empty air. “What part of ‘don’t panic’ applies when you’re floating around like a terrified bird?”

She crossed her arms, biting back a laugh as she watched him spin in slow, clumsy circles. “Relax, Fiyero. It’s all under control.”

“Define ‘control!’” he yelled, twisting to glare down at her. “Because this does not feel controlled!”

She tilted her head, her smirk widening. “You’re doing great. Maybe I’ll enter you in a flying competition.”

"You’re hilarious," he deadpanned, his expression growing more panicked as he drifted closer to the ceiling. "I’m getting dizzy up here! Do something before I—"

Before he could finish, he lightly bumped into the ceiling, sending a small puff of dust raining down onto his hair. He groaned, glancing down at her. "If I fall, you’re going to have to catch me."

"Don’t worry," she said with mock seriousness. "I’ll conjure a pillow."

"How reassuring," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

With a wave of her hand, Elphaba finally brought him back down. He landed on his feet, albeit a little unsteady, and immediately crossed his arms. "You know this means payback, right?"

She smirked. "I’d like to see you try."

The next day, Fiyero strolled into class with the swagger of a man on a mission, a devious twinkle in his eye and a large, ostentatious bouquet of flowers in his hand. The blooms were an absurd mix of colours—bright reds, yellows, and blues—and the whole thing looked more like something plucked from a carnival than a garden. Heads turned as he crossed the room, several students whispering and snickering as they watched him make his way toward Elphaba.

He stopped in front of her desk, plopping the bouquet down with a theatrical flourish. “For you,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.

Elphaba glanced up from her notes, immediately suspicious. “What’s this?” she asked, eyeing the flowers as though they might bite her.

“A peace offering,” Fiyero replied, all innocence. “And maybe a little thank-you for the flying lesson. I feel like a new man.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re up to something.”

“Me?” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “I’m wounded, Elphaba. Can’t a man show his appreciation without being accused of ulterior motives?”

“Not when that man is you,” she said dryly, still eyeing the bouquet like it might explode.

Fiyero gestured grandly for her to take the flowers. “Go on. I picked them out myself.”

“Did you?” she muttered, her skepticism deepening as she reluctantly reached for the bouquet. The second her fingers touched the stems, the entire arrangement burst into a puff of glittery blue smoke, leaving her coughing and blinking as harmless sparkles rained down over her clothes, her desk, and—unfortunately—her hair.

“Fiyero!” she spluttered, waving a hand to clear the glitter from her face. Her emerald skin now shimmered in the light, and her dark dress sparkled like it had been dipped in starlight.

He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Payback,” he said, leaning casually against her desk. “And I have to say, green and blue really suit you. You’re like a walking piece of modern art.”

Elphaba glared at him, brushing futilely at the glitter. “You’re lucky this stuff is harmless, or I’d turn you into something that croaks.”

“I’m quaking,” he said, feigning terror before laughing. “Come on, admit it—it’s funny.”

Despite herself, Elphaba let out a reluctant chuckle, shaking her head as she tried to dust the glitter off her notes. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Fiyero shot back, his grin widening.

“I tolerate it,” she corrected, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

They lapsed into a brief silence, the din of the classroom fading around them. Fiyero leaned in just slightly, the humour in his expression softening into something warmer. “Seriously, though,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Thanks for not letting me crash into the floor yesterday. I’d hate to lose my looks.”

Elphaba snorted. “Because that’s clearly your greatest contribution to society.”

“Exactly,” he replied, unbothered. “But for the record, I think this glitter really brings out your best side.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide her amusement. “You’re insufferable,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

For a moment, the usual banter faded, replaced by a rare, unspoken understanding. She glanced at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his gaze, and quickly looked away, brushing more glitter from her sleeve.

“Just so you know,” she muttered, grabbing her wand and gesturing toward the mess he’d created, “you’re cleaning this up after class.”

“Worth it,” he said with a laugh, watching as she flicked her hand and some of the glitter vanished in a puff of blue smoke. “I think this was my best work yet.”

“Only because I haven’t hexed you,” she replied, though there was a faint smile on her lips as she turned back to her notes.

Fiyero returned to his seat, still grinning. If he’d gotten her to smile—even just a little—it was a victory worth every piece of sparkle.

--

"Drink this," Elphaba said, holding out a small vial filled with a liquid that shimmered faintly in the light. She stood in the center of her chaotic dorm room, which, without Galinda’s usual presence, had become a laboratory of experiments, cluttered with scrolls, vials, and bubbling cauldrons. The absence of her bubbly roommate gave her free reign to spread her work across every available surface.

Fiyero, lounging on Galinda’s pristine, pink-blanketed couch—now a stark contrast to the rest of the room—eyed the vial with suspicion. One leg was draped over the armrest, and his other foot tapped rhythmically on the floor. "What’s in it?"

"Just a harmless truth serum," she said innocently, though the glint in her eye suggested anything but innocence. "I’m testing the potency."

He raised an eyebrow. "Harmless? You mean like your last spell that left me floating in circles and bumping into the ceiling? Because my dignity hasn’t fully recovered from that."

"Oh, stop being dramatic," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "This won’t make you levitate." Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "Probably."

"‘Probably’ is not the confidence boost you think it is, Elphaba," he replied, sitting up slightly. His gaze flicked to the assortment of bottles on her desk. "And where’s Galinda, anyway? Shouldn’t she be here to make sure I survive this?"

Elphaba snorted. "She’s off at some ridiculous seminar about the ‘Art of Tea Party Etiquette.’ She insisted it was essential for her ‘social development.’" She rolled her eyes and thrust the vial closer to him. "Which means we won’t be interrupted. Now, drink."

"You’re awfully eager to poison me when there are no witnesses," Fiyero muttered, taking the vial reluctantly. He held it up to the light, squinting at the shimmering liquid inside. "This looks like something that came out of a rainbow’s sneeze."

"Trust me, it’s perfectly safe," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Well, as long as you don’t have any deep, dark secrets you’re desperate to keep."

His eyes narrowed. "And if I do?"

"Then this should be fun," she replied, her lips curving into a sly smile.

With a sigh that conveyed the weight of a thousand regrettable decisions, Fiyero pinched his nose and downed the potion in one gulp. It tasted oddly sweet, with a faint metallic aftertaste. He set the empty vial on the table and waited, his eyes darting between Elphaba and the nearest exit.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his eyes widened slightly, and he blurted out, "I once got lost in the library and pretended I was looking for you so I wouldn’t look stupid!"

Elphaba froze, the smirk on her face melting into wide-eyed surprise. "You... you got lost? In the library? The place with maps and labelled sections?"

"Shut up!" Fiyero groaned, burying his face in his hands as more words tumbled out uncontrollably. "I panicked, okay? I couldn’t find the exit, and I ended up in the philosophy section. Which, by the way, is the worst place to be when you’re already confused!"

Elphaba’s smile turned into full-blown cackling, her face flushing darker as she tried to catch her breath. "Philosophy! Oh, Fiyero, that’s perfect. Did you have an existential crisis while you were at it?"

"I might have," he muttered, peeking at her through his fingers. "And for the record, I’m never setting foot in there again."

She wiped her eyes, still smiling. "I can’t believe this. The great Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, undone by a library."

"I’m never living this down, am I?" he asked, his voice muffled by his hands.

"Not a chance," she replied, her grin impossibly wide. "This might be the best thing you’ve ever confessed."

"Oh, it gets better," he said miserably, as the serum continued its work. "I only signed up for that poetry class because I thought you were in it!"

Elphaba’s laughter stopped abruptly, her cheeks flushing an even darker shade of green. "You… what?"

"I thought it would be an easy class," he added quickly, as if that might soften the blow. "And then I found out you weren’t in it, but I stayed anyway because… I don’t know. Maybe I thought it’d make me seem intellectual."

She blinked at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "You signed up for poetry to impress me?"

"Apparently," he said, slumping back on the couch in defeat. "And I’m terrible at it. My last poem rhymed ‘moon’ with ‘spoon.’"

Elphaba bit her lip, trying—and failing—to suppress another laugh. "That’s… surprisingly charming."

"Charming?" he groaned. "I’m a disaster. This truth serum is evil. You’re evil."

She smirked, leaning back against the desk. "Maybe. But at least now I know you’re not as shallow as you pretend to be."

"I’ll have you know I’m very deep," he said, pointing a finger at her. "And very charming, and… apparently very bad at keeping secrets."

They stared at each other for a moment before both let out a burst of easy laughter, the tension melting away. As Fiyero grinned, he couldn’t help but notice the way her smirk softened into something closer to a real smile.

"You’re dangerous, Elphaba," he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual bravado.

She raised an eyebrow, her smile fading slightly. "Dangerous?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning back on the couch, a grin creeping back onto his face. "You make me do things I’d never do otherwise. Like sign up for poetry classes. Or drink suspicious glowing potions."

Elphaba rolled her eyes, but her smirk returned. "Let me know when you’re ready for round two. I have some potions that might make you sparkle again."

"Not a chance," he said firmly, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his words. He shifted on the couch, leaning forward slightly as if testing the waters. "Elphaba," he began, his usual bravado slipping away, "you make life… different. Happier, even."

Her eyes narrowed, her natural instinct to deflect kicking in. "Is this the truth serum talking?" she asked, her tone edged with suspicion, though there was a softness beneath it.

"Maybe," he admitted, the grin creeping back onto his face. "But maybe it’s just me."

For a moment, silence hung between them, thick and uncharacteristically uncertain. Elphaba opened her mouth, likely to deliver one of her usual sharp comebacks, but the words didn’t come. Instead, her cheeks flushed a deeper green, and she quickly busied herself with the papers on her desk, though her hands stilled.

She glanced back at him, catching the genuine warmth in his gaze, and something shifted. This wasn’t the Fiyero who swaggered through the quad surrounded by admirers. This was someone else—someone unguarded, who wasn’t trying to impress or amuse but simply… was.

Her lips twitched, not quite a smirk but not far from it either. "Maybe," she said softly, her voice almost too quiet to hear, "you’re not so bad after all."

The small, genuine smile that followed hit Fiyero harder than he’d expected. He’d seen her smirk, seen her roll her eyes, even seen her laugh at his expense. But this was different. This wasn’t a wall or a defence. It was just her.

And it made his heart skip a beat.

"Careful, Thropp," he said, leaning back with a lopsided grin. "Say something like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me."

"Don’t push your luck," she replied, but her tone lacked its usual bite, and the faint smile lingered just a little longer.

-

Two weeks later, Fiyero found himself back in Elphaba’s dorm, standing amidst the familiar chaos of bubbling potions and scattered books. Her sharp green eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and intrigue as she looked him over, her expression unreadable but undeniably calculating. It was the kind of look that made him feel both flattered and slightly worried—like a mouse realizing it had just wandered into a cat’s favourite corner.

"Today," Elphaba said, hands on her hips, her smirk practically daring him to object, "we’re testing a duplication spell."

Fiyero leaned against her desk, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds harmless enough. What’s the catch?"

"No catch," she replied sweetly, the glint in her eye making it clear there was definitely a catch. "You just have to stand there and let the magic do its thing."

He sighed, pushing off the desk. "Fine. Hit me with your worst."

"You asked for it," she said under her breath, muttering an incantation. A soft glow surrounded Fiyero, shimmering like sunlight on water. For a moment, nothing seemed out of the ordinary—until another Fiyero stepped out of the glow.

Fiyero froze, staring at his identical double. "Okay, that’s… unsettling."

The duplicate gave him an identical smirk, crossing its arms. "Unsettling? I’m a masterpiece."

"You’re also unnecessary," Fiyero snapped, stepping closer to inspect his double. "Why do you look like you’re about to steal my spotlight?"

"Because I am your spotlight," the duplicate shot back, brushing imaginary dust off its jacket. "Honestly, the original could stand to work on his posture."

"Excuse me?" Fiyero said, his voice rising. "You’re me! If anyone’s got posture issues, it’s you, too!"

Elphaba, who had been watching the exchange with increasing delight, burst out laughing. "This is… amazing," she wheezed. "I’ve never seen someone argue with themselves before. It’s like watching two debutants fight over the same mirror."

The two Fiyeros turned toward her in unison, their voices harmonizing in perfect indignation. "This isn’t funny!"

"Actually," Elphaba grinned, "it’s hilarious."

The duplicate stepped forward, giving her a winning smile. "You know, Elphie, I’m starting to see why you keep him around. But, uh, have you considered upgrading to the newer model?" It pointed to itself with both thumbs. "I come with more charm and less ego."

Fiyero threw his hands in the air. "Less ego? You’ve been alive for two minutes, and you’re already insufferable!"

"Pot, meet kettle," the duplicate retorted, mimicking Fiyero’s gestures with exaggerated flair.

Elphaba leaned back against her desk, grinning ear to ear. "I don’t know… having two of you might be useful. One for hauling books, and one for testing spells. Think of the possibilities!"

"Don’t even think about it," both Fiyeros said in unison, glaring at her.

That only made her laugh harder. "Oh, this is gold. I should’ve done this ages ago."

The duplicate Fiyero turned to the original, sizing him up. "Honestly, I think you’re the one who needs to go. I’m taller, funnier, and—"

"You’re not taller!" Fiyero shouted, pulling himself up to his full height, which, of course, matched the duplicate’s exactly.

"Are you sure? Because you seem a little short on patience," the duplicate quipped, earning a delighted snort from Elphaba.

"That’s it!" Fiyero lunged at his double, only for the duplicate to sidestep him with ease. They circled each other like dueling roosters, exchanging jabs that ranged from petty to absurd.

"You think you’re clever, but I’m the original!" Fiyero growled.

"Original doesn’t mean better," the duplicate shot back. "Just ask parchment. People prefer books now."

Elphaba was gleefully watching the duel. "Stop—stop it," she gasped. "I can’t breathe!"

"Elphaba, fix this!" Fiyero demanded, glaring at her as his duplicate mimicked his expression behind his back.

"Do I have to?" she teased, though she finally raised her hands. "I was just starting to enjoy the show."

With an upward motion of her hands, the duplicate vanished in a puff of smoke. Fiyero coughed, brushing soot off his sleeve, and glared at her. "Never again."

"Admit it," she said, still grinning. "You were impressed."

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re impossible."

"And you love it," she replied, already jotting down notes for her next experiment.

-

The day after the duplication disaster, Fiyero strolled into the dining hall to find Elphaba alone, her book propped against a plate of untouched toast.

She was still, too still, her fingers hovering over the pages but not turning them. The usual sharp focus was missing, her eyes dark and distant as though she were looking through the words rather than at them.

Fiyero slid into the seat across from her without hesitation, resting his arms lazily on the table. “Morning,” he said, flashing an easy grin. “Miss me?”

She didn’t look up. “Not even for a second.”

“Liar,” he teased, snatching a piece of toast from her plate.

Still, no reaction. No quick retort, no scowl, nothing but the flick of her gaze, the faintest tightening of her grip on the book’s spine.

Fiyero hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before leaning in, lowering his voice to something conspiratorial, coaxing. “Admit it, Elphaba. You’re secretly having the time of your life with me.”

That got her. A slow blink, a measured breath, and finally, finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her expression was unreadable, but there was something behind it—something searching. Something that made the air between them feel thinner.

“Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” she asked at last, her voice quieter than usual.

“Never,” he said smoothly, flashing her a grin he hoped would be enough to lighten whatever weight had settled over her. “And clearly, neither do you. Otherwise, you’d have hexed me by now.”

She exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

But there was no real bite to it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them faded—the clatter of silverware, the hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table.

Fiyero watched her as she turned back to her book, as if retreating into it might offer her something he couldn’t. The way her brow furrowed slightly, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, a restless rhythm she probably didn’t even realize she was keeping.

Something was off.

He didn’t know what, but he knew her well enough to recognize the shift.

And so, instead of filling the silence with another joke, instead of pressing, he simply stayed.

“You know,” he said softly, breaking the quiet, “you’re kind of extraordinary.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just saying, you’re not like anyone else I've ever met. And that’s… a good thing.”

Elphaba stared at him, searching his face for a hint of mockery. When she found none, she shook her head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re insufferable,” she said.

“And you love it,” he replied, his grin widening.

-

It was one of those rare afternoons at Shiz when the sun peeked out and the chill in the air was just enough to make skipping classes feel justified. Elphaba, of course, didn’t skip classes—not without an exceedingly good reason. Today, that reason involved an experiment that was “far more important than anything they could teach in a lecture,” as she’d told Fiyero when he asked why she wasn’t in class. She was holed up in her dorm, standing over a small table stacked with baking ingredients that looked suspiciously magical. Fiyero leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and an amused grin plastered across his face.

“I didn’t know you baked,” he said, watching as she measured something that looked like flour but glowed faintly.

“I don’t,” she replied without looking up. “This is part of my latest experiment.”

“Please tell me you’re not trying to reinvent food. The dining hall’s bad enough without you making explosive pies.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “Why would you assume they’re explosive?”

“Because everything you touch either glows, floats, or ends up on fire,” he said, strolling in uninvited. He picked up a measuring cup and gave it a cautious sniff before recoiling. “What is that?”

“Just a touch of powdered starfruit for extra stability,” she said, smirking. “It’s harmless. Probably.”

“Why does everything with you come with a ‘probably’?”

“Why does everything with you come with a commentary?” she shot back, swiping the measuring cup out of his hand.

He grinned, unbothered. “I live to make your life more exciting.”

“If by exciting, you mean unnecessarily complicated, then yes, you’ve succeeded,” she muttered, pouring the starfruit powder into a bowl.

“Come on, Fae,” he said, hopping up to sit on the edge of the table. “You know you love having me around. Admit it.”

“Not even if you were the last distraction on Oz,” she replied, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

Fiyero leaned closer, tilting his head. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“Admit it.”

“Fiyero—”

Before she could finish, he reached out and tapped the edge of the bowl she was mixing. There was a loud pop, followed by a burst of pink smoke and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeaky trumpet. Both of them froze, staring at the mess as tiny, colourful sparks fizzled in the air.

Fiyero coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. “Okay, so... that wasn’t me.”

Elphaba’s glare could have turned him to stone. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, gesturing to himself, “here I am, covered in magical glitter and still charming as ever.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re not charming. You’re a menace.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Her cheeks flushed—a rare, endearing shade of green that only made him smile more. “Stop flirting,” she said, trying to sound stern.

“Stop pretending you hate it,” he countered, hopping off the table and moving closer. “Admit it, Elphaba. We’re a great team.”

She snorted. “The only thing great about this moment is how quickly I’m about to kick you out.”

“You’re not going to kick me out,” he said confidently, taking another step closer. “You’d miss me.”

“Fiyero—” she started, but her voice faltered as he reached out and plucked a stray bit of glitter from her hair.

“There,” he said softly, his hand lingering near her face for a moment. “Perfect.”

Her eyes met his, and for once, she didn’t have a sharp retort ready. Instead, she stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time—not just the swaggering prince, but the boy who had stuck around, who made her laugh, who made her feel a little less alone.

“Fiyero,” she said finally, her voice quieter than before.

“Yes?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

She grabbed the bowl of glowing pie filling and dumped it on his head.

There was another loud pop as the mixture exploded in a cloud of harmless, glittery smoke. When it cleared, Fiyero stood there, covered head to toe in glowing pink goo, blinking in stunned silence.

Elphaba crossed her arms, her smirk triumphant. “Perfect.”

Fiyero stared at her for a long moment, then broke into a laugh so loud it echoed through the hall. “You know what?” he said, wiping goo off his face. “I think I might actually be in love with you.”

Elphaba froze, her smirk slipping. “What?”

He shrugged, still grinning. “You heard me.”

“You... you’re covered in pie filling,” she pointed out, as though that was the real issue.

“And you’re still the most fascinating person I’ve ever met,” he replied, taking a step closer despite the mess. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, Fiyero thought she might actually hex him. Then, to his surprise—and maybe hers—she smiled. Not her usual smirk or sarcastic quirk of the lips, but a real, genuine smile that left him momentarily speechless.

“I guess I’ll just have to keep making your life miserable,” she said, her voice lighter than usual, though the hint of a challenge lingered.

“Good,” he replied, his tone softer now, the usual bravado slipping away. “I’d be lost without it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was something rare and new. Fiyero, still dripping in glittery pie filling, stood there grinning at her like she was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever seen. Elphaba, shaking her head, tried to ignore the warmth spreading across her chest as she met his gaze.

"Just so you know," she said finally, breaking the quiet and picking up her wand with exaggerated calm, "you’re cleaning this up."

"Good," he said again, laughing as he flicked some glitter off his sleeve. "Because I’ll need the memory of this to get me through the next time you try to kill me with magic."

“Fair warning,” she replied, her smirk returning. “The next spell might not be so harmless.”

He chuckled, stepping closer despite the glittery disaster between them. “Maybe. But somehow, I think I’ll survive. You like having me around too much to get rid of me.”

“Don’t push your luck, Tigelaar,” she said, though her tone held no real heat.

“I already have,” he said softly, his grin fading into something quieter, more sincere. “And I don’t regret it.”

For once, Elphaba didn’t have a biting reply. Instead, she shook her head with a reluctant laugh, flicked her hand to clean up the mess, and turned away before he could see the small, unguarded smile still lingering on her face.

-

It was a quiet evening at Shiz, the kind of night where the stars blanketed the sky in a dazzling array, almost demanding to be admired. Fiyero had been wandering the campus, trying to avoid the tedious chatter of his usual entourage, when he spotted a faint glow coming from the edge of the gardens. Curious, he followed it and wasn’t surprised to find Elphaba sitting cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by floating orbs of soft, golden light.

“You know,” he said, stepping closer, “most people just stare at the stars. They don’t try to bring them down to earth.”

Elphaba didn’t flinch at his voice; she had probably sensed him coming. “Most people lack imagination,” she replied without looking up, her hands carefully guiding one of the orbs to hover in front of her.

“What’s this one for?” he asked, sitting down beside her without an invitation.

“A spell for navigation,” she said, her tone as focused as a painter adding the last strokes to a masterpiece. “The lights mimic constellations, shifting in real-time. It’s meant to guide travellers. Or at least it will once I perfect it.”

He studied the glowing orbs, their soft light reflecting in her eyes. “And here I thought you were just making the garden prettier. You know, for me.”

She snorted, finally glancing at him. “I’ll add that to the list of things I’ll never do.”

“Never say never,” he replied with a grin, leaning back on his hands. “So, are these stars going to help me find my way to my dorm, or should I prepare to wander aimlessly for an hour like last time?”

“That depends,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want to end up in the philosophy section of the library again?”

“Low blow,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help smiling. “What happens if you mess it up? Do they explode? Rain fire? Turn into frogs?”

“Why is everyone so afraid of frogs?” she mused. “No, nothing dramatic. If I mess it up, they might just... fade.”

“Huh,” he said, watching her move her fingers in delicate patterns that made the orbs shimmer and dance. “That’s kind of sad. All that work just to disappear.”

Her hands stilled for a moment, and she glanced at him, something unspoken in her expression. “Magic doesn’t always last. But that’s not the point. The point is the moment—what it gives you while it’s here.”

Fiyero blinked. He’d come expecting the usual snark and brilliance, but not this kind of quiet honesty. “That’s... deep,” he said, trying to lighten the mood but finding himself strangely captivated.

She smirked. “Don’t strain yourself trying to keep up.”

He chuckled, lying back in the grass to look up at the real stars. “You know, you’re full of surprises.”

“Am I?” she asked, her tone dry but her curiosity genuine.

“Yeah,” he said, folding his arms behind his head. “You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re terrifying when you want to be. And you care more than anyone I’ve ever met, even when you don’t want people to know it.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, as if trying to decide whether to laugh, insult him, or ignore the comment altogether. “Careful, Tigelaar. You’re dangerously close to sounding sincere.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The glowing orbs continued their slow, mesmerizing dance, their light casting soft shadows on the grass. Elphaba broke the silence first. “Why are you really out here?”

He shrugged, not breaking his gaze from the stars above. “Maybe I wanted to see what you were up to. Or maybe I just like being around you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “That’s... unexpected.”

“I have layers,” he said, flashing her his usual grin, though there was a warmth in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “And you, Elphaba Thropp, are endlessly fascinating.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite in her reaction. “That’s one word for it.”

“Would you prefer extraordinary?” Fiyero teased, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward slightly.

“I’d prefer ‘left alone to finish my spell,’” she said, though her tone lacked the usual sharpness. There was no real conviction behind her words, no real intent to send him away. If anything, her hands moved a little slower over the orbs, as if she wasn’t in a rush to finish.

Fiyero smiled to himself, leaning back onto the grass with one arm tucked under his head. He watched her work, the way her fingers moved deftly and confidently, guiding the orbs into an intricate pattern. The soft golden light reflected in her eyes, making them shine with a brilliance that made him forget, momentarily, about his usual bravado.

There was something mesmerizing about her when she was like this—focused and intent, as if the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just her and her magic. And him, of course. He liked to think she didn’t mind him being there, even if she would never admit it out loud.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up, her voice calm but edged with quiet amusement.

“Can you blame me?” he replied smoothly. “It’s not every day I get to watch greatness in action.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she muttered, though the faintest smirk tugged at her lips as she adjusted one of the orbs, sending it into a slow, deliberate spin.

“Who said I was trying to get anywhere?” he countered, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. “Maybe I just like being here.”

She hesitated, her hands hovering over the next orb, but she didn’t look at him. “You’ve got a strange way of enjoying yourself, Tigelaar,” she said lightly.

He chuckled, lying back again with a contented sigh. “You have no idea.”

The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The gentle hum of the magical orbs filled the space, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of Shiz’s campus. Fiyero let his gaze drift upward to the stars overhead, their pale light blending with the golden glow of Elphaba’s creations.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit still this long,” she remarked after a while, her tone a touch softer than usual.

“Don’t get used to it,” he quipped, though his voice lacked its usual teasing edge. He turned his head to look at her, watching the way her brow furrowed in concentration, her hands precise and steady. “But maybe I’ll make an exception for nights like this.”

She didn’t respond right away, her attention fixed on the final orb as she guided it into place. When she finally glanced at him, her expression was unreadable. “I thought you didn’t like quiet.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, smiling faintly. “But this isn’t quiet. It’s… peaceful.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she didn’t quite know how to process that. “And you like peace?”

He laughed softly, tilting his head back toward the stars. “Not usually. But right now… yeah, I think I do.”

Elphaba shook her head, her smirk returning. “You’re full of surprises, Tigelaar.”

“Only for you,” he said without thinking, his voice quieter than before.

Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she quickly busied herself again, muttering something about distractions. But Fiyero caught the faint flush of green on her cheeks, and it made him smile.

He leaned back further, letting the silence stretch between them once more, content just to be near her. As the stars above mingled with the ones she had created, casting the world in soft, golden light, Fiyero found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, the universe had put him in the right place at the right time.

And, for once, he let the quiet say everything he couldn’t.

Chapter Text

It was another brisk autumn morning at Shiz University, the kind that carried the sharp scent of fallen leaves and fresh ink on hastily written essays. The quad was alive with its usual chaos: students rushing to class, latecomers attempting to blend in with the crowd, and, naturally, another magical mishap in progress.

This time, it was a second-year student whose attempted transfiguration spell had gone horribly wrong, leaving him with bright blue hands and a small flock of quacking paper cranes that refused to stop circling his head. Several students pointed and laughed, while others ducked out of the way as the enchanted origami swooped aggressively toward them. Amidst the commotion, Elphaba Thropp barely looked up from her book.

She sat cross-legged beneath a tree, a thick tome balanced on her knee. Advanced Theories of Levitation still had her full attention, though the margins were now littered with her own notes and critiques of the spellwork outlined within. The book may have been written by a so-called master of the craft, but Elphaba had already found three inconsistencies in the theory alone. Typical.

She sighed, turning the page just as a shadow loomed over her.

"Morning, Elphaba," Fiyero drawled, hands tucked lazily into his pockets. He was, as usual, draped in absurdly fine fabrics that made him stand out even in a place as full of peacocking students as Shiz. Today’s ensemble was a deep burgundy, the high collar turned down just enough to make him look effortlessly rebellious.

She didn't look up. "You're awake early. Should I be worried?"

Fiyero grinned and flopped down onto the grass beside her without invitation. "I'm hurt, truly. Maybe I just wanted to see my favourite academic overachiever at work."

"How fortunate for me," she deadpanned.

He plucked a fallen leaf from her hair and twirled it between his fingers. "You know, you have an alarming tendency to ignore everything going on around you. One of these days, someone's going to set the whole quad on fire, and you'll still be buried in that book."

Elphaba arched a brow. "Unlikely. Fire is generally difficult to ignore."

"Is it? Because last time I checked, you walked straight through a summoning circle without even noticing."

"And yet, here I am, unscathed."

Fiyero leaned back on his elbows, watching her with the ease of someone who enjoyed pushing buttons just to see what happened. "You're no fun."

"That's what all the idiots say."

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, I'll amuse myself. Oh—what’s this?" He reached for the book she had been flipping through, tilting it toward himself. "More levitation spells? Planning to hover ominously over your enemies?"

Elphaba smirked. "That implies I need to hover to be ominous."

Fiyero chuckled, flipping idly through the pages. "You know, I think you're missing an important aspect of levitation."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

He turned a page and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Style."

She stared at him. "Style."

"Exactly! The problem with most spellcasters is that they focus too much on mechanics. But magic should have flair. Drama. A little showmanship."

Elphaba snorted. "Ah, of course. How foolish of me to ignore the theatrics. And here I thought magic was about precision and control."

"You’re thinking too small, Thropp," he said, wagging a finger at her. "Imagine floating in, dramatic wind in your hair, robes billowing, a perfectly timed thunderclap overhead—"

"If you’re suggesting I stage my own weather effects, I will hex you."

Fiyero grinned. "But imagine the intimidation factor!"

"I prefer my enemies terrified by intellect, not cheap parlor tricks."

"Spoken like someone who’s never tried a cheap parlor trick."

Elphaba rolled her eyes but, despite herself, she closed the book. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here you are, still listening to me." He stretched out on the grass, arms behind his head. "Come on, humor me. Give it a try."

"Give what a try?"

"A little extra flair! Just once. For science."

She sighed, but curiosity won out. With a flick of her wrist, she muttered an incantation under her breath. A gentle wind swirled around them, lifting her book into the air. The pages fluttered as though an unseen hand was turning them, the edges glowing faintly in the autumn light.

Fiyero let out a low whistle. "Now that," he said, "is impressive."

Elphaba allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk as she reached up, plucking the book effortlessly from midair. "Happy?"

"Immensely," he said, grinning. "See? Magic can be fun."

"Magic," she corrected, "is useful."

"And fun."

"And dangerous."

Fiyero raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here we are, both in one piece."

She gave him a look but said nothing, glancing back at the levitation spell she had been studying before he interrupted her. Perhaps there was merit in experimenting with flair—purely for practical application, of course.

Fiyero, watching her, smiled to himself. He knew she’d never admit it, but she was starting to enjoy their little debates. And maybe—just maybe—she enjoyed his company too.

He nudged her lightly with his foot. "So, what’s next? Turning me into a toad?"

"Don’t tempt me."

He laughed, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. "I’m sure you’ll find an excuse eventually. Until then, I suppose you’re stuck with me."

Elphaba huffed, flipping the page of her book. "Regrettably."

But, if the slight upward quirk of her lips was anything to go by, she didn’t mind all that much.

-

The air at Shiz University had turned crisp with the arrival of winter, the first snow of the season dusting the pathways like powdered sugar. Students bustled between classes bundled in heavy coats, their breath curling in the cold air as excitement buzzed through the campus—The Winter Ball was only a few days away.

Elphaba, however, had no intention of attending.

She sat in the library, nose buried deep in a book, as the air around her buzzed with eager chatter. Students gushed about outfits, dance partners, and the impending Winter Ball, their excitement grating against her patience like an out-of-tune symphony. If she had to endure one more breathless debate over fabric swatches, she might actually hex someone.

Unfortunately, her troubles were only just beginning.

Fiyero Tigelaar strolled into the library with his signature, maddening ease, the faintest dusting of snow clinging to his velvet coat. He shook it off with a casual flick of his hand, his sharp eyes already locked onto his target. With the confidence of a man who had never once considered being unwelcome, he slid into the chair across from Elphaba, flashing her a grin that practically dripped mischief.

“Afternoon, Elphaba. Studying instead of engaging in social frivolity? Shocking.”

She didn’t look up. “What do you want, Tigelaar?”

“Such hostility,” he mused, leaning on the table. “And here I came with a proposition.”

She finally glanced up, brow arching. “I’m not helping you with your homework.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Tempting, but no. I’m actually here to ask you something important.”

She sighed, closing her book with exaggerated patience. “Let’s get this over with.”

He took a breath, as if steeling himself. “Come to the Winter Ball with me.”

Elphaba blinked, her expression unreadable. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He grinned, but there was something genuine in his gaze, a nervous edge she rarely saw. “I think we’d have fun.”

She scoffed. “I don’t dance, and I certainly don’t attend over-glorified displays of vanity.”

“I’ll handle the dancing part,” he said breezily. “And as for vanity, well, you can come just to make fun of everyone.”

Elphaba hesitated. A few months ago, the idea of Fiyero asking her to a ball would have been unthinkable—he had been with Galinda, after all. But things had changed.

“I heard you and Galinda… ended things,” she said, watching him carefully.

His smile softened. “We did. Amicably, I promise. She’s already scheming to match me with someone else.”

That, Elphaba didn’t doubt. Galinda had a talent for matchmaking whether people wanted her help or not.

As if on cue, the library doors opened, and a familiar voice rang out in an excited whisper. “Elphie! You will never believe this—oh!” Galinda’s eyes flickered between the two of them, her expression shifting from intrigue to delight. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Elphaba sighed, rubbing her temple. “Galinda, if you’re about to start meddling—”

“Meddling? Me?” Galinda gasped in mock offense before gracefully plopping herself into the seat beside Elphaba. “I simply came to share the most delightful news! Avaric has asked me to the Winter Ball.”

Fiyero chuckled. “I see he finally worked up the nerve.”

Galinda beamed. “Well, I might have given him a few subtle hints. But isn’t it just wonderful? He’s quite charming when he’s not being insufferable.”

Elphaba arched a brow. “So… occasionally, then?”

Galinda waved a hand dismissively. “Details, details. The important thing is that I have the perfect dress, and now I have a partner. Which means, Elphie, you have no excuse not to come.”

Elphaba groaned. “That is not how logic works.”

“Oh, but it is! If I’m going with Avaric and Fiyero is going, then—” She clapped her hands together excitedly, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, Elphie, you should go with him!”

“I literally just asked her,” Fiyero interjected, his grin widening. “She’s considering it.”

Galinda let out a delighted squeal, grabbing Elphaba’s hands. “You must say yes! It will be so much fun. And you’ll get to wear something besides your usual—” she gestured vaguely at Elphaba’s dark attire, “—aesthetic.”

Elphaba scowled. “I like my aesthetic.”

“I’m sure you do, darling. But don’t you ever want to dress up just once?” Galinda gave her most pleading look. “For me?”

Elphaba sighed, resisting the urge to bury her face in her book. She glanced at Fiyero, who was watching her with that infuriatingly patient amusement, waiting for her decision.

“You’re all relentless,” she muttered.

Fiyero smirked. “That’s not a no.”

Galinda clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be marvellous! I’ll find the perfect dress for you—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, fine, but at least let me approve your choice,” Galinda said, grinning like she had already won. “And just think, Elphie, you might actually enjoy yourself.”

Elphaba huffed. She doubted it. But against all odds, she found herself saying, “I’ll think about it.”

Fiyero’s grin widened. “Good enough for me.”

Galinda squealed in triumph, and Elphaba had a sinking feeling that her fate was sealed.

Still, the idea of going to the ball… with Fiyero, no less…

“Why me?” she finally asked.

Fiyero tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Because you’re the only person who won’t spend the night pretending. And because I like being around you.”

Something warm flickered in her chest, but she shoved it aside. “That’s a terrible reason.”

“Yet  I'm still asking.”

Elphaba exhaled, tapping her fingers against the table. The idea was absurd. Laughable. And yet… the thought of saying yes wasn’t as repulsive as it should have been.

“Fine,” she said, then smirked. “But if you try anything ridiculous, I reserve the right to cover you in glitter.”

Fiyero laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Tempting offer. I do pull off a sparkle rather well.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the small, amused twitch of her lips.

--

The afternoon of the Winter Ball arrived in a flurry of chaos, transforming their dorm into a battlefield of fabric, accessories, and—much to Elphaba’s horror—enchanted beauty tools. Galinda, practically vibrating with excitement, had cheerfully labelled it “Elphie’s first—and certainly not the last—ballroom makeover,” despite Elphaba’s vehement insistence that there would, in fact, be no next time. But Elphaba had neither the energy nor the will to stop her.

 “I still don’t understand why this is necessary,” Elphaba grumbled as she sat stiffly on the edge of her bed, watching Galinda sort through an arsenal of cosmetic potions.

“Because,” Galinda said, turning with a flourish, “this is a ball, and while I adore you, darling, your usual ‘I will hex you if you look at me wrong’ vibe is simply not going to cut it.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “I don’t see why I can’t just go as I am.”

Galinda gasped as though personally offended. “You can, but where’s the fun in that?” She twirled a wand between her fingers. “Now, hold still. Just a little enhancement.”

Elphaba eyed the wand warily. “Define ‘little.’”

“Nothing drastic,” Galinda promised with a dazzling smile. “Just a bit of shimmer, maybe a soft curl in your hair…”

Before Elphaba could protest, Galinda flicked her wand, and suddenly, a warm, golden mist swirled around her. She coughed, waving at the sparkles before looking down at herself.

Her usually unruly dark hair now cascaded in elegant waves, and her dress—now a deep, rich red—clung to her in a way that was both foreign and strangely fitting. The fabric shimmered subtly under the light, catching hints of gold embroidery along the hem, an embellishment Galinda had insisted upon. Even her ever-present dark circles seemed softened, making her green skin glow in a way she had never noticed before.

Galinda clapped her hands, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, Elphie! You look stunning!”

Elphaba scowled, tugging at the fabric as if it might somehow turn back into her usual attire. “This is ridiculous.”

Galinda smirked, stepping back to admire her work. “Ridiculously remarkable, you mean.”

Elphaba turned to the mirror, her scowl faltering for just a moment. She still looked like herself, just… refined. Almost regal. The thought was unsettling. The dress was undeniably beautiful, but it felt like someone else’s clothing. Like she was wearing a mask she couldn’t quite remove.

“I hate you a little bit,” she muttered.

Galinda beamed. “You’ll thank me later.”

Elphaba crossed her arms. “Doubtful.”

Galinda ignored her, instead circling her like a sculptor admiring a masterpiece. “Now, all we need is a little—” She flicked her wand, and a soft shimmer of magic drifted over Elphaba’s shoulders. The red fabric deepened, its sheen becoming even richer, the golden details more pronounced. “There! Now it’s perfect.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Because subtlety is your strong suit.”

Galinda grinned. “Obviously. And if you’re going to make an entrance, you might as well do it properly.”

Elphaba exhaled, still staring at her reflection. She could barely recognize herself, and yet… Fiyero’s words echoed in her mind. Because you’re the only person who won’t spend the night pretending.

She wasn’t pretending now. She was still herself, just… in a dress that looked like it belonged to someone with confidence. Maybe she could borrow that feeling, just for one night.

Galinda placed a hand on Elphaba’s shoulder, her expression softening as she admired her handiwork. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Elphie.”

Elphaba met her gaze in the mirror, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re… persistent.”

“Obviously.” Galinda grinned, unfazed. “Now, let’s go make some hearts stop, shall we?”

With a resigned sigh, Elphaba smoothed her hands over the shimmering fabric of her deep red dress. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Galinda practically sparkled in excitement—both figuratively and literally. She wore an icy blue ball gown adorned with tiny enchanted crystals that twinkled with every movement, reflecting the soft glow of the dorm’s lantern light. The dress fit her like a dream, cinched at the waist with silver embroidery trailing down the flowing skirt, making her look like a winter queen come to life. Her golden curls were pinned up in a cascade of elegant ringlets, a delicate tiara nestled among them, catching the light like frost-kissed snowflakes.

Elphaba gave her a once-over. “You look like you stepped out of a fairy tale.”

Galinda beamed. “Why, thank you! And you look like you’re about to set one on fire.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smirk tugging at her lips.

With that, the two of them gathered their skirts and stepped out into the cold night, the crisp air biting against their skin as they made their way toward the grand hall. The Winter Ball was already in full swing, warm light spilling out from the towering arched windows, the sound of music and laughter carrying through the air.

Fiyero and Avaric would be waiting for them inside, no doubt already revelling in the spectacle. Galinda looped her arm through Elphaba’s as they approached the grand entrance. “Ready?”

“No.”

Galinda giggled. “Too bad.”

And with that, they stepped through the doors, into the dazzling chaos of the ball.

The moment they stepped inside, the grand hall seemed to swallow them whole. Warmth rushed over them, a stark contrast to the chill outside, and the scent of spiced cider and fresh pine filled the air. The chandeliers, enchanted to resemble floating constellations, cast a soft golden glow over the room. Snowflakes—tiny, shimmering, and completely artificial—drifted lazily from the ceiling before vanishing into nothing, giving the illusion of a winter wonderland untouched by the cold.

Elphaba stiffened as she took it all in, fingers curling slightly against her dress. There were so many people. She had expected that, of course—Galinda had all but shrieked about the guest list for weeks—but knowing something and experiencing it were two very different things.

Galinda, however, was in her element. She released Elphaba’s arm only to immediately begin waving enthusiastically to acquaintances across the room, her shimmering blue gown making her look like a star that had stepped down from the sky itself.

“Ah-ha! There they are!” she chirped, pointing toward the far end of the ballroom where Fiyero and Avaric were stationed near the refreshments table.

Fiyero, as expected, looked effortlessly regal, dressed in dark velvet with gold accents that made his tan skin glow under the chandeliers. His usual carefree smirk was firmly in place as he exchanged a few words with Avaric, who—true to form—wore an outfit just extravagant enough to demand attention. Avaric’s deep emerald coat was lined with silver, and Elphaba was fairly certain she saw enchanted embroidery shifting across the cuffs, like delicate frost creeping over a windowpane.

As if sensing their arrival, Fiyero turned, his gaze landing on them instantly. Whatever teasing remark had been on his lips died the moment he saw Elphaba.

Elphaba suddenly regretted everything.

His eyes flickered over her, slow and unguarded, taking in the deep red of her dress, the way it hugged and flowed in all the right places, the golden embroidery catching the light like smoldering embers. It was a look she wasn’t used to—one she wasn’t sure she wanted. Yet when Fiyero’s usual smirk softened into something quieter, something almost… reverent, it sent an unfamiliar heat creeping up her neck.

“Oh,” he said, as if that was the only word he could manage.

Elphaba crossed her arms, feigning irritation to keep from fidgeting. “What? Expecting me to show up in my uniform?”

Fiyero blinked, then, to her relief, the corner of his lips quirked up. “No,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t expecting this either.”

Avaric, who had been sipping from his drink, let out a low whistle. “Sweet Oz, Elphaba, you clean up alarmingly well.”

Elphaba shot him a look. “And you manage to be alarmingly irritating in record time.”

Avaric grinned, raising his glass in salute. “Fair enough.”

Galinda, meanwhile, was positively glowing with pride. “I told you!” she said, nudging Elphaba’s arm. “And Fiyero, you haven’t even complimented her yet!”

Fiyero chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”

Avaric rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. See, this is how you do it.” He turned to Galinda with a flourish, taking her hand in his and bowing dramatically. “Lady Galinda, you are, without question, the most radiant jewel in this entire ballroom. Your beauty has rendered me utterly speechless—”

Galinda giggled, delighted. “Oh, Avaric! You’re such a charmer.”

Elphaba groaned. “Please, stop before I die of second-hand embarrassment.”

Fiyero laughed, stepping closer. “You know, she is right, though.” His voice had dipped lower, just enough to send a shiver down Elphaba’s spine. “You do look incredible.”

Elphaba tilted her head, smirking slightly. “Careful, Tigelaar. Say something like that again, and I might think you actually like me.”

Fiyero’s grin widened. “And that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

Before she could respond—before she could decide how she even wanted to respond—the music shifted. The orchestra struck up a sweeping waltz, and the couples around them began drifting onto the dance floor.

Galinda gasped, clasping her hands together. “Oh! It’s starting!” She turned to Avaric, already bouncing on her heels. “Shall we?”

Avaric smirked, offering his arm. “Of course, my lady.”

The two of them disappeared into the throng of dancers, leaving Elphaba and Fiyero standing alone in the wake of their enthusiasm.

Fiyero rocked back on his heels, watching her. “So,” he said casually, “are you going to let me dance with you, or do I need to beg?”

Elphaba snorted. “The day I make you beg for anything is the day the sun falls out of the sky.”

He grinned. “So you will dance with me?”

Elphaba hesitated. The thought of stepping onto that floor, of allowing herself to be part of this ridiculous spectacle, made her stomach twist uncomfortably. And yet, Fiyero wasn’t looking at her like everyone else did. He wasn’t gawking, wasn’t amused, wasn’t waiting for her to play along like some strange, green-skinned novelty.

He was just… waiting.

She exhaled, glancing at the couples spinning in elegant circles. “I don’t waltz.”

Fiyero extended his hand. “Good thing I do.”

She looked at him, then at his outstretched hand. Then, with a sigh of ultimate resignation, she placed her fingers in his.

His grip was warm, steady. Not controlling. Just there.

Fiyero smiled, stepping back toward the dance floor. “Let’s make some hearts stop, shall we?”

Elphaba rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be led forward. “You're lucky I tolerate you.”

Fiyero’s grin widened. “I know.”

And with that, they stepped into the music.

As Fiyero guided her onto the dance floor, Elphaba fought the urge to bolt. The waltzing couples around them moved with effortless grace, swirling like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. The thought of trying to blend in with them made her stomach churn.

Fiyero, ever the infuriatingly confident one, tightened his hold just enough to keep her grounded. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s just a dance.”

“It’s not just a dance,” she muttered back, casting a wary glance at the other dancers. “It’s coordinated spectacle disguised as tradition.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Alright, so it’s a very pretty coordinated spectacle. Don’t overthink it.”

That was easy for him to say. He was born for this—perfect posture, natural rhythm, an air of ease so inherent it was maddening. Meanwhile, Elphaba felt like an impostor in her own skin, wrapped in a dress that didn’t quite belong to her, in a setting she had never imagined herself in.

Then Fiyero did something unexpected. He gave her hand a small squeeze. “Just follow me.”

Elphaba exhaled slowly, bracing herself. She could do this. Probably.

He led her into the first step, his movements smooth and assured. She stumbled slightly, her foot catching awkwardly against his. Fiyero only laughed, easily adjusting to steady her before she could pull away. “Not bad for a beginner.”

She scowled. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, grinning. “Try again.”

She inhaled, squared her shoulders, and let him lead. This time, when he stepped forward, she followed more easily. The rhythm was foreign but not impossible, and though her muscles tensed with each movement, she didn’t trip again.

“See? Not so bad.”

Elphaba huffed. “You say that now. Wait until I inevitably step on your foot.”

Fiyero smirked. “I’ll consider it a war injury.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He made it sound easy. Maybe it was easy, at least for him. But for the first time, she realized he wasn’t making a spectacle of this—wasn’t trying to turn her into some ridiculous display. He was just dancing with her.

And he was looking at her like she was the only person in the room.

That thought was almost enough to send her bolting right then and there.

Instead, she focused on the music, the steady pattern of steps, the way his fingers curled lightly against her waist. Her grip on his shoulder eased—just slightly—and though she wasn’t sure she’d call it enjoying herself, she wasn’t completely miserable either.

Progress.

The song swelled around them, the violins rising in a sweeping crescendo, and for a moment—just a moment—Elphaba let herself fall into the rhythm.

Then she heard a delighted squeal.

“Oh, look at them! Avaric, look!”

Elphaba tensed instantly.

From the edge of the dance floor, Galinda was watching them with unconcealed joy, practically bouncing in place as she clutched Avaric’s arm. Avaric, for his part, looked mildly entertained, sipping his drink with a smirk.

Fiyero barely glanced at them. “Ignore them,” he murmured.

“Impossible,” Elphaba muttered back. “She’s going to talk about this for weeks.”

Fiyero grinned. “Let her.”

Elphaba scowled, but before she could argue, he suddenly dipped her.

Her heart lurched—whether from the motion or the fact that his face was now absurdly close to hers, she wasn’t sure.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Warn me next time.”

Fiyero, the absolute menace that he was, winked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Her glare could have melted steel.

He pulled her back up effortlessly, leading her into the next movement just as the song began to slow. The other couples drew to a graceful finish, parting with delicate bows and curtsies. Elphaba, however, remained tense, half-expecting Fiyero to pull another stunt.

He didn’t.

Instead, as the final note rang through the hall, he simply smiled at her. “Told you you’d survive.”

Elphaba exhaled, stepping back slightly. “Barely.”

Fiyero pressed a hand to his heart, mock-wounded. “That hurts, Elphaba. Truly.”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, Galinda materialized at her side, positively beaming.

“Elphie, that was beautiful!” she gushed. “You must admit you had fun!”

“I must do no such thing,” Elphaba retorted, though she had the sinking suspicion her denial wouldn’t hold much weight.

Galinda simply waved her off, turning her attention to Fiyero. “And you! You were wonderful! Look at you, bringing out Elphie’s inner belle of the ball!”

Elphaba groaned. “I will hex you.”

Fiyero chuckled, stepping back slightly. “As much as I’d love to witness that, I think I’ll go grab a drink before Avaric finishes all the good ones.”

He shot Elphaba one last knowing grin before slipping into the crowd.

Galinda turned back to Elphaba with a smirk. “So?”

Elphaba crossed her arms. “So what?”

Galinda’s smirk widened. “You like him.”

Elphaba scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Galinda sing-songed. “Because he certainly likes you.”

Elphaba stiffened. “He does not.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Galinda patted her arm sympathetically. “You really need to start paying more attention.”

Elphaba scowled, but the warmth from the dance still lingered on her skin. And when her eyes drifted across the room—completely unintentionally, of course—she found Fiyero watching her from the refreshment table, amusement in his gaze.

She looked away immediately.

Galinda sighed, all too pleased. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

As Galinda continued to smirk knowingly, Elphaba decided she needed to escape. The air in the ballroom suddenly felt too warm, too suffocating, and if she had to endure one more conversation about feelings, she might actually turn someone into a toad.

“I need some air,” she muttered, stepping away before Galinda could protest.

She pushed through the elegantly dressed crowd, ignoring the curious glances thrown her way. It was bad enough that she was here, dressed like this, dancing like she belonged in a place like this. She didn’t. She never had.

She found herself in a quieter corner of the ballroom near one of the large windows. Outside, the courtyard was blanketed in fresh snow, the cold night air tempting her to slip away entirely. She pressed her hands against the cool glass, exhaling slowly.

“Running away already?”

Elphaba groaned, closing her eyes briefly before turning to face Fiyero. He leaned against the pillar beside her, a drink in one hand, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips.

“I am not running away,” she huffed. “I’m strategically relocating.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Uh-huh. And does your strategy involve actually enjoying yourself?”

She shot him a look. “It involves avoiding Galinda’s scheming and whatever nonsense she’s currently filling her head with.”

Fiyero grinned. “Let me guess—she’s convinced you I’m madly in love with you?”

Elphaba snorted. “Something like that.”

He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “And what do you think?”

She opened her mouth to reply—probably something sarcastic—but at that exact moment, someone behind her bumped into a passing server, sending a tray of drinks crashing to the floor. The sharp sound startled her, and without thinking, she lifted her hands instinctively—an ingrained response to chaos.

Magic flickered at her fingertips.

A gust of wind burst outward, catching not only the scattered drinks but also the edges of nearby tablecloths and loose papers. A ripple of shimmering energy crackled through the air, and before Elphaba could stop it—

POP.

A stream of golden light shot from her hands, swirling through the air like an untamed ribbon before colliding—quite spectacularly—with the chandelier hanging above the dance floor.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, with a soft tinkle, the chandelier flickered… and exploded.

Not into fire, thankfully.

But into a cascade of glitter.

Elphaba watched in horror as hundreds—thousands—of shimmering golden flecks rained down onto the ballroom, covering everything and everyone in a fine, glistening dust. The grand waltz screeched to a halt. Guests froze in shock. Avaric, now completely glitter-coated, stood frozen mid-sip, blinking in disbelief.

And then, from the center of the ballroom, Galinda let out an absolutely delighted gasp.

“Oh, Elphie!” she squealed, spinning in a circle as the glitter caught the light. “It’s magical!”

Elphaba could feel her soul leaving her body.

Fiyero, meanwhile, was struggling very hard not to laugh. “Well,” he said, brushing a hand through his now sparkling hair, “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting this.”

Elphaba turned to him, horrified. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But it’s kind of perfect, don’t you think?”

“Perfect?!” she sputtered. “I just turned the most dignified event of the year into a—into a rogue fairy convention!”

Fiyero lifted a glitter-covered shoulder. “Could be worse. You did say you reserved the right to cover me in glitter.”

Elphaba groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate everything.”

Galinda twirled past them, beaming. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done, Elphie!”

From across the room, Avaric sneezed violently. “I will be tasting glitter for weeks!”

The ballroom, which had been stunned into silence, suddenly erupted into laughter and excited chatter. Some students immediately started throwing handfuls of glitter at each other, embracing the chaos, while others examined their now sparkling attire with varying levels of amusement and despair.

Fiyero leaned closer, his voice low and amused. “You have to admit, this is kind of fun.”

Elphaba glared at him. “I will find a way to pin this on you.”

He smirked. “Go ahead. I’ll take the blame if it means seeing you like this again.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

Fiyero tilted his head slightly, watching her—not with teasing, but with something softer, something she didn’t quite know how to name. “Unfiltered,” he said simply. “Like you’re alive.”

For once, Elphaba had no response.

The magic still tingled at her fingertips, warm and restless, but for the first time in a long while… she didn’t feel like running from it.

Galinda grabbed her hands, grinning. “Come on, Elphie, you have to see this from the center of the dance floor! It’s like dancing in starlight!”

Elphaba shot Fiyero one last warning glance. “If I ever do actually hex you, it will be because of this moment.”

He only laughed. “Worth it.”

And as Galinda dragged her back toward the glitter-covered chaos, Elphaba couldn’t quite hide the small—very small—smile tugging at her lips.

As the glittery chaos of the Winter Ball finally began to settle, Fiyero and Avaric managed to extract themselves from the aftermath. The chandeliers still shimmered unnaturally, some guests were trying to brush off the glitter with varying levels of success, and Galinda—delighted beyond words—had spent an additional twenty minutes twirling under the floating remnants of Elphaba’s accidental spell.

Eventually, though, the night had to end.

The four of them made their way through the now-quieting campus, the cold air crisp and biting against their still-sparkling attire. Snow crunched beneath their feet as they walked, the remnants of laughter and music from the ballroom still lingering in the distance.

Elphaba pulled her cloak tighter around herself, scowling at the way the glitter on her dress refused to fade, no matter how many times she brushed at it. “This stuff is never coming off.”

“I hear it’s good for the skin,” Fiyero teased, walking beside her with his usual effortless grace, now accentuated by the faint golden shimmer dusting his cheekbones. “Makes you glow.”

Avaric snorted from Galinda’s other side. “Oh yes, because that’s exactly what Elphaba wants—to sparkle like some kind of celestial phenomenon.”

Elphaba shot Fiyero a glare. “If I glow for even one more second, I will set you on fire.”

Fiyero smirked, unbothered.

Galinda, still floating on a cloud of euphoria, looped her arm through Elphaba’s, bouncing slightly as she walked. “You have to admit, Elphie, that was magical!”

“That was a disaster,” Elphaba muttered.

“A spectacular disaster,” Avaric corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“I think the difference is that you didn’t get hit directly by the spell,” Elphaba said flatly. “Meanwhile, I still look like a cursed holiday ornament.”

Galinda giggled, clearly unfazed. “You looked stunning, Elphie. And it was so worth it.”

Elphaba sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she would never hear the end of this. “I suppose there’s no point in hoping people won’t talk about it.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Talk about it? Elphaba, you just ensured this will be the most memorable Winter Ball Shiz has ever had.”

“Great,” she grumbled. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you hated all of it,” Fiyero said, nudging her lightly. “You had fun.”

Elphaba scoffed. “I had glitter-induced misery.”

“Which you caused,” Avaric pointed out. “Truly, a masterpiece of self-sabotage.”

Fiyero grinned. “I have to say, I’m a little impressed. Not many people could cause complete ballroom chaos and still manage to look good doing it.”

Elphaba groaned. “Oz help me, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Galinda gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. “How dare you! After all the work I did to make you presentable?”

“Exactly,” Elphaba deadpanned. “You did all that work, and I still managed to ruin everything.”

Avaric clapped her on the back in mock sympathy. “Truly, you are an icon of destruction.”

“I aim to disappoint,” she muttered.

As they neared the dormitories, the air grew quieter, the festive energy of the night fading into the gentle hush of snowfall. The golden glow of lanterns illuminated the path, their light bouncing off the flecks of glitter still stubbornly clinging to their clothes.

Galinda sighed happily. “Well, I think it was the most enchanting night ever.”

Fiyero chuckled. “I’d have to agree.”

Elphaba gave him a sidelong glance. “You would.”

He smirked. “Because it’s true.”

Avaric sighed dramatically. “Well, as much as I enjoy standing around discussing the finer details of chaotic brilliance, I believe we’ve arrived.” He gestured toward the dormitory doors. “And, much as it pains me to part ways, I’d like to get to my bed before sunrise.”

Galinda giggled. “Avaric, you act like you actually did anything exhausting tonight.”

“I had to endure the trauma of being violently assaulted by glitter,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “A man can only take so much.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Truly tragic.”

Avaric grinned. “I’m glad you understand.”

Galinda leaned up to peck him on the cheek. “Goodnight, Avaric.”

“Goodnight, my shining star,” he replied, winking at her before turning toward his own dorm.

Elphaba turned toward the entrance to hers, but before she could slip inside, she felt Fiyero lightly catch her wrist.

She looked up at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

He smiled, that easy, knowing smile of his. “You did have fun.”

Elphaba opened her mouth to argue, but the words stuck in her throat. Because, annoyingly, infuriatingly—he wasn’t entirely wrong.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”

Fiyero grinned. “And you’re still covered in glitter.”

She scowled. “So are you.”

“Then I guess that makes us even.”

She narrowed her eyes, but before she could think of a retort, he gently let go of her wrist and took a step back.

“Goodnight, Elphaba.”

She hesitated, then, after a moment, murmured, “Goodnight, Fiyero.”

And with that, she turned and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

Fiyero remained outside for a moment longer, watching as the last of the lantern light flickered against the snow.

Then, with a quiet chuckle, he ran a hand through his still-glittery hair and walked off into the night.

--

The next evening, Elphaba sat cross-legged on the floor of an empty study room, frustration written across her face as she glared at the open book in front of her. A single inkwell sat between her and Fiyero, unmoving, no matter how hard she concentrated.

Fiyero, lounging beside her with all the ease of someone who wasn’t trying to wrestle with magic, watched her with an amused smirk. “You know, for someone who just accidentally turned the entire Winter Ball into a glitter explosion, you seem to be having a lot of trouble with a basic levitation spell.”

Elphaba shot him a look. “That wasn’t a spell, that was an accident. This,” she gestured sharply to the inkwell, “is precise, focused magic. And for some reason, it refuses to cooperate.”

Fiyero tilted his head, watching her more closely now. “Maybe that’s your problem.”

She raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re trying too hard,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “Magic seems to like you best when you’re not forcing it.”

She exhaled sharply, rubbing at her temple. She hated how easy he made everything sound, how effortless he always seemed to be. And yet, beneath the teasing, there was something else—something steadier, something that made her pulse flicker in a way she didn’t entirely understand.

Fiyero shifted beside her, moving closer, until their shoulders almost touched. “Alright, try again,” he said. “But this time, don’t think about it like a formula. Just feel it.”

Elphaba frowned, but there was something about the warmth of his voice, the way he said it like he actually believed in her, that made her want to listen.

She took a slow breath, closing her eyes.

Magic had always been a force inside her, something natural, something instinctual. It wanted to move, wanted to be.

So she let it.

Without overthinking, without bracing for failure, she lifted her hand ever so slightly—

The inkwell trembled, then rose smoothly into the air.

Her eyes snapped open, startled. It hovered effortlessly, as if waiting for her command.

Fiyero grinned, his voice low and full of something unreadable. “There you go.”

Elphaba hesitated, keeping her focus on the object, her fingers flexing just slightly. It obeyed with ease, floating gently toward her.

“I wasn’t sure that would work,” she admitted.

“I was,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

Elphaba turned to him then, really looking at him. His gaze wasn’t on the magic, wasn’t on the floating inkwell—he was watching her. And there was something in his expression, something unguarded and intense, that made her breath hitch.

He was looking at her like she was beautiful. Like she was magic.

Heat crept up her neck. She quickly turned her attention back to the inkwell, willing it down onto the desk with more force than necessary. It landed with a soft clink.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “maybe you’re not completely useless after all.”

Fiyero chuckled, resting his chin in his hand as he studied her. “High praise, coming from you.”

Elphaba huffed, pushing a stray curl behind her ear, acutely aware of the way Fiyero’s gaze followed the movement. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his voice still teasing, but quieter now, laced with something deeper, something almost tender, “you keep me around anyway.”

She turned away, suddenly finding it much too difficult to meet his eyes. Because Oz help her, she didn’t have an argument against that.

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken, the only sound the faint crackle of the fireplace in the distant hall. The dim light cast soft shadows across the room, making everything feel smaller, more intimate. Elphaba was acutely aware of how close Fiyero had gotten, of the faint warmth radiating off him, of the way his breathing had slowed just slightly.

He didn’t move away.

Instead, he reached out, hesitating just for a second before brushing his fingers against the curl she had just tucked behind her ear, letting them linger at the edge of her jaw. The touch was light—barely there—but it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

She should have pulled away. She should have. But she didn’t.

Fiyero’s expression had shifted now, all traces of teasing gone. His gaze flickered over her face, tracing every inch like he was committing it to memory—the sharp line of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly at his touch.

His hand drifted down, stopping at the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her pulse.

Elphaba swallowed hard, willing her heart to stop beating so damn fast.

Fiyero leaned in, just a fraction, his lips parting as though he was about to say something. But he didn’t.

Instead, his eyes met hers, searching, waiting.

Her breath caught.

For a brief, dizzying moment, the space between them felt impossibly small, the air thick with something unspoken. His gaze flickered to her lips—so quick she might have imagined it—but the shift in the air was undeniable.

And then—

He pulled back.

Just slightly, just enough to sever the connection between them, but not enough to disguise the fact that he had considered it.

Elphaba blinked, her thoughts suddenly scattered.

Fiyero let out a breath, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips, though there was something almost regretful in his expression now. “I should probably go before Galinda sends out a search party for you.”

Elphaba, still trying to steady herself, barely managed a scoff. “That would be a first.”

He chuckled, standing and stretching lazily, but there was an undeniable stiffness in his posture, like he was forcing himself to step away.

She wanted to say something. Wanted to stop him, to demand why—why he always pushed and then pulled away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her chin, ignoring the strange, lingering heat curling at the edges of her thoughts. “Typical.”

Fiyero paused mid-step, glancing back at her, brow arched. “Sorry?”

Elphaba folded her arms, forcing her voice to stay even. “You walked away. Not surprised.”

Something flickered across his face—brief, unreadable. Then, to her irritation, he smirked. “Would you rather I stayed?”

She scoffed, shifting her weight. “I don’t care what you do.”

A lie. An obvious one. He had to know it.

Fiyero studied her for a long second, his expression thoughtful now, as if weighing something. Then he let out a quiet breath, rolling his shoulders before turning back toward the door. “Right. Of course.”

The frustration crackled under her skin, tangled up with something she refused to name. Before she could think better of it, she scoffed, flicking her hand toward him in irritation—

And his shirt collar yanked itself back as though caught by an invisible hand.

Fiyero stumbled slightly, stopping in his tracks as his clothing tugged at him like a ghost had taken offense. He froze, blinking down at himself, then slowly looked back at her.

Elphaba's stomach dropped.

“Oh.”

A silence stretched between them, thick and buzzing. Fiyero touched his collar cautiously, as if checking to make sure it was still under his control. “Did you just—”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

Fiyero arched a brow, his grin returning, slow and knowing. “You sure about that?”

Elphaba's hands curled into fists at her sides, the residual energy still tingling at her fingertips. “Obviously something in this room is magically unstable.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself. “Because it definitely wasn’t you getting irritated and—what, trying to hold me here?”

Elphaba felt her face heat, and she turned away abruptly, focusing very hard on the nearest bookshelf as if it held the secrets of the universe. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?”

His voice had dropped slightly, just enough to send something infuriatingly pleasant down her spine. She refused to look at him, absolutely refused—

“I suppose that means I should go, then,” he mused, rocking back on his heels.

She didn’t move.

For a moment, he didn’t either.

But as Fiyero turned toward the door again, the lanterns flickered—not in a draft, not from the shifting air of his movement, but in a way that was oddly precise. A soft pulse of energy, there and gone in an instant.

Fiyero hesitated, glancing up at the nearest lantern as it swayed gently on its hook.

Elphaba’s stomach twisted.

Too much.

The candle inside it flared just slightly before steadying itself again.

Fiyero turned his gaze back to her, slower this time, his smirk softening into something else. Something aware.

Elphaba forced her expression into neutrality. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Nothing.”

The silence between them stretched.

Then he let out a quiet breath, rolling his shoulders before stepping toward the door again. “Goodnight, Elphaba.”

She didn’t answer.

This time, when the door closed behind him, the flicker in the lanterns didn’t return.

Elphaba exhaled, rubbing her arms against the strange, lingering hum beneath her skin. It wasn’t the first time her magic had responded before she could fully grasp it, but it felt different now. Like something in the air had changed.

Like something in her had changed.

She stared at the empty space where he had stood, heart still unsteady.

Oz help her.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face—only to freeze as something shimmered in the air around her. Tiny flecks of gold dust swirled at her fingertips, catching the dim light like the aftermath of some spell she hadn’t even cast.

Her scowl deepened.

Great. More glitter.

Chapter Text

Shiz University had an unsettling way of embracing every holiday with reckless abandon. The quad had been overtaken by an obscene amount of pink and red, the cobblestone paths lined with enchanted heart-shaped lanterns that pulsed gently—somewhat ominously—whenever anyone walked beneath them. Shimmering banners proclaiming Happy Heartsday! were draped across buildings, enchanted to sparkle aggressively in the winter light. Unfortunately, the university’s enthusiasm meant that no surface was safe from a charming display of affection.

Someone—Elphaba strongly suspected Galinda—had arranged for a fleet of floating cherubs to wander the campus, shooting enchanted arrows meant to inspire “overwhelming romantic feelings” toward the next person one laid eyes on. This would have been less concerning if the cupids weren’t utterly terrible at their job. At least three students had ended up passionately confessing their love to the wrong people, and Elphaba had already seen one particularly unfortunate soul desperately trying to shake off an infatuated squirrel.

Worse still, someone had enchanted a flock of paper doves to deliver love poems to unsuspecting students. Unfortunately, the spells had been poorly executed, resulting in several students being pelted in the face with aggressively affectionate sonnets.

From her usual spot in the library, Elphaba watched this all unfold with a mounting sense of disgust.

She sat cross-legged on a chair, nose buried in Experimental Incantations and Their Consequences while the world around her dissolved into a sentimental fever dream. A group of first-years sat giggling across from her, feeding each other enchanted chocolates that whispered cloying compliments with every bite. Across the quad, a couple who had been unlucky enough to stumble into a stray cupid’s arrow were now literally stuck together, their hands fused at the fingertips, their growing horror only making the surrounding romantics giggle harder.

"Disgusting," Elphaba muttered, flipping a page with unnecessary force.

She had no patience for this. Not today. Not ever.

She had just settled into her reading again when a bouquet of singing flowers—Oz help her, singing—entered her peripheral vision.

And that could only mean one thing.

Fiyero.

Elphaba barely had time to brace herself before he strolled into view, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that should have been illegal this early in the day. As always, he was dressed ridiculously well, today in deep sapphire and gold—because even on the most absurd of holidays, Fiyero Tigelaar would find a way to make a statement.

But it wasn’t just his presence that set off alarm bells in Elphaba’s head.

It was what he was holding.

A bouquet.

A moving, singing bouquet.

The flowers swayed with an unsettling enthusiasm, their petals shimmering unnaturally bright, humming—off-key—a painfully dramatic rendition of You Bewitch Me, Body and Soul.

Elphaba didn’t even bother to look up from her book.

"If those flowers come within three feet of me, Tigelaar, I will set them—and you—on fire."

Fiyero stopped, lifting the bouquet to examine it as one of the roses let out a particularly enthusiastic la la la! before dramatically wilting in his hands.

He sighed. "Okay, first of all, rude." He tilted his head, considering. "Second, that might be preferable to whatever this is."

She finally looked at him, raising a skeptical brow. "And yet, you’re still here. Why?"

Fiyero glanced down at the bouquet like it was personally offending him. "Because I lost a bet."

Elphaba closed her book with just a little too much force. "You bet on me?"

Fiyero held up his hands in surrender. "Technically, Avaric bet on you. I was just stupid enough to take it."

She folded her arms. "And what, exactly, was this bet?"

Fiyero cleared his throat, shifting his weight slightly. "Avaric said that I couldn’t make you smile today."

Elphaba’s expression remained completely flat. "That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

Fiyero sighed dramatically. "Trust me, I realize that now." He gestured toward the bouquet. "I had two options. Either deliver this horrific excuse for a gift and hope you found it entertaining, or let Avaric pick the most nauseatingly romantic words possible for Galinda’s next love letter."

Elphaba snorted. "That is deeply petty."

"Thank you," Fiyero said, flashing a grin. "So? Smiled yet?"

She deliberately schooled her face into something even more unimpressed. "Not even close."

Fiyero sighed. "Damn."

Elphaba eyed the bouquet warily as one of the daisies perked up and, for some reason, winked at her. "Where, exactly, did you get that?"

Fiyero pinched the bridge of his nose. "Some first-year. She said they were supposed to recite poetry, but…" He gestured vaguely at the offensive musical horror unfolding in his hands. "Clearly, something went very, very wrong."

Elphaba smirked. "I fail to see how this is my problem."

"It’s not," Fiyero admitted. "But if I have to suffer, I deeply believe you should, too."

He stepped forward a fraction of an inch.

Elphaba’s eyes narrowed.

"Don’t," she warned.

Fiyero grinned, raising the bouquet ever so slightly. "Come on, Elphaba. You don’t want to at least hear the rest of the song?"

One of the flowers let out a particularly painful, high-pitched wail.

Elphaba flicked her fingers just slightly.

The bouquet ignited instantly, flames curling around the petals with an almost hungry enthusiasm. Some of the flowers burst into flames, their off-key singing turning into pitiful, warbling wails before they crumbled into ash, while others barely smoldered. Fiyero yelped, jerking his hands away.

He stared at the damage, his once vibrant bouquet now a half-charred, pitiful cluster of survivors. He hesitated, then plucked the remaining intact flowers and held them out to her.

"What?" he said. "You worked so hard to get rid of the bad ones. Seems like a waste not to keep the rest."

Elphaba sighed but took the slightly burnt bouquet.

Fiyero grinned. "That’s almost a smile, Thropp."

"Don’t push your luck."

"Damn." He twirled a charred leaf between his fingers. "Alright, new approach. Let’s talk Heartsday. Are you celebrating?"

Elphaba gave him a flat look. “Yes, Fiyero. I’ve been waiting my whole life for an opportunity to wear pink and swoon over sentimental nonsense.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Oh, Elphaba, I had no idea! Shall I compose a sonnet? Perhaps a dramatic declaration of undying devotion?”

She snapped her book shut, eyeing him with clear warning. “I will set you on fire.”

“Tempting,” he mused, undeterred. “But wouldn’t you rather enjoy the day, just this once? I mean, look around! Love is in the air.”

“Is it?” she deadpanned, just as a third-year ran past, frantically batting away a love-struck bouquet that was attempting to kiss him.

Fiyero hummed thoughtfully. “Okay, poor example.” He grinned. “So, you don’t want me to take you to the grand Heartsday indoor picnic Galinda is forcing everyone to attend?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know she’ll drag me there anyway.”

“True. But wouldn’t it be more fun if I was there to suffer with you? Like at the Winter Ball?”

Elphaba rolled her eyes but didn’t immediately reject the idea.

Fiyero, ever the opportunist, took this as a victory.

“Great! It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure, sure, tell yourself that,” he said, standing and tossing the wilting bouquet onto her book with a wink. “See you at the picnic, Thropp.”

Elphaba scowled, watching as he strolled off. She should have returned to her reading. She should have ignored the way his words stuck in her head.

Instead, she found herself glancing at the ridiculous, burnt humming flowers still resting on her book.

The wilted rose twitched, letting out one last breathy you enchant me… before finally collapsing into the pages with an undignified thump.

And to her absolute horror, she felt a tiny, traitorous smile tug at the corner of her lips.

She groaned, shoving the bouquet off her book.

“Damn it.”

-

The indoor picnic was even worse than Elphaba had expected.

The tables were draped in obnoxiously frilly cloths, embroidered with tiny, fluttering hearts that seemed to beat like real ones if you looked at them too long. Enchanted lanterns shaped like cherubs floated overhead, occasionally shooting out bursts of pink confetti, much to Elphaba’s horror. Couples lounged far too close, giggling as they fed each other enchanted desserts that allegedly made you fall even more in love with the person you were looking at when you took a bite.

Elphaba scowled as she watched a student bite into a shimmering pink truffle, turn to their unsuspecting friend, and immediately burst into a giddy, lovestruck monologue. The friend, wide-eyed and panicked, tried to shuffle away, but the magic had already taken hold.

Fiyero appeared at her side, a smirk already firmly in place. “Having fun?”

“I want to die,” she deadpanned.

“Excellent, we’re on the same page.” He flopped onto the picnic blanket beside her, stretching out like he had no care in the world. “I brought snacks.”

Elphaba eyed the small pastry he handed her. It was heart-shaped, glimmering faintly in a way that suggested it had been tampered with. “What is this?”

“No idea,” he admitted cheerfully. “Avaric said it was ‘Heartsday magic,’ which means it’s either going to taste amazing or turn us into love-struck fools.”

She hesitated, staring at the suspiciously glittering crust. “And you still ate one?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “You know I have no self-preservation.”

Before she could protest, Fiyero took another bite—and then promptly choked.

Elphaba blinked. “Are you okay?”

He coughed, pounding his chest. “I love you!” he wheezed.

Elphaba froze.

“…Excuse me?”

Fiyero’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, Oz. It’s the pastry!”

“What do you mean, it’s the pastry?”

He covered his mouth with both hands, looking genuinely terrified. “It’s enchanted! It makes you say what you’re feeling!”

Elphaba’s mouth went dry.

For the first time in her life, Fiyero Tigelaar looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

 “I—I mean, you know how it is,” he laughed awkwardly. “Love! A general term! Love for the world! Love for books! Love for friends! Love for—uh—weather!”

Elphaba slowly raised a brow. “Weather?”

Fiyero was spiraling.

“I mean, who doesn’t love a good breeze? Or, um, the concept of love? Love is very broad! I love… life! I love trees!” He gestured wildly to the nearest oak as if it could save him. “That’s a fantastic tree. Look at it! Sturdy. Grounded. I love that for it.”

Elphaba folded her arms and looked out the window at a Oak tree covered in snow. “You love a tree.”

“I do!” Fiyero said, nodding aggressively. “And books! And, uh—potatoes?” He winced. “No, wait, I hate potatoes. Scratch that. But, uh—learning! And personal growth! And—and—” His eyes darted around desperately before landing back on her.

His mouth opened.

Then immediately snapped shut.

Elphaba tilted her head. “And?”

Fiyero clapped his hands together loudly. “And friendship!” he declared. “Wow, friendship is great. So good. So stable.”

Elphaba narrowed her eyes.

Fiyero cleared his throat. “And—and academic excellence!”

Elphaba’s brow shot up. "Are you having a stroke?" 

“Oh, Oz, I’m dying,” Fiyero whispered under his breath.

He took a steadying breath, dragging a hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard into his skin as if he could physically push down the emotions threatening to rise. He needed to get a grip. “Look,” he started, voice strained but measured, “the important thing is that this is clearly a prank. Some unhinged magic student thought it’d be hilarious to curse the pastries, and obviously, I fell for it. That’s all this is. It doesn’t mean anything.”

His hands twitched at his sides before he ran one through his hair, fingers catching briefly before dropping. He forced a grin, but it wavered at the edges, lacking its usual easy confidence. “I mean, come on, Elphaba. Do you really think I’d just—just confess my deepest feelings in the middle of a Heartsday picnic?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head. “That’d be ridiculous.”

Elphaba folded her arms, unimpressed.

Fiyero groaned, gripping the sides of his jacket like he wanted to strangle himself. “It wasn’t real! It was a spell! It forces you to say things, even if you don’t want to—”

Elphaba raised a single brow. “So you don’t love me?”

Fiyero opened his mouth—only for his entire body to betray him.

“I do!” he blurted, looking horrified as the words left his lips. “No, wait—”

Elphaba stared at him.

Fiyero wanted to dissolve into the earth.

“I mean—not like that!” he sputtered, waving his arms wildly as if that would physically shove the words back into his mouth. “I mean—yes, but not—not in a Heartsday way, but, like, in a normal way—like, a respectful way, a casual way! Like, you know—love! Like, fondness! Like, ‘Oh, what a lovely person, I admire her very much, isn’t she wonderful. No! Beautiful!’”

Fiyero clamped a hand over his mouth.

And then—

As if things couldn’t get worse—

A delighted gasp echoed behind them.

“Elphie, what did I just hear?”

Fiyero’s entire body locked up.

Every single muscle turned to stone.

He did not breathe. He did not blink.

Because Galinda had arrived.

And judging by the absolute glee in her voice, she had heard everything.

Her hands clasped together as if she had just stumbled upon the most delicious piece of gossip in existence. She was also clutching Avaric’s arm, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet like a child about to witness something utterly scandalous.

And Avaric…

Avaric looked like he had just been personally blessed by the Unnamed God.

His grin stretched so wide it threatened to split his face, his eyes sparking. He was drinking in the scene before him with the barely-contained joy of a man who had just been handed the single most entertaining event of his entire life.

“Oh, this is spectacular,” Avaric murmured, looking between Elphaba and Fiyero like a scientist studying an experiment that had gone horribly, horribly wrong in the most fascinating way possible.

Elphaba, meanwhile, slowly turned toward them, her expression unreadable.

Fiyero, who still had not moved, made a single, near-silent plea.

“Oz, just take me now.”

Unfortunately, Oz had no mercy.

Because as if the universe itself had decided that Fiyero had not suffered enough, another set of voices approached from behind.

“I—what’s going on?”

Boq.

And worse.

Nessarose.

Boq and Nessarose had arrived, both looking utterly perplexed, their identical expressions of confusion only adding to the suffocating weight of the moment.

Boq glanced between Fiyero, who still appeared to be in the process of dying, and Elphaba, who had her arms crossed in what could only be described as menacing amusement. Then his gaze landed on the picnic blanket, the half-eaten pastry, and Galinda’s absolutely feral excitement.

“…Did I miss something?” he asked, hesitantly.

Avaric let out a gleeful laugh, clapping him on the back. “Oh, Boq, you have no idea what you just walked into.”

“I do believe Fiyero just confessed his love to Elphie!” Galinda declared, clasping her hands together as she practically vibrated with glee. Her voice was high with excitement, nearly breathless, as if the sheer drama of it all was too much for her to bear. “Oh, this is simply too delicious!”

Boq’s eyes widened in alarm.

Nessarose’s fingers, which had been resting delicately on the arms of her wheelchair, curled tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Fiyero, who had just barely started to process the sheer magnitude of his impending doom, made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a groan.

“I did not—”

“Oh, shush, you did,” Galinda interrupted, waving him off with the kind of certainty only she could manage. “And it was adorable.”

Elphaba tilted her head, regarding him with slow amusement. “You were saying?”

Fiyero dragged his hands down his face, inhaled sharply, and then—because the universe was clearly determined to ruin his life—blurted out, “I love you!”

Avaric looked like he was having the best day of his life.

Boq still looked lost.

And Nessarose…

Nessarose was staring at Fiyero like she had just put something very, very important together.

Fiyero’s eyes went wide in horror as his mouth kept moving, the words spilling out like a runaway spell he had no hope of stopping. His brain screamed at him to shut up, to take control, to lie, but the magic wouldn’t let him.

“I mean—not again! I mean—not like that! I mean—” He let out a choked laugh, his voice rising in pure, unfiltered panic as the truth kept clawing its way out of him. “I admire you! Deeply! In a platonic—no, academic!—way! You know, like, ‘Wow, what a fascinating person, what a remarkable mind, what an incredibly—’”

His teeth clenched as he fought against it, but the spell dragged it out of him anyway.

“—incredibly beautiful, completely brilliant, and so unbelievably infuriating—”

Fiyero clamped both hands over his mouth, but it was too late.

Galinda gasped, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Oz, you did it again!”

Fiyero made a strangled noise behind his hands, his entire body stiff as if sheer force of will could stop any more truth from escaping.

“Oh, Fiyero,” Avaric drawled, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “I never thought I’d see the day. Are we doing public declarations now? Should I get down on one knee for you too? Maybe recite a heartfelt sonnet?”

Fiyero, still flat on the ground, groaned into his hands. “I hate everything.”

“Elphie!” Galinda squealed, practically bouncing with excitement. “Why did you not tell me my former beau was secretly in love with you?”

“He’s not!” Fiyero yelped, bolting upright so fast that he nearly sent the pastry tray flying. “It’s the stupid pastry!”

Galinda gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Wait, really?” She turned to Avaric, clutching his sleeve with urgent enthusiasm. “Darling, you must eat one!”

Avaric took a full step back, holding up both hands as if she were brandishing a loaded weapon. “Absolutely not. I have far too many secrets to keep.”

Boq, eager to both be included and impress Galinda, puffed out his chest and stepped forward. “I—I could try one!”

Galinda beamed at him, clasping her hands together. “Oh, Boq! You’re just darling.”

Fiyero made a strangled noise. “Can we please focus on my crisis first?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Avaric said cheerfully. “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

Fiyero turned on him, desperate. “Avaric, help me!”

Avaric leaned down next to Fiyero, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You know, Tigelaar, you might as well just own it. You do spend an awful lot of time pining after her.”

“I do not pine!” Fiyero protested.

“You do look at her a lot,” Nessarose observed, brow furrowing in thought. “Like, a lot.”

“Nessa!” Fiyero groaned, desperately trying to blend into the ground. “Can we please move on to literally anything else?”

“Well,” Elphaba mused, brushing a stray crumb from her sleeve. “This has been delightful, but I think I’ve gotten all the entertainment I need.”

Fiyero groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I am begging you to forget this ever happened.”

Elphaba smirked. “Oh, I absolutely won’t.”

Then, as if that settled it, she turned on her heel and strode off, taking her victory with her. She didn’t need to stay—not when she had already won.

Fiyero let out a quiet, miserable whimper behind her.

Galinda sighed dreamily. “Oz, that was romantic.”

Avaric clapped Fiyero on the back. “You're screwed, my friend!”

Fiyero, still lying on the ground, exhaled slowly.

The trouble with enchanted pastries was that they worked far too well.

Boq had taken a bite absentmindedly while no one was watching, too distracted by the sheer chaos of Heartsday to consider the possible consequences. Unfortunately, as soon as he swallowed, his entire body stiffened, and his eyes went wide with panic.

He clutched his chest, a strangled noise escaping him.

“I—I love Galinda!”

The words rang out, loud and undeniable.

The world seemed to stop.

The conversation around them died instantly, the festive hum of Heartsday fading into something tense, something unnatural.

Every single head in the group turned toward Boq in excruciating slow motion.

Boq, frozen mid-breath, looked like he had just realized what had come out of his mouth. His face drained of all color, then immediately flushed an alarming shade of red.

Galinda, who had been mid-conversation with Nessarose, blinked at him in mild surprise. 

Boq sucked in a sharp, panicked breath. He turned to Fiyero, his eyes wide, pleading, like there had to be some way out of this. “It forces you to say it! I—I tried to think of something else, but I—”

His voice cracked.

And then, when he finally stopped stammering—when he finally gathered what little courage he had left and dared to look at her—

His stomach plummeted.

Nessarose’s face was unreadable, eerily still. But her fingers—her fingers were white-knuckled where they gripped the arms of her wheelchair, so tightly it looked as if she were trying to anchor herself in place.

Like if she let go, she might shatter.

A gust of cold wind rustled through the air, sending the enchanted Heartsday decorations fluttering, but the chill that ran down Boq’s spine had nothing to do with the weather.

The silence that followed was no longer awkward.

It was agonizing.

Nessarose was staring at him, not with anger— which, honestly, he would have preferred— but with something much worse.

Hurt.

Betrayal.

Disbelief.

Boq felt his stomach plummet.

“You… still love her?”

Her voice was quiet.

Boq swallowed hard. “Nessa, wait— I—”

But the magic wasn’t done with him.

“Yes.”

The single word came out broken, unwilling, but the damage was already done.

Avaric’s laughter completely faded.

Galinda’s face paled.

Nessarose’s lips parted slightly, as if she had been physically struck.

Her breath hitched, her grip tightening even more. “And all this time, you let me believe—”

“Nessa, it’s not like that,” Boq said quickly, trying to grasp onto something, anything that could fix this. “I care about you. I really do. You’re important to me, I—”

Nessarose lifted a hand, cutting him off.

Her gaze was hard now, her expression carefully controlled, though her voice was anything but.

“I was always second choice,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want to see it.”

Boq opened his mouth, but no words came out.

There was nothing he could say.

Because she was right.

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken words, before Nessarose inhaled sharply, her shoulders squaring. Instead of leaving, she remained exactly where she was, fixing Boq with a look so sharp he felt like it could slice through him.

“Well?” she demanded. “Say something.”

Boq floundered. “I—I never meant to hurt you.”

Nessarose inhaled sharply, lifted her chin, and then—with an eerie sense of calm—spun her wheelchair around and left.

No shouting, no dramatic storming off. Just a deliberate, icy exit, leaving only silence in her wake.

Boq slumped forward, running a hand down his face. “Oh, that’s so much worse.”

Avaric let out a low whistle. “Yeah, buddy, you’re dead. Like, actually dead. I’d start making peace with the Unnamed God now.”

Before Boq could respond—not that he had a response—an imposing shadow loomed over the group.

Fiyero, still flat on his back, blinked up.

Elphaba.

Elphaba, who had stormed away.

Elphaba, who had not been supposed to return.

Elphaba, who was now holding a plate stacked with pastries.

Avaric let out a delighted noise. “Oh, Oz, she came back with reinforcements.”

Galinda clasped her hands together. “Elphie! What on earth—?”

Elphaba frowned, glancing around as if something was missing. “Wait. Where did Nessa go?”

Boq groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t say her name.”

Fiyero pinched the bridge of his nose. “Elphaba, what are you doing?”

Avaric smirked. “Oh, Oz, she came back for revenge.”

“Or maybe another confession?” Galinda gasped.

Fiyero barely had time to sit up.

Elphaba stared at the pastry in her hand like she wanted to set it on fire with sheer willpower alone. Instead, she gripped it tighter, as if holding back from throwing it at someone’s face.

“I was walking away,” she said, voice clipped and precise, “as any sane person would after that humiliation.”

Avaric nodded solemnly. “Understandable.”

“But then,” she continued, her eyes glinting dangerously, “I realized something.”

Fiyero swallowed hard. “Oh?”

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “This ridiculous Holiday isn’t going to end.”

Boq, still spiraling in his own personal crisis, shifted uncomfortably. “Oh no.”

Fiyero furrowed his brows. “What does that even mean?”

Elphaba sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting what she was about to say. “It means,” she muttered, “that for once in my life, I might as well just—” She exhaled sharply, gesturing vaguely at the chaos around them. “I don’t know. See if this actually works.”

Avaric’s smirk widened.

Galinda practically sparkled. “Oh, Elphie, you’re embracing the spirit of Heartsday!”

Elphaba shot her a glare. “That is not what’s happening.”

Boq was staring at her like she’d just declared she was about to set the whole university on fire. “Wait, hold on—are you seriously saying you want to do this?”

Elphaba huffed, crossing her arms. “I’m saying that I spend my life running from things like this. Maybe just once, I see what happens when I don’t.”

Avaric let out an impressed whistle. “Self-destructive and dramatic. You are making progress.”

Fiyero groaned. “Elphaba, listen, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly.

And before anyone could stop her, she took a bite.

Everyone froze.

A faint shimmer passed over her, like an enchantment locking her into place.

Avaric sucked in a breath. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Galinda clutched her hands together, barely containing her excitement.

Fiyero, meanwhile, looked like he was about to pass out.

"I hate Heartsday."

Fiyero let out a slow breath. "Okay. That’s not so bad."

But then—

"I also hate that I care what people think of me."

His stomach dropped.

Elphaba stiffened, as if realizing the spell was working against her, but it didn’t stop.

"I hate that I'm always the problem in every room I walk into."

Avaric muttered under his breath, "Oh, this just got serious."

"I hate that people look at me like I'm some terrifying, untouchable thing."

Her hands clenched. She tried, visibly, to hold the words back.

"I hate that sometimes… I believe them."

Galinda whispered, "Elphie…"

The air changed.

The amusement faded.

Fiyero sat up, all traces of humor gone.

This wasn’t funny anymore.

Elphaba looked like she was trying to fight it, her jaw locked, her breath shaky—but she couldn’t stop it.

"And I hate that I want you to like me."

Silence.

Avaric let out a long, slow whistle. "Oz damn."

Fiyero’s world tilted.

Elphaba’s entire body locked up.

Galinda made an unintelligible squeaking noise, looking back and fourth between them. Avaric sat back on his hands, openly grinning now. Boq stared in shock, as if trying to confirm he had actually heard that right.

But Fiyero couldn’t look at anyone else.

Elphaba’s face was impassive, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself so still—like if she didn’t move, maybe the moment would pass.

Maybe no one would say anything.

Maybe it would be forgotten.

But Fiyero wasn’t going to forget.

She wanted him to like her.

The realization struck him harder than he expected, knocking the wind out of him more than any of their usual back-and-forth ever had. Because it wasn’t a joke, not this time. It wasn’t a game, not when her voice had trembled just slightly, not when her hands had curled into fists at her sides like she was bracing for impact.

Elphaba, whose confidence had always seemed unshakable, had just admitted to something fragile. Something vulnerable.

And she looked like she already regretted it.

Galinda, uncharacteristically hesitant, reached out like she was afraid Elphaba might shatter. “Elphie…”

Elphaba sucked in a slow, deliberate breath. “Well,” she said, and her voice was calm. Too calm. Stiff and detached, like she could still salvage the moment if she pretended hard enough. “That was informative.”

Fiyero saw it—the way she held herself tighter, the way she refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

His stomach twisted.

“Elphaba—” he started, his voice quieter now, his usual teasing nowhere to be found.

But she shook her head sharply. “No.” Her tone snapped like a whip, sharp and cutting, but underneath it—underneath it, there was something brittle. “That’s quite enough humiliation for one day.”

Avaric, always the first to stir the pot, leaned back on his elbows, grinning like he was watching the best entertainment of his life. "So, Thropp, is this where you two finally kiss, or—?"

Elphaba spun toward him so fast he actually flinched. “Say another word and I will hex your tongue out of your mouth.”

Fiyero barely registered Avaric’s retreat. His focus was locked on Elphaba—the tension in her shoulders, the rigid way she held herself, the quiet, simmering rage that wasn’t entirely aimed at them.

She was embarrassed.

She was embarrassed.

And it bothered him.

Because he was used to Elphaba being untouchable, used to her rolling her eyes and shutting down anything that could make her look weak. But now—now she was exposed in a way she had never let herself be, and she hated it.

“Elphaba—” he tried again, softer this time.

She turned on him, her glare scorching. “Don’t.”

His lips pressed together.

She took another breath, forcing steadiness into herself, but he could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way her magic hummed around her like an uncontained spark.

She had been forced to say something she never would have otherwise.

“I am going to kill whoever made these pastries,” she muttered, voice low and seething.

“Too late,” Avaric said, smirking as he recovered, clearly unable to not make things worse. “They’re already in heaven, smiling down at the gift they’ve given us.”

Fiyero, who had been silent for far too long, finally leaned forward just slightly, his smirk slow, deliberate—a warning, a challenge. But his eyes—his eyes watched her too closely, too carefully, as if he was searching for something beyond her anger.

“So,” he said, his voice light, teasing—but quieter now, less for the crowd and more for her. “What kind of like are we talking here?”

Elphaba’s glare snapped back onto him like a whip. “Do not start.”

“General appreciation?” He tilted his head, his smirk deepening, but there was something else in his expression now—something sharper. “Or something else—”

Avaric let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disappointment, his grin stretching even wider. “You know, Fiyero was pretty clear when he said he loved you.”

Fiyero barely heard him.

And I hate that I want you to like me.

The words still clung to him, looping over and over in his head, impossible to shake.

Elphaba had already been unraveling when she said it, and he had seen it happen in front of him—had watched her fists clench, her shoulders tighten, had seen the exact moment she realized she had let too much slip. And the worst part, the part that sat uneasily in his chest, was that she wasn’t really arguing. 

Her expression was unreadable, but he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, could see the tension in the way she held herself perfectly still, like one wrong move would snap the last bit of control she had.

And he hated it.

Because Elphaba was never still. Elphaba fought. She bit back, she dismissed, she mocked. But now, for the first time since he’d met her, she looked unsure, unsteady, and it made something curl tight and uncomfortable inside him.

He needed to fix it.

Needed to make this whole thing stupid again.

Fiyero scoffed, shaking his head furiously. “This is ridiculous. It forced the words out of me! I had no control! You all saw it happen!”

Avaric folded his arms, his expression knowing. “Right. And that’s why the second you realized what you said, you looked like you wanted to throw yourself off a tower?”

Fiyero let out a short, forced laugh. “That was because it was humiliating!”

“And completely true.”

“It was magically induced!” Fiyero snapped. “It’s not like I meant to say it!”

Avaric chuckled darkly. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

Fiyero turned to Galinda, gesturing wildly, desperate now. “Back me up here!”

Galinda gasped, pressing a hand to her chest, eyes positively sparkling. “Oh, but Fiyero, darling, you sounded so genuine. It was really quite beautiful. Don’t you think so, Elphie?”

Silence.

Elphaba still said nothing.

And that was worse.

She wasn’t smirking anymore.

She wasn’t rolling her eyes, wasn’t armed with a sharp remark.

She was just watching him.

Fiyero’s breath caught in his throat.

The world seemed to slow, the noise around them dimming.

Elphaba, who never let herself be vulnerable, had just admitted something so raw, so achingly personal, and now—now she was seeing him fight to take his own words back.

Like he was trying to prove her confession had meant more.

And he could see the exact moment she realized it.

Her expression didn’t change, but he felt it.

Fiyero inhaled sharply, forcing a smirk, forcing himself to look casual even though nothing about this moment felt remotely casual.

Something about the way she was looking at him—steady, unreadable—sent a slow, twisting heat through his chest.

Elphaba, who always had something to say.

Elphaba, who never let anything get to her.

Elphaba, who should be laughing at him right now, mocking him, telling him how absurd this all was—

But she wasn’t.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands down his face, trying to regain control of something—anything. “This is—this is ridiculous. You’re all making something out of nothing. It was a curse. The pastry was cursed. I do not—”

He stopped himself so fast, so abruptly, it was painfully obvious.

The silence stretched, thick and unrelenting.

Avaric’s smirk sharpened into something lethal. “Go on, Tigelaar. Finish that sentence.”

Fiyero’s jaw tightened. His pulse was hammering against his ribs.

“You are enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Avaric nodded, slow, satisfied. “Oh, absolutely.”

Fiyero huffed, dragging a hand through his hair, turning his focus back to Elphaba, who still hadn’t looked away. 

The quiet between them felt like a noose tightening.

“You don’t actually believe this,” he said finally, forcing the words out, even though his throat felt dry, even though he already knew the answer. “Do you?”

Elphaba didn’t blink.

She just raised a single eyebrow.

Fiyero swore under his breath and turned away, his hands curling into his hair, his heart pounding hard inside of his chest.

“This is a nightmare.”

Avaric clapped him on the back. "No, my friend. This is entertainment."

Fiyero, trying to regain his usual confidence, smirked and turned to Elphaba. "Well, well, well. Looks like we're both screwed."

Elphaba didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed the nearest pastry and shoved it straight into Fiyero’s mouth.

Fiyero choked, coughing as crumbs flew everywhere, his eyes going wide as the spell immediately took hold.

Avaric grinned.

Galinda gasped.

Fiyero barely managed to swallow before the magic ripped the words from his throat.

"Elphaba is the most frustrating person I have ever met."

The words came out sharp, raw, completely unfiltered.

Elphaba frowned and looked away in humiliation.

Fiyero tried to stop, tried to clamp his mouth shut, but the spell wasn’t finished.

"She drives me absolutely insane."

Avaric gasped. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Fiyero was spiraling.

"She’s arrogant and stubborn and never listens to me."

Elphaba turned back toward him, her expression stone.

"She makes everything harder than it needs to be, and she’s so damn smart about it that I can’t even argue properly."

Fiyero’s breath was coming faster now.

“She makes me want to tear my hair out daily.”

His fists clenched, desperate to stop the words, but they kept coming.

“She is the most stubborn, infuriating, impossible person I have ever met.”

And then, without hesitation—

“And I am completely in love with her.”

Silence.

Real silence.

Elphaba didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t breathe.

Avaric let out a low whistle. "Damn, Tigelaar."

Fiyero looked completely wrecked, hands clenched into the grass beneath him, his face burning.

His throat tightened. The spell wasn’t done.

“And I think about kissing her at least five times a day.”

Elphaba finally reacted.

Her breath hitched, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

Fiyero was drowning.

“I dream about her more than I should. I can’t help it. She’s always in my head.”

Elphaba tensed, her jaw locking.

“I look for her even when I know she won’t be there. I make excuses just to be near her.”

Something in Elphaba’s face cracked, but still, she said nothing.

Fiyero gritted his teeth, shaking his head like he could physically fight the magic, but it dragged out one last confession.

“I still think about the Winter Ball,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Dancing with her. How she let me hold her just for that one night.”

Elphaba sucked in a breath.

“I think about the way she looked at me when I helped her with her spells. How she finally let someone in.”

Her lips parted slightly, her fingers twitching like she wanted to reach for something—or stop herself from doing it.

Fiyero let out a ragged breath, his hands trembling now.

“I would do anything for her, even if she never felt the same way.”

The spell released him.

The weight of his words crashed down, suffocating, too real to take back.

No one spoke.

Avaric, for the first time in his life, was speechless.

Galinda covered her mouth, tears in her eyes.

Elphaba stood completely still, but something behind her gaze looked shattered.

Fiyero’s chest rose and fell too quickly. His hands trembled in his lap, his head spinning, his entire body burning.

He had nothing left to say.

There was no undoing it. No taking it back.

Elphaba stood abruptly, her movements sharp, decisive. She turned on her heel and walked away.

Not running.

Not storming off.

Just… leaving.

Like the moment had already slipped through her fingers. Like it had never mattered at all.

Fiyero didn’t chase after her.

Didn’t call out.

Didn’t move.

He just watched as she disappeared, feeling something unravel inside him.

As the silence stretched uncomfortably, Avaric exhaled, shaking his head. "Well, Tigelaar. That was a hell of a love confession."

Fiyero barely heard him.

Galinda wiped her eyes. "That was beautiful."

--

Elphaba walked quickly, her footsteps sharp against the cobblestone paths, but she wasn’t running. She refused to give them that satisfaction.

Not Avaric, who was probably still laughing.

Not Fiyero, who had just spilled his entire heart onto the ground in front of everyone.

And certainly not Galinda, who was now following her.

Elphaba heard the quickening footsteps behind her, the unmistakable click of heels against stone.

“Elphie, wait!”

Elphaba did not wait.

Galinda was relentless. She pushed forward, breathless but determined, until she caught up beside her.

“You can’t just walk away after that,” she said, her voice rising.

Elphaba didn’t so much as glance at her. “I just did.”

Galinda let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, no, you stormed away. Very dramatic, by the way. A perfectly tragic exit. But you know that’s not going to be the end of this.”

Elphaba clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “There is nothing to talk about.”

Galinda nearly stumbled over her own feet. “Nothing to talk about? Fiyero just confessed that he’s in love with you! He talked about dancing with you at the Winter Ball. He admitted he’s been helping you with your spells just to be near you! That’s nothing?”

Elphaba stopped so suddenly that Galinda had to pull back to avoid running into her.

“That wasn’t a confession,” Elphaba said, her voice sharp enough to cut. “That was a curse forcing him to say things he never should have said.”

Galinda folded her arms. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Elphaba didn’t answer.

Galinda shook her head. “You know, I thought he was the one being ridiculous, but I think you both are.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Elphaba muttered.

Galinda scoffed. “Oh, please. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t have practically fled the moment he said it.”

Elphaba’s jaw locked.

She didn’t get the chance to reply.

“So what are you going to do?”

Elphaba and Galinda turned in unison.

Nessarose sat just off the path, watching them with a look that was neither curious nor kind.

Elphaba exhaled sharply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nessarose tilted her head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. “Fiyero.”

Elphaba’s chest felt tight. “There is nothing to do.”

Nessarose studied her with an intensity that made Elphaba want to turn and walk away again. “So that’s it? You’re going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Elphaba snapped. “And he probably regrets it more than I do.”

Galinda let out a breathless laugh, one filled with disbelief. “You regret it? That’s interesting, because from where I was sitting, Fiyero looked like he was falling apart when you walked away.”

Elphaba stiffened.

Galinda saw it, and for the first time, her frustration wavered. “You really think he didn’t mean it?”

Elphaba’s nails bit deeper into her palms. “It’s better this way.”

Nessarose scoffed, shifting slightly in her wheelchair. “For who?”

Elphaba’s expression darkened. “For everyone.”

Galinda groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh,Elphie, really! He dreams about you! He remembers every single moment you’ve spent together—dancing, spellwork, all of it! And you think he doesn’t mean it?”

Elphaba’s throat felt tight.

Nessarose shook her head. “Men are useless.”

Galinda blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

Nessarose’s fingers curled against the arms of her wheelchair. “I have officially decided I hate them. Every single one of them.”

Elphaba frowned. “This feels personal.”

“Oh, it is!” Nessarose snapped, her voice rising. “Boq spent years doting on me, telling me I was special, and all this time, it was Galinda he loved!”

Galinda winced. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t say—”

Nessarose’s glared. “Do not try to soften this, Galinda.”

Elphaba ran a hand down her face. “Okay. We are not making this about Boq right now—”

“Of course we are!” Nessarose snapped. “Because it’s the same thing, isn’t it? Men pretending they don’t feel something when they do!”

Elphaba froze.

Galinda noticed immediately, her sharp eyes flickering with something new.

“Ah,” Galinda breathed, voice shifting, suddenly softer. “So that’s it.”

Elphaba stiffened. “That’s what?”

“You do believe it,” Galinda said, watching her like she was unraveling a puzzle. “You do think Fiyero meant it.”

Elphaba’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Galinda smiled, slow and knowing. “And it scares you.”

Elphaba turned away.

“I have work to do.”

“Elphie—”

“We’re done here.”

--

Fiyero didn’t know where he was walking.

He barely registered the path beneath his feet, barely noticed the crisp winter air biting at his skin. His head was too full, his thoughts racing too fast for him to keep up.

She wanted him to like her.

She wanted him to like her.

The words kept looping in his mind, colliding with everything else that had come out of his mouth—the Winter Ball, the spells, the way he looked for her even when he knew she wouldn’t be there.

He had said too much.

He reached the edge of the courtyard before stopping, leaning heavily against the stone railing. His pulse was still too fast, his chest still too tight.

She left.

That part shouldn’t have bothered him. He knew her. He knew she ran from things like this. But something about the way she had looked at him—frozen, wide-eyed, silent—made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t like.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He just needed a second. Just needed to breathe, to—

“Well, that was tragic.”

Fiyero groaned, shutting his eyes. “Avaric. Please don’t.”

“Don’t?” Avaric scoffed, sauntering up beside him, positively glowing with amusement. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Tigelaar.”

Fiyero cracked one eye open, just enough to glare at him. “I was hoping for basic human decency.”

Avaric laughed outright. “Ah, no. That was your first mistake.”

Fiyero sighed, turning away again. “What do you want?”

“To bask in your misery, obviously.” Avaric leaned against the railing beside him, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. “You know, I’ve witnessed a lot of spectacular disasters in my life, but that one? That might be my favorite.”

Fiyero said nothing.

Avaric’s smirk faltered slightly. “Oh, come on. I thought you’d at least fight me on it.”

Fiyero exhaled through his nose. “Not in the mood.”

Avaric studied him for a moment, then hummed. “That bad, huh?”

Fiyero didn’t answer.

Avaric sighed, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Fiyero let out a humorless laugh. “Trust me. I know.”

“I mean, honestly, Tigelaar. You can say whatever you want about curses and spells, but you didn’t look surprised when you said all that.” Avaric raised an eyebrow. “You looked relieved.”

Fiyero tensed. “I don’t—”

Avaric held up a hand. “Let me rephrase: You looked relieved until she left.”

Silence.

Fiyero clenched his jaw. “She always leaves.”

Avaric tilted his head. “And you always let her.”

Fiyero shot him a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Avaric said, his smirk fading into something sharper, more knowing, “that you keep making excuses for her, keep letting her run before she has the chance to figure out what she actually wants.”

Fiyero scowled. “She doesn’t want—”

Avaric cut him off. “Oh, spare me. If you actually believed that, you wouldn’t look like you just got punched in the ribs.”

Fiyero pressed his fingers against his temple. “I don’t need this right now.”

Avaric ignored him. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. And I gotta say, it’s been fun watching the two of you dance around it, but let’s be real here: that pastry just shoved you into collision.”

Fiyero stayed silent, his grip tightening on the railing.

Avaric studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Look, I know you’re used to things coming easy, but if you actually want this? You might have to try.”

Fiyero’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t want me to try.”

Avaric scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the man who literally just confessed he can’t stop looking for her.”

Fiyero inhaled sharply, but before he could argue, Avaric pushed off the railing with a satisfied hum. “Well. This has been fun. I’ll let you get back to your brooding.”

Fiyero exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You are the worst.”

Avaric grinned. “And yet, here I am. Always right.”

Fiyero didn’t argue. He just watched as Avaric strolled away, humming to himself.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do now.

--

Elphaba walked briskly, her steps sharp against the cobblestone, her breath coming quicker than she wanted to admit. Her heartbeat was a hammer against her ribs, each thud pressing against the tight, suffocating weight in her chest. She had to get away.

Away from Avaric’s infuriating smirk.

Away from Nessarose’s sharp, cutting disappointment.

Away from Galinda’s knowing eyes, too knowing, like she had unraveled something Elphaba wasn’t ready to name.

And most of all, away from him.

She didn’t stop until she reached the small alcove near the library, where the swirling chaos of Heartsday decorations and the laughter of enamored students couldn’t reach her. Here, the only sound was her own ragged breathing.

Elphaba pressed her palms flat against the cool stone wall, letting its solidity ground her. Her fingers curled against the rough texture, nails biting into her skin.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

None of it was.

Her plan had been simple. If she made it into a joke, if she turned it into something stupid, it wouldn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

But it did.

Because Fiyero had stood there in front of everyone and meant every word.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to pull it together. She just needed a second. Just one second to—

A rustle of fabric behind her.

Elphaba spun sharply, magic sparking at her fingertips before she could think better of it.

But instead of an enemy, she found Galinda.

Galinda, standing in the entrance to the alcove, arms crossed, looking utterly unshaken.

Elphaba’s shoulders tightened, her magic fizzling out.

“Really?” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut. “I thought we were done here.”

Galinda didn’t even flinch. She just raised an eyebrow, stepping closer with the kind of effortless grace that made Elphaba want to scream.

“Oh, you might be done,” Galinda said airily, “but I certainly am not.”

Elphaba clenched her jaw, trying to fight the impulse to take a step back as Galinda closed the space between them.

She tilted her head, watching Elphaba closely, too closely. “You ran away before I could ask the most important question.”

Elphaba exhaled sharply. “Galinda—”

“The pastries.”

Her stomach flipped.

Elphaba forced her expression into something blank. “What about them?”

Galinda narrowed her eyes, sharp and suspicious. “Where did they come from?”

Elphaba hesitated.

Just for half a second.

But Galinda saw.

And she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Oh, Elphie.”

Elphaba’s stomach twisted again.

Galinda’s voice was filled with something close to horrified delight. “You knew.”

Elphaba’s jaw locked.

 “You knew what they did,” Galinda pressed, her voice threading with disbelief. “Or at least—you made them, didn’t you?”

Elphaba’s shoulders curled in slightly, her fingers tightening at her sides.

“…They weren’t supposed to work.”

The words were quiet. Almost too quiet.

Galinda stared at her. “You cursed them?”

Elphaba let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. I enchanted them. Poorly, apparently.”

Galinda looked at her like she had never seen her before.

“Elphie,” she whispered, stepping closer. “Why?”

Elphaba lifted her chin, but her voice cracked when she said, “Because he won’t stop.”

Galinda blinked.

Elphaba sucked in a breath. “He—” She hesitated, as if she didn’t want to give the words shape, but once they started, they didn’t stop. “He asked me to a ball. And I said no, and he still danced with me.” Her voice was unsteady now, her breath tight. “Then he—he helped me with my spells when he didn’t have to, and now—now he asked me to a picnic like it means nothing—”

Her voice broke.

Galinda’s heart twisted.

Elphaba let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And I just—I thought it would be funny.” She shook her head. “I thought maybe if I did something ridiculous, if I made this whole thing into a joke, it would—” She trailed off, her breathing uneven.

Galinda’s face softened. “It would what?”

Elphaba closed her eyes, her throat working, as if she didn’t want to admit it.

Finally, barely above a whisper—

“It would stop mattering.”

Galinda inhaled sharply.

Elphaba turned away, pressing her fingers against her temple. “But it didn’t, did it?” Her laugh was hollow. “It never does.”

Galinda took another step forward, the realization settling into place.

“Oh, Oz.”

Elphaba frowned, not liking the shift in her tone. “What?”

Galinda pressed a hand to her chest, stunned. “I saw you this morning.”

Elphaba stiffened. “Saw me what?”

“In the kitchens! Baking!” Galinda threw up her hands. “I woke up early for my hair appointment, and you were there! Covered in flour, looking incredibly displeased about it, but I just assumed you were stress-baking! I had no idea you were making cursed pastries!”

Elphaba groaned, rubbing her temples. “I wasn’t cursing them.”

Galinda gave her a flat look.

Elphaba sighed. “…Not at first.”

Galinda gasped, scandalized. “Elphie, when?”

Elphaba exhaled slowly, her voice quiet, almost reluctant. “After Fiyero asked me to the picnic.”

Galinda stared at her.

Elphaba crossed her arms, scowling. “He wouldn’t stop.”

Galinda let out a breathless laugh. “So you cursed an entire batch of pastries because Fiyero Tigelaar invited you on a romantic outing?”

Elphaba bristled. “It wasn’t romantic.”

“Oh, Elphaba,” Galinda groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You are a menace.”

Elphaba folded her arms tightly. “I thought they wouldn’t work.”

Galinda gave her a pointed look. “And yet.”

Elphaba glared.

Galinda smiled softly, but there was something sharp behind it now—something that made Elphaba feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but down.

“Oh, Elphie.” Galinda’s voice was almost gentle, and that made it worse. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?”

Elphaba set her jaw, forcing her voice to stay steady. “That I’m an idiot?”

Galinda let out a breath of laughter, but there was no mockery in it. Just understanding. “No, darling. It means you were never fighting him.”

She nudged Elphaba, not hard, just enough that the touch lingered. Just enough to make Elphaba’s breath catch.

“You were fighting yourself.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Elphaba’s stomach clenched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

She didn’t respond.

Didn’t move.

Because she knew Galinda was right.

And it scared her more than anything else.

A breeze swept through the alcove, catching in Galinda’s perfectly styled curls, sending a faint shimmer of glitter into the air—remnants of whatever enchanted powder had been dusted over the picnic tables, clinging to her like it belonged there.

It caught the light as it drifted between them, dancing in the space Elphaba refused to close. Tiny, weightless flecks of shimmering dust, clinging to her like an insult.

She hated glitter.

It was always the lingering evidence of spells gone wrong—magic that fizzled out instead of taking form, enchantments that refused to work the way she wanted them to. It coated her hands when incantations failed, settled in her hair like a reminder that no matter how much she tried, there were things she simply couldn’t control.

And now, here it was again.

Soft, weightless, mocking.

Galinda tilted her head, watching her carefully, waiting.

Elphaba only turned away.

Letting the glitter cling to her, stubborn and unshakable—just like the truth she didn’t want to face.

She rubbed at her arms again, harder this time, as if she could shake it away, as if she could erase the evidence of what today had turned into. But the more she brushed it off, the more it spread—catching the light, dusting her skin in something weightless, something impossible to ignore.

She had spent years mastering the art of distance. Years perfecting the ability to keep people at arm’s length, to make sure that no one ever got close enough to hurt her.

And yet—

Yet today, she had stood there, exposed, unable to stop herself from speaking, unable to stop the magic from dragging her deepest thoughts to the surface. And worse—so much worse—she had listened to him.

Fiyero, who had danced with her like she was meant to be in his arms.

Fiyero, who had sat with her for hours, patiently guiding her through spells, watching her like she was something worth waiting for.

Fiyero, who had—against all logic, against all sense—asked her to a picnic today, like this was just what they did.

And she—she had tried to turn it into a joke.

Had tried to curse it into meaning nothing.

But it hadn’t worked.

Because nothing about this was funny.

Her fingers dug into her arms, nails pressing into skin.

Galinda’s words echoed in her head.

"You weren’t fighting him. You were fighting yourself."

Elphaba clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe.

It didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

She clenched her jaw. “It won’t come off.”

Galinda, still watching her, crossed her arms. “Elphie—”

“It never comes off,” Elphaba muttered, still brushing at it, her voice tightening. “It’s always there. Every time I screw up. Every time a spell goes wrong. Every time I try to do something right and it just—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply through her nose.

Galinda stepped forward, cautiously. “Elphaba.”

Elphaba didn’t look at her. “It’s ridiculous,” she muttered. “It’s just glitter.”

“Then why are you shaking?” Galinda asked, her voice softer now.

Elphaba’s hands stilled.

Her throat felt tight.

She forced herself to laugh, brittle and bitter. “You’re imagining things.”

Galinda sighed, and before Elphaba could protest, she reached out, brushing a few flecks of glitter from Elphaba’s shoulder. They didn’t budge. Galinda let her hand fall.

“You know,” she murmured, “you can keep scrubbing at it all you want.”

She met Elphaba’s gaze, something knowing in her expression.

“But it’s still there.”

Elphaba’s breath caught, her fingers curling into fists.

She should argue. Should tell Galinda she was wrong, that this was nothing, that this had never been anything—

But she didn’t.

Because she couldn’t.

For the first time all day, she had nothing left to say.

The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken.

Finally, Elphaba inhaled slowly, deliberately, as if forcing herself to steady.

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

She didn’t look back.

But the glitter was still there.

And no matter how much she willed it to disappear, she could still feel it.

Chapter Text

By the following week, Life Sciences had become unbearably tense, the classroom practically suffocating under the weight of Elphaba and Fiyero's continued refusal to acknowledge each other's existence. The friend group had long since grown exhausted from their relentless avoidance, each silently begging for someone—anyone—to break the stalemate. Boq and Nessarose shifted uneasily in their seats, exchanging glances that silently pleaded, "Please let today be different," though neither had much hope left. Even Professor Nikidik, normally oblivious to student drama, delivered his lecture with a cautious, uncharacteristically wary tone.

Elphaba sat rigidly at the front, eyes glued fiercely to the professor as if the intensity alone could shield her from the tension radiating from the back of the room. Her posture was stiff, shoulders painfully straight as if braced against an impending attack. She gripped her quill so tightly it threatened to snap, determinedly avoiding the back of the classroom, where Fiyero lounged with exaggerated indifference.

Beside her, Galinda twisted a curl anxiously around her finger, occasionally emitting soft, frustrated sighs. After days of enduring their stubborn silence, she'd reached a breaking point, darting increasingly desperate looks between Elphaba and Fiyero, as if hoping sheer force of will might finally snap them out of it.

At the back, Fiyero drummed his quill against the desk with escalating impatience, projecting a facade of boredom that no one believed anymore. Finally losing patience, Avaric jabbed him sharply in the ribs, leaning over with a hissed whisper, "For Oz's sake, just talk to her. You're making all of our lives miserable."

Fiyero drummed his quill faster.

"If you tap that thing any harder, you'll summon a demon," Avaric whispered dryly. "Or worse, Nikidik."

"Shut up," Fiyero muttered, stilling the quill immediately and shooting Avaric a glare that promised imminent bodily harm.

"I'm just saying," Avaric continued mildly, leaning back with an infuriating smirk, "your subtlety is legendary."

Professor Nikidik cleared his throat, clearly sensing the class's attention slipping. "Today you'll pair up to study enchanted flora samples. I expect thorough analyses—so please, no distractions," he emphasized, eyes briefly locking on Fiyero.

"Relax," Avaric whispered, eyes glinting with amusement. "You're going to set the whole class on edge."

"I think we're past that," Fiyero muttered dryly, gripping his quill tightly.

Across the room, Galinda nudged Elphaba sharply, nearly sending her inkpot tumbling to the floor. "Elphie," she whispered urgently, practically vibrating with anticipation. "Did you hear him?"

Elphaba sighed, refusing to look away from her notes. "Yes, Galinda. My hearing works perfectly well. Unfortunately."

Galinda rolled her eyes, undeterred. "I may have suggested to Professor Nikidik that certain pairings would ensure optimal productivity."

Elphaba finally turned, suspicion sharpening her gaze. "What did you do?"

Galinda offered her most innocent smile. "Nothing terrible. I simply nudged Professor Nikidik toward pairing you with someone...interesting."

Elphaba's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Galinda—"

But before she could finish, Professor Nikidik continued, oblivious to their whispered battle. "The partner assignments have already been determined," he announced, oblivious to the collective groan that swept through the classroom as Elphaba fixed Galinda with a glare.

"You are ridiculous," Elphaba hissed.

Galinda smiled sweetly, leaning slightly toward Elphaba with a sparkle in her eyes that could only mean trouble. "You're welcome."

Elphaba shot her a venomous look, cheeks already warming with embarrassment. "I didn't ask you to do anything."

"Oh, please," Galinda whispered back, batting her eyelashes innocently. "Someone had to help break the tension, Elphie. It was positively unbearable."

Across the room, Fiyero glanced toward Galinda just in time to catch her barely-contained smirk. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach, predictably deepening when Professor Nikidik finally announced the dreaded pairing.

"Elphaba Thropp and Fiyero Tigelaar."

The entire class froze for a split second before breaking into quiet, curious whispers. Fiyero groaned softly under his breath, sliding down an inch in his chair as if that might make him invisible. Unfortunately, it did not.

Elphaba stiffened, her posture somehow managing to become even more rigid. Her cheeks darkened slightly, betraying her embarrassment despite her carefully controlled expression. Without turning her head, she hissed through clenched teeth, "Galinda, I will personally see to it that you regret this."

Galinda ignored the threat entirely, her voice cheerfully dismissive. "Oh, please, Elphie. You'll thank me later."

Fiyero reluctantly gathered his books, pretending to find his notes deeply fascinating as he made his way toward Elphaba, feeling every eye in the room upon them. His pulse quickened, heat creeping up the back of his neck as he sat beside her, leaving as much awkward space between them as possible.

Professor Nikidik moved briskly through the room, pairing the remaining students with bored efficiency. “Avaric Tenmeadows and Boq Woodsman,” he announced without looking up, already scribbling notes on his parchment.

Avaric grinned wickedly, nudging Boq a bit too roughly. “You hear that, Boq? It's fate. We'll make a beautiful team.”

Boq groaned softly, slumping further into his chair. “This day can't get worse.”

“Oh, come now,” Avaric drawled cheerfully. “At least we're not them.”

They both glanced simultaneously toward the front of the room, where Elphaba and Fiyero sat rigidly side-by-side, looking like two cats forced into the same tiny cage.

At the front, Fiyero stared intently at the plant specimen, desperate for something—anything—to discuss that wasn't yesterday's disaster. “Well, it’s certainly… green.”

Elphaba shot him a sharp glance, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Brilliant observation, Tigelaar. Truly ground-breaking.”

“Thank you,” he retorted dryly, irritation flickering across his face. “I pride myself on my profound botanical insights.”

“Remarkable,” she muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your intellectual depth continues to amaze.”

“Glad you noticed,” Fiyero snapped, cheeks flushing slightly.

Avaric whispered delightedly to Boq, "I give it two minutes before they're at each other's throats."

"You're too generous," Boq replied miserably, sinking lower into his seat as Avaric leaned closer, already nudging their specimen with more curiosity than was probably safe.

Galinda, meanwhile, had been paired with Nessarose, who regarded their plant with mild suspicion, poking at the leaves cautiously. After a moment, Nessarose glanced sideways at Galinda, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "Galinda, please tell me you didn't meddle in this assignment too."

Galinda laughed nervously, twirling a curl anxiously around her finger. "Oh, no—not this time, Nessa. I learned my lesson after Heartsday." Her gaze flickered guiltily toward Elphaba, who currently looked seconds away from setting either Fiyero or their innocent plant specimen ablaze—possibly both. "Mostly," she amended with a sheepish grimace.

At the front of the classroom, Elphaba was determinedly scribbling notes, her quill digging into the parchment hard enough to nearly tear it.

"You know," Fiyero finally said lightly, breaking the tense silence, "if you stab the page any harder, you might pierce the desk."

Elphaba paused, jaw tightening visibly. "And I'm sure that would be far more productive than you staring into space."

"At least my way doesn't involve murdering parchment," Fiyero shot back under his breath.

"No, just the death of our grades," she muttered sharply, still not meeting his gaze.

Fiyero sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms in exaggerated surrender. "Fine. Enlighten me, oh great botanical mastermind. What's your expert opinion on our leafy friend here?"

Elphaba scowled, pulling the plant closer with obvious reluctance. She eyed it critically before giving Fiyero a pointed look. "It’s green, overly complicated, and clearly suffering from being stuck in the wrong environment."

Fiyero’s lips curled into an amused half-smile. "Really? Sounds oddly familiar."

"Does it?" Elphaba retorted coolly, pushing the plant slightly toward him. "Perhaps you'd like to offer your own analysis, since you seem to relate so closely."

"Sure." He leaned in, inspecting the plant exaggeratedly. "It looks bitter, a bit prickly, and exceptionally skilled at repelling anyone who gets too close."

Elphaba narrowed her eyes sharply.

They both glared at each other, momentarily forgetting their surroundings until Professor Nikidik loudly cleared his throat, causing them both to jump slightly and pretend to take notes once again.

At the back of the classroom, Avaric nudged Boq gleefully, a triumphant grin plastered across his face as he mouthed, "Told you so."

Boq groaned quietly, sinking lower into his seat. "I really hate when you're right."

Up front, Elphaba pointedly ignored Fiyero, fussing unnecessarily with her notes and turning her entire body away as if even looking in his general direction might cause some catastrophic event. Fiyero cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting a fraction closer despite his better judgment.

"Look, can we just finish this assignment?" he asked, feigning casual boredom. "I'd prefer to get out of here with what's left of my dignity intact."

Elphaba finally turned toward him, eyes piercing. "Oh, I'm afraid that particular ship sailed quite some time ago."

He bristled slightly, annoyance flickering across his face as his voice dropped lower. "I'm trying to make this easier, you know. The least you could do is cooperate."

"Funny," she replied frostily, eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't recall asking for your pity."

"And I didn't ask to spend an hour studying plants with someone who's actively trying to murder me with her eyes," he shot back, irritation flaring despite himself.

Elphaba inhaled slowly, clearly trying to steady herself. "Fine. You start with the magical properties; I'll handle growth patterns."

"Fine," Fiyero agreed curtly.

"Good," she snapped.

"Great," he retorted.

Across the room, Galinda cringed slightly, leaning toward Nessarose with an anxious whisper. "I may have severely underestimated how awkward this was going to be."

"You think?" Nessarose deadpanned, poking cautiously at their own specimen with clear skepticism. "Next time you decide to meddle, maybe warn the rest of us first."

Galinda sighed heavily, watching Elphaba and Fiyero warily. "I honestly thought I was helping. Now I'm worried they might blow us all up."

"Well," Nessarose replied dryly, "if they do, I'm blaming you."

At the back, Avaric elbowed Boq again, whispering, "Five coins that Fiyero snaps first."

Boq merely sighed deeply, resting his head miserably against his desk. "Why can't we ever have one peaceful class?"

Meanwhile, oblivious to their friends' running commentary, Fiyero and Elphaba had descended into silence again, glaring at the innocent plant specimen as though it had personally offended them.

They worked in strained silence, the scratching of their quills on parchment sounding absurdly loud in the tense quiet. Occasionally, Fiyero would steal a glance toward Elphaba, quickly averting his eyes whenever he thought she noticed. For her part, Elphaba stared fixedly at the specimen, though her quill strokes grew increasingly erratic.

Finally, Fiyero sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand down his face. "Are you ever going to relax, or is that permanently impossible?"

Elphaba gave him an icy glare, eyebrows raised sharply. "Excuse me?"

He gestured vaguely toward her rigid posture. "I'm just saying, you've been sitting there like you're braced for battle this entire time. It's exhausting to watch."

"And I'm saying," Elphaba hissed, voice dropping dangerously low, "that your inability to stay quiet for five consecutive minutes is exhausting to experience."

Galinda let out a quiet squeak of distress from nearby, glancing pleadingly at Nessarose, who offered nothing more than a resigned shrug.

"Maybe we should focus on the plant again?" Galinda offered hopefully, loud enough for Elphaba to hear.

Elphaba shot Galinda a venomous look that instantly quieted her, before turning sharply back to Fiyero. "Can you at least attempt to write something useful?"

He scowled, flipping his parchment around dramatically to reveal the carefully detailed notes he'd been quietly working on. "Is this acceptable, Your Eminence?"

Elphaba stared at his notes for a long moment, clearly taken aback by the actual effort. She grudgingly muttered, "It's adequate."

"Adequate," Fiyero echoed incredulously, throwing up his hands. "From you, that's practically glowing praise."

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, grabbing his notes abruptly to compare them with her own. "It's just marginally better than your usual mediocrity."

He leaned in, irritation flaring again. "And just how closely have you been observing my usual mediocrity?"

Elphaba flushed visibly, tightening her grip on his notes and refusing to answer, eyes fixed stubbornly downward.

Across the room, Avaric leaned toward Boq, barely containing his delight as he whispered, "Admit it—this is far more entertaining than actually studying the plants."

Boq groaned softly, dropping his forehead onto his notes with a quiet thump. "At this point, I'd rather be a plant."

At the front, Fiyero immediately regretted his words as he saw Elphaba’s discomfort flash briefly across her face. He shifted awkwardly, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his jacket sleeve, doing his best to pretend the parchment in front of him was the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.

After an excruciating silence, Fiyero cleared his throat, grasping desperately for some measure of composure. "So…do you think this specimen has any unusual magical properties?"

Elphaba shot him a flat, unimpressed look, grateful for a chance to regain control of the conversation. "Aside from prompting excruciating conversations? Probably nothing noteworthy."

Fiyero chuckled softly despite himself, a reaction that surprised them both. Elphaba blinked, momentarily thrown off, before quickly hiding her confusion behind a fresh scowl. "Can we just finish this? I'd rather minimize my exposure."

Fiyero arched an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing her. "Exposure? Am I contagious now?"

Elphaba's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're certainly detrimental to productivity."

"Funny," he drawled, leaning a bit closer conspiratorially as a smirk played at his lips. "I was about to say the same thing."

Elphaba stared at him, cheeks flushing a deeper shade of green. "Then we agree on something. Again."

His smirk widened slightly, eyes sparking with sudden mischief. "Careful, Elphaba. Keep agreeing with me and people might start thinking we're actually getting along again."

From behind them came Galinda’s exaggerated sigh of relief, loud enough for both to hear. "Oh, thank Oz, they're finally making progress."

Elphaba’s head snapped sharply in Galinda’s direction, her tone icy and cutting. "Galinda, we can hear you."

"I know!" Galinda replied cheerfully, flashing an innocent, entirely unapologetic smile. Beside her, Nessarose sighed deeply, shaking her head with weary resignation. "And somehow, this has become our new normal."

Fiyero leaned slightly towards Elphaba, attempting a more casual tone even though his voice held a dangerous edge. "You know, you'd probably be less exhausted if you stopped putting so much effort into pretending you're fine."

Elphaba's eyes narrowed dangerously, the brief moment of amusement quickly extinguished. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. And anyway, I didn't realize my emotional state was part of the assignment."

"It isn't," Fiyero retorted quietly, irritation now rising unchecked in his voice. "But watching you pretend everything never happened is honestly painful."

Elphaba shot him a swift glare, lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. "Maybe you should focus less on me and more on your half of this assignment."

He leaned even closer, voice tight and insistent. "You're doing it again. Anytime something gets close to real, you push it away. Why?"

"Because I prefer focusing on things that matter," she snapped softly, refusing to look at him directly.

He scoffed, frustration spilling out despite his efforts to control it. "Right. Because avoiding things is always easier. Except it's clearly not working for you."

Elphaba's eyes flashed dangerously, a hint of real anger breaking through. "Why do you care? Since when do you notice anyone beyond yourself?"

Fiyero's jaw tightened, eyes sparking as he met her fierce gaze evenly. "Since it became obvious you're more afraid of admitting you feel something than dealing with the consequences."

Elphaba’s face paled slightly, her composure wavering. "You don't know what you're talking about."

He refused to relent, pushing forward. "Don't I? You spend every waking second building walls around yourself. Last week, for once, you let them down, and now you're scrambling to put them back up. Why?"

Elphaba’s breath hitched sharply, her composure fracturing as she clenched her fists so tightly her nails bit painfully into her palms. She felt cornered, her pulse quickening dangerously, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think clearly.

"Stop it," she whispered fiercely, her voice shaking just slightly beneath its controlled surface. "Just stop."

"No," Fiyero said firmly, refusing to back down. His own frustration, built from days of silence, finally spilled over. "Not this time. You're so determined to hide, but what are you really protecting yourself from?"

"I said stop!" Elphaba snapped, her voice rising sharply, magic suddenly sparking involuntarily from her fingertips. Tiny glittering flecks crackled in the air, startling them both as they danced unpredictably above the table.

Fiyero leaned back instinctively, eyes wide. "Elphaba—?"

She stared at her trembling hands in horror, desperately trying to control the power building inside her. Glittering sparks crackled between her fingertips, dancing dangerously close to the plant specimen.

"Elphie?" Galinda’s voice rang out anxiously, causing heads to turn and look their way.

But it was too late—Elphaba’s magic surged, spiraling completely beyond her control. In a burst of green-tinged glitter, the spell erupted from her palms, showering the entire class in shimmering, luminous dust. Students gasped and shielded their faces as the glitter hung in the air, suspended like stars, before suddenly forming vivid, ghost-like visions around them: images flickering with painful clarity—stolen glances, lingering touches, moments they'd desperately tried to bury.

Elphaba stared in horror, heart pounding wildly as the illusions danced before everyone's eyes, revealing her carefully guarded emotions in excruciating detail.

At the back, Avaric's eyes widened dramatically. "Oh, Oz," he breathed, utterly mesmerized. "This just got interesting."

Fiyero stood frozen, speechless, eyes locked onto Elphaba, his own embarrassment mirrored plainly in his expression as the classroom descended into shocked silence, every student fixated on the glittering, undeniable truth suspended between them.

The glittering cloud hovering above the stunned classroom began swirling rapidly, coalescing into shockingly vivid images that painted the air itself with memories neither Fiyero nor Elphaba had intended anyone else to see.

First, the scene settled into sharp clarity—a glittering recreation of the Winter Ball. There, captured in stunning detail, were Elphaba and Fiyero, dancing slowly beneath strings of enchanted lights. Their eyes were locked, her guarded expression softening into something tender and vulnerable, her defenses momentarily forgotten. Every student watched in stunned silence, witnessing the way her fingertips tightened gently around his shoulder, the small, secret smile she offered him, and the unmistakable softness in her eyes—a softness she'd never allowed anyone to glimpse.

Before anyone could recover, the glitter swirled again, forming another memory—this time showing the two of them walking quietly in the moonlit gardens, shoulders brushing occasionally, each accidental touch lingering just a moment too long. Elphaba laughed softly at something Fiyero whispered, her usually sharp, guarded expression replaced with a rare, genuine joy that radiated from her in shimmering clarity. Fiyero, beside her, was looking down at her face with an expression of quiet awe, as if she'd become the only thing worth seeing.

Finally, the glitter flared once more, shifting into a single, unmistakable image: Elphaba sitting alone in her dormitory, surrounded by stacks of books but clearly distracted, her chin resting lightly in her palm, eyes distant, expression soft and yearning as she stared out her window, unmistakably lost in thoughts of Fiyero.

The class watched, speechless, captivated by the glittering memories that revealed an Elphaba they'd never imagined existed—unguarded, vulnerable, and painfully, undeniably in love.

As the glittering images slowly faded into shimmering wisps, an oppressive, shocked silence engulfed the classroom. Elphaba stood rooted to the spot, her face pale and utterly exposed, eyes wide with horror as she realized every secret she'd desperately hidden had just been laid bare for the entire class to see.

Professor Nikidik finally broke the stunned silence, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Ms. Thropp," he began cautiously, "perhaps you should—"

But before he could finish, the whispers started—sharp and cruel, quickly gaining volume.

"Who would've thought she actually had feelings?" one girl sneered audibly from the back. "I didn't think it was even possible."

Another laughed mockingly, eyes coldly jealous as they settled on Fiyero. "Seriously, what spell did she cast to get him to even look at her?"

Elphaba flinched visibly, her shoulders curling inward defensively, humiliation coloring her cheeks a darker green. The whispers grew louder, uglier, feeding off each other as more voices joined in.

"Pathetic," someone muttered bitterly. "As if he'd ever actually like someone like her."

Fiyero felt a surge of anger so intense it nearly stole his breath. Without thinking, he stood abruptly, placing himself directly between Elphaba and the sneering classmates. His voice was steady, low, and carried a dangerous edge as he glared at the offending students.

"That's enough," he snapped coldly, eyes blazing. "You don't know a thing about her—or me. The only pathetic thing here is attacking someone because you're jealous. Back off."

The classroom fell silent again, this time with embarrassment and discomfort. Professor Nikidik stared awkwardly at the floor, clearly unsure how to handle this unexpected chaos.

Professor Nikidik finally spoke again, clearing his throat nervously. "Perhaps it would be best for you both to step outside until... things calm down."

Without waiting for Elphaba's response, Fiyero gently placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. She didn't resist, allowing him to lead her away from the prying eyes and cruel whispers of their classmates.

As the door closed softly behind them, Galinda shot the remaining students a scathing glare. "Well," she snapped sharply, "I hope you're all proud of yourselves."

Beside her, Nessarose shook her head quietly, her expression disappointed and somber. "Honestly," she muttered under her breath, "and you all call Elphaba wicked."

The hallway outside the classroom felt unbearably quiet compared to the chaos they'd just left behind. Elphaba leaned heavily against the stone wall, her breathing quick and uneven, her fingertips trembling visibly. Glitter still sparked occasionally from her palms, betraying her attempt to regain control.

"Elphaba," Fiyero began softly, stepping closer with cautious concern, "it's okay—"

"No, it's not!" she gasped sharply, eyes wide and panicked. "Did you see what I just did? I—I can't control this—"

He moved instinctively toward her, reaching out gently, trying to calm her down. "Hey, look at me. It's over. Just breathe."

But Elphaba shook her head frantically, eyes blazing with frantic panic. "It's not over! They'll never forget that—they'll never forget what they saw—what I feel—"

Her voice broke, and a fresh wave of uncontrolled magic erupted from her fingertips, swirling dangerously around them. The air crackled with powerful energy as Fiyero instinctively reached out, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly.

"Elphaba, please, calm down—"

But it was too late. Their proximity and heightened emotions had sparked something deeper, and her magic suddenly surged outward, violently intertwining with a deep, invisible energy that radiated from Fiyero himself.

The explosion of magic erupted before anyone had a chance to react. A deafening crack split through the hallway, followed by an overwhelming flash of emerald light, thick with shimmering, uncontrolled magic. The force of the spell knocked Elphaba and Fiyero off their feet, the air pulsing with energy as a whirlwind of glitter surged outward in a violent shockwave.

Students in the classroom screamed, some ducking under desks, others scrambling toward the door to see what had happened. Galinda gasped loudly, gripping Nessarose’s arm, while Avaric, always one to enjoy a spectacle, practically vibrated with excitement.

And then—

Silence.

For a long, stunned moment, nothing moved. The last of the magic settled, the glitter finally drifting to the ground like harmless dust.

Then, groaning, two figures stirred from where they lay sprawled across the cold stone floor.

Fiyero blinked groggily, rubbing his forehead before suddenly stopping, his hands freezing in midair. Something felt…off. His arms—his fingers—his skin—

A slow, dawning horror crept into his expression as he turned to see himself—his own body—lying beside him.

Elphaba, in his body, groaned, pushing herself up onto her elbows before freezing entirely. Her eyes widened, staring at her own hands—his hands—before darting wildly down at the rest of herself, then back at Fiyero.

They both screamed.

Loudly.

Fiyero scrambled backward, only to trip over his own—no, her—clothes, collapsing awkwardly. “What the actual—Oz—”

Elphaba tried to stand, gripping onto the wall for balance as her now taller, broader frame threatened to topple her over. “What—what did I just do?!” she demanded, voice breaking in sheer panic.

Fiyero, still reeling, lifted his hands—Elphaba’s hands—staring at them in absolute horror. “Oh, Oz, I’m green!” he shouted. Then, as if realizing his voice was no longer his own, he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, Oz, I sound like you!”

“I am you, you idiot!” Elphaba shot back, still wobbling unsteadily on Fiyero’s long legs. “And you’re—I’m—” she cut herself off with a sharp inhale, visibly trying to force herself to remain calm. It wasn’t working.

Inside the classroom, Galinda gasped dramatically. “Oh, Elphie, you’ve done it again!”

Avaric, meanwhile, had fully collapsed onto a desk in a fit of laughter. “This is officially the best thing that has ever happened.”

Before Elphaba could attempt to hex him—something she wasn’t entirely sure she could do in Fiyero’s body—another strangled sound of distress rang out from across the room.

“Oh, no,” Boq’s voice groaned. “This is so much worse!”

Everyone turned just in time to see Avaric staring down at himself in absolute horror—because it wasn’t his usual smirking, perfectly-groomed form he saw. It was Boq’s.

“Oh, Oz, why am I short?!” Avaric wailed, looking personally offended as he patted his now much shorter, scrawnier limbs. “This is a nightmare!”

Boq, in Avaric’s body, blinked at his own reflection in shock before running a hand through his now effortlessly styled hair. “Huh,” he murmured thoughtfully. “So this is what it feels like to have confidence.”

Nessarose, looking uncharacteristically alarmed, clutched her own arms tightly. “Wait, if they switched, then—”

Galinda let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Everyone whipped toward her as she flailed wildly, staring down at her perfectly manicured hands—except they weren’t hers. They were Nessarose’s.

“Oh, Oz, no!” Galinda shrieked, running her hands frantically through Nessarose’s neat, dark hair. “I—I’m a brunette?! And—oh sweet Lurline—no heels?!” She turned toward Nessarose, who was currently wearing Galinda’s body and staring in shock at her own twirling blonde curls. “Nessa, what do I do?!”

Nessarose simply blinked at her own reflection, then deadpanned, “You scream less.”

Meanwhile, Professor Nikidik, having finally gathered himself, took one long, weary look at the utter disaster before him, sighed deeply, and muttered, “I knew I should’ve retired last year.”

Back in the hallway, Elphaba turned—far too quickly—and promptly tripped over Fiyero’s long legs, nearly falling straight into him. He barely caught her—himself?—in time, gripping his own arms awkwardly as they wobbled to stay upright.

They stared at each other in absolute, mutual horror.

“You did this,” Fiyero accused, pointing at her—himself?—wildly.

“Oh, yes, because I clearly meant to turn my entire life into a comedy of errors,” Elphaba shot back, voice dripping sarcasm.

Fiyero groaned, gripping his temples—which were, again, not his own. “Oz help me, I don’t even know how to slouch like this. How do you do it? My spine is so straight!”

“My spine is none of your concern!” Elphaba snapped. She then inhaled deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. “We need to fix this. Immediately.”

Fiyero let out a helpless, breathy laugh. “No arguments there.”

They both turned to the classroom, where chaos had only just begun. Avaric was still lamenting his height, Galinda was clutching Nessarose’s chair in dramatic despair, and Boq was now standing confidently with his arms crossed, looking like he was enjoying his borrowed body far too much.

Elphaba let out a long, slow breath.

“This,” she muttered darkly, “is going to be an absolute disaster.”