Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The late autumn winds howled through the stone corridors of Shiz University, carrying the brittle scent of fallen leaves and impending frost. Fiyero Tigelaar tugged his scarf tighter around his neck as he approached the library, his steps slower than usual. The letter from home weighed in his coat pocket, the royal seal a cruel reminder of what awaited him.

His father was dying.

The last few letters had been filled with clinical descriptions of his father’s declining health, and the latest one had finally admitted what he already feared: there was little time left. Soon, the responsibilities of a prince, a leader, and a son would be thrust onto him, a role he had spent his entire life running from.

Inside the library, the warmth barely managed to chase away the cold creeping into his bones, but it wasn’t the heat he sought. It was her presence.

He wasn’t sure what it was about the emerald-skinned woman sitting in the farthest corner, surrounded by towers of books, but she seemed like the only steady thing in his life. Ever since the lion cub incident weeks ago, his carefully crafted world had begun to unravel. He had ended things with Glinda that same week, unable to stomach the façade of the carefree prince any longer. His growing guilt over the cub’s plight, compounded by his father’s worsening condition, had made it impossible to pretend that everything was fine.

At first, Glinda had been furious, then heartbroken. In the aftermath, she had done something he hadn’t expected: she had changed her name. She had shed Galinda like an old skin, becoming Glinda in what he suspected was an attempt to hold on to him, to prove that she could change, too. But it hadn’t been enough.

Over time, the sharp edges of her pain dulled, and they’d managed to settle into something resembling friendship. But despite the camaraderie of their little group, the charmed circle, he felt a restlessness that no amount of companionship could seem to fill.

And yet, Elphaba was different. He didn’t expect her to be a reprieve, not exactly. She wasn’t kind in the traditional sense; her sharp tongue and unyielding demeanour could cut deeper than most. But there was something grounding about her. She didn’t demand anything of him, didn’t expect him to perform or charm or pretend. She saw through him in a way that no one else did.

“You’re hovering,” she said without looking up as he approached her table, her dry tone cutting through his thoughts.

“How do you always know it’s me?” he asked, managing a faint smile as he slid into the seat across from her.

She shifted the stack of books to make room for him, the motion sharper than she intended. The pile consisted mostly of dense, leather-bound tomes on spells, histories, and diplomatic etiquette, all clearly chosen with her upcoming audience with the Wizard in mind. A folded letter jutted from between two pages, the Governor’s wax seal half-cracked. She’d been carrying it for days without opening it, and still hadn’t decided whether to read it before she left for the Emerald City.

She finally lifted her gaze, one brow arched. “You’re the only person foolish enough to approach me voluntarily.”

Fiyero chuckled, though the sound felt hollow even to his own ears. Elphaba’s sharp eyes softened slightly, and she closed the book she’d been reading, the faint shimmer of an annotated spell still glowing faintly on the page.

“You look terrible,” she said bluntly, but there was an undercurrent of concern beneath the words.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “That’s exactly the boost I needed today.”

“So, what’s wrong this time?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table. The words felt heavy on his tongue, too personal to share but too suffocating to keep inside. Finally, he let out a sigh.

“It’s just… everything,” he said vaguely. “Nothing feels right anymore. I keep thinking about that cub, and about…” He trailed off, his voice catching. His hand instinctively went to the pocket where the letter from home lay crumpled. “About how easy it is for everyone else to just walk away.”

Her expression darkened. “Most people don’t want to think too hard about what’s right or wrong. It’s easier to go along with the crowd.”

“You don’t,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You never do.”

She tilted her head, as if deciding whether or not to take that as a compliment. “Maybe that’s because I’ve never had the luxury of fitting in.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’re braver than the rest of us.”

Her eyes flickered with something he couldn’t quite place. She looked away, pulling one of her books closer, fingers tapping the margins as though reminding herself of what still needed to be memorized. “Don’t romanticize it, Fiyero. Being an outcast isn’t some noble pursuit.”

“It’s not just that,” he said, leaning in. “You see things differently. You care about things that matter. The Wizard’s going to see that.”

She didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t retreat either. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, steady in a way that made it impossible to look anywhere else. Her gaze stayed locked on his, assessing, as if she could see more than he wanted her to.

Fiyero let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair under the weight of it. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You look at me like that, and I can’t pretend anymore. Not with everything going on.” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Not with my father’s health declining.”

Elphaba’s eyes sharpened, then softened, the shift subtle but unmistakable. She reached across the table, her hand hovering for a moment before resting lightly on his.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and it wasn’t just sympathy. It was the acknowledgment of a shared burden; the kind that came with being the Thropp Third Descending, a title that felt as much a cage as an inheritance.

The simple statement hurt him. His throat tightened and he blinked rapidly, looking away.

They sat like that for a while, her hand grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. Eventually, she withdrew, but the warmth lingered. She pushed one of the books toward him, her expression shifting back to its usual no-nonsense demeanour.

“If you’re going to keep sneaking in here to mope, you might as well make yourself useful,” she said, sliding a book toward him. “I need someone to cross-reference this with the notes on page 342.”

Fiyero leaned against the desk, eyes glinting with amusement. “You really know how to cheer a guy up, Fae.”

“If you’re expecting apple tea and consolation, you’ve picked the wrong table,” she said, arching one brow. Still, the faintest smile tugged at her lips at his newest nickname for her.

He flipped through the pages slowly, then glanced up at her with a smirk. “Maybe you should spend less time trying to impress the Wizard and more time trying to impress me. You might find the results far more satisfying.” 

Her breath hitched just slightly, so slightly she hoped he didn’t notice. But when she met his gaze, that damnable grin of his had widened, and for the first time in weeks his expression wasn’t weighed down by exhaustion. And, just her luck, he didn’t miss the way her cheeks darkened at his comment.

--

The storm had raged for hours by the time Elphaba stumbled back onto the Shiz campus. Rain soaked her to the bone, clothes clinging, hair plastered against her cheeks. Each step felt heavier, dragged down by exhaustion and by failure.

It hadn’t been long since she’d stood at the train station, the platform crowded with familiar faces. Glinda had fussed over the tilt of her scarf, tugging it into place with a determined little frown. Nessa had clung to her hand, eyes bright with pride and something almost protective. Boq had stammered through a half-prepared speech about how important this was for all of them at Shiz.

Fiyero had been there too, leaning against a post like he had nowhere better to be, but his gaze never left her. When the train whistle shrieked, he stepped forward and pressed a single red poppy into her hand. “For luck,” he said lightly, but his fingers lingered around hers, his grin softening into something warmer. For a moment, it seemed like he might say more, but the conductor’s call swallowed the words.

They had all been certain she would succeed.

The Wizard’s task, so simple in his words, had proven impossible. The spell he’d shown her was written in curling, ancient script, the kind that seemed to shift and blur the longer she stared. She could barely make out the words, and when she tried to speak them aloud, her magic betrayed her; flaring hot and violent one moment, sputtering to nothing the next. It wasn’t just the spell resisting her; it was her own power, unruly and unpredictable, slipping through her grasp like water. No matter how many times she attempted it, she couldn’t force it into control. She’d left his throne room humiliated, the image of his disappointed, assessing stare etched deep enough to sting every time she blinked.

Madame Morrible had assured her she just needed more time, but the thought of facing anyone again felt like another kind of nightmare. She couldn’t help the Animals of Oz. She could barely help herself.

He approached slowly, the umbrella in his hand tilting toward her. She made no move to take it, and he kept it open as he crouched nearby.

“You’re going to catch your death out here,” he said gently.

“I don’t care,” she whispered with her voice breaking.

“Well, I do.” His hand settled lightly on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

She shook her head, rainwater dripping from her hair. “I can’t. I can’t face them. I failed, Fiyero. I...”

“Failed who? The Wizard?” His brow knit, though his voice stayed light, as if trying to coax her out of the shadow she’d fallen into. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

She shook her head, rain dripping from her lashes.

“Alright.” He snapped the umbrella shut and let it drop into the mud, then lowered himself onto the soaked grass beside her. “Fae, don’t let him be the measure of what you’re worth,” he said, his tone quiet but steady. “One person, Wizard or not, doesn’t get to decide that."

Fiyero’s smile faltered, and for a beat he just watched her, rain sliding down his face. He knew how much she had wanted this, how long she had dreamed of standing before the Wizard.

“You know,” he said softly, “I used to hate the rain. Always found it cold and miserable. But my father once told me it’s just water. Not so bad if you let it wash over you.”

She gave him a flat look. “That sounds ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, you seem to like ridiculous people.” His grin was faint but hopeful, like he was trying to hand her a scrap of brightness to hold onto. “Come on. Try it. Lift your face up. Breathe it in. Just for a minute, forget the Emerald City.”

Something in his voice, steady and warm and safe, made her obey. Tilting her head back, she let the rain strike her face. It was cold and shocking, but cleansing. The tightness in her chest eased, just a little.

“See?” he said softly. “Not so bad, right?”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Still ridiculous.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, staying beside her until the storm began to wane.

When he finally rose, he held out his hand, and she took it. His grip lingered a moment too long, his thumb brushing against her knuckles before he let go. Without asking, he fell into step beside her, guiding her across the slick courtyard.

The rain had eased to a fine mist, but the air between them thrummed with a quiet, restless energy. His shoulder bumped hers once, lightly, as though testing if she would move away. She didn’t.

He kept his hands in his pockets, but every now and then his gaze flicked toward her, as if checking that she was still there, still walking beside him, not drifting off into whatever storm still raged in her head. She focused on the sound of their footsteps on the wet cobblestones, the rhythm steadying her in a way she did not want to admit.

They reached her dormitory steps, light spilling warm across the rain-slick stone. He hesitated, like he might say something more. But instead, he gave her a small, quiet smile, one that reached his eyes this time, before letting her go.

After that night, Fiyero Tigelaar was different to her.

To everyone else, he was still perfect. Still had the same effortless charm, the same striking features and natural poise of someone born to be admired. The blue diamond tattoos traced across his skin only heightened his allure; his easy drawl made him approachable, and that disarming smile rendered him irresistible to most.

But she’d seen the boy who sat in the rain beside her, who tossed away an umbrella just to share the storm. And in the days since, those practiced smiles and that casual drawl felt… empty, as if they were covering something she wasn’t meant to see.

She caught it first days later in the life sciences lecture hall. From her place in the back, she watched him slouch into his seat, head propped on one hand, eyes distant. The smile he gave the girl two rows over was slow and perfectly timed, but it fell away the instant she turned back. The change was so abrupt, so unguarded, that it unsettled her.

She’d already suspected something was wrong. But now, staring at that fleeting, unmasked expression, she knew: whatever this was, it ran deeper than she’d thought.

That afternoon, the courtyard was nearly empty, the sky the dull silver of a season turning. The wind had that knife-edge bite of approaching winter, stripping the last leaves from the trees. Beneath one of them, bare-limbed and skeletal, Fiyero lay sprawled in the patchy sunlight, a crumpled letter in his hand, his usual entourage nowhere in sight.

For a moment, she almost kept walking. It would have been easier. Safer. Because ever since that night in the rain, she’d been far too aware of him; of the way his voice had sounded in the storm, of the heat of his hand in hers. But the sight of him alone, still, and not wearing that infuriating grin was enough to slow her steps. And then stop them entirely.

“You’re brooding,” she said, stepping into his line of sight with her arms crossed and voice dry enough to mask the twist in her chest.

He tilted his head to squint up at her. “Fae. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You didn’t even flirt with her properly.” She sat down beside him without asking, her green skin catching in the cold, brittle light. “Definitely brooding.”

“I don’t brood,” he said, though the warmth was gone from his tone.

“You’re doing it right now.”

He huffed a breath that fogged in the cold and turned his gaze back to the sky. “Fine. Maybe I’m brooding. Can you blame me? It’s exhausting, being the most popular man on campus.”

“You don’t look exhausted,” she said bluntly. “You look miserable.”

That got his attention. He turned his head sharply, blinking at her as though she’d slapped him. “What?”

“You’re miserable,” she repeated, meeting his gaze. “And before you try to charm your way out of it, let me remind you that I’m immune to your nonsense.”

Fiyero’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he’d brush her off. Instead, his voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re not wrong.”

Elphaba blinked at the honesty, but didn’t look away. “Didn’t think you’d say it out loud.”

One corner of his mouth twitched, more grimace than smile. “You’re the first person to notice. Or care enough to say anything.”

“That’s because everyone else is too busy being dazzled,” she said dryly. “They don’t bother looking past it.”

His gaze flicked back to hers, more intent now. “And you do?”

“I notice things,” she said. “Like how your smiles don’t last anymore.”

Fiyero looked at her for a long moment before running a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s not that easy. You can’t just smile your way out of feeling like…” He trailed off, his voice cracking. “Like the world’s closing in on you.”

“I know that,” she said, surprised at how unsteady her voice sounded. “But maybe you should do something about it. Talk. Yell. Write an angry letter to the Wizard. Set something on fire. Just...” She exhaled sharply, dragging a distraught hand through her own hair. “Do something instead of sitting here stewing in it.”

Fiyero let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I know,” she admitted. “If you need to vent, fine. If you need to throw something, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hit anyone important. But you sitting here doing nothing is unbearable, so pick one.”

They locked eyes. Fiyero, who could normally charm his way past anyone with a grin, didn’t bother now. 

Elphaba shifted under the weight of his gaze.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, lacking its usual confidence.

“I know,” she replied.

But she didn’t move right away. Instead, she sat there a moment longer, her fingers tracing the edge of her satchel between them. The silence stretched between them, too close and too precarious, and before she could think better of it, her hand brushed against his where it rested on the grass. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but it sent a flicker of heat up her arm.

She pulled back as if burned and stood abruptly, breaking whatever had settled between them. “Glinda needs help getting ready for another ridiculous date,” she muttered.

Fiyero let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Sounds scandalocious.”

“You couldn’t begin to imagine.”

She rose quickly, brushing damp leaves from her skirt before she could betray just how much that brief moment between them had unsettled her. Before she could acknowledge it at all.

She’d only taken a few steps across the frost-bitten grass when his voice stopped her, softer now, and stripped of its usual playfulness.

“Thanks, Fae.”

She didn’t trust herself to turn around. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” she tossed back, letting the familiar blunt edge return to her voice. Then she kept walking, the sound of her boots fading into the cold.

--

Later that week, Fiyero found himself in an uncharacteristic place: the corner of the library, hiding behind a stack of dusty books he had clearly not chosen for their content. The letter from his family sat on the table in front of him, the royal crest glaring up at him like an accusation.

Elphaba found him there by accident, or so she claimed.

“Care to explain why the prince of perpetual leisure is sulking in the darkest corner of the library?” she asked as she dropped into the chair across from him.

Fiyero barely glanced up, his cheek smushed into his palm, his fingers lazily toying with the edge of a book. She leaned forward to read the title: The Complete History of Grain Distribution in the Vinkus.

“Fascinating read,” she said. “What’s next? A thrilling exposé on soil pH levels?”

He smirked faintly but didn’t reply.

“You’re getting worse at pretending you’re fine,” she said.

“Maybe I don’t feel like pretending anymore,” he muttered.

She blinked at that; honesty from him still caught her off guard. “Well… that’s new.”

He huffed a humourless laugh. “Let’s call it self-improvement.”

Silence settled between them, filled only by the faint rustling of paper from nearby students. She studied him: the way his fingers drifted towards the letter in front of him, the restless tension in his shoulders, the way he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Not really.”

“Well, too bad.” She reached across and plucked the letter from the table before he could stop her.  “You’re clearly miserable, and since you’ve decided to sulk in my general vicinity, I’m making it my business.”

Fiyero’s head snapped up, his expression darkening. “Fae,” he warned, voice low.

She ignored him and scanned the page. By the time she finished, her expression had shifted; less guarded now, though not soft. She set the letter down between them, but kept her hand on it.

“You should have told me.” 

“Told you what?” His voice rose, too loud for the library. “That my father’s dying? That I’m about to be shoved into a role I don’t want, in a place I barely belong? That it feels like the whole damn Vinkus is about to crush me, and I...” He stopped, jaw tight. “I can’t breathe half the time.”

Elphaba didn’t flinch at the volume. Her eyes stayed locked on his, reading the strain in his voice, the control he was barely holding together. She wasn’t rattled by the outburst, only by how close it sounded to breaking him.

She reached across the table and took his hand.

“You’re not fooling me,” she said steadily. “If you need to scream, then scream. If you need to break something, I’ll look the other way. But stop pretending you can carry the whole damn world by yourself. It’s exhausting, watching you try.”

Fiyero swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He wanted to argue, to retreat into the mask he’d worn for years, but the way she was looking at him made it impossible. There was no pity in her eyes, only the kind of unwavering steadiness that felt like an anchor.

His fingers tightened around hers before he even realized he’d moved, his voice rough when he admitted, “I don’t know how.”

Elphaba’s breath left her in a quiet huff, caught between exasperation and understanding. “Then we’ll make it up as we go,” she said. Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Not like we haven’t done that before.”

Lurlinemas

Snow blanketed Shiz University, muting the usual bustle of campus and leaving the air sharp and still. Pine wreaths and twinkling lights adorned every building, a festive contrast to the students hurrying through the cold toward the Lurlinemas banquet hall, their laughter ringing through the streets.

Inside her dorm, Elphaba sat alone, surrounded by books she wasn’t really reading. The muffled hum of holiday cheer seeped through the walls, setting her teeth on edge. Lurlinemas had always been a miserable affair, steeped in her father’s expectations and endless reminders of her inadequacy. In the Thropp household, joy had never been the point. Only duty, rules, and sermons, all of it culminating in Nessarose’s relentless quest to prove she was holier than the saints themselves.

At Shiz, the holiday was just as exhausting, though for entirely different reasons. The halls were draped in glittering decorations, the air thick with gossip about secret admirers and banquet intrigues. Everything was bright, loud, and suffocating.

And then there was Glinda.

“Elphie, you simply have to come to the banquet tonight!” Glinda had declared that morning, giving a delighted twirl in a red velvet dress, its rhinestones scattering light in every direction. “It’s going to be the most positively swankified event of the entire season!”

“No,” Elphaba replied, not bothering to look up from her book.

Glinda let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, come on. You can’t just sit here all night.”

“Yes, I can.”

Glinda folded her arms. “Lurlinemas is about joy and togetherness and—”

“Consumerism,” Elphaba cut in, glancing at her over the rim of her glasses.

Glinda gasped. “That is so cynical.”

“And yet, still true.”

Glinda huffed, tossing her curls over her shoulder as she turned toward the door. “Fine! Stay here and stew in your little green bubble. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’ve missed the highlight of the year!”

With one final dramatic flounce, she swept out of the room, leaving Elphaba shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.

For a while, the solitude was almost peaceful. The muffled hum of carols outside faded into the background as Elphaba lost herself in a dense text on spell theory. The quiet, for once, was welcome. But just as she began to settle into it, a sharp knock split the stillness.

“Come in,” she called, irritation lacing her voice.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

Fiyero leaned against the frame, snowflakes clinging to his tousled hair, his ever-present grin firmly in place. His coat was dusted with frost, and over his shoulder, he carried a burlap sack. 

Elphaba narrowed her eyes. “How did you get in here?”

Fiyero smirked, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “You know, for a school obsessed with rules, it has a remarkable number of ways to sneak in if you know where to look.”

She folded her arms. “You broke in.”

“Broke in is a little dramatic.” He waved a hand. "I had to sneak through the back stairwell. Nearly got caught twice."

She let out a slow breath. “Shouldn’t you be dazzling everyone at the banquet?”

“I skipped it,” he said, brushing snow from his sleeves. “Figured you’d need some holiday cheer.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’ve become a Lurlinemas evangelist.” 

“Not exactly,” Fiyero said, placing the burlap sack onto her desk. “I got back from the Vinkus early and I brought you a present.”

Elphaba blinked, eyeing the sack suspiciously. “A what?”

Fiyero reached into the sack and pulled out a small wicker basket. Nestled inside was a kitten, trembling slightly, blinking up at her with wide green eyes. Its gray fur was fluffed up against the cold, and its tiny nose twitched as it took in its new surroundings.

Elphaba stared at the kitten. Then at Fiyero. Then back at the kitten. “Is that… a cat?”

“Not just a cat,” he said, grinning. “It’s your cat.”

“My cat?” she repeated incredulously.

“I found her under a cart near the bakery this morning,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It reminded me of you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Reminded you of me? Why, because it looks miserable?”

“No,” he said, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. “Because it’s scrappy, green-eyed, and probably sweeter than it lets on.”

Elphaba opened her mouth to argue, but the kitten let out a soft, plaintive meow. She glanced down, watching as it stretched a tiny paw toward her.

“I can’t take care of a cat,” she muttered, though her hand instinctively moved to stroke its fur.

“Sure you can,” Fiyero said. “You’re the most responsible person at Shiz. Plus, she's independent, quiet, and doesn’t gossip. Perfect for you!”

The kitten wobbled out of the basket and into her lap, purring faintly. Elphaba hesitated, her fingers brushing over its soft fur.

“What’s her name?” she asked reluctantly.

Fiyero smirked. “I was thinking… Fiyero Junior.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s charming, clever, and a little wild. Just like me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Her name is Thistle.”

“Thistle?” He tilted his head, amused. “Sharp and scrappy. Fitting.”

For a moment, it was almost easy. His teasing, her pretending to be exasperated. But as Thistle curled against her, she noticed the way his grin didn’t quite touch his eyes, how he kept looking at her like he was trying to remember something exactly as it was.

She knew why he’d been distant, why his smiles had felt stretched too thin. But sitting here now, with a cat in her lap and him standing in her dormitory with frost melting into his collar, the truth pressed in heavier than she’d braced for. This wasn’t just a visit. It was him saying goodbye before he went home for good.

The knowledge caught in her chest. She wanted to tell him not to go, to promise him things she had no right to promise. Instead, she sat there, fingers moving absently through Thistle’s fur, listening to the muffled carols outside and wishing that their lives could be different. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Before Fiyero could respond, the door burst open, and Glinda swept in, her voice trilling.

“Elphie, you’ll never believe—” She stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. “What are you doing here? You’re not even allowed to be in this building!”

Fiyero spread his hands innocently. “Clearly, I’m very resourceful.”

Glinda huffed, but before she could scold him further, she spotted the kitten on the desk. Her gasp was nearly a squeal. “What is that?”

“A cat,” Elphaba said flatly, now glaring at Fiyero.

Glinda crouched down, instantly cooing. “Elphie, it’s adorable! How on earth did you manage to get a pet past Madame Morrible?”

“I didn’t,” Elphaba said through gritted teeth.

“It’s her Lurlinemas present,” Fiyero said, dropping onto the arm of Elphaba’s chair like he belonged there.

Glinda clasped her hands. “You gave Elphie a cat? Only you could pull this off. Well,” she glanced at Elphaba, “only the Governor’s daughter could keep it.”

“I didn’t ask for it,” Elphaba snapped, but Glinda was already running a gentle hand over the kitten’s head.

“What’s its name?” Glinda asked.

“I still say you should name her Fiyero,” Fiyero said with an infuriating smirk.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? She’s charming, clever, and just a little wild,” he said, flashing her a wink.

Glinda giggled. “Oh, I love that. You have to name her Fiyero!”

“No,” Elphaba said sharply. “Her name is Thistle.”

“Thistle?” Glinda repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Well, that’s… rustic.”

“Sharp and scrappy,” Fiyero mused, his gaze flicking toward Elphaba. “Just like her owner.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to fight the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

Glinda huffed, tossing her curls as she flounced toward her wardrobe, already muttering about the necessary precautions. “I suppose I’ll have to cat-proof my side of the room. No climbing on my dresses, no shedding on my pillows, and certainly no scratching the velvet.” She shot the kitten a wary glance before dramatically sweeping out of the dorm.

Elphaba barely noticed.

Fiyero stood as well, but he didn’t leave immediately. He hesitated near the door, shifting his weight, the usual easy confidence in his posture just slightly off. His hands slipped into his pockets, his fingers fidgeting, a rare tell she had come to recognize.

“You’re keeping her?” he asked finally, his voice quieter than before, almost careful.

Elphaba looked down at the kitten, now curled in her lap, tiny and warm against her. She exhaled slowly, running a hand over the impossibly soft fur, feeling the steady rise and fall of Thistle's breath.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

Fiyero nodded, but he didn’t move. The space between them felt charged, something heavy hovering in the air. He was waiting and watching as if he was giving her the chance to say something, to acknowledge whatever it was that had been shifting between them lately.

Elphaba’s fingers stilled against the kitten’s fur. She could feel his gaze on her, could sense the warmth of him standing just a little too close. She told herself to look up, to meet his eyes, to say something. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled in the quiet.

And then the moment passed.

Fiyero exhaled, almost like he had been holding his breath, and with one last glance, something unreadable that she refused to dissect, he turned and slipped out into the hallway.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

Elphaba let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She sat motionless, staring at the empty space he had left behind. The room felt too quiet, the air too still, as if something important had just slipped through her fingers. He was going to leave. Back to the Vinkus, back to his family, back to his responsibilities; his future. One that had no room for her.

She curled her fingers around Thistle’s small body, holding her just a little too tightly. The kitten stretched, completely unaware of the knot tightening in Elphaba’s chest, before tucking herself back into a warm ball in her lap.

Fiyero had never given her a reason to believe he saw her differently from anyone else. He teased her, but he teased everyone. He was kind, but kindness cost him nothing. And yet in a matter of weeks, she had let something take root, reckless and unwanted, and she hadn’t been able to tear it out.

It was the lion cub all over again.

Since that day, they’d only drawn closer; shared glances across crowded halls, late-night conversations in quiet corners, moments that made it easy to forget the distance that should have been between them. He’d sought her out, trusted her, let her see pieces of himself she doubted he showed anyone else. Somewhere along the way, she’d let herself believe that meant something.

It had been foolish to keep replaying it, to pretend it might lead anywhere. Because it wouldn’t.

Fiyero was a prince; made for ballrooms and marble halls, for velvet and gold. For someone the world would celebrate, not merely tolerate.

Not someone like her, always held at a distance. Too much in some ways, never enough in others.

Her gaze dropped to the kitten in her lap. A gift she hadn’t asked for, a gift that had cracked her guard wide open. He couldn’t possibly know what he’d done, how much harder he’d just made it to keep her feelings for him hidden, to keep them buried where they had to stay.

“Happy Lurlinemas, Thistle,” she murmured.

The kitten purred, content in a way she doubted she would ever be.

She stayed like that for a long time, listening to the quiet press in around her, telling herself none of it mattered. But the ache in her chest wouldn’t loosen its grip.

New Year’s Eve

The cold night air clung to the windows of Shiz as the final hours of the year ticked away. Inside the dormitory, students were bustling with excitement, preparing for the annual New Year’s Eve party. Music thudded from every direction, laughter spilling into the hallways as groups gathered to drink, dance, and declare their resolutions. But not everyone had joined in the revelry.

Elphaba sat in her room, the faint glow of candlelight casting shadows against the walls. She wasn’t reading, though an open book sat in her lap, and her fingers were resting idly on its spine. In truth, her attention was entirely focused on the kitten sprawled across her desk, batting lazily at the edge of a quill.

“Thistle,” Elphaba muttered, exasperated as the kitten swatted the quill to the floor with a victorious flick of its paw. “You’re as insufferable as your namesake.”

Thistle merely yawned, utterly unbothered, before hopping down to investigate its new conquest.

A knock at the door pulled her attention away from the feline’s antics.

“Come in,” she called, assuming it was Glinda with another plea for her to join the festivities.

Instead, it was Fiyero.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his jacket unbuttoned, his glittering tie hanging loosely around his neck. His hair was just tousled enough to suggest he had been at the party, but the sombre set of his expression made it clear he hadn’t enjoyed himself.

“You’re not dressed,” he observed, stepping inside without invitation. His gaze flicked to the kitten, who was stalking a loose thread dangling from the edge of Elphaba’s shawl. “At least you’ve finally found someone whose company you enjoy.”

“Unlike you, she doesn’t talk incessantly,” Elphaba smirked.

Fiyero gave a dramatic little wince, palm flattening against his chest. “Wounded. Truly. But I suppose I should have known better than to expect to outrank a cat.”

Elphaba glanced at Thistle, who had abandoned the thread in favour of curling up on top of her open book. “She listens better than you, too.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he crossed the room and perched on the edge of her desk. He reached out to scratch behind Thistle’s ears, earning a pleased purr. “Looks like she’s settling in.”

“Too well,” Elphaba muttered. “She’s already taken over my desk. I think she’s under the impression that I’m her pet.”

“Smart cat,” he quipped.

His grin lingered for only a second before something heavier slipped into his expression. He hesitated, his hand resting idly against Thistle’s fur. The weight that had been pressing between them for weeks settled deeper, as inevitable as the changing of the seasons.

Elphaba’s fingers tightened around the edge of her book. “Why are you here, Fiyero?” she asked, her voice losing some of its usual sharpness. “Shouldn’t you still be at the party?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered, stepping further into the room as if he belonged there. “Glinda’s probably beside herself trying to explain your absence.”

“She’ll manage,” Elphaba said stiffly. “You, on the other hand, like parties. So why are you here?”

Fiyero sighed, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off whatever was weighing on him. “Maybe I got tired of people stepping on my toes.”

She arched a brow, unimpressed. “No one steps on your toes.”

His lips twitched. 

“You could probably dance circles around half the people there blindfolded.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning against the desk with exaggerated ease. “Good to know you’ve been paying attention.”

Elphaba scoffed. “It’s hard not to when Glinda spends half our conversations talking about how dazzling you are.”

Fiyero smirked. “I am dazzling.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right. So, again, why are you here instead of dazzling the crowd?”

His smirk lingered for a second, but then it faded, something unusual flickering across his face. “Because I didn’t want to be there.”

Her gaze sharpened. “And?” 

His fingers drummed absently against the desk. “And I wanted to see you.”

Elphaba flushed. “Why?”

He hesitated, then tried for levity. “Because you’re going to be the Wizard’s grand Vizier, and I figured I should get an audience while I still have access.”

“Do you ever stop deflecting?”

Fiyero let out a sharp breath, his hand raking through his hair. The easy grin he always wore, the shield he lived behind, slipped away. For once, there was nothing between them but honesty.

“Because I’m leaving soon,” he said. His eyes met hers, unguarded. “And the thought of walking away from you—” He broke off, and swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

The room fell silent, save for the rhythmic purring of the kitten, now curled against his leg as if unaware of the moment thickening between them.

Elphaba’s gaze lingered on him, sharp edges softening before she caught herself. Something in her chest pulled tight, but she forced her voice steady.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” she said, aiming for lightness. “You're not gone yet."

“No,” he admitted, crouching beside her as his hand drifted over Thistle’s fur. The kitten leaned into his touch, purring louder. His eyes, though, never left Elphaba. “But it feels like everything’s already ending.”

She looked away, her jaw tightening. She hated how much his words resonated with her, how they pressed against the same unspoken fears she refused to voice.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, forcing practicality into her tone. “You’ll go back to the Vinkus, and you’ll do what you always do: charm your way through it.”

Fiyero let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “I don’t want to charm my way through it,” he said, his voice raw in a way she wasn’t used to hearing. “I want to be better than that. I want to be someone worth…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “Someone worth remembering.”

Elphaba scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “You already are, Fiyero.”

He blinked, as though the words had slipped past every defence he’d built. His eyes searched hers, unsteady, and for a moment the performance fell away. What lingered instead was something raw, uncertain, as if he wanted to let her see him but didn’t quite know how.

Then, in the quiet, the distant chime of midnight echoed through the room. The new year had arrived, slipping in unnoticed, silent and inevitable.

Fiyero hesitated, as if weighing something, then reached for her hand.

Elphaba stiffened for only a second before letting him, their fingers brushing before she laced hers through his, grounding herself in the warmth of his touch.

“Whatever this next year brings,” he said, his voice low but steady, “I’m glad I spent this past one with you.”

Elphaba swallowed hard, the words settling deep in her chest. She should say something sharp, something to deflect the weight of the moment, but instead, she tightened her grip, letting her thumb ghost over the back of his hand.

Thistle stirred, letting out a soft meow as if protesting the moment’s intensity. Fiyero chuckled, the sound lighter than it had been all night.

“Looks like she’s not a fan of sentimentality,” he said, scratching behind the kitten’s ears.

“She’s perfect, then,” Elphaba replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Outside, the distant cheers of students celebrating the new year echoed through the night, laughter and music spilling into the air. But to Elphaba, the moment felt removed from all of it, quieter and heavier, a farewell wrapped in the pretense of a promise.

Between them, Thistle stirred, stretching before curling back into a contented ball, a small, steady presence in a world that suddenly felt too uncertain. Elphaba absently traced her fingers over the kitten’s fur, but her focus was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. 

Fiyero’s thumb brushed idly against the back of her hand, a light, absentminded motion, yet it sent something sharp through her, something reckless. He was watching her, waiting, though for what, she wasn’t sure. Comfort? Reassurance?

The celebration outside swelled, voices carrying through the crisp night air, fireworks crackling in the distance. It was a stark contrast: the revelry beyond these walls and the stillness within them. As if time had splintered, moving forward for everyone else but stalling here, just for them.

But time never really stalled. It only borrowed moments before stealing them away.

Elphaba exhaled, forcing herself to look at him. Their eyes met, and he didn’t look away. His gaze held hers, steady, intent, as though he was gathering the courage to close the distance, to say the words she knew hovered unspoken between them. There was hesitation in his expression, but also something rawer, the shape of a confession on the edge of breaking free.

She could have let it happen. She could have asked, or answered, or simply stayed. But some truths, once spoken, could never be taken back. 

So instead, she gave his hand a final, fleeting squeeze before pulling away.

Fiyero lingered, his fingers clinging to hers a heartbeat too long, before he let go. The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable. And outside, the world carried on without them.

And in the warmth of the New Year’s Eve party, Glinda sipped her champagne delicately, keeping a watchful eye on the festivities. Nessarose sat beside her, looking stiff and proper, while Boq hovered awkwardly near the punch bowl, his eyes darting between Glinda and his untouched glass.

“Oh, Nessa,” Glinda trilled, swirling the drink in her hand. “Did you see Elphie today? She hasn’t let that kitten out of her sight since Fiyero gave it to her. Honestly, I’ve never seen her so taken with a gift. It’s almost… sweet.”

Nessarose’s brow furrowed. “Fiyero gave her a kitten?”

“Yes. Found it in town, apparently, and thought of her.” Glinda gestured with her glass, her tone breezy but her eyes sharper than usual. “Now, that is unexpected, don’t you think? Fiyero of all people, giving Elphaba of all people something so thoughtful?”

Boq nearly choked on his drink. “He gave her a pet?” His voice cracked with disbelief.

Glinda giggled, flicking her wrist in Boq’s direction. “Oh, Boq, do stop looking so devastrated, you’ll positively drown yourself in punch. It’s not as if he handed her a diamond tiara.” She leaned closer to Nessarose, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial trill, eyes alight. “But honestly… didn’t they look utterly matched? Elphie with those green eyes, that darling kitten with its green eyes, and Fiyero gazing at her as if he’d actually managed to think of something sensible for once?”

But her tone, playful as it was, didn’t quite hide her own unease. And when she glanced toward the courtyard, catching sight of Elphaba and Fiyero walking together, the smile she wore slipped just slightly, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

Glinda tapped a manicured finger against her glass, eyes glittering. “Although…” she trilled, letting the word linger.

“What?” Nessarose asked, her tone sharp, already suspicious.

Glinda leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a scandal. “Don’t you think they’ve been rather… different together lately?”

Nessarose’s frown deepened, lips pressed tight in disapproval. Boq shifted uneasily, staring down at his drink as though it might spare him from answering.

“Oh, really,” Glinda huffed, waving her hand as though to scatter their gloom. “You two act as if I’ve suggested something horrendible! It was only an observation."

Still, when she glanced back toward the courtyard, where Fiyero had just nudged Elphaba’s shoulder, earning the faintest, reluctant smirk, Glinda’s expression softened.

“I think it’s sweet,” she said, more to herself than to them, her voice dreamy now. “Elphie and Fiyero. Who would have thought?”

--

The celebration at Shiz stretched late into the night. Students spilled into the courtyard, sparklers in hand, their laughter and music rising into the cold winter air. Lanterns cast shifting patterns of gold over the snow-dusted paths, their flickering light catching on flushed faces and glassy-eyed revellers.

Elphaba and Fiyero walked past it all, unhurried, slipping between clusters of students without engaging. They weren’t hiding, exactly, but they weren’t part of the celebration either. The cold bit at Elphaba’s skin, crisp and grounding, but Fiyero moved beside her as if he barely felt it.

“I meant it, you know,” he said after a long silence. “What I said earlier.”

Elphaba shot him a skeptical glance. “You say a lot of things.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “True.” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets; his usual confidence dimmed at the edges. “I meant what I said about wanting to be better.”

She studied him carefully. “And what does ‘better’ mean to you, exactly?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I know what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean being the king everyone expects. It doesn’t mean pretending I don’t care.”

Elphaba scoffed, shaking her head. “You’ve come a long way from the fool who nearly ran me over with his carriage.”

A smirk ghosted across his lips. “Character development, I suppose.”

They reached the edge of the courtyard, where the noise of the celebration softened into open, empty pathways winding between the old stone buildings of Shiz. Fiyero sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky, where the last traces of fireworks faded in slow-burning sparks against the dark.

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

Elphaba glanced at him. “Shiz?”

He nodded, still watching the sky. “All of it. Just… going somewhere new. No expectations. No responsibilities. No one telling us who we’re supposed to be.”

She snorted. “And where, exactly, would you go?”

Fiyero smirked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Somewhere wild. Somewhere without titles. Preferably somewhere that doesn’t require sneaking into a girl’s dorm just to have a decent conversation.”

She shot him a dry look. “So that’s it? You’re plotting your grand escape?”

He grinned. “Something like that. The real question is… would you come with me?”

Elphaba scoffed. “And do what, exactly? Lurk in alleyways while you flirt your way into free meals?”

“Tempting,” he admitted, smirking. “But no.” He tilted his head slightly, watching her in that unnervingly perceptive way of his. “Maybe I’d actually do something that matters. Maybe you would too.”

She arched a brow. “And what exactly would matter to you, Your Highness?”

Fiyero exhaled, looking ahead as they walked. “I don’t know yet. But I’d like to find out. Go somewhere where people don’t care about titles. Where I don’t have to be Prince Fiyero of the Arjikis before I’m anything else.” He glanced at her then, smirking. “Where no one cares if I sneak out in the middle of the night or if a certain Governor’s daughter is seen in my company.”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Yes, because my reputation is such a delicate thing.”

He chuckled, but there was something steadier beneath it. “I mean it. There are places beyond all this. Places where people live without the nonsense we were born into. Where they answer to no one but themselves.” He kicked at a patch of snow, as if testing the weight of his own words. “Doesn’t that sound like something worth seeing?”

Elphaba was quiet for a moment, her breath curling in the cold air. “And you think you’d belong in a place like that?”

Fiyero shrugged, smiling in that slow, thoughtful way she rarely saw from him. “Maybe not. Maybe I’d just be an outsider with nothing to offer.” His smirk returned, laced with something softer. “Unless, of course, I had the right person with me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have a plan.”

“I have the important parts,” he said, voice lighter now. “A destination. A reason.” His smirk deepened, teasing but not entirely unserious. “A potential travel companion.”

The words lingered between them, settling like footprints in freshly fallen snow.

Around them, the world carried on. Voices ringing out in laughter, snow crunching beneath hurried footsteps, another round of fireworks crackling in the distance. But here, in the quiet space between their words, none of it seemed to matter.

“Your Highness!”

The words rang sharp against the quiet, pulling them both to a halt.

Fiyero turned, his expression unreadable. A man in formal attire strode toward them across the path, his posture rigid, his breath misting in the cold. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze locking onto Fiyero with unmistakable purpose.

Elphaba’s stomach twisted.

The courier gave a shallow bow. “Forgive the interruption, Your Highness. I was told you would be here.”

Elphaba’s eyes flicked downward as he reached into his coat, withdrawing a folded envelope. Even in the dim lantern glow, she saw the wax seal gleaming. The royal crest of the Vinkus.

Fiyero didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he reached for the letter. His fingers tightened around the parchment, but he didn’t open it right away.

The courier gave another slight bow before stepping back into the night, disappearing down the path. The sounds of distant laughter and crackling sparklers filled the space he left behind, but to Elphaba, the world suddenly felt quieter.

Fiyero’s hands trembled slightly as he broke the seal. The parchment rustled softly as he unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words quickly.

Then, all at once, something in him caved.

His breath left him in a shallow exhale. His shoulders sagged. The letter slipped from his grasp, fluttering to the ground, disappearing into the thin layer of snow.

Elphaba felt the change in the air before he even spoke.

“Fiyero?”

He didn’t answer her. His gaze was distant, fixed on nothing.

Then, finally, barely above a whisper, he spoke.

“My father… he’s gone.”

The words barely reached her, lost in the night’s chill.

Elphaba’s chest constricted. “Fiyero…”

He shook his head, almost as if saying it aloud might undo it. “I’m the heir.” The words cracked, disbelief laced through them. “I have to leave. Tomorrow. Today.”

The truth fell between them, suffocating in its finality.

Fiyero inhaled. From the courtyard, a sparkler fizzled out with a hiss, the faint echo of laughter carried on the winter air. The world went on, heedless. The world always went on.

Elphaba’s body moved before her mind did, closing the space between them. Her hands hovered in the air, wanting to steady him, to anchor him, but she stopped short, fingers curling into fists at her sides. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words brittle, inadequate for the size of his loss.

Fiyero didn’t respond right away. When he finally turned to her, the mask was gone. No charm, no easy smile. Just grief, stark and unguarded. It stripped him bare in a way that made her chest tighten, and for a moment, she thought he might unravel right there in front of her.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Elphaba swallowed hard, forcing steadiness into her reply even as her own throat ached. “You don’t have to know. Not right now. Just… one step at a time.”

He let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” she said quietly. “But you’re not alone. Even if you’re not here, you’re not alone.”

The words felt thin, insubstantial, even as she said them.

Because when Fiyero left, the truth was simpler and sharper: she would be alone. And so would he. That certainty sat heavy in her chest, cold and inescapable.

She had told herself this moment would come. That whatever existed between them, friendship, something more, something undefined, would be temporary. That he belonged to a different world, one she had no place in.

And yet, the thought of his absence made her stomach turn. The quiet where his voice had been. The empty space beside her. The feeling that something had been taken from her before she even had the chance to claim it.

Fiyero would leave, and life would move forward for him. He would have responsibilities, a kingdom, a future that did not include her. And in time, she would be little more than a memory, if even that.

But would she ever be able to forget him?

She couldn’t afford to ask herself that question.

So she did what she did best: she shut it out. She locked it away, buried it beneath steel and silence before it could take root. Before it could make her weak.

Fiyero was leaving.

And if he could walk away without looking back, then so could she.

--

The news spread quickly, carried on whispers and shocked exclamations throughout the New Year's party. The laughter and music had dulled, fading beneath murmurs of speculation, and by the time Fiyero stepped into the courtyard, a hush had settled over the crowd.

Glinda, Nessarose, and Boq were already waiting, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern. The celebration still flickered in the background, sparklers burning low and students huddled around enchanted fire pits, but here in the pool of lantern light where they stood, the air was heavy, thick with emotions that didn’t belong at a party.

“Fiyero?” Glinda was the first to speak, stepping forward in a rush, her voice pitched high with worry. “What is it? Someone said... oh, Oz, tell me it isn’t true.”

“My father has passed.” The words came out clipped and too sharp, as though speaking them quickly might keep them from breaking him. “I have to leave tonight.”

The little group froze. Even the noise of the party outside seemed to fade for a heartbeat.

Glinda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Tonight? But that’s dreadful, Fiyero. I can’t... I can’t even imagine.” She swayed slightly on her feet.

Boq cleared his throat, his face colouring as he glanced helplessly between them. “I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice small, like the words weren’t nearly enough.

Nessarose, uncharacteristically still, studied him with a rare flicker of softness. When she finally spoke, her voice was steadier than the others’, though it carried an edge of uncertainty. “Then it’s decided. You’ll be king. You’ll manage it.” She paused, her gaze lowering. “I'll pray to the Unnamed God for his soul.”

Fiyero nodded absently, their words barely reaching him. His gaze moved past Glinda, past Nessa and Boq, searching for the only one who hadn’t spoken.

Elphaba lingered at the edge of the group, half in shadow. Separate, as always.

She hadn’t stepped closer, but she was watching. Her eyes met his steadily until something in them shifted. Her jaw tightened, and she turned away, folding her arms across her chest like armour. As if she’d rather draw the line herself before he could.

The twist in his stomach was sharper than anything he'd felt before.

Glinda, oblivious, reached for his arm. Her touch was light but insistent, her voice trembling. “Do you really have to leave tonight?”

“There’s no choice.” His tone was final. “The Vinkus doesn’t wait for mourning. It needs a ruler.”

Glinda’s breath hitched. And then, without hesitation, she threw her arms around him.

For a heartbeat, he stiffened, but then his arms came up, holding her close, tighter than he ever had before. She clung to him, trembling, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his coat like she could tether him to this place, to her.

“You’ll write, won’t you?” she asked when she finally drew back, silk handkerchief dabbing at her damp lashes.

Fiyero tried to smile, but it faltered. “I’ll try. But you know I’ve never been good at letters.”

Glinda let out a shaky laugh that caught in her throat. “Then you’ll simply have to improve.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said softly, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go.

She stepped aside, and in that instant, the space between him and Elphaba yawned wide, vast and insurmountable. The others hadn’t noticed it, but he felt it keenly—that unspoken gulf, that unanswered pull—and it gutted him more than the thought of leaving ever could.

Elphaba stood stiffly, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face unreadable.

He swallowed hard. “Elphaba.”

When she finally met his gaze, something inside of him twisted, sharp and deep.

There was no sharp remark this time, no narrowed eyes or biting wit to push him away. Just silence. Just Elphaba, standing there, holding herself together by the thinnest thread.

“You should go,” she said, quieter than he’d ever heard her. “It’s a long journey.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Fiyero admitted, his voice quieter now. “Or if I’ll be back.”

A flicker crossed her eyes, so fleeting he might have imagined it... But he knew he hadn’t.

“Then I suppose this is it,” she said, her tone even, detached.

Fiyero held his breath, waiting.

He thought, hoped really, that she might say something. That she might let her walls crack, just enough to show him that everything that had passed between them had mattered to her as much as it had to him.

But then, just as quickly, her expression hardened. She straightened, arms folding back around herself like a shield.

“Goodbye, Fiyero.”

His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling beneath the ache in his chest. “Take care of yourself, Elphaba,” he said, his voice rougher than before.

Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and strode away, his boots striking hard against the pavement.

Glinda swiped at her damp cheeks, then spun toward Elphaba, her voice breaking. “Elphie! Truly, are you just going to stand there like a statue? He’s leaving, for Oz’s sake!” The disbelief rang out almost like a scold, high and trembling, as though she couldn’t fathom Elphaba’s silence.

But Elphaba didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Didn’t so much as flinch as Fiyero disappeared into the distance.

She remained rigid, fingers digging into her arms, back impossibly straight, as if sheer will alone could keep her from shattering.

Glinda’s lower lip quivered, her hands fluttering helplessly at her sides before she let out a small, wounded laugh. “Sometimes, Elphie, you’re impossible.”

And then, the moment he was gone, Elphaba’s breath hitched.

Without a single glance back, she turned and walked briskly toward Crage Hall, her steps heavy and uneven.

--

When dawn came, Fiyero was gone.

Elphaba hadn’t moved from her bed. She lay stiff beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling as though she could will herself into vanishing. Thistle had curled against her ribs sometime in the night, her small body rising and falling with hers, but even her steady warmth did nothing to quiet the hollow ache in her chest.

She had let him leave. She hadn’t said the words she should have said. Now there was only silence, suffocating in its weight.

The knock startled her.

“Elphaba Thropp?” A courier’s voice, muffled through the door.

She forced herself upright and opened it to find a young man standing there. He held out a letter sealed with red wax stamped with the insignia of Munchkinland’s Governor.

The sight of it made her stomach drop.

She had ignored his last letters, left them unopened in a drawer, telling herself she could put them off. That she could put him off. But this one had come in person. That meant she couldn’t avoid it.

Her fingers trembled as she closed the door again and broke open the letter's seal.

Elphaba,

You are to return to Munchkinland without delay. Matters of the utmost importance require your immediate attention, and you must prepare yourself for the worst. I expect your prompt compliance.

Give my love to Nessarose.

Governor Thropp

As usual, his words were stripped of warmth. But this time something darker threaded between the lines, a finality that made her throat tighten. She sank onto her bed.

Thistle meowed softly, pawing up at the crumpled paper in her hand. Elphaba glanced down at the kitten, its wide green eyes filled with unknowing concern, and something inside her twisted.

Another knock rattled the door.

“Elphie? It’s me,” Glinda called, voice lilting with forced cheer.“May I come in?”

Elphaba didn’t answer.

She heard another knock, firmer this time. “Elphaba Thropp. Our room, dearest. Remember? I live here too.”

Still nothing.

Glinda huffed, and the latch clicked. “Honestly, you are impossible. You’re going to have to stop treating me like some sort of visitor in my own space—”

Her words broke off mid-flutter.

She froze, the sight before her dissolving her irritation in an instant.

“Oh, Elphie…” she breathed, all the fizz gone from her voice.

Elphaba didn’t look at her. She lay stiffly on her bed, letter clutched in one hand, her other curled protectively around Thistle, who purred as though to fill the silence.

Glinda crossed the room in small, careful steps. The mattress dipped as she sat beside her, silk skirts whispering across the quilt. Her hand hovered for a moment, uncertain, as if afraid Elphaba might push her away.

“I’m fine,” Elphaba muttered, her voice a rasp.

“No, you’re not.” Glinda’s reply was gentle but left no room for argument. Then, more cautiously: “Did he… did Fiyero leave a note?”

Elphaba finally lifted her gaze, and the shadows in her eyes made Glinda’s stomach knot.

“It isn’t about Fiyero,” Elphaba said, her voice low and unsteady. “It’s my father. Something has happened. He won’t say what. Only that I should ‘prepare for the worst’… and that he sends his love to Nessa.”

Glinda’s throat tightened. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She took Elphaba’s hand firmly, her grip steady, as though she could tether her to the moment, to anything that would not break.

And for once, Elphaba didn’t pull away.

“Oh, Elphie…” Glinda’s voice broke despite herself. “I wish I knew what to say.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elphaba replied at once, her tone clipped and brittle. “He has never cared about sparing my feelings.”

Glinda blinked, stung. “That isn’t true,” she protested, though the words faltered even as they left her mouth. “He is still your father.”

Elphaba gave a short, humourless laugh. “Exactly. And when has being his daughter ever been anything but a curse?”

Glinda opened her mouth, ready to argue, but the words withered. For the first time, she truly saw it: the fury in Elphaba’s eyes, broken at the edges and blurred by something rawer. Grief.

Before she could think better of it, Glinda drew closer and wrapped her arms around her. Elphaba stiffened, her whole body taut with resistance, but Glinda only held on tighter, pressing her cheek against her shoulder.

“Oh, Elphie, you mustn’t think you’re alone in this,” she whispered, her voice bright with a hope that sounded almost desperate. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. It will be all right. It has to be.”

Elphaba stayed rigid for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly, her breath faltered, and she let herself lean into Glinda’s warmth. Just for a moment.

The silence pressed in around them again, thick and merciless. Fiyero’s absence. Her father’s decree. The dread gnawing at her chest like teeth on bone. It lingered in every breath, sharp and suffocating, devouring what little hope Glinda tried to kindle, smothering it like a candle in the wind.

Glinda only clung tighter, as though sheer belief could hold back the unravelling.

But Elphaba knew better. The air in Shiz was wrong now, weighted with an unseen force. Something dark was stirring beneath the surface, drawing nearer with every breath. No matter how tightly Glinda held on, it crept closer, slipping through the cracks and pressing against the walls.

The seams of Oz were splitting.

The darkness was not waiting at the edges anymore. It was already inside, stirring, hungry, and it had fixed its gaze on them.