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Chapter Text

THE night air was warm and tasted of moonflowers and magic, sharp and sweet on Nessarose Thropp's tongue. Nessa drank it in greedily, as though she could wash away the Ozdust Ballroom—the stares, the humiliation still burning in her cheeks, and breathe in something kinder than eyes that judged hers. Gravel crunched under her wheelchair's wheels as she pushed herself deeper into the garden, past drifting lanterns that cast warm circles of light across the dark. At last, space to breathe. To be unseen, if only for a moment.

Behind her, the Ozdust Ballroom pulsed with music and laughter, as if nothing had happened. But she could still feel the echo of that moment: Elphaba's silhouette in the doorway, green skin stark under the chandeliers, every single eye in the room turning to her older sister in silent judgment. Her stomach had twisted, braced for disaster. Then Galinda, glorious, kind, good, and sweet Galinda, had swept in and saved everything. Not just Elphaba's pride, but Nessa's too. Hers most of all.

She should have been grateful. She was grateful. Not only had Galinda convinced Boq, that adorably sweet Munchkin boy from their class, to ask her out, but she'd also lifted Elphaba out of judgment and Nessa out of whispers. Galinda always seemed to carry everyone a little higher than they could manage on their own.

So why then did her gratitude ache like guilt? Why did her chest feel tight instead of light?

Nessa tipped her head back, letting the stars scatter above her like spilled diamonds on velvet. The evening breeze caught the dark waves of her carefully styled hair, loosening a few strands from the elaborate style Galinda had insisted upon. Out here, away from the music and the eyes, she didn't have to hold her practiced smile. Out here at least, she could simply breathe, flushed and flustered though she was, still aware of the warmth of Boq's hands that had left on her wrists. That dance had been lovely. Before Elphaba. Boq had been so careful, guiding her chair through a gentle waltz that made her feel almost graceful. His touch had been steady, his smile a little shy but kind. For those few precious moments, she'd belonged. She wasn't the governor of Munchkinland's daughter. She wasn't the sister of a strange green girl. She was just a girl at a dance.

Then Elphaba had broken the spell of it. No, that wasn’t fair. Her sister never tried to ruin things. She only ever tried to live as herself, boldly, as if the world didn’t frighten her at all. Her sister had only been herself, bold and out of step with the world. Always.

With a frustrated sigh, Nessa wheeled toward a stone bench nestled among topiary Beasts: a Lion, a Bear, and an Eagle with wings spread wide. Their strange shadows flickered in lantern light, while night-blooming jasmine perfumed the air. This was better. Cooler, quieter, a place where no one was watching her.

"Nessa?"

She startled, turning quickly. A figure stepped from the glow of the ballroom, and the mustard-colored coat made her breath catch.

Boq.

Even in the dim garden light, she could make out his features: hair charmingly unruly, dark eyes full of concern. He was shorter than most of the boys at Shiz, but sturdy and solid in his Munchkin-cut suit. Something about the way he carried himself—awkward, earnest, trying so hard to belong- was unexpectedly endearing.

Her heart gave a small, treacherous flutter. “Oh!” she gasped softly, her hand fluttering to her chest. “I’m sorry—I didn’t hear you there. I was just…” She glanced away, a little embarrassed, her voice gentle. “It got a little crowded inside. I thought I’d come out for some air.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks warming as she looked down. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just needed a minute to think, that’s all.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Boq stopped a few feet away, wringing his hands slightly. In the lantern light, she could see him rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous gesture she was beginning to recognize. "I just saw you leave, and I thought, well, I wasn't sure if you were okay. After everything with your sister. Not that it's my business, but I was worried. You left so quickly."

Something warm unfurled in Nessa's chest. He'd noticed. He'd cared about her enough to come looking for her.

“That’s… very kind of you, Boq,” she said gently, her fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m all right, really. Just—um—a little flustered, I suppose.” She gave a small, sheepish smile, nodding faintly toward the ballroom behind them. “My sister’s always been… rather good at making an entrance.”

"She... yeah. She does." Boq shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sure she didn't mean to..." He trailed off, seeming unsure how to finish. "May I sit? Or would you rather be alone? I can go if you'd like."

“No—please,” Nessa said quickly, a flicker of relief in her voice. “Stay. I… I wouldn’t mind the company.” She smiled shyly, her eyes dipping for a moment. “Maybe you could rescue me from my own thoughts. Just for a little while.”

He settled carefully onto the bench next to her, leaving a respectful distance between them. In the lantern light, Boq's face looked kind but troubled. She noticed the way his green tie was slightly crooked, the way he kept glancing at her and then away, as if he wasn't sure he should be there at all.

"For what it's worth," Boq said after a pause, his voice low and careful, "I don’t think people were… well. Galinda really saved things. She’s good at that. Making people feel at ease." He gave a faint, rueful smile. "I’m not saying it as well as I mean it."

“I know.” Nessa’s smile was small, almost wistful, her brown eyes catching the moonlight with quiet warmth. “Galinda’s… wonderful. Truly. Sometimes I think she might be the kindest person I’ve ever met.” Her voice dropped, softer now. “And I am grateful. I really am. I just…”

"Still feel embarrassed?" Boq offered gently. His tone was quiet, not pushing, only inviting her to admit the truth. "Most people would. Anyone would."

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice soft, though there was a flicker of relief in it—he understood. “Is that terrible of me?” She looked down for a moment, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with nervous fingers. “Galinda saved the whole evening, and still… all I can think about is how embarrassed I felt when Elphaba showed up in that dreadful old hat.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and Nessa felt herself relaxing into the quiet. The garden wrapped around them like something from a story, and the distant music from the ballroom seemed to belong to another world entirely.

"I don't think it's terrible," Boq said softly. "To feel that way, I mean. You can be grateful and still..." He paused. "Still wish things had been different. Does that make sense? I'm not sure that makes sense."

Nessa looked at him, a little startled by how easily he understood. In the soft light, she could see it in his face—the kindness there, the way his eyes seemed to warm when they met hers.

“It makes perfect sense,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, with a small, wondering smile, “How do you do that?”

"Do what?" He looked genuinely confused, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.

"Understand. Make me feel less ridiculous for having complicated feelings."

Boq ducked his head, and even in the dim light she could see him flush, color creeping up from the collar of his mustard coat. "I'm not... I don't think I'm doing anything special. I just..." He shrugged helplessly. "I know what it's like. Feeling out of place. Worrying about what everyone thinks. Not that I'm sure people weren't actually judging you. You're..." He stopped, seeming flustered. "You're allowed to have feelings. That's all I meant."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and Nessa found herself studying his profile in the lamplight. There was something deeply genuine about him, something that made her feel safe.

"Can I tell you something?" Boq said after a moment, his voice quiet, thoughtful. "I almost didn't come tonight. To the Ozdust. I was going to say I had too much studying, or that I wasn't feeling well, or something."

Nessa tilted her head slightly, studying him with gentle curiosity. “Really? I thought you were enjoying yourself,” she said softly, a small smile touching her lips. “You’re… good at these things. People like you.”

"That's... no. No, I'm really not." Boq shook his head, his hair catching the lamplight. "These things exhaust me, honestly. All the noise and crowds and everyone watching. I'm not good at it. I just try to smile and hope nobody notices that I'd rather be anywhere else." He glanced at her, almost apologetic. "I know that probably sounds pathetic."

“It doesn’t,” Nessa said softly, her dark eyes warm and steady on his. “It just sounds honest. That’s all. And that’s… different.”

Boq looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes before softening into something more guarded. "Most people only notice the obvious," he said quietly. "The short boy from Munchkinland, trying to take up space where he doesn’t quite fit." His tone wasn’t bitter, only resigned, touched with a weariness that made Nessa’s chest ache.

“Then they’re not really looking,” Nessa said, her tone gentle but certain. She leaned forward a little, the pink silk of her dress whispering against her knees. “I’d much rather talk to someone real than someone perfectly polished,” she went on, her voice full of quiet feeling. “All that small talk and pretending—it’s just so tiring. I like conversations that mean something. About dreams, ideas… the things that actually matter.”

"Yes," Boq said softly, and for a moment his whole face brightened before the light faltered. "That’s… yes. Exactly. I thought I was the only one who felt that way." He hesitated, giving a small shake of his head. "You’re different, Nessa. You don’t just follow along, you think about things. Really think. Not everyone does." His voice dipped, almost apologetic. "I shouldn’t say it like that. I only meant it as a compliment."

The way he said her name sent warmth cascading through her chest. This was what she'd always hoped for: someone who understood, someone who valued the same things she did. Someone who saw her as more than her chair, more than an object of pity. She was aware of how she must look in the lamplight, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face, her skin flushed with emotion, her dark eyes bright with interest.

“I know what you mean,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of understanding. “Most people don’t like to admit when they’re unsure, or scared, or… human.” Her gaze lingered on him, kind and a little wistful. “But you don’t pretend. You’re honest about who you are. That’s… rare.”

Boq's expression shifted: surprise, gratitude, and something almost like pain. "I don't think anyone's ever..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "Thank you. For saying that."

They looked at each other in the lantern light, and Nessa felt something shift between them, something delicate and new and full of possibility.

“What is it you want, Boq?” she asked, her tone almost a whisper. “What do you… dream about?”

Boq was quiet for a long moment, his gaze drifting to the floating lanterns above them. When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued. "I want to matter, I guess. I want to be more than just..." He paused. "More than what people see when they look at me." He glanced at her, almost apologetic. "That probably sounds foolish. Or conceited. I'm not trying to..."

“No,” Nessa said softly but with conviction, her heart aching in understanding. “It doesn’t sound foolish at all. It sounds… brave. It sounds real.” She leaned toward him slightly, her voice warm and earnest. “You already matter, Boq. Maybe not to everyone here at Shiz who only sees what’s on the surface—but to the people who really look, who take the time to know you… you do.” Her gaze softened. “And those are the only opinions worth listening to anyway.”

Boq stared at her, and she watched something shift in his expression: wonder, gratitude, and that same pained look. "You're..." He stopped, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know what to say to that. No one's ever..." He trailed off, looking down at his hands.

"Then people aren't paying attention," Nessa said softly.

"Maybe," he said quietly. "Or maybe I'm not worth paying attention to and you're just being kind. Which is nice. You don't have to, but it's nice."

They looked at each other, and Nessa felt the moment between them like a held breath.

Then Boq's expression changed. Something flickered across his face: conflict, uncertainty, something that looked almost like guilt. He opened his mouth, closed it, seemed to struggle with himself. "Nessa, I should..." He stopped, and she saw his jaw clench. "There's something I need to tell you. About tonight. About why I came with you. To the dance."

He broke off, looking almost anguished, and Nessa felt her chest tighten with confusion.

“What is it?” she asked, her tone gentle. Her hand found his on the bench, light as a whisper. “If something’s wrong… you can tell me. I’ll listen.”

His eyes fixed on her hand touching his, and she saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. "I just... Galinda, she..." He stopped again, and Nessa could see him physically struggling with whatever he was trying to say, his face twisted with some internal battle. "She asked me to... she said that you didn't have... that you needed someone to..."

The pause stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Nessa waited, her heart pounding, not understanding the turmoil she saw in his face but wanting to help somehow.

“She asked you to—what?” Nessa prompted softly, her tone gentle but edged with the faintest tremor. Something cold began to settle in her stomach, though she tried to hide it behind a small, uncertain smile.

Boq's face crumpled slightly, and then she saw him make a decision. Saw him physically pull back from whatever confession he'd been about to make. "Never mind," he said, his voice strained and slightly desperate. "It's not... it doesn't matter. I just wanted to say..." He looked at her with something almost frantic in his eyes, like he was trying to convince them both of something. "You really are remarkable, Nessa. I mean that. I need you to know that."

Before she could respond, before she could ask what he'd been about to say, he moved closer. Sudden and impulsive. His hand came up to cup her cheek, gentle, tentative, almost apologetic, and Nessa's breath caught in her throat. His palm was warm against her skin, trembling slightly, and she was suddenly very aware of how close he was.

Oh. This was happening.

His eyes searched hers for a moment, asking permission, and she found herself nodding slightly, her heart racing with confusion and excitement and something she couldn't quite name. Then his lips met hers. Soft. Warm. Desperate. Her first kiss. For one perfect moment, Nessa let herself believe. This was what she'd read about in stories: the kiss in the garden, the romantic culmination of a genuine connection. She closed her eyes and felt something bloom in her chest, warm and hopeful and desperately wanted.

But even as she tried to lose herself in the sensation, something felt wrong. The kiss was gentle, yes. Sweet. But there was something hollow about it, something that felt more like an apology than passion. Something almost sad. Like he was kissing her to silence something, to prove something that couldn't be proven.

When he pulled back, his eyes were wide and stricken, guilt written clearly across his face, and they stared at each other in mutual confusion.

"I'm sorry," Boq blurted, his voice tight with distress. "I shouldn't have—oh, Oz, I should have asked first. Properly. That wasn’t fair of me."

Nessa shook her head at once, her smile small but genuine. “No, Boq, truly, it’s fine,” she said softly. “You don’t have to worry.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair. "I thought we were having a lovely time, and you’re—you’re wonderful, and I suppose I just… leapt ahead. Foolish of me. I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me."

“I know,” Nessa said, her smile breaking through despite herself. “I know.”

Her eyes shimmered with quiet affection, the kind that says more than words ever could. Lurline, he was sweet. All flustered over a kiss, as if he’d broken some grand rule. Most boys wouldn’t have even thought to worry about that. Most boys wouldn’t have kissed her at all. But Boq had, and now here he was, convinced he’d ruined everything. That was… well, that was pretty wonderful.

An awkward silence settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable, but Nessa found herself smiling despite it. This was what people talked about, wasn't it? That nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling when something real was happening.

"You’re special, Nessa," Boq murmured, almost as if the words surprised him once spoken. "Not because of anything anyone else says… just because you are. I thought you should hear it."

Special. She turned the word over in her mind, testing its weight. Not capable-despite-everything special. Not we're-so-proud-of-you-for-trying special. Just special. Like she was someone worth knowing. Worth kissing in a garden at night.

“That’s really sweet,” she murmured, her voice quiet but glowing with genuine feeling.

Boq stood abruptly, and Nessa’s stomach dipped before she felt his hands on the back of her chair. He wasn’t leaving after all. He cleared his throat, a little awkwardly. "Maybe we ought to head back now. People might be… wondering where we’ve gone." His tone was careful, almost apologetic, as though he didn’t want her to think he regretted being there.

“Yeah,” she murmured, nodding a little. “You’re right. I—of course.”

As Boq pushed her back toward the ballroom, Nessa tried to hold onto the glow of the kiss, but something felt different now. The ease they'd found earlier seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a tension she didn't understand. She could feel it in the way he gripped the handles of her chair, in the silence that stretched between them. The wheels crunched on gravel, the sound almost too loud in the hush between them.

When they reached the terrace, the party was still in full swing. Through the windows, she could see Galinda holding court, magnificent and glowing.

“I think…” Nessa began nervously, “I think I’m ready to call it a night.” Better to leave now, while the memory of his kiss still felt warm, before her mind had the chance to overthink it. She looked up at him, a small, hopeful smile tugging at her lips. “Would you mind walking me back?”

"Of course," Boq said quickly. Too quickly, with what sounded like relief. "Let me just tell someone we're leaving." He disappeared into the crowd, and Nessa caught her reflection in the window. Her dark hair was still mostly in place, though a few strands had escaped. Her cheeks were flushed against her pale skin. She looked like someone who'd just been kissed in a garden.

"Nessie!"

Galinda appeared in a cloud of perfume and enthusiasm. "There you are! I saw you and Bick slip out to the garden." She leaned in, eyes bright with excitement. "Tell me everything! Did something happen?"

Nessa felt her cheeks grow warm, the blush spreading fast. “We just… we talked. And then he…” Her voice trailed off, too shy to finish. She glanced down, smiling despite herself. “It was really nice, Galinda.”

"He kissed you!" Galinda gasped, delighted, clasping her hands together. "Oh, Nessie, I knew it! I just knew you two would be perfect together!"

Something in Galinda’s tone made Nessa freeze. Her heart gave a small, uncertain flutter. “You...you knew?” she asked softly, surprise and a hint of hurt mingling in her voice.

"Well, I hoped!" Galinda squeezed her hand, beaming. "You're both such genuine souls. Dear Bick's such a sweetheart! So sincere, you know?"

Sincere. Yes. That was what tonight had been. Sincere. Nessa smiled, pushing away the small whisper of doubt. "Tonight's been perfect, Galinda. Really. Thank you for everything."

"Don't thank me! Now go, don't keep him waiting!"

The walk back passed mostly in silence. Boq made a few comments, something about the party, about how nice the decorations were, about how Galinda had really outdone herself, but his voice had a strange quality to it. Distant. Polite. Like he was fulfilling an obligation.

When they reached her building, Boq helped her up the ramp with that same careful attention. His hand on her shoulder. His fingers adjusting her shawl. Each touch felt mechanical now, stiff and formal.

"I had a really nice time tonight," Boq said, still not quite meeting her eyes. "You're... you're really easy to talk to, Nessa. I mean that."

Her heart lifted, even when she hadn’t meant it to. “You too,” she said, her voice warm but a little unsure. “Maybe we could… I don’t know, do this again sometime? Not the dance, just… talk?”

Something flickered across his face. Relief? Guilt? But then he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure. Yeah. That would be... that would be nice."

"Goodnight, Boq."

"Goodnight, Nessa. Sleep well." He hesitated, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, then closed it. "I'm sorry. I mean, goodnight."

She waited by the door, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hallway. They sounded quick. Purposeful. Like someone eager to escape.

No. Like someone heading back to the party. That was all.

The room was dark when she wheeled herself to the mirror. The girl looking back at her was still in her pink dress, dark hair coming loose around her face, pale skin flushed, eyes bright. She looked like someone who'd just been kissed in a garden. She looked like someone who had a reason to hope.

Her hands went to her hair, pulling out pins carefully. Each one that clinked onto the dresser felt like evidence. This happened. This was real. Tomorrow, she'd return the dress to Galinda and probably gush embarrassingly about the whole evening. Tomorrow, she'd let herself think about when she might see Boq again. Tomorrow she'd plan. But tonight, she just sat and smiled at her reflection.

When she finally changed out of the dress and got ready for bed, Nessa felt weightless. Her mind kept circling back to that garden, to the moment before the kiss.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, unable to stop replaying it. He'd kissed her. Sought her out, talked to her like she was fascinating, kissed her. That meant something. It had to.

Nessa rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow. For once in her life, something wonderful had happened to her, and she wasn't going to talk herself out of enjoying it.

She was allowed to have this. This one perfect thing. The night had been everything she'd hoped for. Someone actually seeing her. Wanting to be with her. Kissing her. Someone who thought she was special.

As she drifted off to sleep, Nessa let herself imagine it: a future where this wasn't just one magical night, but the start of something. Where Boq became someone she could count on, someone who chose her. It wasn't too much to hope for.

She was almost asleep when the thought crept in, unbidden:

His footsteps had sounded so quick going down the hall. Like he couldn't wait to leave.

Nessa's eyes opened in the darkness. No. He'd been going back to the party. That was all. The night was still young for everyone else. She closed her eyes again, willing the warmth of the evening to return. The kiss. The conversation. The way he'd called her special.

But the thought lingered at the edges of her mind, a shadow she couldn't quite dismiss. His footsteps, quick on the cobblestones. The relief in his voice when she'd said she was ready to go. The way he'd almost said something at her door, then stopped himself to apologize instead.

"I'm sorry." That's what he'd said in the garden. Right after the kiss. Not "I like you" or "I've wanted to do that" but "I'm sorry." And before that: "Galinda asked me to..."

Nessa pulled the blanket tighter around herself, trying to recapture that feeling of floating, of hope, of being chosen. But it felt further away now, like something slipping through her fingers. She forced her breathing to slow, forced her mind to quiet.

Tomorrow, everything would make sense. Tomorrow she'd see him and he'd smile at her and all these doubts would vanish like morning mist. Tomorrow. But tonight, alone in the darkness, Nessa lay awake longer than she wanted to, trying not to hear the echo of quick footsteps retreating down a hallway.

Trying not to wonder what he'd been about to say.

Chapter Text

BOQ'S feet carried him nowhere in particular, which felt appropriate. The cobblestones of Shiz grounds were slick with evening dew, and the party noise from the Ozdust Ballroom had faded blocks ago, but he couldn't make himself turn toward his dormitory. Not yet. Not when going back meant being alone with what he'd done.

You kissed her.

The thought rose in him with a sick flutter in his stomach, just as it had done the twelve other times he'd circled this particular fountain. He kissed Nessarose Thropp in a garden full of jasmine and lies, and she had looked at him like he was worth hoping for. He should feel good about that. Shouldn't he? Any reasonable person would feel good about that. But then, he'd never been very good at being reasonable.

His hand went to his jacket pocket, fingers brushing the silk handkerchief he'd offered Galinda the day before—his best one, carefully pressed, meant to impress her. She'd smiled, dazzling as ever, and pressed it back into his palm with a laugh. That's very sweet of you, but you should take Nessa instead. Save me a dance another time, Bick. For luck.

Sweet. Good. Kind. The words Galinda used for him—bright and careless, tossed like pennies to a street performer. Not the words she used for him. For Fiyero.

Boq halted in his tracks, eyes clenched tightly against the image that he'd been trying not to think about all evening: Galinda, golden and glowing and absolutely unattainable, speaking in Fiyero's ear and tossing her head back in laughter, as if they were meant to be. They were kissing when he left to find them, of course. Beautiful people inevitably found each other, didn't they? Like water flows and finds its level, like moths seek out the flame, like all of the other tired metaphors that mean the same thing: Not you. Never you.

A raindrop fell on Boq's cheek. Then another. He looked up at the sky to see the storm clouds abolishing the stars one at a time, and felt the first sting of ice-cold rain.

He should go back. He should. Avaric would already be asleep, or pretending to be, and Boq could slip into his own bed and stare at the ceiling until morning and, somehow, figure out how to live with himself.

The rain came harder.

Boq walked.

By the time he finally pushed open the door to his dormitory, water was running down his neck, and his shoes squelched with every step. The mustard coat hung heavy on his shoulders, darker now, ruined probably. Good. He deserved that. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step an admission: I did this. I kissed her. I let her believe.

The room was dark when he slipped inside. Avaric's breathing was even and slow from the other bed—asleep, then, not just pretending. Small mercies. Boq peeled off the wet coat, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. His shirt clung to his skin. He should change. Should hang things up properly. Should do a lot of things.

Instead, he collapsed onto his bed, shoes still on, and stared at the ceiling. Nessa's face in the lamplight. Her eyes when she'd looked at him, warm and hopeful, and trusting. The soft, surprised sound she'd made when he'd kissed her. The way she'd leaned into it, just slightly, like she'd been waiting for this her whole life.

And he'd given it to her. A kiss that meant everything to her and haunted everything for him.

You're special, Nessa. He'd said that. Meant it, even. She was special—brilliant and genuine and kind in ways that most people at Shiz couldn't even comprehend. But meaning it didn't matter when he'd been thinking about someone else. When his heart had belonged to golden hair and a smile that would never be for him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Boq closed his eyes and tried not to see Galinda's face.

Even so, it was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

THUNDER shook Boq awake, rattling the dormitory windows in their frames. For one blissful, disoriented moment, he didn't remember. Then it all came crashing back with the next roll of thunder: the garden, the kiss, Nessa's dark eyes full of something that looked dangerously close to trust. His stomach twisted.

The room was grey with storm-light, shadows lurching across the walls with each flash of lightning. Their dormitory was small but tidy; two beds pressed against opposite walls, two desks cluttered with papers and half-drunk mugs of tea and coffee, the radiator by the window clanking like it hadn’t worked properly in years. A thin curtain stirred with each gust of wind.

Rain hammered against the glass like it was trying to get in, which matched how Boq felt—like something dark and inevitable was pressing at the edges of his life, waiting to break through.

"You look like death," Avaric observed from across the room, his voice making Boq startle. Boq rolled onto his side to find him already sitting up, hair somehow perfect even at—Boq squinted at the clock—six in the morning. "Rough night?"

"I'm fine," Boq rasped, though it didn't sound convincing. His shirt from the dance clung to him, still damp from the rain, his mustard coat lying in a wrinkled heap on the floor. He blinked at it like he wasn't sure how it got there. He couldn't remember taking it off. Couldn't remember much after finally making it through the door around two.

"You're still wearing your dancing shoes."

Boq looked down. He was.

"Must have been quite the evening." Avaric stretched, catlike and unbothered by the storm tearing the sky apart outside. "I saw you leave with Nessarose. Early, too. Before Galinda even got everyone doing that ridiculous group dance." There was something in his tone, not quite accusatory, but not quite casual either.

"We just…she was tired. I walked her back." Boq's throat felt tight.

"Mm." Avaric rose, padding to the window as thunder rolled. "Looked like more than that from where I was standing." A flash of lightning caught his smirk. "Garden detour?"

The question landed heavier than it should have. Boq blinked, looking at his roommate more closely. "Were you... watching?"

"Hard not to notice." Avaric shrugged, though the motion was too stiff to be casual. "No one was lining up to ask Governor Thropp's youngest to the dance, but suddenly Galinda Upland decides to play matchmaker, and you swoop in to be gallant?" He turned from the window, and the glint in his expression had sharpened. "You looked very... attentive. In the garden. Very focused."

Boq's throat tightened. "You—" He stopped, swallowed. "You followed us?"

"I was getting air. You're not the only one who finds those things suffocating." Avaric grabbed a towel, his movements a little too controlled. "Didn't mean to intrude on your romantic moment. I left before... well. Before whatever happened after."

The air between them felt charged, uncomfortable.

"Look," Avaric said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Nessarose Thropp is brilliant. Absolutely razor-sharp in Dillamond's class. Remember last week? That answer about the Thropp third taxation policy? Made everyone else look like they couldn't read." He paused, something flickering across his face. "Most people don't even bother with that material. She makes it look effortless."

Boq heard the admiration there. The respect. Maybe more.

"She gave another answer two weeks before that," Avaric went on, still not quite looking at him. "About the Animal citizenship debates. Connected it to current policy in ways even Dillamond hadn't considered. She's..." He caught himself. "Well. You know. You spent the evening with her."

The jealousy was subtle but unmistakable, in the way his jaw tightened, in his careful neutrality, in the fact that he remembered those details at all.

"I didn't know you'd noticed," Boq said softly. His voice sounded smaller than he meant it to.

"I notice a lot of things." Avaric's smile flickered but didn't hold. "Anyway. She's special. Anyone with eyes can see it. Even if most people here are too stupid—or too shallow—to look past..." He waved a hand, as if the rest didn't matter. "Well. You're lucky she sees something in you."

Lucky. The word landed like a stone in Boq's chest. There was an edge to it, a suggestion that he hadn't earned any of this. That maybe someone else would have known how to.

"Don't screw it up, yeah?" Avaric said as he crossed toward the washroom. He paused at the doorway, his back still turned. "Girls like that don't come around often. And they don't usually..." He hesitated. The sound of the rain filled the space between them. "Just—be good to her. She deserves that."

The door clicked shut.

Boq stayed where he was, listening to rain hammer the windows and thunder shake the walls, and felt a new layer of guilt settle over him.

Avaric had been watching. Avaric had noticed Nessa, really noticed her, seen her brilliance, maybe even wanted…what? To ask her himself? To be the one walking her through the gardens? And Galinda had asked Boq instead. Because Boq was sweet. Safe. Good. Not because he deserved it.

He needed to move. Get up. Get dressed. Face the day.

Boq pushed himself off the bed, wincing as his muscles protested. Every part of him ached—his feet from walking for hours, his shoulders from tension, his chest from something that had nothing to do with the physical at all. He peeled off his damp shirt and tossed it onto the growing pile of wrinkled clothes on the floor.

The small mirror above his dresser reflected someone he barely recognized. Hair sticking up at odd angles. Dark circles under his eyes. Pale skin that made him look ill. He looked like what he was: someone who'd spent the night drowning in guilt and regret.

He tried to smooth down his hair. It didn't help. Nothing helped.

What would he say if he saw her today? Good morning, Nessa. About last night— No. I had a really nice time, but— No. I think we should talk—

No. No. No.

He pulled on a fresh shirt, fumbling with the buttons. His hands were shaking. When had they started shaking? He stared at them, willing them to be steady, but they wouldn't cooperate. Even his body was betraying him.

The image of Nessa's face in the lamplight wouldn't leave him. The way she'd looked at him with such trust, such hope. Like he was exactly what she'd been waiting for. And he'd kissed her. Actually kissed her. Let her believe it meant something when his heart had been somewhere else entirely.

Boq yanked on his trousers, shoved his feet into shoes that weren't his dancing shoes, and grabbed his bag. He couldn't think about this anymore. Not now. If he stayed in this room any longer, he'd either scream or cry or do something equally pathetic. He needed to face the day. Needed to eat breakfast even though the thought made him nauseous. Needed to go to class and pretend to be a normal person who hadn't ruined everything with one kiss in a garden.

Boq grabbed his coat from the hook by the door—not the mustard one, that was still in a heap on the floor where it belonged—and headed out before Avaric could return and ask him any more questions he couldn't answer.

BY the time Boq made it down to the dining hall, the storm had settled into a steady, miserable drizzle. The kind of rain that seeped into everything: clothes, shoes, bones. His clothes were dry, but somehow he still felt damp, like the guilt had soaked through to his skin.

The dining hall was already half-full of early risers, their voices a low murmur of morning complaints. The smell of porridge and toast, and weak coffee filled the air. Boq grabbed a tray, loaded it with things he had no intention of eating, and looked for somewhere to hide.

"Woodsman!"

Boq's heart sank. He turned to see that Fiyero was waving him over to a table near the windows, where Avaric was already seated with his own breakfast. Of course. Because this morning couldn't possibly get worse.

Fiyero Tigelaar was impossible to ignore. The Vinkus Prince was tall and broad-shouldered in a way that made Boq feel even shorter than he was, with that careless, windswept hair that had a mind of its own no matter what he seemed to do to tame it, and a smile that seemed to come without effort. He was immaculate as always, shirt pressed, posture relaxed, utterly unaffected by the storm or anything else life threw at him. The kind of handsome that didn't need to try.

Boq made his way over, tray clutched like a shield, acutely aware of how he must look in comparison. Rumpled. Exhausted. Small.

"You look terrible," Fiyero said cheerfully as Boq dropped onto the bench beside him. He looked fresh as always, hair slightly mussed like it had been done on purpose, blue eyes bright with too much sleep and not nearly enough guilt. "Rough night? Or just regretting it this morning?"

“Something like that,” Boq muttered, attempting a weak grin and failing. He jabbed at his porridge as if it might answer for him.

"The Ozdust was wild, wasn’t it?" Fiyero leaned back, chair tipping dangerously, grin lazy. "Galinda really outdid herself. That girl could make a barn dance feel like the Emerald Ball." He said her name like it tasted good. Like it was his. "Though I heard you took off early. You and the little Thropp one, yeah?"

Avaric frowned, his fork halfway to his mouth, looking suddenly tense.

“Nessa,” Boq said softly. “Her name’s Nessa.”

"Right, right—Nessa!" Fiyero waved the correction away with a piece of toast. "Galinda was so thrilled about setting you two up. Kept saying you were perfect for each other—'sweet souls' or some such." He laughed, a light, careless sound. "So? Did she get it right? Are you two making moon eyes yet?"

The porridge turned to ash in Boq's mouth.

“We...we had a nice time,” he said, too quickly, like he was trying to believe it.

"Just nice?" Fiyero’s brows shot up. "Ha! Galinda's gonna be crushed. She was practically glowing when she told me what a genius matchmaker she is. You should’ve seen her—looked like she’d just ended world hunger or something." He bit into his toast, crumbs scattering. "You’ve gotta love that girl. Everything’s a crusade."

Avaric's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

“She was… pretty pleased with herself,” Boq said gently, trying to keep his voice even. And why wouldn’t she be? She’d fixed everything so neatly—Nessa had a date, and Boq was… out of the way. It was tidy. It made sense. Maybe even kind. In her own way.

"Well, good for you, Boq." Fiyero clapped him on the shoulder, easy as breathing. Boq flinched anyway. "Nessa seems nice. Quiet, sure, but nice. And Galinda seems like the type to never be wrong about these things. If she says you’re a match, then—hey, who are we to argue with destiny?"

Destiny. Galinda’s destiny. Always shining, always just out of reach. If she thought something, it became true. Her word was gospel, her judgment law. Maybe that was why she’d known from the start that Boq didn’t belong with her.

"Speaking of Galinda," Fiyero continued, and Boq wanted to throw his tray across the room, "she wants to do a double date sometime. The four of us. She's already planning it. Something about a picnic when the weather clears up?" He grinned. "Hope you're ready for that. Once Glin gets an idea in her head, there's no stopping her."

Glin. The nickname landed like a knife between Boq's ribs.

“Sounds great,” Boq said, smiling faintly, like it would hurt less if he pretended to mean it.

Avaric finally spoke, his voice carefully neutral. "Don't you have class soon, Tigelaar?"

Fiyero blinked at the clock and swore. "Oz, you’re right. Mister Mikko time already." He slung his bag over one shoulder, already halfway gone. "Catch you later! And Woodsman?" He pointed at Boq, grin widening. "Don’t screw it up. Glin’ll have my head if her grand experiment flops."

He left in a whirl of easy charm and expensive cologne. An awkward silence settled over the table. Boq stared at his untouched porridge. Avaric methodically ate his eggs.

"He's an idiot," Avaric said finally.

“He’s not wrong,” Boq said quietly, pushing his tray away with a sigh. “Galinda thinks we’re perfect together. She’s got it all worked out already. Happily ever after and everything.”

"Galinda thinks a lot of things." Avaric's tone was carefully measured. "Doesn't mean she's right."

Boq looked up, his voice quiet. “You said the same thing. That Nessa’s special. That I should be grateful.”

"You are lucky. If you actually wanted to be." Avaric met his eyes. "Do you?"

The question hung between them, heavy and unanswerable.

“I don’t know,” Boq said softly, eyes lowered. “I should. She’s everything you said—brilliant, and kind, and real. I should want this. I should.”

"But you don't."

It wasn't a question. Boq didn't answer. Couldn't. Because what was he supposed to say? That his heart belonged to someone who'd never want it? That he'd kissed Nessa while thinking about golden hair and bright laughter? That he was exactly the kind of person who took something precious and ruined it with his own weakness?

"You're going to hurt her," Avaric said, and there was no judgment in his voice. Just fact. "If you keep pretending. She's going to figure it out eventually, and it's going to destroy her."

"I know." The words tasted like copper. "I know."

"So tell her. Now. Before it gets worse."

“I can’t,” Boq said, his voice catching. “You didn’t see her last night. The way she looked at me… like I’d given her something she’d been waiting for forever.” He swallowed. “How am I supposed to take that away?”

"By being honest." Avaric leaned forward. "Look, I get it. You don't want to be the villain. You don't want to hurt her. But you're going to hurt her either way. At least if you tell her now, you're not letting her build a whole future on a lie."

Boq knew he was right. Knew it with the same certainty he knew the sun would rise and Galinda would never love him, and he was going to carry this guilt for the rest of his life. But knowing didn't make it easier.

“I’ll tell her,” he said at last, quietly. “Just… not yet. I need a little time. To figure out how.”

Avaric looked at him for a long moment, something like pity in his eyes. "A few days won't make it easier, Woodsman. It'll just make it worse."

"I know," Boq said again. "But I can't. Not yet."

Avaric sighed, standing and grabbing his tray. "Your funeral. Just remember—she deserves better than this. Better than waiting around while you figure out your feelings."

He left, and Boq was alone with his cold porridge and his guilt and the rain still falling outside the windows. He ate nothing. The food tasted of damp air and guilt.

Then, because pretending was easier than thinking, he went to class.

DOCTOR Dillamond's classroom was already full when Boq arrived, the lecture hall smelling of wet wool and old books. Students filed in, shaking out coats, their voices a low murmur of early morning complaints. Boq slipped into his usual seat near the front—not so close that he'd be called upon, but close enough to pay attention. The perfect vantage point where he could observe without being observed.

Except today, everyone seemed to be looking at him. Or maybe he was imagining it. Probably imagining it. Still, he felt eyes on him as he settled into his chair, felt the weight of too many eyes burning a hole in the back of his skull. They'd all been at the Ozdust Ballroom last night. They'd all seen him leave with Nessa. They probably thought—

What did they think? That they were together now? That he'd chosen her? That sweet Munchkin Boq Woodsman from Munchkinland had finally gotten himself a girl?

His stomach churned. The seat in the second row—Nessa’s seat—was conspicuously empty. She was always early. Always had her notes out, color-coded and perfect, ready before most students even sat down. He stared at the space beside Elphaba’s usual spot, half-hoping she’d come rushing in any second, smiling at him like last night hadn’t meant everything. Or anything.

But the clock ticked past the hour. Still no sign of her. Neither Thropp girl had appeared.

Boq told himself he was relieved. He was....Wasn't he?

"Settle down, settle down," Doctor Dillamond's voice cut through the chatter as he trotted to the front of the room, hooves clicking on the stone floor. The Goat professor adjusted his spectacles and surveyed the class. "I trust you all enjoyed your weekend festivities and completed the assigned reading on the Munchkinland succession crisis."

A collective groan rippled through the room.

The door creaked open. Boq's head snapped up—he couldn't help it—but it was only Elphaba. She moved through the room with the kind of self-possession that made the stares seem irrelevant, her dark hair pulled back sharply from her angular face. The green skin that made others whisper didn't slow her stride. Her uniform was perfectly pressed despite the rain, severe and immaculate. She took her usual seat in the second row, pulled out her notes, and said nothing.

Her silence somehow felt louder than anyone else's chatter.

Except.

As she settled into her chair, her eyes flicked up. Just once. Just for a heartbeat. And in that brief, burning moment, Boq saw something in her expression that made his breath catch: Recognition. Assessment. Understanding. She knew. Not the details, maybe. But she knew something. She knew he was ashamed, knew he was guilty, knew he'd done something he couldn't take back. Her look wasn't cruel. It wasn't even judgmental. It was simply... aware. The way someone looks at you when they've already calculated your choices and found them wanting, but can't be bothered to waste energy on disappointment.

Then she looked away, back to her notes, dismissing him entirely. Boq could breathe again. Sort of. The empty seat next to Elphaba felt louder than any accusation.

"Miss Elphaba," Dillamond said, his tone careful. "Your sister is absent today. I trust she's well?"

"She's fine." Elphaba's voice was flat, clipped. "Tired from the dance."

There was something in the way she said it—not quite protective, not quite warning, but definitely something—that made several students shift uncomfortably.

"Ah. Well then." Dillamond turned to the board. "Let's begin with the economic factors that led to the formation of the Agricultural Cooperative Movement."

The lecture proceeded. Boq took notes mechanically, his hand moving across the page without his mind fully engaging. Around him, students debated tariffs and trade routes. And all Boq could think was, 'Nessa would have loved this discussion.'

Then Dillamond's voice cut through his thoughts: "Mister Woodsman."

Boq's head jerked up. "Sir?"

"I asked if you could explain the significance of the Thropp third taxation reform. Since you seem rather distracted this morning."

Blood rushed to Boq's face. Several students turned to look at him. Galinda glanced back, curious. Elphaba didn't move, but he could feel her attention like a weight.

"The, uh... the third taxation reform." Think. He knew this. Nessa had talked about it. "It reduced the burden on agricultural workers while increasing taxes on imported luxury goods. To protect domestic production."

"And why was this significant?"

Because. Because it showed that someone in power had actually cared about fairness? Because it proved that policy could be used to help people instead of just enriching the already-wealthy?

"Because it demonstrated that the Thropp family understood that economic policy is fundamentally about people, not just profit margins," Boq said, the words coming out stronger than he intended. "It showed that someone was actually paying attention to the lives of ordinary Ozians."

Dillamond smiled—actually smiled. "Excellent, Mister Woodsman. That's precisely the kind of analysis I hoped to hear." He turned back to the board. "Try to look less like you're contemplating your own execution next time, would you?"

A few students laughed. Boq nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Because that hadn't been his insight at all, that had been Nessa's. He'd just remembered it, borrowed it, repeated it like it was his own. Even his good moments were stolen.

The lesson dragged on for another hour—charts, figures, a few dry questions from the back. Boq sat still, the weight of what he’d said pressing heavier the longer he stayed silent. When the bell finally rang, it felt too loud.

He let the others go first. The scrape of chairs and shuffle of boots filled the air, fading down the corridor until only the echo of laughter remained.

THE rain had stopped by the time class ended, leaving the campus smelling of wet stone and new leaves. Students poured out of the lecture hall in clusters, already planning lunch, already forgetting about 19th-century tax reform. Boq hung back, taking his time gathering his books. If he waited long enough, maybe everyone would be gone. Maybe he could slip back to his dorm unseen, hide until the next class, avoid—

"Bick!"

His heart stopped.

Galinda practically floated toward him, all sunshine and smiles despite the grey sky, her voice carrying that bright, musical lilt that made everything sound like a wonderful surprise. Fiyero trailed behind her, relaxed and handsome in that effortless way that made Boq want to both be him and hide from him forever.

"There you are!" Galinda beamed at him, and for one devastating second, Boq let himself pretend that smile was for him. Really for him. Not just friendly, not just kind, but for him. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Well, not everywhere, obviously. That would be exhausting. But I checked the library and the dining hall and—oh, that doesn't matter now!" She reached out and touched his arm, and he was suddenly aware of how close she was—the blonde curls perfectly arranged despite the weather, the way her smile lit her whole face, completely unaware of what that touch did to him. "You simply must tell me everything about last night! You and Nessie looked so perfectly wonderful together!"

Nessie. She got Nessa's name right on the first try, weeks ago. Had never once stumbled over it.

The world tilted slightly.

“We… it was fine. I mean—nice. The dance was nice.” His words fumbled over each other, clumsy and unsure. “Thank you. For, um… You know. Setting it up.”

"Oh, Bick."

Bick. Not Boq. Never Boq. She'd called him Bick, Biq, Bok, even "the Munchkin boy" once before someone corrected her. Two weeks they'd been at Shiz. Two weeks, and she still cycled through variations like she was trying them on for size.

Galinda's eyes went soft, genuinely pleased, like he'd just told her the most delightful news.

"You don't need to thank me at all! I just knew—I absolutely knew—that you two would be perfect together! You're both so wonderfully genuine and thoughtful, and she's so terrifically brilliant, and you're so terribly sweet, and I just thought—well, I knew actually—that you'd really see each other. Really see each other, you know?" She squeezed his arm gently, her touch feather-light. "So? Do tell! What happened? Did you dance? Did you talk? Did something... happen?" The last word came out in a delighted, conspiratorial whisper, like she was asking about the most wonderful secret in all of Oz.

Boq’s throat felt tight. “We talked. In the garden.” He gave a small, nervous smile. “She’s… really smart. It was just… nice. Talking to her.”

"And?" Galinda leaned in, eyes sparkling with anticipation, waiting for the romantic denouement she'd orchestrated.

And I kissed her while thinking about you. And she looked at me like I'd given her the world. And I felt like the worst person in Oz.

“And it was really nice,” Boq said hoarsely. “She’s… she’s special, Galinda. You were right about that.”

"I knew it!" Galinda clapped her hands together with pure delight, the gesture somehow managing to be both childlike and graceful. "Oh, I'm so wonderfully happy for you both! You deserve someone truly special, Bick. Someone who really appreciates you for exactly who you are." She turned to Fiyero, who'd been watching this exchange with mild amusement. "Don't they make the sweetest couple, Fifi? I told you they would!"

Fifi. She called him Fifi. Casual and intimate and easy, like a secret language they shared.

"Sure," Fiyero said, his tone suggesting he had no idea who Boq was or why this mattered, but was willing to agree to make Galinda happy. "Sounds great."

"You and Nessa simply must double-date with us sometime!" Galinda continued, already planning, already pulling Boq into a future he didn't want and couldn't escape. "We could go to the Peach and Kidneys—oh, but no, that's too loud—or maybe that darling new café in town, or—oh! We could have a picnic when the weather's nicer! Doesn't that sound absolutely lovely? We'll bring blankets and sandwiches and everything!"

“Lovely,” Boq echoed, the word catching slightly in his throat. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I'm so terribly glad you saw how special Nessa is." Galinda's voice had gone softer, more sincere, the bright performance dropping away for just a moment to reveal something genuine underneath. "She deserves someone who really sees her, you know? Not just as the governor's daughter or Elphaba's sister or... or anything else. Just as her. And I think you do. See her, I mean." She smiled at him, and it was so kind, so genuine, so completely unaware that every word was a knife. "You're awfully good for her, Biq. I just know it."

The thing was, Galinda meant it. Every word. She thought she'd done something wonderful, bringing two lonely people together. She thought she'd created something beautiful. She'd also—whether she knew it or not—redirected an inconvenient admirer, solved a problem, and made everything neat. And maybe that was the most devastating part: how easy it had been. How perfectly it had worked.

“I should—um, I should get going,” Boq murmured, stepping back carefully. “I’ve got some studying to do. For class.”

"Oh, of course!" Galinda released his arm with a little pat. "But we'll talk later, yes? I want to hear everything. All the romantic details! Every last one!"

"Sure. Yeah. Later."

Boq walked away before she could say anything else, before Fiyero could drape an arm around her shoulders, before he had to watch them be perfect together while pretending his heart wasn't shattering into smaller and smaller pieces.

Behind him, he heard Galinda's voice, bright and happy and impossibly sweet: "Isn't it wonderful, Fifi? I think they're going to be ever so happy together!"

And Fiyero's response, casual and unbothered: "If you say so, Glin."

The thought hit him like a blow. Nessa had said his name correctly the first time they met. Had never gotten it wrong once.

He made it around the corner before his vision blurred. 

BOQ spent the rest of the day in the library, hidden in the back corner behind stacks of books he wasn't reading. The rain started up again around noon, steady and relentless, matching the sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn't go away. He stared at the same page of his History textbook for an hour, the words blurring into meaningless shapes.

You're good for her.

The worst part was that Nessa was special. Brilliant and thoughtful and genuine. She'd looked at him and seen something worth knowing. She'd trusted him. And he'd taken that trust and kissed her while his heart belonged somewhere else.

He should tell her. Should find Nessa and explain everything—the truth about why Galinda had asked him to take her, the truth about his feelings, the truth about that kiss. She deserved honesty.

But the thought of seeing that hope die in her eyes, of watching her realize that the one person who'd seemed to choose her hadn't really chosen her at all...

So he'd wait. He'd smile when he saw her. He'd be kind. He'd let her believe for just a little longer. Maybe his heart would catch up eventually. Maybe kissing Nessa wouldn't feel like a lie. Maybe he could become the person everyone thought he was. 

The rain hammered against the library windows. Somewhere in the building, a clock chimed three. Boq sat surrounded by books he couldn't read and guilt he couldn't escape. Outside, the storm showed no signs of stopping.

Neither did his thoughts.

Chapter Text

NESSA had been sitting at the window all day, scanning the quad below for one stubborn, hopeful color: mustard yellow.

Boq's coat. She'd know it anywhere now. Had memorized exactly how it looked on him, how it brought out the warm undertones in his skin like it had been made for him and only him. She could still see the moment he'd tugged at the collar nervously when he'd first approached her last night in the gardens, his eyes flicking up to meet hers like he wasn't sure he was allowed to look.

If she could just see him now—just a glimpse of him hurrying to class, maybe waving up at her window—the knot in her chest would loosen. She'd stop replaying the parts that didn't quite fit and remember instead how perfect it had felt. The breakfast tray Morrible's house servant had brought sat cold and untouched on the side table. Toast gone hard. Her first class had started at nine. She'd missed all of them by now. History, Literature, even her afternoon seminar on Munchkinland governance, the one she usually loved. It was now nearly five o'clock.

This is silly. You know that.

She did know. A whole day wasted sitting by a window, searching for a mustard-colored coat. Like some heroine in a story she didn't belong to, waiting for a boy to look her way. But last night had been wonderful. Real. She wasn't making that up.

Was she?

Nessa pressed her palm to the windowpane, the glass cool beneath her fingers. She should have gone to class. Should have eaten something. Should have done anything except sit here, wondering whether Boq's quick steps down the hallway meant he couldn't wait to leave or only that he'd gone back to the party. Going back to the party. Of course. That was all. Except his footsteps had sounded so purposeful. So...relieved.

You're doing it again.

She was. She knew she was. One perfect night—one conversation that felt like a secret meant only for her, one kiss that had made her feel wanted for the first time in her life—and here she was, picking it apart like a carrion bird looking for something dead underneath all the beautiful feathers. Boq was shy. Sweet and awkward and too nervous for his own good. That's why he'd apologized after their kiss, why his words had tripped over themselves, why he'd left so quickly. He hadn't meant anything by it. Probably. Maybe.

She wished she could believe it.

Below, a group of students spilled out from the library, parasols blooming open. Nessa leaned forward eagerly, searching, hoping. Mustard yellow. That slightly too-big coat on a slender frame. Maybe Boq was there, hunched beneath a book for cover from the rain or rushing across the lawn. Maybe...

No. Just faceless figures in Shiz blue and white, gliding over puddles she couldn't cross. Moving through a world that wasn't built for someone like her, never had been, probably never would be.

Wasn't that just the whole problem? She'd had one night where someone made her feel like she belonged in that world, had become a part of it, and now she was sitting at a window like a girl in a tower, waiting for proof that it hadn't all been some beautiful mistake.

Her throat tightened.

Maybe he's still in class, she told herself. Maybe he's stuck inside. Maybe he's thinking of you, wondering if you're all right.

She picked up her History textbook, flipped it open to the chapter on Thropp taxation reforms—her family's legacy, the one thing she could always count on understanding.

The words blurred. She read the same sentence three times before giving up. Right. So apparently, she'd lost the ability to do the one thing she was actually good at.

Wonderful. This was going splendidly. Maybe she’d just nap through the rest of her academic downfall. It wasn’t like anyone would—

The front door creaked open.

Nessa's stomach clenched. She hadn't told the Headmistress she was staying in today. Hadn't asked permission. Hadn't even considered that she might need to. In the two months since this arrangement began, Father's way of ensuring she had "proper supervision and care" while here at Shiz, she'd learned Morrible noticed everything, expected everything, and approved of very little. The footsteps stopped just outside her bedroom door. A pause. Long enough that Nessa wondered if Morrible was simply standing there, listening, waiting. Then came the knock. Not asking to be let in. Just announcing presence.

"Miss Nessarose."

Nessa's hands flew to her skirt, smoothing the fabric over her leg braces with trembling fingers. Her hair—was it presentable? Her posture. She sat up straighter, trying to look like someone who had a perfectly good reason for missing an entire day of classes.

"Yes?" Her voice slipped out quieter than she'd planned.

The door opened.

The headmistress of Crage Hall filled the doorway like a shadow that had learned to walk. Tall. Severe. Her dark dress, despite the damp weather, looked immaculate, every fold neat and exact. Iron-grey hair pulled back so tightly it must have throbbed. Her gaze swept the room in a single slow pass: Nessa by the window, clearly dressed but unmoved for hours, the untouched tray of wasted food long since gone cold, her textbook lying open but obviously unread, her chair angled just so. Toward the quad.

Oh. Lovely. This should be fun.

"Missing Doctor Dillamond's lecture, my dear? In addition to your other classes, your professors have informed me." Morrible's tone was smooth and cool as polished stone. She spoke as though placing each word on a game board. "How very out of character for such a dedicated student."

Nessa felt heat crawl up her neck. "I-I was just…tired. From the dance last night. I thought I'd take a day to rest—"

"Ah. Yes. The Ozdust Ballroom." Morrible stepped fully into the room then, and somehow the space contracted around the headmistress's presence. The air felt thicker. Harder to breathe. "I happened to observe your early departure, Miss Nessarose. In the company of that Munchkin boy." She paused, as if trying to recall. "What was his name again? Boq?"

Nessa flinched. Of course she knew. Morrible knew everything: what she'd eaten three weeks ago, what she'd skipped this morning, what she was thinking right now. Probably knew about the kiss. Probably knew—

Stop. She can't read minds. Probably.

"He—we—he walked me back. That's all. I—I wasn't feeling well."

"How gallant of him, dear." Morrible's tone was dry as parchment, but there was something underneath it. Something that made Nessa's skin prickle and her blood turn cold. "These young men can be so…attentive. Especially when prompted by the right…incentives."

“Incentives?” Nessa’s eyebrows rose, and heat crept into her cheeks. What did that mean? Did she know about Galinda convincing Boq to invite her to the dance? Boq had told her he’d been too shy to do it on his own, that Galinda had talked him into finding the courage. Did everyone at Shiz know now? Apparently, Boq’s invitation to the Ozdust had become a topic of conversation.

Nessa could only watch as Morrible moved to the side table, lifting the teacup with one elegant hand, studying it as if weighing evidence before setting it down again. The quiet clink echoed in the silence.

"Though I do wonder, dear," Morrible continued, her back still to Nessa, "if your father would view such engagements with the same…generosity that you seem to. He sent you here, Miss Nessarose, to prepare yourself for the responsibilities that await you. To develop your considerable intellect. To ready yourself for a position of influence." She turned to face Nessa then, and her eyes were as sharp as a Hawk's. "Not to indulge in romantic distractions."

Romantic. The word brushed against her like a whisper, startling and kind all at once. A flicker of warmth rose in her chest. Romantic. As if she belonged in stories like that. As if anyone like her could.

"Please, Madame, it—it wasn't a distraction," Nessa said softly, trying to will her voice to stay steady. She only wanted to sound like someone who deserved a simple night of happiness, a dance that didn't have to be turned into something else the next day. "He—we talked. He's thoughtful. Kind. He asked about my plans, my goals. We had a real conversation, about purpose, about doing something that matters."

"I'm sure you did, dear." Morrible's smile was all surface, her eyes cool as glass. For a moment, Nessa thought she saw a flicker of something beneath. Anger, maybe, or disappointment. The thought sent a shiver through her, and she swallowed. But Nessa had no time to ponder what the look might mean as Morrible continued. "Young people often find each other's company quite…stimulating. The exchange of ideas can be so invigorating, can't it? Particularly when one has spent most of one's life with limited social opportunities."

Her words were kind. Her tone was not.

Nessa's fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. "I don't have—"

"But one must be practical, mustn't one?" Morrible continued, as if Nessa hadn't spoken. As if her objection was too insignificant to acknowledge. "One must consider how such attachments appear. To one's family. To one's peers. To those who will someday look to you for leadership."

She moved toward the window, and Nessa fought the urge to wheel backward, to put more distance between them. Morrible gazed down at the quad, at the paths Nessa had been watching all day.

"Your father expects you to return to Munchkinland prepared. Educated. Ready to take on certain civic responsibilities alongside your sister. He and I have discussed your future at length, my dear. He has such hopes for you." A pause. "Such specific hopes."

She could barely breathe. "What kind of hopes?" Her voice was quiet, careful, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"The kind that involves using that sharp mind of yours for the benefit of your people. For governance. For policy. Not for..." Morrible gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the quad, toward everything Nessa had been yearning for all day. "For whatever temporary fascinations might present themselves."

"Boq isn't a temporary fascination, Madame." Nessa's protest came out too quickly. Too small and meek. She hated how defensive she sounded, how young.

"Isn't he?" The headmistress turned from the window, her gaze sharp enough to still the air between them. "Tell me, Miss Nessarose. Before last night, had this young Munchkin man ever spoken to you? Ever sought your company before? Ever given any indication that he viewed you as anything more than the governor's younger daughter?"

The question landed one by one, heavy as blows.

"I—we hadn't really….we're in different social circles—"

"Exactly." Morrible's tone softened, almost kind. Somehow, that gentleness hurt more. "And yet suddenly, at Miss Upland's urging, he discovered your many charms. How fortunate. How... convenient."

Something cold settled in Nessa's stomach.

"What…what are you saying?" Her voice held steady by a thread, caught between disbelief and fear.

"I'm saying, dear child, that one must be careful about accepting attention that may not be freely given. About building castles on foundations never meant to bear weight." Morrible moved closer, her perfume drifting like flowers left too long in a vase—sweet, but touched with something mournful. "Your position demands a certain discretion. A certain… realism about what is and is not possible."

There it was. Realistic. The word Nessa had been waiting for. Dreading. The one that always came, sooner or later.

"A word of advice, Miss Nessarose." Morrible's voice softened, low and almost kind, the way someone might speak to a child they pity. "Disappointments, when they come, can be excellent teachers. They show us where we belong. What we are meant for." Her gaze flicked—barely a breath of movement—to Nessa's chair. To the neat fall of her skirt. To the braces hidden beneath. "Better to learn that early, I think. Before one's expectations become… unmanageable." The pause before the word was so delicate, so deliberate, that Nessa almost didn't notice. Almost. "I'm only thinking of your well-being, of course." Morrible straightened. "Your father entrusted you to my care, and I take that responsibility seriously. I would hate to see you hurt by misplaced hopes or… unrealistic expectations."

She turned toward the door, her message delivered. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air, thick enough that Nessa's eyes began to water as Madame Morrible prepared to leave.

"Madame Morrible?" Nessa heard herself whisper it, surprised that she'd spoken at all. But the words were already out, too late to take them back.

Morrible paused in the doorway, not turning, only waiting. The stillness felt heavy, expectant. Nessa turned her head slightly, just enough for the headmistress to see the edge of her face, her eyes lowered to the floor.

"Do you think..." Nessa swallowed hard. "Do you think someone could ever want me? Not because they were told to, or because they pitied me, but just… because?"

Silence. It stretched long enough for her to wish she hadn't asked at all. Morrible didn't turn.

"I think, Miss Nessarose," she said at last, "that wanting and having are often very different things. And that wise young women learn the difference between genuine affection and… kind intentions." She opened the door. "Rest well, dear. Tomorrow always brings perspective."

The latch clicked shut, soft as a sigh yet somehow louder than a slam. Nessa sat very still. The headmistress's perfume lingered. Her words did too.

Kind intentions. As if hoping that someone like Boq could ever love her had been foolish.

As if wanting romance were something she should have known better than to reach for.

As if she were meant to be content with duty, with being the governor's daughter, and forget the silly dreams about moonlight, garden paths, and a kind Munchkin boy who once looked at her like she mattered.

And the worst part? A tiny, traitorous part of her wondered if Morrible was right. If she had built something beautiful out of a single conversation and a kiss, something that was never meant to hold weight. If she'd done exactly what she always did: reached for more than she was allowed to have, and now had to face the inevitable disappointment.

Before last night, had this young man ever spoken to you?

She tried to remember. Tried to recall any interaction with Boq before the Ozdust. There had been…what? A few shared classes together? Polite nods in the hallways. Once, he'd held a door open for her, but he'd held it for Elphaba too, so that probably didn't count. Nothing she could remember. Nothing that hinted at secret feelings, or at him waiting for the right moment to speak to her.

Nothing. Until Galinda Upland asked him to.

No. That wasn't fair. That couldn't be right.

Morrible was wrong. She had to be. Boq had seen her, really seen her. He'd found her outside in the garden and talked with her as though she mattered. As though her thoughts were worth hearing. As though she were someone worth knowing, apart from her father's name, her sister's oddities, or the shape of her body. He'd called her special. He'd kissed her. He hadn't looked away. He hadn't flinched. That had happened. It was real. Unless it wasn't. Unless she'd only imagined it all, so desperate to be wanted that she'd mistaken kindness for something else.

Stop. She turned toward the window, heart tight, eyes searching the courtyard below. Just one glimpse. Just one flash of mustard yellow. Something to prove Morrible wrong. To prove that someone could choose her.

The paths below stayed empty.

Nessa didn't move. The afternoon light shifted slowly, turning gold to grey. Shadows stretched across the quad as students passed by in their easy, unhurried lives. Her thoughts kept circling back to Morrible's words, to the careful cruelty in them, to the way her gaze had lingered on the chair as though it proved something. Proof of impossibility.

Time slipped past. An hour, maybe more. The sky had faded to silver when a knock sounded at the door. Louder this time, edged with impatience.

"Nessa? I know you're in there."

Elphaba.

Nessa turned her chair toward the door, her gaze lingering on the heavy oak panel. She hesitated, wishing Elphaba might understand—just this once—how tired she felt, how much she needed a little quiet.

Letting out a shaky breath, she wheeled herself forward and eased the door open, only enough for one cautious eye to glance into the apartment's sitting room. Elphaba stood in the sitting room, arms full of books and papers, rain still clinging to her sleeves despite the parasol. Her face was as composed as ever—still, guarded—but Nessa caught the faint tension in her jaw. Determination. Maybe even worry.

"You weren't in class today." Elphaba's tone was clipped, matter-of-fact, like she was noting cloud cover.

"I—I wasn't feeling well." The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, like metal. Nessa saw the flicker from Elphaba's eyes that the lie hadn't convinced her either. Elphaba's black eyes narrowed, sweeping over her: the full Shiz uniform, brushed hair, leg braces gleaming in the dim light, breakfast untouched, her chair angled toward the window. As if she'd been waiting for someone.

"You're dressed. Your hair's done. You're not sick, Nessa." Elphaba moved past her without waiting for Nessa to open the door further to let her inside, setting the damp papers on the table. Water spots spread across the top page. "I brought your assignments. And my notes, though you usually take better ones than I do."

"Thank you," Nessa said softly, closing the door behind her. "That was very kind of you. Especially in this weather."

"It wasn't kind. It was practical." Elphaba shrugged out of her wet coat, droplets scattering across the floor. "You're going to fall behind if you keep this up, and then you'll be miserable, and then I'll have to listen to you being miserable, and I'd rather avoid that entire sequence of events if it can be helped."

Despite everything, Nessa's lips twitched. That was Elphaba. Care wrapped in irritation. Always.

"That Munchkin boy, Boq." Elphaba hung her coat with more force than necessary on a nearby coat rack. "He answered something about the Thropp taxation reforms. Yours. Word for word." 

Nessa's heart lifted, small and stubborn, warmth blooming in her chest. "He remembered?" He remembered. He was thinking about me. That has to mean something.

"He remembered," Elphaba said evenly. Her expression didn't change, didn't soften. "Then he looked like he wanted to sink through the floor when Doctor Dillamond praised him for it. Sat there afterwards like the words were choking him."

Oh.

Well.

That's…less good.

"That's… sweet, isn't it?" Nessa said softly, her voice wavering as she spoke, a hint of hope threading through her voice. "That he was thinking about our conversation. That it meant enough to him that he…"

"Or guilty." Her sister's words fell between them like a stone dropped in water.

Nessa's hands tightened on the armrests. "You don't know what happened."

"I know what I saw. How quickly you left together. How you looked coming back, like someone holding something too fragile to risk putting down." Elphaba stepped closer, her boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. "And how he looked this morning. Soaked through, eyes down, like he'd have let the weather swallow him whole."

"He...he's just shy," Nessa said quickly, the words too fragile to sound convincing. "He gets nervous. That's all. He overthinks, and he apologizes even when he hasn't done anything wrong. That doesn't mean he's hiding something. It just means…" Her voice caught. "Not everyone finds it easy to be seen."

"There's a difference between shy and guilty, Nessa."

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you." Elphaba's tone was level. Not cruel, not kind, just unflinching. "You had one conversation in a garden. One kiss. That doesn't mean you know him any better than he knows you."

Nessa blinked hard. Don't cry. Don't let her see. Don't give her that much.

"Why are you saying this?" she whispered. "Can't you just be happy for me? Just this once?"

Something flickered in Elphaba's expression. Something that might have been pain if Elphaba allowed herself such things. She was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. Almost gentle.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Nessa. I'm trying to prepare you."

"Prepare me?" Nessa's voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. "For what? For the chance that I'm not meant for nice things? That no one could want me without being told to? Without… someone arranging it?" She stopped, breath catching. Her throat burned.

Oh my Oz. Is that what you really think?

"For the possibility that last night meant something different to him than it did to you," Elphaba said quietly. She crossed the room, and for once, she didn't tower. She knelt to Nessa's eye level, and up close, Nessa could see the concern in her sister's eyes. Real concern. Not pity. "Come to dinner tonight. Leave this room. See how he acts around you." A pause. "And around others."

Nessa's chest felt tight. "Others? What do you mean?" Her voice was small, almost pleading.

But Elphaba was already rising, already reaching for her still-damp coat. "Just come to dinner, Nessa. See for yourself." She moved to the door. Paused. Hand on the knob, back turned. Water dripped from her hem in slow, steady drops. "I know you want to believe this means something good. I hope you're right. I really do."

The words were quiet. Uncertain. And from Elphaba, that was more than most people ever got.

When Elphaba left, the apartment felt even quieter than before. Nessa wheeled back to the window, but the quad was empty now, afternoon classes having swallowed all the students. No mustard coat. No shy, sweet Munchkin boy who'd made her feel special.

Her hands moved unconsciously to the braces beneath her skirt, tracing the familiar metal contours through the fabric. Cold. Unyielding. Always there, always part of her, no matter how prettily she arranged her skirts or how carefully she did her hair. Boq hadn't seemed to notice them last night, hadn't looked uncomfortable when he'd pushed her chair through the garden paths, hadn't hesitated before kissing her.

That had to mean something. Didn't it? Or maybe he was just being polite. Maybe that's what good people do: they pretend not to notice the chair, the braces, the ways you're different. They smile and push you through gardens and kiss you because that's what you're supposed to do when someone clearly needs—

No. She wasn't some charity case. Boq hadn't kissed her out of pity. He'd kissed her because he'd wanted to. Because something between them had felt real.

Right?

Right.

Probably.

Nessa almost smiled at her own foolishness. She sat there for another twenty minutes, watching the last of the afternoon light fade, before the apartment door burst open with such force that Nessa actually jumped.

"Nessie!"

Galinda Upland swept into the apartment like a small, pink storm, energy and perfume trailing in her wake. She was radiant even in the rain. Her strawberry blonde curls drooped under a wide-brimmed hat adorned with real flowers, a little wilted now but still stubbornly cheerful. Her dress, a whirl of pink lace and ruffles, was damp at the hem, rain-darkened but still somehow dazzling. She looked like something out of a storybook, like the fairy queen Lurline herself caught halfway between sunlight and storm. Even drenched, she made it look enchanting.

Oh, good. More visitors. Just what she needed.

"There you are!" Galinda exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest as if she'd just completed a heroic quest. "Oh, I've been looking simply everywhere for you! Well, not everywhere, obviously, because that would be exhausting and also impossible, but I checked the library first, naturally, because you're always so wonderfully studious, and then I thought perhaps you'd be at the... oh, but what does it matter now! The point is, I found you!"

She stopped short, finally taking in the scene: Nessa by the window, breakfast untouched, the air of someone who hadn't moved in hours.

"Oh! Oh my goodness! You haven't been out all day, have you?"

"I wasn't feeling well," Nessa said softly. She tried for a smile, but it came out faint and uncertain. "Just tired from last night."

"Oh!" Galinda gasped, her eyes widening with concern for all of half a second before lighting up with delight. "Oh! Last night!" She fluttered toward a chair and perched on its edge like a bird too excited to stay still. "Nessie, darling, you simply must tell me everything! Every single detail! I saw you and dear Bick leave together—oh, it was so romantic, just like in a storybook!—and I've been positively dying to know what happened! Did you dance? Did you talk? Did he tell you how beautiful you looked? Oh, I just know something wonderful must have happened!"

The words spilled out in a breathless rush, her eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement that could have lit the whole room.

"We talked," Nessa said quietly, careful not to sound defensive. "In the garden. It was… really nice."

"Nice?" Galinda gasped, scandalized. Her face arranged itself into the most theatrical disappointment. "Just nice? Oh, Nessie, darling, it simply must have been more than that! You looked so—oh, how do I say it—so perfectly wonderful together! Like two little doves! Or perhaps—oh, I don't know—like characters in one of those lovely old stories where everyone ends up happy!" She clasped her hands to her chest. "And Bick—oh, isn't he just the sweetest thing? A little nervous, yes, and he talks rather quickly, but in that adorably earnest sort of way that makes you want to… oh, I don't know—help him somehow!" She paused to catch her breath, hands fluttering like ribbons. "Did he tell you how beautiful you looked?" Galinda whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "Because you looked absolutely beautiful. I made certain of it! That shade of pink was perfect for your complexion, and your hair—oh, your hair was just lovely! I knew that once dear Bick really saw you, he'd see exactly what I saw!"

Something in the way she said it (I made sure of that. What I saw.) sent a small, uneasy flutter through Nessa's chest.

"He...he was very kind," Nessa said softly, keeping her voice as steady as she could. "We talked about so many things… about wanting to matter, to do something meaningful with our lives. He really listened, Galinda. He really heard me. It felt…" she hesitated, searching for the word, "…real."

"Oh! Of course it was real!" Galinda cried, clapping her hands with delight. "Of course he listened! That's exactly why I thought of him!" She beamed, radiant and utterly unaware of the shift in Nessa's expression. "I knew you two would be perfect together! That's why I..." She laughed, a musical, secretive sound. "I suppose I should confess!"

Confess. The word caught in Nessa's chest like a pin. Her smile trembled. "Confess what?"

“Well,” Galinda began brightly, “you know how dear Bick is always so thoughtful. He’s such a darling, always carrying my books and fetching punch and such. Anyway, he was going to ask me to the Ozdust, the darling thing, but then I thought, no! That wouldn't be fair, would it? Not when there's such a tragically beautiful girl who's never had the chance to dance!" Galinda's eyes sparkled, her words tumbling over themselves in excitement. "So I told him that if he really wanted to do something kind, he should invite you instead! I just knew it would make you both so happy! Isn't that simply wonderful?"

The silence that followed stretched long and thin. Nessa stared at her, hands tightening on her armrests until her knuckles blanched.

"You… told him to?" she asked quietly.

"Suggested, really!" Galinda corrected, still smiling. "I didn't make him do anything. He agreed at once—well, after a little convincing. He said he'd do it for me, of course, but I knew once he got to know you, he'd be so glad he did! Oh, Nessie, I'm just so thrilled it all worked out!"

For me. The words echoed, hollow.

"So you… You talked him into it?" Nessa's voice dropped to a whisper. "You… told him to ask me?"

"I didn't tell him, darling, I suggested it!" Galinda corrected brightly, as if the difference mattered greatly. "It just seemed so unfair that everyone else was pairing off and having such a marvelous time, and there you were, sitting so beautifully by yourself, and there he was, looking so—oh, I don't know—so lost, I suppose? Like he only needed a little nudge in the right direction! So I gave him one! It was perfectly simple."

Nessa's fingers curled against the armrests, white at the knuckles. "What exactly did you say to him, Galinda?"

"Oh, well!" Galinda waved one gloved hand lightly, as if the details were unimportant. "Just that you'd be wonderful company! That it would be so terribly nice if he asked you to the dance, because—oh, well..." She hesitated, something faintly unsure flickering across her perfect smile. "Because it did seem rather sad that you didn't have anyone to go with, and I simply couldn't bear the thought of you missing out. I only wanted to help, you see!"

The words pressed against her chest like a weight. "Did he… did he say yes right away?" Nessa asked. Her voice was soft, too soft, and she forced a small breath before she could finish. "When you… When you mentioned it?"

Galinda blinked, her smile faltering for just a second. "Well… not immediately, no. He looked a little surprised at first—I think he just hadn't thought of it yet! But then he agreed! And wasn't it wonderful? Didn't you have the most lovely time?"

Not immediately. Surprised. Hadn't thought of it yet. The thoughts gathered slowly, quietly, fitting themselves together no matter how she tried to scatter them. Maybe he'd been meaning to ask her all along. Maybe Galinda's suggestion had only helped. Or maybe he said yes because she asked. Because it was Galinda. Because saying no to her would have been impossible.

"He did have a lovely time, didn't he?" Galinda pressed, leaning forward with genuine concern now creeping into her voice. "Nessie, you're looking at me so strangely! Did something go wrong? Oh, please tell me nothing went wrong! I was so certain you'd be perfect together!"

"No, it's…it's nothing," Nessa stammered, barely able to speak past the painful lump that was forming in her throat. "Nothing went wrong." She tried to smile, but it trembled. "Truly. Everything last night was…it was perfect. Really. I…I just need a moment, that's all." The smile she managed felt fragile, as though it might splinter if she breathed too hard. "Thank you, Galinda. For… for thinking of us. Of me."

You should ask her. Ask her what she really said. Ask if she told him nobody else would take you. Ask if she mentioned the chair. Ask her...

But she couldn't. Because asking meant hearing the answer. And hearing the answer meant knowing. And knowing meant—

"Oh, wonderful!" Galinda's face lit again, sunshine after a cloudburst. "Oh, I'm so glad! I was worried for the teeniest moment that I'd done something wrong, but of course I didn't! How silly of me!" She rose in a soft rustle of pink fabric, shaking off any trace of discomfort. "And you'll come to dinner tonight, won't you? Oh, you simply must! Everyone will be there! And Bick—oh, I'm quite sure he'll be delighted to see you! He seemed so pleased after your walk in the garden!"

She moved toward the door, then paused, turning back. Her brightness softened. For the first time, there was something real in her eyes. Something warm and sincere beneath the sparkle.

"Oh, Nessie, darling, I nearly forgot the most important thing!" She pressed her hands together, her voice gentling. "You looked beautiful last night. Truly, truly beautiful. Not just the dress or the hair—though those were lovely—but you. You looked so happy. So alive. And whatever happened in that garden, well, Bick seemed very happy too. I could tell. I'm good at reading people, you know, and he had that look. That dazed, wonderful look people get when something special has happened." She smiled, and for once, it didn't feel like a performance. It felt real. "I know I can be… a bit much sometimes," she said softly. "And I know people think I don't understand things. But I do understand this: you deserve to be happy, Nessie. You deserve someone who looks at you the way Bick did last night. Like you matter." Her curls bounced as she tilted her head, sincerity bright as sunlight. "And I think—I really, truly think—that he sees that. Sees you. Really sees you." She gave a fluttering little wave. "So don't be nervous about dinner! It's going to be perfectly wonderful! You'll see!"

And then she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of perfume and words that seemed to echo even after the door closed. Nessa sat very still. Her hands rested in her lap, trembling faintly. The smile lingered on her face a moment longer before slipping away. Galinda had asked him. Had suggested it. Had arranged the whole thing like she was planning a party or organizing a study group. But that didn't mean he hadn't wanted to say yes. Did it?

That kiss hadn't been arranged. That hadn't been Galinda's idea. That had been real. His choice. His lips on hers, his hand on her cheek, that moment when everything else fell away and it was just the two of them in a garden full of jasmine and moonlight. He'd called her special. Remarkable. Had said she was different from everyone else at Shiz.

You don't just follow along, you think about things. Really think. Those words hadn't been scripted. They'd been his. Right? They had to be. Because if they weren't, if last night had been nothing but kindness, nothing but obligation, nothing but a sweet boy trying to make the best of an awkward situation—

Then Morrible was right. Then her hope had been her mistake. Then wanting had been foolish. Then she'd been wrong to think someone could choose her, really choose her, without prompting or pity or—

No. She wouldn't believe that. Couldn't. Boq was shy. Galinda had given him courage. That was all. The rest (the conversation, the connection, the kiss) had been real. It had to be real.

But Galinda's words kept circling in her head, mixing with Morrible's careful cruelty and Elphaba's warnings.

He seemed surprised at first. It seemed rather sad that you didn't have anyone.

Before last night, had this young man ever spoken to you?

Nessa looked down at her hands, at the chair, at the braces hidden beneath her skirt. The same braces that had been there last night when Boq kissed her. The same chair he'd pushed through the garden. The same body she'd always lived in. Had he seen past all of that? Or had he simply been too kind to let it matter? And which was worse: if he'd noticed and pitied her, or if he'd noticed and not cared, or if he'd somehow managed not to notice at all?

She didn't know. Didn't know anything anymore except that she had to see him. Had to talk to him. Maybe Elphaba was wrong. Maybe Morrible was wrong. Maybe everyone was wrong, and last night had been exactly what it felt like. Real and true, and the beginning of something.

Or maybe you're about to make a complete fool of yourself.

Her fingers closed around the chair wheels. She turned to her small vanity, fixing the strands that had escaped, smoothing her skirt. Her hands moved mechanically, arranging and rearranging until she looked presentable. Until she looked like someone who hadn't spent the entire day spiraling. If she was going to face him (face everyone), she needed to look put together. Needed to look like someone who deserved to be there. Like someone who belonged.

When she finally made her way out of the apartment, the quad was mostly empty, just a few stragglers hurrying toward dinner. The wheels of her chair rolled over damp stone, and she told herself with every push forward that she was being ridiculous. That seeing Boq would fix everything. That one look, one smile, one word would prove that last night had been real.

The dining hall loomed ahead, warm light spilling from its windows, the sound of voices and laughter drifting out into the evening air. She could hear music. Someone had brought an instrument, maybe a fiddle or a guitar. The cheerful notes made her chest feel tight.

Nessa paused at the bottom of the ramp leading to the entrance. Her hands rested on the wheels, suddenly heavy. Suddenly unsure.

What if Elphaba was right? What if Morrible was right? What if she wheeled in there and saw Boq laughing with someone else—saw him flinch when he noticed her, saw that guilty look Elphaba had described spread across his face like a stain? What if going in there meant watching her one perfect night crumble into something small and sad and pitiful?

But what if it didn’t? What if he was in there right now, looking for her, wondering where she was—worried about her, the way she'd been worried about him all day? What if he saw her and smiled (really smiled) and everything made sense again?

She'd never know unless she went inside.

Nessa took a breath and pushed herself forward, up the ramp, toward the entrance. Toward answers. Toward truth. Toward whatever was waiting for her inside. Toward Boq.

The double doors to the dining hall stood open, and she could see inside now. Tables full of students, plates being passed, conversations flowing like water. Normal. Easy. The kind of scene she’d watched from the outside a hundred times before. Except last night, she’d been part of it. Last night, she’d belonged.

She would belong tonight, too. She had to.

Nessa straightened her spine, smoothed her skirt one last time, and wheeled herself through the doorway. The noise hit her first — laughter, chatter, the clatter of dishes. Then the warmth, the smell of food and bodies and life happening all around her. She scanned the room, searching.

There. At a table near the windows. There he was.

Boq.

He was sitting with Avaric and a few other students she didn’t know well. His head was down, focused on his plate. He looked tired. Rumpled. Like he’d had exactly the kind of day she’d had — sleepless and worried and unable to think about anything else.

Her heart lifted.

See? He's been thinking about you, too. He's been just as worried, just as uncertain. You're not alone in this.

She started to wheel toward him, her pulse quickening, her carefully prepared words already forming on her lips.

Then Galinda appeared.

Galinda Upland swept into the dining hall like a small, perfect storm, and every head turned. She was in a fresh dress now, dry and immaculate, her curls somehow restored to their full glory.

She moved through the room with the kind of ease Nessa had never possessed—stopping at tables to say hello, to laugh at someone’s joke, to touch a shoulder in that casual, affectionate way that came so naturally to her.

She was heading straight for Boq’s table.

Nessa stopped. Watched.

Galinda said something—Nessa was too far away to hear—and Boq looked up. His expression changed. Shifted. Something that looked like panic flickered across his face before he managed to school it into something more neutral. Then Galinda laughed, that bright, trilling sound, and touched his shoulder.

And Boq smiled.

It wasn’t the same smile he’d given Nessa in the garden. It wasn’t soft or wondering or amazed. It was something else—something that looked almost like…

Like he was trying. Like he was performing. Like he was being kind to someone he didn’t want to disappoint.

Nessa’s hands froze on the wheels. No. You're imagining it. You're seeing what you're afraid of seeing. That's all.

But she couldn't look away.

Galinda said something else, gesturing animatedly—probably talking about the Ozdust—and Boq nodded. Listened. Smiled at the right moments. Said something back that made Galinda laugh again. And through it all, he looked…

Tired. Guilty. Like someone going through the motions because it was expected of him.

Then Galinda pointed toward the door—toward Nessa.

Boq followed her gesture. His eyes met Nessa’s across the crowded dining hall.

For just a moment, a single heartbeat, she saw it. The thing Elphaba had seen. The thing Morrible had implied. The thing she’d been so desperate not to believe. He looked like someone who’d been caught. Then the expression vanished, replaced by something that might have been a smile. He raised one hand in a small wave, uncertain and apologetic.

Nessa couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but sit there and watch as Boq said something to Galinda, stood up from the table, and started toward her.

He moved slowly. Too slow. Like someone walking toward something they dreaded rather than desired. His eyes stayed on the floor between them, flicking up to meet hers only for brief, pained seconds before darting away again.

This was it. This was the moment where everything would make sense. Where he'd explain.

Wasn't it?

Please let it be real.

Please...