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If there's one thing Elphaba knows to be true, it's that Galinda is someone meant to be seen.
She's a sight to behold at all times - leading a crowd, dramatizing at meals, even while just sitting in class or quietly going through her evening routine. But for Elphaba, what catches her eye is less the gold of Galinda's hair or the fashionable composition of pinks draped on her person, and more how every emotion is expressed so clearly on Galinda's face, how her every movement is executed with an intensity that more than makes up for any stutters of grace, that just adds to the truth of it all: that all the world is a stage and Galinda is its dazzling main player.
At first, Elphaba had thought that the glamour was a public facade, a role that would drop as soon as Galinda stepped behind closed doors. But that moment doesn't come with Galinda. Sure, there's a certain straightening that happens whenever she's in public, a specific brightening when she addresses a crowd, a way of persuading that even Elphaba can admit is masterful. But as Elphaba's come to know Galinda more, she learns that the Galinda that exists in the public is not merely a role. Rather, it's a facet, one that makes up a diamond's shining, brilliant whole.
It's a brilliance that becomes hard to ignore once they become friends, when that golden hair is literally in Elphaba's face; when Galinda's hands are always reaching into Elphaba's space; when the necklaces that nestle at the base of her throat catch the light whenever she calls out Elphaba's name in that sing-song voice; when the long eyelashes that she curls with the utmost care every morning are batted at Elphaba whenever she tries to convince her to do something other than study.
Knowing all of these pieces of Galinda makes it that much harder to say no. And it's as if the universe itself is challenging Elphaba, what with how the clouds shift and the sunlight drifts down to highlight Galinda's face just so, bringing out that sparkle in her eyes, the pout on her face, the hands wrapped around Elphaba's arm. It makes her arguments sound weak even to her own ears, makes Galinda start to smile before Elphaba sighs out her agreement.
But really, it's not much of a hardship to let herself be dragged out of their room and into the sun, not when she remembers how she'd yearned for days like this when she was young. How she'd taught herself to stop wishing when she'd gotten older. Thinks, as Galinda chatters excitedly about their picnic, that maybe those wishes were heard.
It's just the two of them and Elphaba doesn't question it, though she's noticed that it's an ocurrence that's been happening more often lately. She takes the gift for what it is, another opportunity to see Galinda this close, this carefree. There's a certain kind of energy to Galinda in moments like these, a specific sort of peace. Elphaba had thought that it was something about their shared room but out here in the open field, Elphaba wonders if maybe it's something else - something about the two of them.
The patch of shade they choose to set their things under is cool in the light breeze, but it's warm enough that Elphaba's started to feel uncomfortable with the sweat beading underneath her longsleeve shirt from their walk. As Galinda takes off her shoes, Elphaba takes a moment to unbutton the cuffs of her shirt, intending to fold the sleeves up to her elbows to give herself a bit of reprieve from the heat.
She's in the middle of doing up her second sleeve when she sees Galinda watching out of the corner of her eye. Elphaba lifts her gaze, curious at the intent way Galinda's eyes are following her movements. She's about to ask - perhaps there's a specific way she's meant to be folding up her sleeves? - when Galinda's eyes flutter up to meet hers. There's an expression on her face that Elphaba's not seen before, something breathless, almost guilty but not quite, an intensity that breaks only when Galinda finally looks a way, cheeks tinted a bright pink. Elphaba finishes rolling her sleeves, files the moment away for later.
Galinda had forbade Elphaba from bringing any textbooks but had oh-so-graciously allowed Elphaba's puzzle books. Elphaba, however, finds herself looking less at the puzzles themselves and more at the furrow on Galinda's brow as she tries her best to help, cheers along with Galinda when she figures out a clue all on her own.
It doesn't take long before Galinda is putting even the puzzles aside, coaxing Elphaba to lie back to take in the sky. They make stories out of the clouds, of ships on exciting voyages, of mythical birds and other creatures - the two of them together, always. Somehow, Galinda's head makes its way onto Elphaba's stomach, but Elphaba makes no effort to move her, not when Galinda looks so content; not when she looks like how Elphaba feels.
Elphaba becomes entranced with how her fingers look combing through ribbons of pink and locks of gold, enamored at the contrast with her skin. For a moment, it feels like she's seeing double, a glimpse of the future overlaid across her vision: Galinda's hair turned white, her own hands wrinkled with age, but the feelings are all the same.
She comes back to the present gently, to Galinda already watching her. There's a question along her brow but smooths out with Elphaba's touch, with her smile.
Galinda reaches up to take Elphaba's hand, rests them atop her own stomach. Elphaba can't help but think about how she likes the sight of the two of them so tightly intertwined. Lets herself wish: for the two of them to be like this for as long as they can.
*
It's not a surprise to find out that Galinda likes sweet things.
Elphaba had first noticed it back when they were in their loathing phase, Galinda often returning from dinner with a plate piled high with sweets. Elphaba had rolled her eyes then, had barely held back from calling Galinda a child, had chosen to continue doing her homework instead, like an actual adult.
Elphaba learns later, when loathing gives way to something else, that sweets aren't all that bad when they're tied with pink ribbons and accompanied with an equally pink note, serving as makeshift paperweights on her essays; when they're snuck onto her plate with a not-so-sneaky wink; when they're already unwrapped, being nudged against her lips.
It's a talent, Galinda's ability to find sweets whenever they go out, plus her ability to eat them no matter the time of day. "What's life without a little sweetness?" is her most common response before blinding Elphaba with one of her smiles and coaxing her to try 'just one more.' (Elphaba has learned the hard way to never refuse Galinda's offers, especially when they're alone: the first - and last - time she did, Galinda had all but climbed into her lap.)
But Elphaba notices on days when Galinda hums and sings a little less than usual, when her smiles - the small ones Elphaba is especially fond of - are slow to show, Galinda will take out from one of her many monogrammed trunks the simplest treat Elphaba has ever seen her eat: a sleeve of plain biscuits, nestled on the saucer next to a cup filled more with warm milk than actual tea.
It doesn't happen often but Elphaba knows what's to come when she feels Galinda's energy shift the moment they leave Morrible's seminar. It's subtle but it's there, the way her smile isn't as sweet when she greets classmates as they pass by, the way she has to forcibly straighten her posture every other step, as if reminding herself: not here, not yet.
Elphaba says nothing, but she does rest her hand against the small of Galinda's back once they reach the relative privacy of their dormitory building. Feels a certain relief when Galinda leans into her touch.
When they reach their room, Galinda excuses herself to run a bath, which gives Elphaba the exact opening she needs. She waits until Galinda shuts the door behind her, until the water starts to run, before she sets things into motion. Elphaba mutters a quick spell to instantly heat the water in their teapot, lets the tea brew as she sets out Galinda's well-loved rose teacup and rustles through Galinda's trunks. She produces that plain brown sleeve, warms the milk and pours it in until the tea turns off-white. Finds a tray just as she hears the water stop running inside the bathroom.
Elphaba balances the tray carefully as she knocks on the door. It's only at Galinda's curious, "Yes?" that Elphaba starts to feel self-conscious of what she's done.
"Well," she begins, unsure how to explain the things she's come to know. Clears her throat and wills her voice to be steady. "I got you some bath snacks."
Confusion colors Galinda's voice when she tells Elphaba to come in, which she does carefully, resolutely keeping her gaze trained on Galinda's face. Watches Galinda's features smooth out into surprise, watches a blush bloom across her cheeks, spreading down the gentle slope of her neck, the curve of her shoulders - Elphaba yanks her eyes back up, this time above Galinda's head.
Galinda gasps, a light fluttery sound accompanied by a bit of splashing. Elphaba chances a glance down to see Galinda's gaze on the tray. "How did you ever find my secret stash?" she asks, delighted and shy.
Elphaba sets the tray down and shrugs. Gives the simplest answer she has: "I pay attention."
A wet finger glances across Elphaba's knuckles. "Elphie, you're so sweet."
Elphaba's first instict is denial. She's never been called any such thing before - usually the words are from the opposite end of the spectrum, something bitter and off-putting. She glances at the tray, at her own hands. Wonders when she'd developed this facet of herself, wonders if it's always been there; wonders when Galinda had uncovered it.
"You're the expert," Elphaba says, if only to break the oddly charged quiet.
She looks up in time to see Galinda smile, soft and slow. She reaches out in the same pace to take a biscuit from the tray. Elphaba tries with all her might not to trace the line of glistening skin with her eyes. Her determination to focus only on Galinda's eyes, however, gives her a first row view of Galinda leaning back against the tub, of her eyes trailing down Elphaba's form, a weighted intention that even Elphaba can't ignore. Elphaba swallows with a suddenly dry throat.
"I suppose I am," Galinda finally says, her lips curling around the biscuit before she finally takes a bite, the barest flash of white from between pink of lips.
Elphaba excuses herself breathlessly, fumbles the handle and ignores the giggle from behind her. She all but collapses onto her desk, rests her forehead against the cool surface. Tries to convince herself that she's just imagining things, that all of this is just what friends do. (Ignores the fact that the words taste like a lie, that she's developed a taste for truth.)
*
That Galinda would smell as sweet as the treats she eats isn't much of a surprise.
Most days, Elphaba wakes up to the absurd squeaks of one of Galinda's many perfume bottles, half-expecting to open her eyes to either a bakery full of cookies or a greenhouse full of roses. In the evening after classes, she'll often return to their room to find Galinda in the midst of changing into her third - or fifth - outfit of the day, the room smelling of something deeper something more sultry. It makes Elphaba shiver sometimes, makes her look away and stay firmly in her corner of the room despite Galinda's invitations, both in words and in scent. Then when Elphaba's fallen asleep (after attempting to stay up, though she'll deny it if asked), some part of her always knows when Galinda's back. It isn't sound that gives her away but rather the hint of jasmine that drifts toward her - closer than she expects, as if stopped at her side of the room, by her bed. (Elphaba often wakes blushing on those nights, dreams of a second warmth in her bed lingering long in her mind.)
She doesn't realize the consequences of being Galinda's friend until a study session with her sister in the library. After they've settled into their assignments, she notices Nessa uncharacteristically shifting in her chair, glancing at her after every other breath.
Elphaba sighs, knows in that way she knows her sister that it's something not school-related. "Yes?" she asks without looking way from her textbook.
"Since when did you start wearing perfume?" Nessa's tone is cordially curious but there's a lilting note in her voice, a note dipping into mischief.
Elphaba frowns. "I don't." Knows that her sister knows this.
But Nessa continues blithely, "Really? It smells different from the lotion you usually use. Citrusy. Actually, it reminds me of something." She tilts her head a little in a show of thinking that Elphaba has known since they were children, feels her eyes already beginning to roll. "I got it: like Galinda."
Elphaba's eyes stop mid-roll. "What -?" Denial leaps quickly to her tongue but realization holds the words back; feels her face warm. She clears her throat, tries for nonchalant. "It must be Galinda's perfume. She's always spraying enough to fill up the whole room," she says - which isn't completely untrue.
Except that it isn't true at all. Galinda doesn't use this particular perfume in their room, only after gym. Just like she had earlier today after they'd changed, then had immediately latched onto Elphaba's arm like she usually does, smelling of citrus and sun. Elphaba tries not to think about how close they must have been for the smell to have transferred, to be shared.
Nessa hums a little but doesn't ask anything else, which in itself is suspicious, makes Elphaba think that she suspects something more. Elphaba is the one shifting in her seat then, trying not to think about what other people might have noticed - if there's something of her that's been shared in return.
It's that same evening that she suggests lighting incense, wary of Galinda affecting permanent damage to her wand and her brain both. "It helps keep me calm," Elphaba says, explaining how Dulcibear had helped her discover it as a child. She hasn't needed use them yet here at Shiz - even during their period of loathing, Elphaba didn't touch them, had rather liked the burn, which was worlds different from the cold anger and resentment she'd felt in the house she still can't quite call home.
"Maybe it'll help you focus," Elphaba says as she lights an incense stick. The scent is distinct: woodsy and sweet, which Elphaba's surprised to recognize now. It's strange to have this smell here in their room, to have it mix with the lavender still in the air from Galinda's bath. For a moment, Elphaba worries that Galinda will find the scent off-putting, too different - but when she turns around to ask, Galinda's still smiling, completely at ease.
They sit on the floor with the feather placed between them. "Close your eyes," Elphaba says softly. Watches as Galinda follows the direction without question. For a moment, Elphaba just lets herself look, the tension in Galinda's shoulders, the determination lining her face. It makes Elphaba's heart ache, seeing Galinda like this: trying so hard, wanting so much. Knows how hard it is to want something so much that it seems to drift further and further out of reach each time you try; to want something so much that trying and failing hurts less than not trying at all. Elphaba knows, and it's why she wants so deeply to help.
She takes in a deep breath, begins to softly coach Galinda in the things she'd learned on her own: to listen to everything around her, to her own breathing, to the world's breathing in turn; to the magic Elphaba knows is within her. Knows because Elphaba's heard it before, a frequency she can't quite describe, but one that she can feel vibrating now just under her skin.
She knows Galinda has it before she even opens her mouth. Hears Galinda's magic flow bright and free when Galinda finally, quietly speaks: "Float."
And it does.
"Galinda," Elphaba murmurs, trying to keep her voice level as she feels a wide grin forming on her face, "Open your eyes."
It takes a beat before Galinda does, left, then right. Her eyes settle on Elphaba first, wary, before finally shifting down. Then, slowly - up.
The room erupts with shrill shrieks, Galinda jumping to her feet and flapping her arms like wings. Elphaba laughs, elated and so, so proud. She sees Galinda turn towards her and Elphaba knows instantly what's going to happen. She tries but doesn't quite ready herself in time to catch Galinda when she all but launches herself at Elphaba.
They fall over in a mess of limbs and laughter but neither of them move to untangle themselves from each other; instead, they just hold each other tighter. Elphaba tucks herself into the curve of Galinda's neck, content in the scent of lavender there, and the reverberations of Galinda's muted shrieks.
"You did it," Elphaba says. Coughs when Galinda's excited wiggling shifts her weight directly on top of her chest.
Galinda pulls back slightly, apologetic but still with her eyes bright, cheeks pink, lips parted and breathless. "Only because of you," she says, wonder in her voice, in the fingers that brush against Elphaba's cheek.
"I hardly -"
The words stop against the fingers Galinda's pressed against Elphaba's lips. She leans in suddenly, intent - the move brings with her the mixed scent of lavender and incense, the chamomile tea on her breath. "You make me better, Elphie."
The fingers leave but their absence is filled by the weight of Galinda's gaze. It's obvious, what she wants. So obvious that Elphaba can't write it off like she's done before. Not now when she knows so much, knows enough to be sure: they want the same thing.
The realization makes Elphaba lightheaded, makes her glad she's already on the ground. It makes things clear; easy.
It's easy to want this. Easier still to lean in.
*
In many ways, Galinda is her own radio show. The symphony of sound that surrounds her at all times makes it impossible to ignore her; makes it possible for Elphaba to know just by listening alone what Galinda's thinking, feeling.
There's the little hop-skip-skid combination of her heels on the floor when she's excited, the clipped doubletime when something has her agitated, the muted scamper of the soft slippers she wears in their room that often preceeds her launching herself onto Elphaba's bed or desk or lap.
Even the way Galinda writes tells a story. Elphaba knows when a reading is going well by the pace of her notetaking, can tell when she has her own opinions when the flourishes turn sharp or the cadence more somber. Knows to soon expect a bored whine when the rhythm slows and turns into melodic taps and absentminded swirls.
Not to mention the way Galinda plays accompaniment to her own self. There's the little sound effects she makes under her breath when she arranges her cases of makeup, the hums and trills when they're in a boutique full of clothes that match her taste, a restaurant with her favorite desserts, a picnic with the sun high in the sky. And of course, there's the singing - songs she makes up on the spot and sings to herself, to the little sparrows that alight on their balcony, to Elphaba whenever they're together, talking, walking, waking in bed.
And of course there's the way Galinda talks, how the melody of her voice always seems to rise up from any din, how Elphaba can't stop herself from listening. Never could, even from the start, which was part of what made things so irritating - the fact that Galinda was so hard to ignore.
Back then, Elphaba would listen in order to gather ammunition. Ideas for her next prank, is what Elphaba had convinced herself was behind her cataloging Galinda's likes and dislikes, noting the little ways she hides: the airiness of her words when she was trying to end a conversation, the tone she takes when she can tell no one is really listening.
But just as telling, just as distinct and loud, are the things Galinda doesn't say (and not just her eyebrows, which indeed have a most persuasive language all on their own). Because just as expressive as her words is the simplicity of her breath: the sharp intake when she hears something she doesn't agree with, the slow exhale when she's trying to keep herself calm; the soft sigh when Elphaba says something that takes her off guard.
Even when sleeping, Galinda still manages to make some sort of noise - the little huff that marks her falling into a deeper sleep, the little meeps and murmurs when she's dreaming. Sometimes, when Galinda has fallen asleep sprawled across her lap, Elphaba will catch a mumble of her own name. It always makes her shake her head, fond; makes her wonder at what shenanigans Galinda's gotten them into in her dreams; wonders at the fact that Galinda would want her there in her dreams too.
It's a wonder still to Elphaba that Galinda wants her at all. Despite all of her self-doubt, there's no denying the way Galinda's breath quickens whenever they're pressed against each other, how her voice will stutter whenever Elphaba runs her fingers along the small of her back. Elphaba always knows she's doing something right by the way Galinda gasps her name. Has learned which sounds mean more, which means faster, which means don't stop. Knows what it means when a sudden silence falls, when it holds desperate and taut, when it breaks with a guttural moan; knows the little whimpers that mean hold me, the hitch in her breath that means don't leave me, don't let me go; please.
"I won't," Elphaba says as they hold each other tight; tighter still. Hears Galinda sigh in response. And Elphaba has learned what that means as well: I know, and, neither will I.
*
If there's one language Galinda is most fluent in, it's touch.
Though, Elphaba notices after some study, it's not a language she uses with everyone - or rather, one that she uses in varying, precise degrees. She gives a pat on the shoulder to cheer up a glum Pfanee, gives a high five to a classmate in gym class when they successfully complete a partner exercise. She gives Fiyero fierce hugs just as quickly as she shoves him when he teases; nothing much changes when they stop almost-dating.
With Elphaba, however, Galinda's touch is completely different - less calculating and more instinctive, a singular want expressed in every move she makes: how she reaches out for Elphaba, at all times; how she always keeps her close.
At first, Galinda's touch is bewildering, something Elphaba thinks she's meant to tolerate until Galinda's attention is inevitability captured by something, or someone, more interesting. So it's even more bewildering when it doesn't stop, that it builds into something more, into something Elphaba inexplicably starts longing for.
It takes time for Elphaba to trust that she can reciprocate, that she can initiate; that she can want. That she can use touch to indulge in her own curiosity - to know how Galinda's hair feels after she's come back from a bath, damp against Elphaba's shoulder as they read together on Galinda's bed; how to guide Galinda's hand - trembling with a forkful of cake - to her own mouth; to know the softness of the skin where Galinda's perfume sits; to know how it feels to hold her close.
It's a mix of comfort and convenience, sharing in this new language. It becomes a way for them to communicate silently in public or when words are too heavy or when their mouths are otherwise preoccupied; a call and response, an equal and affirming reaction. It's a language they exchange and expand every time they're together, every time they touch.
With time, Elphaba finds herself gravitating towards touch whenever she has the chance. Finds herself grow bolder whenever they're alone. It becomes a test of what she knows, counting the number of handwidths it takes to trail down Galinda's shoulder blades to the dimples in her back, the exact number of breaths to travel the curve of her butt, the exact number of heartbeats to reach trembling thighs and the wetness in between.
Elphaba has learned by now that touch doesn't have to be just with her hands, that her whole body can be used to serve this purpose. So she uses everything she can with reverence, with relish: her ear to Galinda's chest, eyelashes fluttering against the goosebumps spreading across pinking skin; her knee nudging between Galinda's legs, her cheeks nuzzling Galinda's breasts while her own press against Galinda's stomach; curving her back under Galinda's digging heels, feeling them climb higher as Elphaba slides lower still.
It's through touch that Elphaba has learned to take her time, to take note of the smallest details: the difference between laving her tongue against a sensitive nipple versus using the sharp edge of her teeth; the difference between cupping Galinda's dripping center with her palm versus seeking with her fingertips; the difference between sinking first knuckle deep versus her second; versus fully. The difference between two fingers versus the stretch of three, or when Galinda's feeling especially needy: four. It's in cataloguing these differences that Elphaba learns the beauty of simplicity, the art of repetition - of easing out so she can be taken in again. Again.
Within that blur of taking and giving, of touching and feeling, Elphaba finally understands why Galinda touches her so much. How else can she satisfy the all-consuming need to feel her everywhere, with everything she has, to surround and be surrounded in her? To feel her surrender and acquiese, to not have to guess - what she's feeling or what to do next; to have proof in the wetness pooling in the palm of her hand, in the rhythm of Galinda's hips meeting Elphaba's silent demands.
"You're so good for me," Elphaba murmurs, tracing the arch of Galinda's neck with her mouth, feels Galinda's groan resonate in her own chest. It doesn't take long for her vision to be overtaken by blonde and pink, by the smell of sex and sweat and sweetness and incense; by the taste of her moans, by the feeling of her tightening around her fingers. "So good for me," she whispers, lost in the whirlwind of sound and motion the both of them are making - a language only they know.
When Galinda finally comes, it's soundless - her body tensing into a wondrous arc as she clutches helplessly at the sheets, at her own breasts, at Elphaba's still moving wrist. Elphaba murmurs the same words over and over as Galinda shudders and whines: yes, so good; so good for me. She says them because they're true - not just the way Galinda obeys or allows herself to break, but how she also makes Elphaba better; has helped Elphaba become who she's always wanted to be.
She revels in it, in who she is, now: a girl in love, loving a girl who loves her. They curl into each other, catching each other as they each catch their breath: hands touch, eyes meet, a sudden silence following sudden heat.
"You too," Galinda mumbles in the warm afterglow. Presses her words over Elphaba's heart: "We're good for each other."
*
[+1]
It still surprises Elphaba to realize how much Glinda knows her in return.
The thought comes to her one morning - after defying, after "dying," after coming back to life - when a cup of tea is placed on the table next to her. When Elphaba looks up, Glinda offers her a quick smile, her attention returning to the newspaper in her other hand. Elphaba glances between Glinda and the tea - it's the blend she prefers whenever she as a headache, but she hadn't mentioned anything. And yet, Glinda, somehow, had known.
Did something give her away? Elphaba ponders as she watches Glinda settle onto the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her, mouth moving slightly as she continues to read. Had it been the way she moved? Something written on her face? Glinda often said that she was an open book, despite what Elphaba had been told growing up. But then again, Glinda was the only one who'd put any effort in trying to read her. Still, Ephaba wonders, when did she get so good at it?
Glinda looks up at that moment, tilts her head in askance. Elphaba watches a golden curl slide down the side of her neck. "You look very puzzled, dearest."
"I am," Elphaba replies honestly. She gestures to the tea. "How did you…?"
Elphaba sees Glinda's sigh more than she hears it, sees it in the way everything about her softens. "Because I know you, Elphie."
The words are simple, without flourish, without embellisment - a statement of fact. But even more than that: it's something that continues to grow, even now.
It builds upon the foundation they dug together as roommates - the morning waltz in the bathroom, where Glinda knows to place Elphaba's towel on the counter so she doesn't have to try to blindly find it on the towel rack; the post-breakfast cuddles on the balcony, where Glinda brings out one of the puzzle books in Elphaba's extensive collection; the picnic basket filled with all of Elphaba's favorite snacks on the days she needs to be out of the house.
Sometimes, of course, Glinda uses her knowledge for her own gain - at a cafe, making sure to catch Elphaba's eye when she licks the pastry cream off her fingers; at home, letting those same fingers slip under the fabric at Elphaba's waist - then later, lower still; at midnight, soothing the aches and pains that have lingered over the years, holding her when she wakes shaking from a nightmare, wiping away every tear and reminding her of what's true: you're safe and I love you.
It's wondrous, being known by someone who's seen her at her worst, who's been hurt by her and has also returned that hurt - and soothed it to healing. Someone who mourned her and laid a lily on her grave; who forgave.
Glinda knows her better than anyone, knows her better than she knows herself. Knows and loves her still; loves her more. And it will be forever Elphaba's greatest achievement, her deepest desire and wish come true, her greatest joy to be known as she is now, and will be for the rest of her life: as Glinda's soulmate, as her wife.
"You do," Elphaba says in confirmation. "Just like I know you."