Chapter Text
The morning rush at The Grimmerie café was in full swing when Galinda Upland clicked across the worn wooden floors in her perfectly coordinated pink heels. She'd been coming here every day for three weeks now, not because the coffee was particularly exceptional—though it wasn't terrible—but because of the barista with startlingly green skin who always looked like she'd rather be anywhere else.
"Good morning!" Galinda chirped, approaching the counter with her usual megawatt smile. "I'd like a large oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of rose syrup, a dash of cinnamon, extra foam—but not too much foam—served at exactly 140 degrees, with a heart in the latte art if possible. But if hearts are too difficult, then a leaf is fine, though I do prefer hearts—"
"Pink drink. Got it." Elphaba Thropp didn't even look up from the espresso machine, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her angular face.
"Um, no—a large oat milk latte with two—" Galinda started reciting the order again.
Elphaba glanced up once, taking in Galinda's expectant expression with those sharp green eyes. "Yep. Pink drink." She turned her back again, steam wand hissing as she worked.
She'd started calling Galinda's order the "pink drink" after the second day, though Galinda had never actually ordered anything pink. The name had stuck, along with Elphaba's particular brand of efficient dismissal.
"Oh. Well, I suppose that is easier," Galinda laughed, though something in her chest fluttered at the way Elphaba had created her own shorthand for the order. It felt almost... intimate, having a drink named just for her, even if it came wrapped in Elphaba's trademark indifference.
As Elphaba worked, Galinda found herself studying the other woman's movements. Everything about Elphaba was efficient, precise, almost graceful despite her obvious disdain for the service industry. Her hands moved with confidence as she steamed the milk, and Galinda caught herself wondering what those hands might feel like—
"Galinda." The cup appeared on the counter, and Galinda realized she'd been staring.
"Thank you!" She reached for her wallet, fingers fumbling with the clasp. "You know, you could smile occasionally. The customers might tip better."
Elphaba's dark eyes finally met hers, and there was something almost amused in them. "I'll keep that in mind."
This routine continued for another week. Galinda would arrive at 8:47 AM exactly (she'd timed it so she'd hit the lull between the early morning rush and the mid-morning crowd), order her increasingly complicated drink, and try to coax some reaction from the enigmatic barista.
It was working, slowly. Elphaba had started asking clarifying questions about her order—"Steam wand or French press today?" When Galinda mentioned wanting it "more coffee-like", she caught what might have been the ghost of a smile.
Everything changed on a Tuesday.
Galinda was scrolling through her phone while waiting for her drink when she heard raised voices near the bulletin board by the café's entrance.
"This is exactly the kind of radical nonsense that's ruining this university," a familiar voice was saying. Chad Thornfield, one of her obligatory “friends” based on social status. "These freaks trying to give Animals the right to vote like they're people."
Galinda glanced over to see Chad pulling down flyers from the community board, crumpling them in his fists. She caught a glimpse of one before he destroyed it—something about "Animal Rights Initiative" and "Restore Their Voices."
"Animals deserve to speak for themselves." The voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the conversation like a blade.
Galinda looked up sharply. Elphaba had emerged from behind the counter, her jaw set. Her dark eyes blazed with conviction as she continued, "The silencing laws are barbaric. They have thoughts and feelings and families—they're important members of society, way more important than people like you."
Chad laughed, cruel and dismissive. "Listen, freak, just because you look like something that crawled out of a lab doesn't mean you understand science."
The café went quiet. Galinda felt heat rise in her cheeks—not embarrassment, but anger. She stood without thinking.
"Chad Thornfield, you absolute buffoon." Her voice carried across the café with the authority of someone who'd never been ignored in her life. "First of all, the silencing of Animals is barbaric, and if you'd spent half as much time learning actual history as you do reading your trust fund statements, you'd know they used to be our professors, our leaders, our friends. Second of all, if you ever speak to another human being like that in my presence again, I'll make sure your father hears exactly how his donation money is being wasted on someone who can't manage basic human decency."
Chad's face went red, then pale. "Galinda, I didn't realize—"
"Get out." She pointed toward the door. "And put those flyers back where you found them."
The silence stretched for a long moment after Chad left, his friends trailing behind him. Galinda became suddenly aware that everyone was staring at her. She smoothed her skirt and walked back to the counter where Elphaba was standing, something unreadable in her expression.
"Your drink," Elphaba said quietly, sliding the cup across the counter.
Galinda picked it up with confidence. "The silencing really is awful. I did a whole presentation on the history of Animal citizenship rights in my political science class last semester."
For the first time since Galinda had been coming to the café, Elphaba smiled. Really smiled, not just the ghost of one.
The next morning, Galinda arrived at her usual time to find Elphaba already looking toward the door, as if she'd been waiting.
"The usual?" Elphaba asked, but her tone was different. Warmer.
"Actually," Galinda said, surprising herself, "what would you recommend?"
Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "You trust me with your coffee order?"
"I'm beginning to think so." Galinda's smile bloomed genuine and warm.
“hm. “ Elphaba considered her for a moment, fighting a smile before disappearing behind the espresso machine. Galinda could hear her working—the hiss of steam, the clink of ceramic, quiet humming that might have been a melody Galinda didn't recognize. When she returned, she placed a cup on the counter that was nothing like Galinda's usual order. It was simple, elegant—just coffee with perfectly steamed milk and a delicate leaf pattern in the foam.
"Oh!" Galinda gasped, leaning closer to examine the latte art. "You finally perfected the leaf! It's absolutely beautiful—look at those delicate lines!" She looked up at Elphaba with genuine delight. "Maybe you could work on the heart for next time?"
Elphaba's cheeks darkened slightly. "Maybe," she said quietly.
Galinda took a sip and her eyes widened. It was perfect—rich and smooth, not too sweet, with a complexity she'd never noticed in coffee before.
"How did you do that? How did you know exactly what I’d like?" she asked.
"I pay attention," Elphaba said quietly. "You put on this whole performance with the complicated order, but you always drink it the same way. Small sips, you close your eyes when you really taste it, and you never finish the sweet ones completely. I thought you might like something that lets the actual coffee shine through."
Galinda stared at her, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in her chest. "You... pay attention to how I drink coffee?"
Elphaba's cheeks darkened slightly. "I pay attention to a lot of things."
"What else do you pay attention to?"
For a moment, Elphaba looked like she might answer. Then the bell above the door chimed, and the morning rush began in earnest. But as Galinda left, she caught Elphaba's eye and smiled—beautiful, bright, genuine.
And this time, Elphaba smiled back.
"So," Galinda said the next morning, leaning against the counter during a quiet moment, "tell me about the Animal rights thing."
Elphaba glanced around the empty café, then began wiping down the espresso machine. "What about it?"
"Yesterday, you said the silencing laws were barbaric. You seemed very passionate about it.” Galinda tilted her head, blonde curls falling over her shoulder. “I assume you must have some kind of personal connection to it."
Elphaba's hand stilled on the espresso machine, surprised by the observation. She hadn't expected someone like Galinda to pick up on the personal weight behind her words—or to care enough to ask about it.
"I do." Elphaba's voice was careful. "I was raised by my nursemaid, Dulcibear. She's a Bear—one of the most intelligent, caring people I've ever known. Our house was always full of Animals when I was growing up. A Fox who taught literature, Rabbits who ran the gardens, Birds who delivered messages." Her voice grew quieter. "They were my family. And now most of them can't even speak to me anymore." When I see how we've stripped Animals of their voices, their dignity, their basic rights..." She shrugged, but Galinda could see the tension in her shoulders. "I heard there used to be an Animal professor here at Shiz—a Goat who taught History. Just rumors, of course. The administration denies it ever happened."
"I'm sorry," Galinda said softly. "About losing your family like that."
"Dulcibear always said Animals are stronger than humans give them credit for," Elphaba replied quietly. "I just wish I could still hear her voice. But thank you."
They fell into comfortable silence, and Galinda found herself really looking at Elphaba for the first time. The sharp intelligence in her dark eyes, the way she moved with unconscious grace, the careful way she held herself, as if she was used to taking up as little space as possible.
"I meant what I said yesterday," Galinda said suddenly. "About the silencing laws. I actually have been researching what happened to the Animals who used to work here at Shiz."
Elphaba looked up sharply. "You have?"
"I know, I know. Galinda Upland, shallow socialite, caring about something other than nail polish." She tried to make it sound light, but something vulnerable crept into her voice. "Most people think I'm crazy for questioning the government's policies. Not that I have any intentions of being a public figure,” She stressed. “I do have opinions."
"I'm not most people," Elphaba said quietly. "And I don't think you're shallow."
"You don't?"
"Shallow people don't stand up to their friends. Shallow people don't notice when someone's being cruel." Elphaba met her eyes. "Shallow people don't keep coming back to a mediocre café just to order increasingly complicated drinks from a barista who's rude to them."
Galinda felt heat rise in her cheeks. "The coffee isn't mediocre."
"It's not great either."
“And you're not rude. You're just... careful."
"Careful?" Elphaba raised an eyebrow.
"With who you trust. Who you let see the real you." Galinda's voice grew softer.
Elphaba looked down, something vulnerable flickering across her features. "Why do you keep coming back, Galinda?"
The question hung in the air between them. Galinda could have deflected, made a joke about caffeine addiction or her busy schedule. Instead, she found herself being honest.
"Because I see you," she said quietly. "Really see you. Not just the walls you put up, but what's behind them. I see someone worth knowing," She paused, “"And I think maybe you see me too.”
Elphaba's smile was soft, almost shy. "Maybe I do."
The moment stretched between them, until the bell chimed again and other customers began filtering in.