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Elphaba hasn't left yet and Glinda misses her already.
She's standing right in front of her, back straight with that uncompromising gaze - and Glinda knows: if she were to close her eyes, she could pretend they were back in their room at Shiz, that the light on their faces was just the late afternoon glow after a regular day of classes; that the adrenaline in her veins was just from another instance of Elphaba being infuriatingly, passionately stubborn about something pedantic from their most recent lecture; that everything was fine.
But it's not. Glinda can't close her eyes. Won't, because she knows if she does - when she does - Elphaba will be gone.
So, Glinda looks at her. Looks at her while she can because Elphaba's still here but there's a wind in her hair and a fire in her eyes and Glinda knows: she was never hers. Hears, in the deepest part of her own heart: 'She was never mine.'
Knows: Elphaba has always belonged to something greater, has always had one foot in another world.
A world that doesn't include her; a world where she gets left behind.
Glinda knows what it looks like when Elphaba's made up her mind, knows because she's tried to change it many, many times - and failed.
She tries not to cry as she wraps the cape around her and prays: 'keep her warm, keep her safe.' Tries to still her shaking hands on Elphaba's steady shoulders. Keeps her eyes open. Keeps looking at her.
Because Elphaba's still here and Glinda misses her already.
*
"Missed me by a mile!" Elphaba cackles as the snowball sails over her head. More like several inches, in Glinda's opinion, which normally she would argue - that is, if she wasn't so busy fighting the urge to swoon.
It's not the laugh itself, though Glinda truly does love it -the sharp, clear sound that is so distinctly Elphie- but rather the fact that she can even hear it at all; that she's here again, here with her (Elphaba; and the version of her and them that exist only with each other).
Here and throwing snowballs at her again.
Glinda yelps at their impact, shakes the snow off of her coat, out of her hair. Fumes and tries once more, aiming directly for Elphaba's grin. And, in her professional snowball throwing opinion, it would've landed perfectly, if it weren't for how distractifying Elphaba inherently is: the flush on her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, the flecks of snow in her dark hair. Either way, Elphaba barely has to duck this time.
Elphaba's laughs, loud and long. Glinda loves it, loves how much there is in that sound - her joy, her mischief, her childish glee. She's heard Elphaba laugh so much more now, collects each instance and tucks them against her chest for safekeeping. It's more than enough now, hearing her laugh; more than enough to drown out the memory of her screams, replacing what was fake with what is real.
And that reality now consists of Elphaba taking advantage of Glinda's momentary distraction, arming herself with a snowball in each hand and a dangerous glint in her eyes that promises a wet afternoon for Glinda - and not in the way that she'd prefer. So Glinda employs her most tried and true weapon.
She pouts.
But Elphaba merely smirks. "That's not going to save you," she says, raising her hands threateningly.
Glinda's pout deepens into a glare as she switches to her secondmost tried and true weapon: intimidation. "Elphaba Thropp-Upland," she declares, ignoring the amusement growing in Elphaba's eyes, "If you don't stand down, I'll - I'll - I'll take all of your socks with me and leave you behind!"
Elphaba quirks an eyebrow, teasing, knowing: "You'd miss me too much."
Glinda feels herself go a little faint at that, the words landing with a chilling precision, leaving her stripped of all her outer layers and left bare to the elements. She shivers from it, curls around the truth that spills out from her when she says, "I would." Plain, honest, and unadorned.
Thinks: 'I did.'
Glinda had missed her every moment of every day, despite all her attempts to fill the space of her absence. No matter how hard she tried, nothing she did could soften the ache that had taken up residence in her heart; the reality of the choice Elphaba had made, twice.
She's here now, but Glinda had missed her then. And she knows: A part of her always will.
A warmth surrounds Glinda, coaxing her from the depths of her memories. Glinda's hands fist into Elphaba's coat as she burrows her way into the curve of Elphaba's neck, nosing around Elphaba's coat and scarf, into that verdant skin and the pulse beneath - strong and steady; alive.
She shudders to the rhythm of Elphaba's heartbeat underneath her lips, sighs into Elphaba's hands against her back and in her hair. Lets the truth of Elphaba's touch soothe the part of her that still remembers.
"I'm right here," Elphaba murmurs against Glinda's cheek, tightens her arms around her as if to meld them together, chest to chest, heart to heart. "I'm right here," Elphaba repeats. Promises: "I'm never leaving you again."
"I won't let you," Glinda says, tugging Elphaba somehow closer. She closes her eyes and breathes her in: Elphaba, alive; Elphaba here. Breathes out the past. Breathes in the present.
And because she's missed too many chances before, Glinda says the words as soon as she thinks them: "I love you." Desperate; reverent. Feels the way Elphaba's heart skips a beat before settling once more.
Elphaba pulls back just enough to look into Glinda's eyes, the space between them warm and alive. "I love you," she says, pressing the words to Glinda's lips - a reminder of what they have now; a vow of what they'll always be.