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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. A few months now they'd been at Shiz. A few months, 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...

Chapter Text

BOQ walked toward Nessa like a man heading for trial, every step stiff with guilt, every muscle buzzing with the electric hum of dread. The dining hall buzzed around him, full of students laughing over stew and crumbling cornbread, none of them aware that his entire world had narrowed to the girl in the wheelchair by the entrance.

Nessa wasn't dressed for attention—no pink dress tonight, no borrowed lace or ribbons from Galinda. Just her pressed Shiz uniform and dark brown hair tucked plainly behind her ears. But she still looked like something he'd ruined. Beautiful. Composed and wrecked in a way only he would notice. He hated himself for seeing it. He hated that she was waiting for him. That she'd left a space beside her chair like she was expecting him to fill it. That she smiled, small and nervous but real, when she saw him coming.

It made him want to turn and bolt, except that would only make everything worse, and he was already the kind of boy who kissed a girl while thinking about someone else. He wasn't going to be the kind of person who ran from her, too. So he kept walking, chin high, even as his stomach turned. He had no plan. No speech prepared. Just a thousand looping thoughts and the echo of Avaric's voice in his head, calling him a coward, someone who didn't know what he wanted. And the worst part of it? Avaric hadn't been wrong.

The dinner tray in his hands felt heavier with each step; roasted chicken and vegetables and a roll he'd grabbed without thinking, food he probably wouldn't taste because his stomach was already tied in knots.

You did this. You kissed her. You let her believe. You absolute stupid coward.

Nessa's eyes found his, and her face crumpled with relief and anxiety and a desperate kind of hope that made his ribs feel like someone had reached in and wrenched them apart. She tried to smile. It trembled at the edges. Oz. She'd been worrying all day. About him. About last night. About whether any of it had been real. And he was about to do what, exactly? Tell her the truth? Lie to her? Find some middle ground that would let him live with himself?

There's no in-between, is there? No kind or cruel. Just what you did. You kissed her. You knew what it meant, and you still—Lurline, you still did it. You wanted something for yourself, and now she'll pay for it. How is that not cruel?

She looked tired, he noticed. Dark circles under her eyes that hadn't been there last night, her hair still carefully arranged. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd had the same kind of day he'd had—sleepless and worried and unable to stop thinking. The walk across the dining hall felt interminable. Every step brought him closer to a conversation he didn't know how to have, to questions he didn't know how to answer, to expectations he didn't know how to meet.

Three more steps. Two. One.

"Boq." Her voice was soft, careful, like she wasn't sure she wanted to hear his own name. "Hi."

"Nessa, I, uh…I was just…hi," he stammered, and winced at how strained his voice came out. "I'm sorry I took so long. "I got—" He paused, considered lying, then decided against it. "Waylaid. By Galinda and Fiyero." He gestured vaguely behind him with the tray, nearly upending his water glass in the process.

Not an excuse. Just a fact.

"Oh, it's fine," Nessa said lightly, though her eyes softened. "I wasn't waiting long at all."

The lie sat between them, polite and fragile.

Boq lowered himself into the chair across from her with an awkward sort of care, the kind that came from knowing he'd already done harm and wanting, too late, to tread lightly. He was painfully aware of how this must look—how it must have felt for her to see him sitting at that other table, laughing with Galinda and Fiyero, and not so much as glance her way. The memory stung. He supposed he deserved whatever she was thinking of him now. If anything, he deserved worse. He picked up his fork, set it down again. Arranged his napkin. Tried to figure out what to say to someone you'd kissed while your heart belonged somewhere else.

"You weren't in class today," he said at last. His voice was mild, almost careful, as though testing the air between them. It wasn't quite a question, more an invitation, should she wish to take it.

"No." Nessa's hands were folded in her lap, very still. "I wasn't feeling well."

The silence lingered, quiet and obvious, as if they'd both agreed to handle it with gloves. Of course she hadn't been sick. She'd been avoiding him, perhaps, or the silence that had followed last night. Or maybe it was the soft, suffocating weight of expectation, settling over them like snowfall no one had asked for.

Boq gave a slow nod, his fork nudging a piece of carrot he had no intention of eating. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently. "Are you feeling any better now?"

"A little."

The silence that followed felt heavy. Not entirely uncomfortable, but laden with things unsaid between them. Boq forced himself to take a bite of chicken. It tasted like nothing, which seemed appropriate for the occasion.

"I hope I didn't miss too much," Nessa said softly, offering a small smile, clearly trying to establish some sort of normal conversational rhythm. "In classes, I mean."

Boq shook his head. “Not much, really. History was mostly review.” He hesitated, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Although… there was one thing. Doctor Dillamond mentioned the Thropp taxation reforms—the same ones you explained that time in class. I, uh, might’ve borrowed some of your phrasing.”

He saw her posture shift slightly. Interest, maybe. Or wariness.

"What about them?"

"He wanted to know about the economic impact on agricultural workers. And I—" Boq paused, the words catching as warmth rose to his face. "I remembered what you'd said. About how the reforms showed that policy could actually serve people, not just profit the wealthy. That someone in power had, for once, taken notice of ordinary Ozians."

"You said that?" Nessa's voice was gentle, almost unsure. "In class?"

“Yeah, I did.” Boq met her eyes, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Dillamond actually seemed pretty pleased about it. Said it was the kind of answer he was hoping for.”

Boq noted the hint of unease in her eyes, and then something complicated crossed her face. Pleasure at the praise, maybe. But also sadness.

"Those were my words," she murmured.

“Yeah, I know.” Boq set his fork down, rubbing his thumb along the edge of it. “I should’ve said they were yours. I’m sorry. It just—it felt wrong after, like I’d stolen something that wasn’t mine.”

"But you remembered." Her voice was quieter now, touched with wonder. "You were thinking about what I said."

"Of course I was thinking about it." The words came out harsher than he intended—not at her, at himself—and Boq watched Nessa flinch, just barely, but enough that he caught it. He immediately hated the sharpness in his own voice.

He wanted to take the whole sentence back, to sand down its edges and make it softer. But he'd come this far on honesty. Might as well see it through to the bitter end.

"That conversation we had last night—what we talked about—that was real. It mattered to me." He swallowed hard, struggling with the weight of sincerity. "You have to—I need you to believe that much, at least."

Nessa's fingers worked the edge of her napkin, folding and refolding until the creases blurred into softness. "And… when you kissed me?" Her voice had turned so soft he almost missed it entirely. "Was that real, too?"

The question hung between them like a curse word spoken in a temple. Boq's throat tightened. Here was the crossroads: he could lie, smooth everything over, make this easier for both of them. Or he could tell her the truth and watch her break a little, knowing he'd done the breaking. He'd never been good at choosing the harder path.

"I wanted it to be real," Boq said, not looking at her. His thumbs worked at the corner of his napkin, folding and unfolding. "In the moment, I wasn't pretending. I just—" He swallowed hard. "But that doesn't mean..." He couldn't finish. He looked up, then away again. "You deserve someone who's s-sure, Nessa. And I'm—I'm not that person."

It wasn't a full answer. Not even a good one. But it was honest. And that had to count for something…didn't it?

Nessa didn't say anything. The silence stretched so long that Boq began folding and refolding his napkin, over and over, until the creases disappeared into each other. Around them, the dining hall blurred into clatter and murmur—silverware against plates, a burst of laughter, the rhythm of conversations that had nothing to do with them. He almost said something. Just to break the quiet. Just to stop the waiting. But then—

"Galinda asked you to take me." Nessa didn't ask it like a question. She didn't have to.

Boq nodded miserably. "Yes." His voice came out hoarse. "She did."

"Because you were going to ask her." It wasn't a question either. Nessa was assembling the pieces of this story like she was building a structure to examine from every angle, looking for the flaws in the architecture.

"Because I wanted to ask her," Boq said. The words felt heavy, like he'd finally dropped something he'd been holding too long. "And… apparently I don't know how to say no to Galinda Upland." It came out rougher than he meant. Too sharp. He winced and ducked his head, trying again, softer. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. You didn't deserve that." He fidgeted with the edge of the table, anything to keep his hands busy. "You deserved someone who asked because they wanted to. Not because someone told them they should."

"But some part of you wanted to." Nessa lifted her eyes from the napkin, and though her voice trembled a little, her gaze didn't waver. "In the garden… You weren't pretending. I could tell. You were really there with me, even if just for a moment."

Boq met her gaze and found his breath catching. Her eyes held a question he couldn't quite answer—a desperate search through the wreckage, looking for anything salvageable. And to be the object of such kindness nearly broke him. He had to look down at his plate, had to mess with his napkin again because his hands didn't know what to do.

"Yes," he said, and for once he didn't hesitate. "Part of me really did want to be there." He dragged a hand through his hair—too fast, too rough—and tried to breathe through the knot in his chest. "I just…" His voice dipped. "I don't know."

Nessa looked down again, her fingers returning to the napkin, folding and unfolding as if they didn't quite know how to be still.

"Galinda came by this afternoon," she said softly, like it had only just settled in. "She was glowing. Said everything had gone just right… like it was some puzzle she'd finally put together." Her voice thinned, softened at the edges. "She told me you were going to ask her. That it was her idea."

"That's true," Boq said quietly.

"And that you'd agreed just to make her happy."

He didn't bother denying it. What was the point? "Yes. At first. But Nessa, when we were in that garden, when we were talking—"

"Were you thinking about her?" Nessa's voice was soft, steady, but the question still cut. "Galinda… was she on your mind when you kissed me?"

Boq's stomach dropped. Here it was. The moment where he could still lie, could still salvage something from this disaster. But he'd already committed to the harder path, hadn't he? Might as well see it through.

"Not in that moment… no." Boq's voice came out unsteady, small. He gripped his hands tight in his lap, like that might stop them from trembling. "When I kissed you… I wasn't thinking about anyone else. Just you. Just—" He blinked fast, his words catching as he tried to untangle them. "The way the moonlight hit your hair. The way you listened when I was… rambling about wanting to matter. And you made me feel like maybe I did." He swallowed hard, staring at the table because looking at her hurt too much. "But before that? And after?" His voice cracked a little. "Yes. I was thinking about her."

The words fell between them like stones into still water, creating ripples that spread outward until they seemed to touch everything. Nessa's fingers tightened around her napkin. She looked down at her plate of food like it might offer her somewhere to hide, but there was no hiding from this.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but tired. "I figured," she said. "I think…maybe…I already knew. I just wanted to be wrong."

Boq didn't know what to say. He wanted to apologize again, but it felt useless now.

"You could've lied," she said softly, still calm, still composed. "But you didn't… so, thank you. I guess."

"You deserve the truth," he said gently, and it scraped out of him like hurt. "Especially when it's awful."

She gave a brittle little nod. "Especially then."

They ate in silence after that. Around them, the dining hall moved on—glasses clinking, voices rising and falling, life going on like it always did. But in their corner, it felt like a door had closed. Like the ending of one story and the beginning of another neither of them had agreed to.

"I don't know what to do next," Nessa said at last, pushing her plate aside, most of the food still untouched. Her eyes looked tired. "I don't know what to do with any of this."

"Neither do I," Boq admitted. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but he wasn't sure he'd earned that right. "But I think—I think we should figure out what this is supposed to be. Not what other people think it should be. Just…what it actually is."

"Do you even want there to be an it?" Nessa asked, her tone calm and clear. There was no anger in it—just the kind of quiet that didn't waver.

Boq considered the question with the gravity it deserved. Underneath the guilt and confusion and desperate wanting, was there a thread worth pulling on?

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’d like to actually know you. Not just the version of you that fits into whatever I was trying to be, but the real you.” He met her eyes. “But I’m not in a place to give you what you probably want. What you deserve, Nessa. My heart’s… kind of a mess right now, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to wait while I figure it out.”

"Because of Galinda," Nessa said. It didn't come out like a question.

Boq didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She sighed, frustrated, and looked away for a moment, seemingly to collect her thoughts.

"At least you're being honest," she said after a moment. Her voice stayed steady, but he could hear the fractures beneath it. "Most people wouldn't be."

"You deserve honesty," Boq said. "Even when it's complicated."

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The noise of the dining hall blurred into the background, just the scrape of a spoon somewhere, a burst of laughter from another table. Boq felt the world narrow to the tiny, aching distance between them—the faint tremor in Nessa's hands, the way her eyes softened like she was letting herself believe him.

He almost reached for her. Almost.

If he said one more word, if she looked at him for one second longer, something might have broken open in an entirely different way.

"Oh! Nessie! Bick!"

Boq felt every muscle in his body seize up. He looked up to see Galinda weaving through the dining hall like she owned it, with Fiyero following behind in her wake with his typical expression of polite bemusement.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not when they were finally having an actual conversation.

“Oh, there you are!” Galinda trilled, sweeping up to their table in a delightful flutter of silk and sparkle. She was just a touch breathless, as though she’d rushed—but only in the most graceful way. Her voice chimed like crystal. “I simply had to come by! We hardly had a proper word earlier, and I was so hoping you’d be here for dinner!” She turned to Nessa with a radiant little gasp. “Nessa, you look positively enchanting! Didn’t I tell you everything would go beautifully and you had nothing to fear? Oh, I could see it from the very beginning. You two together—why, it’s simply written in the stars! Some people are just meant to fit, don’t you think? It’s as if the whole universe gave a happy little twinkle.”

Nessa offered Galinda a shy smile but didn't answer.

“Of course, of course!” Galinda went on, her voice lilting with delight as she glided closer to the table. “Last night was positively enchanting! You must be exhausted—first dances always take it out of you. I was just telling Fiyero how perfectly you looked together, like something out of a picture book. I knew it would work—I just knew it!”

Boq felt tension coil in his chest. This wasn't just a dinner to Galinda. It was her carefully orchestrated fairy tale, and he was about to let it all fall apart.

"It was a nice evening," Nessa said quietly, and Boq could hear the careful weight behind the words.

"Just nice?" Galinda's smile dimmed, just a little. "Oh… but surely you both had a lovely time? And Bick, you looked so cheerful when you left. And Nessa, you were glowing—truly glowing."

"Galinda," Boq said, more firmly than usual. "Could we talk about this later? Nessa and I were kind of in the middle of something."

She blinked, clearly not expecting to be interrupted. Her smile faltered for just a moment before she caught it again, a touch more composed this time.

“Oh—yes, of course,” she said with a light, fluttery laugh, brushing it off as though it were only a stray petal on her sleeve. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

Fiyero had already placed a gentle hand on her arm, quietly steering her away. But as they turned, Galinda glanced back over her shoulder, eyes sparkling once more.

“Actually—wait! I’ve just had the most wonderful idea,” Glinda chirped. “The autumn weather is simply divine, don’t you think? We must have a picnic, all of us! You and Nessa, and of course, Fiyero and me. Out in the poppy field near the edge of campus, it will be enchanting! I’ll bring little tea sandwiches and sugared plums, and perhaps a lemon tart or two, something sunny. Oh, it will be lovely!”

"Galinda," Fiyero began, but she swept right on with the lilting cheer of someone who had already made up her mind.

"And Elphaba, of course, she's been positively dreadful since the Ozdust. A picnic is exactly what she needs. What you all need, really." Galinda's eyes gleamed with certainty. "Saturday. The poppy field. I'll arrange everything. It will be perfect. It will."

Boq felt Nessa go very still beside him. He didn't dare look at her.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Nessa said carefully.

"Isn't it?" Galinda's smile sparkled. "Saturday afternoon, then. The poppy field. I'll take care of everything. It will be perfectly perfect, I promise you." She rested a light hand on Boq's shoulder, her touch bright as a charm. "You'll come, won't you? All of you?"

"We'll be there," Fiyero said smoothly, his hand still on her back. He caught Boq's eye for just a moment, and his gaze held a warning wrapped in understanding. "Come on, Glin. Let's let them finish their meal."

"Oh yes, of course!" she said, allowing herself to be steered away, still chattering about picnic baskets and blossoms. Before she vanished entirely, she turned back with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. As they walked away, Fiyero looked back once, and in that glance, Boq read acknowledgement—or maybe a plea for patience.

"Saturday," Nessa said quietly, sounding dazed, as though she couldn't quite believe that had just happened.

"Saturday," Boq confirmed, running a hand through his hair again, his hands feeling jittery and needing direction. "In the poppy field. With everyone."

"With Elphaba," Nessa added. There was relief in her voice, though her expression remained carefully neutral. "At least we won't be alone."

"Does that help?" Boq asked. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to or not.

"I'm not sure yet." Nessa looked at him then, and the exhaustion in her eyes made his ribs constrict. "It's just… complicated. A picnic with her feels like… I don't know. Like it would make everything seem official. Out in the open."

"It's a picnic," Boq said, though even he didn't sound convinced. "Not a statement."

"Everything with Galinda is a statement." Nessa's fingers went back to folding the edge of her napkin, slow and restless. "But I guess we said we'd try. Really try to get to know each other." She gave a faint, almost wistful smile. "And Galinda's certainly made that a bit more complicated, hasn't she?"

"She has a gift for that," Boq said quietly. He put his glasses back on. "We still have tomorrow. The library. We can figure out what we're actually doing before Saturday complicates everything further."

"And what are we really doing, Boq?" Nessa asked, her voice gentle but direct. "Because right now, it feels like Galinda's decided everything for us again… and we're just letting her."

"I know," Boq said. He met her eyes, and this time he didn't look away. "But maybe we don't have to let her. Maybe tomorrow at the library, we can actually decide what Saturday means. On our own terms. For us."

"You really believe that?" Nessa asked. Her voice was soft, careful, like she wasn't sure what his answer would mean.

"I don't know," Boq said, and meant it. "I think we should figure out what we actually want. Not what Galinda wants, or what everyone expects, but what we want. If you want anything at all." He paused. "I think I'd like to try being your friend, actually. Really try. But I won't lie to you anymore—my heart's not free. It might not be for a while. And you should know that before you decide if that's something you can live with."

"What if I decide I want to try anyway?" Nessa's voice was soft, but sure. "What if I think… maybe your feelings could change, if we gave it time?"

Boq wanted to say yes. He wanted to throw caution aside and promise her that maybe, someday, his heart would find its way to her instead of clinging to the impossible. But he'd watched his parents' friends stumble through loveless marriages. He knew what happened when you asked someone to wait for feelings that might never come.

"I think that would be terribly unfair to you," he said, the words careful and exact. "You'd be waiting for something that might never come. And I'd be asking you to wait while I—" He swallowed. "While I fail to give you what you deserve. That's not fair. I won't do that to you."

"You're probably right," Nessa said, letting out a quiet breath as she looked away. "I just… didn't want to hear it."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Would you still study with me sometime?" she asked after a pause, her voice soft. "As friends? If that's something we could be?"

Boq thought about it. About spending time with her without the weight of romantic expectation pressing down on both of them. About the possibility of actually knowing her instead of trying to mold himself into whatever he thought she wanted.

"I'd like that," he said at last. "I'd like to be your friend, Nessa. Actually be your friend."

"Tomorrow night? The library?"

"Tomorrow," Boq agreed. "Seven o'clock?"

"Seven o'clock."

It wasn't a happy ending. But it was honest, and right now that felt like the most important thing they could offer each other.

They finished their meal in a silence that was less painful than before, though still shadowed with the ghost of what might have been. When Nessa said she was ready to leave, Boq stood and helped push her chair from the table, walking beside her toward the exit with a care that felt natural now. Not performed. Not forced.

The evening air outside was cool and carried the scent of wet stone and flowers blooming in the darkness. The kind of beautiful night that made everything hurt a little sharper.

"Boq?" Nessa said as they reached the path leading to her building.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you told me the truth." She looked up at him in the lamplight, her expression softened by something unspoken. Bruised, perhaps, but softer. "Even if it hurts."

He nodded, throat tight. "I'm sorry it had to hurt at all."

"Me too." She paused for a moment. "But I'd rather be hurt by the truth than by a lie. So… thank you. For being honest, at least."

"You're being far more gracious than I deserve."

"Maybe." A faint smile brushed her lips. "Or maybe I'm just too tired to be angry tonight. You can ask me again tomorrow."

Her smile coaxed a laugh from him—the kind that felt like remembering how to breathe.

Then she was gone, swallowed by the doorway and the dark. He stood still in the chill of the evening, the truth sitting heavy in his chest.

It was the right thing. It had to be.

But it felt like a loss all the same.

He stayed there a while, listening to the door creak shut behind her, until even that sound was gone. Then the quiet pressed in, too heavy to bear. He turned and walked away, unable to bear it, and by the time he noticed where his feet had carried him, the dining hall was far behind him, and the gardens had gone still.

Lamps threw soft halos across wet gravel, the scent of rosebushes heavy in the air. He didn't remember deciding to come here, only the pull of quiet, the need to breathe where no one could see him. He sank onto a half-hidden bench, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. What a mess. What an absolutely irredeemable disaster of a mess.

"Hard night?"

Boq's head snapped up. Fiyero Tigelaar stood a few paces away, hands tucked into his pockets, the lamplight catching in his hair. For a moment,t Boq just stared at him. Of all the people to find him here—why him?

"Something like that," Boq said, wary.

Fiyero moved to the far end of the bench and sat with the easy, careless grace of someone who'd never had to earn his place in a room. They sat there for a long moment in silence—two near-strangers tied together by the same brilliant, bewildering girl.

"You looked like you wanted the ground to swallow you back there," Fiyero said at last, his tone light but not unkind. "Can't blame you. Galinda in full social-coordinator mode is…a force of nature."

Boq gave a hollow laugh. "That's one way to put it."

Fiyero shrugged. "I like her, don't get me wrong. But she has this way of turning good intentions into, well, production numbers."

"That's generous," Boq muttered, rubbing his face.

Fiyero grinned faintly. "You handled it better than most would've. Most people don't tell her 'maybe later' and live to tell the tale."

"I managed to get through it," Boq said quietly. "That's all I could manage."

A pause settled between them. Crickets sang; leaves rustled in the dark. Fiyero leaned back, elbows resting on the bench's edge, his gaze tilted toward the stars. "For what it's worth," he said after a moment, "you did the right thing tonight. With Nessa, I mean."

Boq blinked. "You were watching?"

"Please. Everyone in that dining hall was watching. You think subtlety exists at Shiz?" Fiyero smiled, but his voice gentled. "She looked sad. But steadier. Like someone who'd just been told the truth, even if it hurt."

Boq's throat tightened. "It did hurt."

"Yeah," Fiyero said softly. "It usually does."

Boq looked over, surprised by the quiet understanding in his tone. Fiyero noticed and gave a faint, lopsided smile. "What? You thought I was just the prince with good hair?"

Boq managed a small laugh. "That's…kind of the reputation."

"Fair," Fiyero admitted. "But hair aside, I know a thing or two about saying the wrong thing to the right person. Or the right thing too late." He tipped his head back and exhaled through his nose. "Galinda thinks I don't notice half of what goes on around her. Truth is, I notice too much. I just don't always know what to do with it."

Boq studied him for a long moment. "You really like her."

Fiyero didn't deny it. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I do. She's—well, she's Galinda. Sunshine with sharp edges." He glanced over, half-smiling. "And you? You still chasing the sunshine?"

Boq hesitated. "I don't know anymore."

"That's an improvement," Fiyero said easily. "Means you're starting to think."

Boq let out a breath that might've been a laugh. "You're a lot wiser than I expected."

"Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to protect."

That earned an actual laugh from Boq—quiet, genuine, startled out of him. The sound seemed to please Fiyero, who rose and brushed off his trousers. "Come on then," he said. "It's freezing out here, and I'm not in the mood to dig you out of a rosebush if you pass out from guilt."

Boq looked up, startled. "What?"

Fiyero smiled crookedly. "You look like a man trying to wrestle the universe into apologizing. Trust me—it won't. But I'll buy you a drink tomorrow night. Or tea, or whatever it is you Munchkinland moralists type sip when you're busy being virtuous. We'll call it even."

Boq blinked, but a small, grateful smile tugged at his mouth. "You don't have to—"

"Yeah, I know. But I want to." Fiyero shoved his hands into his pockets. "You're not the only one who had a rough night."

For a moment, neither spoke. The garden hummed with distant life—crickets, wind, the faint chatter from the hall. Then Boq nodded, almost shyly. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Fiyero echoed, stepping back onto the path. "Try to get some sleep, Boq. You look like a man who's been dancing with ghosts."

Boq watched him disappear into the darkness until even the shimmer of his uniform was gone. The night felt different after he left—heavier in some ways, lighter in others. Not forgiveness. Not absolution. But something had shifted.

He sat on the bench for a long time after that. Long enough for the garden to settle into real quiet, the kind that only comes when everyone else has given up and gone inside. The rain had stopped, but the world still dripped—leaves, gutters, the broken song of water finding its way downward. His hands had stopped shaking.

Tonight, he'd told the truth. It had cracked something open. Maybe he'd never be able to piece it back together the same way. Maybe that was the point. He thought about tomorrow. The library at seven. Nessa waiting for him, probably nervous, definitely wary.

They'd sit across from each other with their books between them, and they'd try to figure out if friendship was possible when one of them had already wanted more. It wouldn't be easy. It might not even work. Then there was Saturday. The poppy field. Galinda with her basket full of certainties, Fiyero playing the loyal shadow. The four of them pretending this was just a pleasant outing, when really it was a reckoning none of them had asked for.

He had no idea what he was walking toward. The path ahead wasn't clear. It was just... less obscured now. He'd stopped lying to himself about wanting to become someone he wasn't. He'd stopped pretending that being what other people needed was the same as being what he actually was. Those were small victories. They didn't fix anything. But they were honest.

He stood, his knees stiff from sitting. The night air bit at his skin, sharp enough to hurt. The stars overhead were too bright, too far away, indifferent to his small revelations. But they were steady. Unapologetically so. They didn't burn quietly or apologize for burning. He turned toward the dorms, no longer walking in circles. His feet knew the way. His heart knew the direction—or at least, it knew a direction, which was more than he'd had before.

This path, at last, was his. He had no idea where it led. He didn't know if he was ready. He didn’t know if he’d made things better or just postponed the inevitable.

He didn't know if Nessa would forgive him for half-truths and careful honesty. He didn't know what Saturday would bring, or what would happen when Galinda realized the perfect story she'd constructed was falling apart at the seams.

But he was walking it anyway. Eyes open. No longer pretending to see something else.

For the first time since last night, that felt like enough.

Chapter Text

NESSA woke to the pale, indifferent light of a grey morning—and the immediate awareness that tonight was the library. Seven o'clock. With Boq.

She lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, trying to will herself back to sleep. But her mind was already racing ahead, cataloging everything that could go wrong.

What if he didn't show up? What if he did show up but regretted everything he'd said last night? What if they sat across from each other in silence for two hours, both realizing that friendship was a pretty lie they'd told themselves to make the awkwardness more bearable?

Stop it. You agreed to this. You both did.

Except 'agreeing' made it sound like she'd had a choice, like she could have said no and left the hall with her dignity intact. The truth was much uglier: she would have agreed to anything if it meant being near him. Would have accepted any scraps he offered. Would have smiled and nodded and pretended it was enough, because the alternative—not having him at all—felt worse than the slow humiliation of watching him pine for someone else. She hated herself for that. Hated the feeble, desperate thing inside her that kept reaching for him even when she knew he'd never reach back the same way.

Nessa pushed herself up slowly, muscles protesting the sudden movement. Her hip still ached from where she'd braced herself against her chair during last night's conversation, though she hadn't noticed it at the time. Funny how the body held onto things the mind tried to forget.

The apartment outside her bedroom was quiet—Morrible had apparently already left for her morning obligations, probably hours ago. The headmistress kept meticulous schedules, and Nessa had learned to move around her like a ghost, present but unobtrusive. It was a lonely arrangement, living here instead of in the dormitories with the other girls. But Father had insisted on "proper supervision," and Madame Morrible had agreed to take her in. A favor to Munchkinland's governor. Everything was always a favor to someone.

Nessa was always the favor being done, never the one doing it.

She transferred into her chair, ignoring the way her hands shook slightly. Just nerves. Just the anticipation of an entire day stretching between now and seven o'clock tonight. She had classes to attend. Assignments to complete. A whole performance of normalcy to get through before she had to sit across from Boq and pretend her heart wasn't still doing stupid, hopeful things every time she thought about him.

Stupid. That was the right word for it. Stupid girl. Stupid heart. Stupid dreams that refused to die even when she knew they should.

Nessa dressed and made her way to the dining hall. If she hid in her room again, Elphaba would know. Everyone else would know. She'd promised herself—promised Boq—that she'd try.

The dining hall was already crowded when she arrived, full of morning chatter and the clatter of breakfast dishes. Nessa scanned the room and found Elphaba at their usual table near the back, already eating with the focused intensity of someone who wanted to finish quickly and leave.

"You're up early," Elphaba said without looking up as Nessa wheeled herself to the table.

"So are you."

"I have a paper due." Elphaba finally glanced up at her, dark eyes sharp and assessing. "You look terrible, Nessa. Appropriate, given what you're getting into."

Nessa winced, hugging her books a little tighter. "Good morning to you, too, I suppose." She tried to smile, but it faltered. "Next time I'll be sure to look more presentable before saying hello."

"I don't do pleasantries before eight." Elphaba set down her fork. "How much sleep?"

"Some." Nessa reached for the breadbasket, tearing off a small piece she had no appetite for. "Enough."

"You're lying." Elphaba pushed a pot of jam across the table with one finger. "Eat. You'll need your strength for tonight's self-flagellation, apparently."

"It's not—" Nessa started, then stopped. What was the point? Elphaba had already made her opinion clear. "Can we not do this now?"

"Fine." Elphaba returned to her breakfast. They ate in silence for a few moments, and Nessa found herself relaxing slightly. This was familiar, at least. Safe. Just her and Elphaba, existing in the same space without needing to fill it with meaningless chatter.

Then Elphaba spoke again, her tone almost conversational. "Galinda was up half the night. Planning."

Nessa's hand froze on her teacup. "Was she?"

"Color-coordinated blankets. A list of appropriate conversation topics." Elphaba's voice was flat. "She's treating your humiliation like a military campaign. It's almost admirable."

"That does sound like Galinda."

"She won't shut up about you and the Munchkin. 'Meant to be.' 'Just knew.' 'Perfect together.'" Elphaba took a bite of toast. "The repetition is making me violent."

The words landed like small stones, each one adding weight to the pit in Nessa's stomach. "I see."

"Do you?" Elphaba leaned back in her chair, studying Nessa with that unsettling intensity. "Tomorrow won't just be you and him pretending. It'll be Galinda orchestrating every moment. Making sure everyone witnesses her matchmaking genius." She paused. "While remaining blissfully unaware that her project involves a boy in love with her. The irony would be hilarious if it weren't so pathetic."

"Which part is pathetic? Him loving her, or me accepting it?"

"Both." Her expression softened somewhat. "You're both torturing yourselves over someone who doesn't deserve the effort. It's almost impressive."

Nessa had no response to that. She picked at her bread, aware that students at nearby tables kept glancing their way. They always did—the green girl and the crippled one, the governor's strange daughters. She'd learned to ignore it, mostly. But this morning it felt heavier, like they could all see exactly how foolish she was being.

"Nessie! Elphie!"

Nessa’s stomach dropped. She knew that voice, bright and musical and impossible to ignore. Galinda swept toward their table like a small, perfect storm, Fiyero trailing behind her with his usual languid movements. Behind them, Nessa’s heart clenched as she saw Boq, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else in Oz.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Galinda beamed at them, completely oblivious to the way Elphaba's expression had gone blank or how Nessa had gone very still. "You simply must let us join you! Fiyero and I were talking about tomorrow, and we realized we haven't properly planned—oh, but where are my manners?" She fluttered her hand toward Fiyero. "Darling, would you be a dear and get chairs? And Bick too, if you would!"

"Galinda," Elphaba said, her voice like silk over steel. "We're eating."

"Oh, I can see that, Elphie dear! But you've hardly touched a thing!" Galinda was already settling into the chair Fiyero had procured, arranging her skirts like pink clouds around her. "Besides, we simply must coordinate for tomorrow! I have the most wonderful ideas!"

Boq lowered himself into a chair across from Nessa, his eyes flicking to hers for just a moment before darting away. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

At least I'm not suffering alone, Nessa thought bitterly.

"Now!" Galinda clasped her hands together, practically glowing with excitement. "I was thinking—and do tell me if this sounds divine—we should leave around ten tomorrow morning. That gives us ever so much time to get to the poppy fields, and the light will be absolutely perfect for—oh, Nessie, you'll simply adore it! The poppies are turning the softest shades of gold and crimson, and I found the most darling spot with a view of the whole valley!"

"It sounds beautiful," Nessa managed, keeping her voice pleasant.

"Doesn't it just?" Galinda turned to Boq with a delicate tilt of her head. "Bick dear, I was thinking you could help carry the baskets? I may have gone the teeniest bit overboard with the food, but I want everything to be absolutely perfect!"

Nessa saw the faint twitch at the corner of Boq’s mouth, the kind of look that said she'd gotten his name incorrect one too many times. Her chest constricted. "Of course, Miss Galinda. I'd be happy to help."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Galinda beamed at him, then at Nessa, then back at Boq, as if she could create romance through sheer force of will. "This is going to be so romantic! The four of us, well, six if Elphie brings someone, but I suppose that's—" She glanced at Elphaba with an apologetic little wave. "Well, Elphie, you're just so terrifically particular about people, aren't you?"

"Devastated," Elphaba said without inflection.

Fiyero, who had been watching this entire exchange with mild amusement, finally spoke. "Galinda, love, perhaps we should let them eat their breakfast in peace? We can finalize plans later."

"Oh, but we're here now, darling!" Galinda reached across the table and squeezed Nessa's hand, her touch light and warm. "I'm just so excited! You and Bick are going to have such a wonderful time together. I can feel it!"

Nessa felt Boq's eyes on her and refused to look up. Refused to see whatever expression was on his face—guilt, probably, or discomfort, or that careful kindness that made everything worse.

"Uh, Galinda," Boq said, and Nessa couldn't help but notice how strained he sounded. "Maybe we should—"

"Oh! Oh! I almost forgot!" Galinda released Nessa's hand and pulled a small notebook from her bag with a flourish. "I made a list of games we could play! There's this wonderful one I learned at finishing school—you have to guess facts about your partner—and I thought it would be just perfect for helping you two get to know each other!"

Elphaba made a sound like a dying cat. Nessa kicked her under the table.

"That's very thoughtful," Nessa said, choosing each word with care. "But, um, I think Boq and I are already planning to—to study together. Tonight. In the library."

She hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't meant to bring it up in front of everyone. But the words tumbled out before she could stop them, a small defense against Galinda's relentless enthusiasm.

Galinda's eyes widened with delight, her hands pressing together at her heart. "Oh, how perfectly sweet! Studying together! That's exactly the sort of thing I meant—spending time, getting to know each other!" She turned to Fiyero with a dreamy expression. "Didn't I tell you they were perfect together, Fifi?"

"Repeatedly," Fiyero agreed, though his eyes had drifted to Boq with a look almost like sympathy.

"Well, I was absolutely right, wasn't I?" Galinda looked between Nessa and Boq with such genuine pleasure that Nessa wanted to scream. "You're both so wonderfully serious and thoughtful. Nessie, you're absolutely brilliant at History, aren't you, dear? Bick must be so grateful to have your help!"

"I am," Boq said quietly, and this time Nessa did look up. His eyes met hers across the table, and in them she saw everything she was feeling—the discomfort, the guilt, the weight of Galinda's oblivious kindness crushing down on both of them.

We're in this together, his expression seemed to say. For better or worse. It should have been comforting. Instead, it just made her feel more alone.

"Now then!" Galinda consulted her notebook with a little tap of her finger. "About tomorrow—I was thinking we should bring extra blankets in case it gets the tiniest bit chilly, and perhaps some wine? Father sent me a bottle from our vineyard—wasn't that dear of him?—and I thought it would make everything feel so sophisticated!"

Nessa stopped listening. She focused on her bread, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces, aware of Boq sitting across from her, trying not to look at her, aware of Elphaba beside her radiating annoyance to the point of being dangerous, aware of Galinda planning their romantic future with the enthusiasm of someone orchestrating a particularly elaborate theater production.

This was her life now. This was what she'd chosen.

"—and I thought Nessie could wear that blue dress and scarf I lent her! The one that brings out her eyes?" Galinda was still talking, had maybe never stopped. "Doesn't she have the most lovely brown eyes, Bick? I don't think anyone notices them enough, but they're quite striking when you really look—"

"Galinda." Elphaba's voice could have cut glass. "Class."

"Oh! Oh my, yes!" Galinda stood in a rustle of fabric, gathering her things. "But we'll see you tonight, won't we? Both of you? Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock sharp!" She leaned down and kissed Nessa's cheek, a gesture so casual and affectionate that Nessa felt heat bloom beneath her skin, a flush she couldn’t quite control. "I'm just so happy for you, Nessie dear. You deserve someone wonderful."

Then she was gone, sweeping out of the dining hall with Fiyero in tow, leaving a wake of perfume and good intentions behind her.

Boq remained seated for a moment, looking at Nessa like he wanted to say something. Apologize, maybe. Explain. But what was there to explain? They both knew exactly what this was.

"I should—" he started.

"Yes," Nessa said softly. "You should."

He nodded slowly, gathered his things, and left. Nessa watched him go, watched his mustard coat disappear into the crowd of students, and felt Elphaba's eyes on her.

"Don't," Nessa said quietly.

"Wasn't going to."

"Yes, you were."

Elphaba stood, gathering her books. "That was excruciating. I've attended seventeen of Father's state dinners, and that was worse than all of them combined." She paused. "One involved a Gillikinese ambassador who spent four hours explaining his collection of decorative spoons."

Despite everything, Nessa felt a laugh trying to escape. "Your sympathy is overwhelming."

"I don't do sympathy. I do truth." Elphaba waited while Nessa collected her things, then walked beside her toward the door. As they left the dining hall, she added, almost casually, "He looked as miserable as you did. If that helps."

"It doesn't."

"Didn't think so. But it's true."

They crossed the quad in silence, heading toward Dillamond's History class. Other students streamed past them, loud and careless in their youth. Nessa envied them. Envied their easy laughter, their uncomplicated friendships, their hearts that apparently didn't tie themselves into knots over boys who loved other girls.

"Elphaba?"

"What?"

"Thank you. For not saying I told you so."

"Day's young. Ask me again tonight." Elphaba glanced at her. "After you finish torturing yourself in the library."

"You really are terrible at comfort."

"Never claimed otherwise."

After the disaster of breakfast, with tonight looming ahead and tomorrow’s ordeal already taking shape, Nessa felt a faint steadiness return. Not comfort, exactly. But something resembling it. At least she had Elphaba. At least she had one person who saw past all the courtesies and performances and loved her regardless, even when she was being perfectly ridiculous. Someone who wouldn't tell her sweet lies to spare her feelings, but who would remain at her side while she stumbled through her own follies. It wasn't enough to make everything right. But it was something. 

They entered the History building together, Elphaba's presence solid and real beside her. Dillamond's classroom was on the ground floor—one of the few mercies Nessa had been granted. She positioned her chair at her usual spot near the front, Elphaba sliding into the seat beside her with the air of someone settling in for a tedious but necessary ordeal. Other students filtered in. Boq entered last, choosing a seat toward the back where she wouldn't have to see him unless she deliberately turned around.

Nessa didn't turn around. Didn't need to. She could feel his presence like a weight against her spine, a constant reminder of everything she wanted and couldn't have.

This is going to be a very long day, she thought. But she'd survive it. She'd survived breakfast. She'd survive class and lunch and the afternoon and tonight's library session and tomorrow's horrible picnic where she'd have to watch Galinda shine while Boq watched Galinda shine while Nessa pretended not to notice any of it.

She'd survive because she had no other choice.

Doctor Dillamond entered, bleating a cheerful good morning, and Nessa opened her notebook with hands that only trembled slightly.

History of Oz, where she kept her head down and her hand steady, copying dates and names she already knew by heart. Literature, where they discussed some tedious epic poem, and she offered one comment—just enough to prove she'd done the reading, not enough to draw attention.

She saw Boq once across the quad between classes. He was walking with Avaric, both of them hunched against the cold wind. Their eyes met for a single moment—a flicker of recognition, acknowledgment, maybe even unease—before they both looked away. Her heart leapt at that glance. Actually leapt, like she was some ridiculous heroine in one of those dreadful romance novels Galinda probably read. She wanted to reach into her own chest and throttle the traitorous thing.

It was excruciating.

By lunchtime, Nessa's hands were cramping from gripping her wheels too tightly, and she had a headache blooming behind her eyes. She took her meal in her room at Morrible's apartment, picking at bread and cheese while staring at her History textbook without really seeing it.

The afternoon crept by with agonizing slowness. Every hour felt like three. Every glance at the clock was a small torture. Four o'clock. Five. Five-thirty. She tried to study, to focus on the Thropp taxation reforms she was supposed to be reviewing, but the words kept sliding off the page.

At six o'clock, she gave up pretending.

She wheeled to her small vanity and studied her reflection. Dark hair pulled back simply—no elaborate styling like the night of the Ozdust. Her face was pale, the shadows under her eyes darker than she'd like. She looked tired. Worried. Like someone bracing for impact.

Like someone who knew exactly how foolish she was being and was doing it anyway.

She smoothed her skirt over her braces with trembling fingers, adjusted the collar of her dress. This was ridiculous. It was just studying. Just Boq. Just an attempt at something that was probably doomed from the start, but at least had the virtue of honesty.

Honesty. What a joke. She was being honest about wanting to be his friend while lying to herself about why. Because she didn't want friendship. She wanted him to look at her the way he looked at Galinda. Wanted him to touch her hand and mean it. Wanted him to kiss her again and actually be thinking about her this time. She wanted things she couldn't have, and she hated herself for not being strong enough to stop wanting them.

A knock at the apartment door made her startle.

Nessa wheeled toward the entrance, her heart nearly stopping. Had Boq come early? Was he—

She opened the door to find Elphaba standing there, still in her black dress, her green skin stark in the afternoon light. She had her arms crossed and an expression that suggested she'd already cataloged everything wrong with the situation and was waiting for Nessa to catch up.

"Elphaba?" Nessa blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if you'd come to your senses." Elphaba stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind her. "Based on the fact that you're dressed and clearly preparing to meet him, I'll assume you haven't."

Heat crept up Nessa's neck. "I'm just going to study. In the library."

"With the Munchkin boy." Elphaba moved into the small sitting room, her sharp eyes taking in the neat stacks of books Nessa had prepared. "The one who kissed you while thinking about Galinda Upland."

"He has a name."

"I'm aware. Boq." Elphaba turned to face her fully. "You're still going through with this farce?"

"It's not a farce. We're friends."

"Friends." Elphaba's tone could have stripped paint. "Is that what we're calling it when you let someone break your heart in installments?"

Nessa's hands tightened on the arms of her chair. "He didn't break my heart. He was honest with me. That's more than most people—"

"Most people aren't stupid enough to kiss someone while in love with someone else." Elphaba moved to the window, her silhouette dark against the fading light. "Though I suppose honesty after the fact is meant to count for something. How generous of him."

"Elphaba—"

"You know what I think?" Elphaba turned back, and her eyes were sharp as broken glass. "I think you've convinced yourself that being near him is better than having nothing. That scraps are sufficient because you've been conditioned to expect so little that even crumbs feel like a feast."

The words hit like a slap. Nessa felt her breath catch, felt the sting of tears she refused to let fall. "That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Elphaba's voice was relentless, cutting through every defense Nessa tried to construct. "You're a brilliant woman, Nessa. Sharper than half the fools in this institution combined. Father trained us both to see clearly, to observe what people really mean beneath their pretty words. Yet here you are, willfully blind because one boy made you feel special for a single evening."

"He did make me feel special." Nessa's voice came out smaller than she wanted, but steady. "For the first time in my life, someone looked at me and saw—saw me. Not the governor's daughter. Not your sister. Not the girl in the chair. Just me."

"Then he told you he was in love with someone else."

"Yes." The word fell between them like a stone. "He did. I'm choosing to be his friend anyway."

Choosing. As if she had any choice at all. As if she could have walked away from him even if she'd wanted to. She was stupid and weak and foolish, and she knew it, and the knowing didn't make her any stronger.

Elphaba studied her for a long moment, and her expression shifted—not softening exactly, but recalibrating. "Why?"

"Because I want to." Nessa met her sister's eyes steadily. "Because maybe I am settling for scraps. Maybe I am being an idiot. But it's my choice to make, not yours."

"Your choice to humiliate yourself."

"My choice to try." Nessa's voice rose slightly, surprising herself. "You don't understand what it's like, Fabala. You walk into rooms and people stare, but they see you. They know you exist. They might hate you, they might fear you, but you're real to them. I'm—I'm furniture. I'm something to be accommodated and ignored, and pitied. Boq doesn't do that. Even now, even after everything, he talks to me like I matter."

Elphaba was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its edge. "You've always mattered. The fact that idiots can't see it doesn't make it less true."

"Easy for you to say when you've never been invisible."

"I'm green, Nessarose. I've been visible every moment of my life. You think that's a gift?"

"At least people see you."

"They see a monster." Elphaba's jaw tightened. "They see something to fear or use or destroy. Is that so much better than being overlooked?"

The sisters looked at each other across the small room, and Nessa felt the weight of everything they'd never said pressing down between them. Two daughters of a powerful man, both strange in their own ways, both trying to survive in a world that had decided they didn't quite fit.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Nessa," Elphaba said finally. "I'm trying to protect you from someone who will."

"I know." Nessa's voice was soft. "But I don't need protecting. I need—" She paused, searching for the right words. "I need to try. Even if it's foolish. Even if I get hurt. Because sitting in this room, afraid of getting hurt, is its own kind of pain, and at least this way I'm choosing it."

Choosing it. She kept using that word, as if repetition would make it true. As if calling her weakness a choice gave it dignity.

Elphaba exhaled slowly, though whether it was frustration or resignation or a complicated mix of both, Nessa couldn't quite tell. "You're infuriatingly stubborn."

"I learned from the best."

A ghost of a smile crossed Elphaba's face. "Father would be appalled at how thoroughly we've both ignored his lessons about self-preservation."

"Father isn't here."

"No. He isn't." Elphaba moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "When this ends badly—and it will, Nessarose—don't expect me to pretend I didn't warn you."

"I won't."

"When the Munchkin boy inevitably disappoints you, I reserve the right to make his life miserable."

Nessa felt a smile tug at her lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Elphaba opened the door, then stopped. Looked back. "Be careful, Nessarose. Some kinds of pain aren't worth choosing."

Then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Nessa sat alone in the quiet apartment, staring at the space where her sister had been. The clock on the mantle read six twenty-three. She had thirty-seven minutes until she needed to leave for the library.

Thirty-seven minutes to change her mind. To protect herself. To be smart instead of stupid, strong instead of fragile.

She spent them fixing her hair again, each stroke of the brush a small rehearsal for the lie she’d chosen to live with.

THE library was quieter than Nessa expected when she arrived at quarter to seven. The vast reading room stretched before her, all dark wood and amber lamplight, the smell of old paper and leather bindings thick in the air.

A few students were scattered at distant tables, bent over their work. None of them looked up when she wheeled herself inside. She chose a table near the back, partially hidden by towering shelves of Historical Archives. Not too visible, but not hiding either. A middle ground. She arranged her books—History of Oz on top, her notebook beside it, pen placed just so. Everything neat and orderly, as if the right arrangement of objects could somehow make this less terrifying.

The clock on the wall read six fifty-two.

Nessa opened her History textbook to a random page and stared at it without reading. Her heart felt tangled in her chest—part dread, part anticipation, part feeling she couldn't even name. What if he didn't come? What if he did come and they had nothing to say to each other? What if—

"Nessa?"

She looked up. Boq stood a few feet away, clutching his own stack of books against his chest like a shield. He looked as nervous as she felt—hair slightly disheveled, his mustard coat wrinkled like he'd been worrying it with his hands. His eyes met hers with something that looked almost like hope.

Her stupid, traitorous heart leapt. Again. Like she'd learned nothing. Like last night hadn't happened. Like she was still that foolish girl in the garden who'd thought a kiss meant something it didn't.

"Hello," she said softly, keeping her face neutral. Polite. Pleasant. Everything a well-bred governor's daughter should be, even when she wanted to scream.

"Hello." He stood a little too stiffly, gripping his books like a lifeline. "I hope I'm not interrupting—should I... is this still all right?"

"Please." She gestured to the chair across from her. "Sit."

He did, setting his books down. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, not quite comfortable but not entirely awkward either. Just there. Present. Real.

Look at you, she thought bitterly. Sitting here like this is normal. Like your heart isn't breaking every time he breathes.

"Thank you," he said softly, not quite meeting her eyes. "For showing up. I wasn't sure—I wasn't certain you would."

"Thank you for being honest, Boq. It means something. That you didn't lie." Nessa's fingers moved absently along the notebook's spine. "Even if it would've been easier."

"It wasn't easy," he admitted, glancing down. "But you had a right to the truth. Even if it... even if it didn't feel kind."

"It hurt," she admitted, fingers still tracing the spine of her notebook. "But I'd rather live with that than wonder what was real."

He nodded, still not quite looking at her. "I kept thinking about what you said. About being... seen. How people look past you, or around you, or only when they have to." He paused. "I don't. I see you, Nessa. I don't always know what to do with that. But I do. I needed you to know."

A warmth spread through Nessa's chest, painful and unwelcome. She hated it. Hated how easily he could do that—say a few kind words and make her hope again, make her forget for just a moment that his kindness wasn't the same as wanting her.

"I believe you," she said, managing a small nod. She didn't voice the thought that flickered behind her eyes: that pity was just another kind of loneliness, and sometimes sharper than being ignored.

"Do you?" he asked, voice quiet, unsure.

"I'm here," she said softly. "That has to count for something."

Even if it only proves how stupid I am.

His mouth curved into the smallest smile, hesitant but real. "It does."

They sat for another moment in loaded silence. Then Nessa opened her textbook to the actual chapter they were supposed to be studying. "Should we—?"

"Right. Yes. Of course." He adjusted his books, almost spilling ink across the table. "The exam's next week—governance structures, transitions of power. All that."

"I remember." Nessa's gaze lingered on the way he was arranging his things—lopsided notes, ink cap askew, a stack of books slightly off-center. It was clumsy. It was completely him. She hated the way it made her smile. "Would you rather start with the early reforms, or skip ahead to the modern era?"

"Maybe start at the beginning?" Boq asked, not quite meeting her eyes. "The whole collapse of the Pastoria monarchy—I keep losing track of what actually caused the shift to regional governance."

Just like that, they were talking. Not about feelings or kisses or Galinda, but about History. About facts and dates and the way power had shifted through generations of Ozian rulers. It was safe. Neutral. A place where they could exist together without the weight of everything else crushing down.

Nessa found herself relaxing incrementally. Boq asked questions that were actually intelligent, listened when she explained the nuances of her family's role in reforming the taxation system. He took notes in cramped, messy handwriting that made her smile despite herself, against her better judgment, against her own good sense, against every warning she’d given herself.

"Your penmanship is dreadful," she said, leaning forward to peer at the page.

"I know," Boq admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Avaric says it looks like a crow had a seizure. Midair."

Nessa blinked, then let out a quiet breath. "That's... unfortunately accurate."

Boq laughed—really laughed, unguarded and so unexpected, the sound too warm for the season. It tugged at something deep inside her, a thread she’d kept tightly wound. For an instant, she almost believed they could make this work, though she knew better.

You're pretending, her mind whispered. You're sitting here pretending that friendship is enough when you want so much more. You're a liar. You're lying to him and to yourself.

An hour passed. Then another. They moved steadily through the material, trading questions, comparing notes. When Boq confused advisory councils with governing bodies, Nessa sketched a diagram in the margin of his notebook. When she couldn't recall a date, he found it quickly and read it aloud, careful not to sound like he was correcting her. It was almost comfortable. Like before, in the garden, before kisses and confessions and things they couldn't take back. Then his hand reached for the same book just as hers did. Their fingers brushed accidentally, and the world seemed to still around it.

Nessa froze. Her breath hitched. The contact was fleeting, meaningless, and yet it sparked a reckless heat in her chest. She didn't move for half a second, not because she expected anything more, but because some traitorous part of her wanted it. Wanted his fingers to linger. Wanted him to look up and see her. But he didn't.

She did move, withdrawing her hand with a calm she didn't feel. She sat straighter, said nothing. She had trained herself well—how to hold her posture, how to still her hands, how to pretend that wanting wasn't weakness. Still, she hated herself for the warmth that lingered in her fingertips. For the foolish hope that hadn't yet learned its lesson.

"I...I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Oh—uh, no, it's fine," he said, pulling his hand back a fraction too fast. "You take it."

She did, but her hands trembled slightly as she turned the pages. The moment passed, but it left something behind—a reminder that this arrangement, however thoughtfully constructed, was built on unsteady ground. That wanting and settling were not the same thing, even when you called them by prettier names.

You know better than this. You've always known.

They returned to studying, but the ease from before had cracked. Nessa found herself cataloguing every small thing—the way he worried his pen between his teeth when thinking, the furrow that formed between his brows when he concentrated, the steady rhythm of his breathing. She collected these details the way she'd been taught to collect information at her father's table. Observing. Recording. Storing away what might be useful later, even knowing it never would be.

"Nessa?" Boq's worried voice broke through her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I, uh, I asked about the taxation reform question." He was watching her now, concern creasing his features. "Are you...Are you all right?"

She wasn't. She was sitting across from a boy she wanted desperately, pretending she didn't, pretending friendship was sufficient when it felt like slow starvation. But she'd learned long ago how to keep her face smooth when her heart was in pieces.

"Yes. Forgive me. Just tired." She looked down at the page before her, willing her expression to remain calm. "What was the question?"

He repeated it, and she answered with the same composure she'd use at a state dinner. Polite. Informed. Unaffected. But something had shifted. The delicate balance they'd managed to strike was beginning to tip, and she wasn't certain how much longer she could hold it steady.

At nine o'clock, the library's head clerk made her rounds, announcing they'd be closing in thirty minutes. Nessa blinked, surprised. Two hours had passed. Two hours of sitting across from Boq, studying and talking, and existing in the same space, and it had felt—

It had felt like both torture and relief. Like being given just enough to survive, but never enough to truly breathe.

"We should probably pack up," Boq said, already tucking his notes into a slightly crooked stack.

"Right." Nessa closed her textbook and gathered her things, arranging them in quiet, deliberate order. They worked in silence—calm, almost companionable.

When they were both ready, Boq stood, then hesitated. "Would it be alright if I—" he shifted, unsure. "Would you like me to walk you back? To your apartment, I mean. If that's alright."

It was the same question he'd asked after the Ozdust. After the kiss. After everything had shifted into something quieter, sadder, and far more complicated. Nessa heard the echo beneath the words, felt the weight they carried. She should say no. Should have protected what was left of her pride. These gestures—small, polite, nothing at all—meant more to her than they should. They were not affection, not really. But her heart wasn't disciplined enough to know the difference. Still, she nodded, her voice calm. Controlled.

"Thank you," she said. "That would be nice."

Pathetic. You should know better.

They left the library together, moving through the sleeping campus. The night was cold and clear, stars scattered above them like salt on black velvet. Their breath hung in the air, pale and fleeting. Boq walked just behind her and slightly to the side—close enough to speak, but not so close as to presume. Always thoughtful. Always careful. It made her chest ache. That terrible, aching courtesy. It would have been easier if he were cruel.

"So," Boq said after a moment, the sound of his voice startling Nessa out of her thoughts. "Saturday."

The word dropped between them like a stone in still water. Nessa's hands tightened on her wheels.

"The picnic," she said.

"Yeah." He sounded as enthusiastic as she felt. "With Galinda and Fiyero."

Of course it would be a production. With Galinda, everything was. There would be brocade baskets and soft blankets, ribbon-tied menus, and place cards no one had asked for. Laughter would ring too brightly in the cold air, flowers braided through Galinda’s hair, eyes everywhere—watching, waiting, judging. She would be at the center of it all, posed beside Boq like a picture in a storybook, the Munchkin boy and the governor’s youngest daughter, just as Galinda imagined it. But the picture would lie. The smiles, the warmth, even the glances—none of it would be real.

Because Boq would be watching Galinda.

Nessa would be pretending not to notice. Pretending not to care. Pretending not to feel like the only guest who had shown up without knowing she was the entertainment.

Her stomach turned at the thought, but she kept her expression neutral. Controlled. Dignified.

Boq hesitated beside her. "Are you—" He stopped. Tried again. "Are you still all right with going?"

Nessa considered lying. It would have been easy enough—to smile, to nod, to say it sounded lovely. That she was looking forward to it. But they'd agreed to be honest with each other. That, at least, was still theirs.

"I'm nervous," she said quietly. "About what people will think. About how it will look." She hesitated, then added, "About pretending."

"Pretending?"

She gave a small nod, eyes fixed ahead. "That we're what Galinda wants us to be. That this is some sweet little story she can share at lunch. A romance, not..." She trailed off.

"Not what it actually is," Boq finished, his voice softer now.

Nessa looked at him then, just briefly. The lamplight didn't offer much—only the outline of him, blurred at the edges.

"Yes," she said.

Instead of me pining for you while you pine for someone else. Instead of me accepting scraps because I'm too scared to demand more.

They reached the path to Morrible's apartment. Boq stopped, and Nessa rolled to a halt beside him. For a moment, neither spoke. Above them, the stars wheeled in their ancient patterns, indifferent to small human complications.

"I'm not entirely sure how to navigate this," Boq said finally, his voice quiet. "Tomorrow, I mean. How to be what she expects us to be without making you uncomfortable. Without making this more difficult than it already is." He paused, then added with a trace of rueful honesty, "I'm rather afraid I'll make a mess of it, actually."

"I don't know either." Nessa kept her gaze on her hands, on the wheels that had carried her through so many difficult spaces. "But I believe we simply—we try. We remain honest with each other, even if we cannot be honest with everyone else. Does that seem reasonable?"

"Yes." His voice was soft, thoughtful. "Yes, I think it does."

"If it becomes too difficult—if either of us needs to leave—then we leave. No guilt. No obligation." She looked up at him then, her expression composed. "We owe each other that much, at least."

He nodded slowly, a small, rueful smile touching his lips. "All right. That's—well, it's not much of a plan, is it? But it's something. It's a start."

It wasn't much of a plan. But it was something. A framework. A way forward. A way for her to keep torturing herself while maintaining the illusion of dignity. Nessa wheeled toward her door, then paused. Looked back. Boq was still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain and young and like he was carrying something heavier than his years should require. Even now, even knowing everything, she wanted to comfort him. Wanted to tell him it would be all right. Wanted to make him smile.

You're hopeless. Completely, utterly hopeless.

"Boq?"

"Yes?" The response was immediate, gentle.

She bashfully turned her head to eye him from the corner of her lowered gaze. "Thank you. For tonight. For...for trying."

An odd look crossed his face, gratitude and guilt and maybe even hope. "Thank you for giving me the chance, Nessa," he said quietly. "For being kinder than I probably deserve."

She watched him until he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing on the stone path. Not quick this time. Not running. Just walking. Steady and real. She hated that she was counting his steps. Hated that she was memorizing the sound of them. Hated that some naive, foolish part of her was already looking forward to tomorrow, even though tomorrow meant watching him watch Galinda.

Inside, the apartment was dark and cold. Morrible hadn't returned yet. The headmistress was probably at some faculty meeting or late-night dinner engagement. For now, Nessa was alone.

She transferred into bed, her braces creaking softly as she removed them. The room felt enormous in the darkness, empty in a way that had nothing to do with space. She lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about tomorrow. About the poppy fields. About Galinda with her beautiful strawberry blonde hair and her bright laugh. About Boq watching Galinda the way Nessa wanted him to watch her.

You know better than this, she told herself. You know exactly what this is, and you're doing it anyway.

But she wasn't going to walk away. She couldn't. Wouldn't. Tomorrow, she'd sit in that field and watch Boq not watch her, and she'd smile and pretend it was enough. She'd hate herself for it, but at least she'd be near him. At least she'd have that. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even close. But it was all she was going to get, and she'd take it. Would keep taking it until there was nothing left of her heart to give.

Nessa pulled the blanket tighter around herself and let her eyes drift closed. Tomorrow would bring whatever it brought. Tonight, she’d tried. They’d both tried. She’d survived it. Would keep surviving it.

Surviving wasn't the same as living. She'd learned that lesson well enough by now. She eventually fell asleep with the memory of Boq's hand brushing hers, that brief moment of contact that had meant everything to her and probably nothing to him. Small things. Gentle things. Not love, perhaps. But not nothing, either.

Tomorrow was coming. Galinda's picnic was coming. The performance and the pretending and all the complicated truths they'd have to navigate. But tonight had been...tolerable. Real in its own aching way.

It would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

THE morning came too quickly, arriving with pale grey light that did nothing to improve Boq's mood. He'd tossed and turned for hours, his mind churning through every possible disaster that could unfold today, and when he finally did sleep, his dreams were an anxious tangle of Galinda's laughter and Nessa's hopeful eyes.

He woke to Avaric's snoring, a sound like a dying walrus, and the immediate, gut-wrenching knowledge that today was the picnic. For a moment, he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling beams. Maybe he could claim illness. Stage an injury. Develop a sudden, inexplicable condition that required complete isolation. Something dramatic enough that no one would question his absence, but not so serious that it would cause actual problems.

Except Nessa would be there, waiting, expecting him to show up because he'd promised her he would try, and breaking promises to her felt worse than enduring whatever fresh hell Galinda had orchestrated.

"You're doing that thing again," Avaric mumbled from his bed, not bothering to open his eyes.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you lie there having an entire crisis without moving. It's unnerving." Avaric sat up, running a hand through his wild red hair, making it stick up at even more absurd angles. "Let me guess. Still agonizing over Nessarose Thropp? Feeling guilty about leading her on?"

Boq's hands clenched into fists beneath his blanket. "I'm not leading her on. We're just friends."

"Right. Just friends." Avaric's tone suggested he found this hilarious. "Friends who kiss and then apparently have agonized conversations about feelings. That's completely normal behavior."

"Would you just..." Boq grabbed his clothes from the wardrobe, trying to keep his voice level. "Can you be quiet? For once in your life?"

"I'm just saying, if you're going to pine after Galinda while stringing along her pet project, you could at least commit to the role. Makes things more interesting for the rest of us."

Boq turned to face him, something hot and ugly rising in his chest. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Stringing her along?"

"Isn't it?" Avaric shrugged, completely unbothered. "You kissed the Thropp girl. Made her think you cared. Now you're going on adorable little study dates while still mooning over Miss Upland like some pathetic puppy. If that's not stringing someone along, I don't know what is."

The words hit harder than they should have, mostly because they echoed the thoughts Boq had been trying desperately to ignore since last night. Was that what he was doing? Using Nessa's feelings to make himself feel better about the fact that Galinda would never look at him the way she looked at Fiyero?

"It's not like that," he said quietly, but even to his own ears it sounded weak. Unconvincing.

"Whatever you say, Boq." Avaric yawned. "Just try not to make too much of a mess of things today, yeah? Some of us have to live with your moping afterwards."

Boq didn't respond. He gathered his things and left, closing the door perhaps harder than necessary, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

The corridor was quiet; most students were still asleep or eating breakfast. Boq made his way to the washroom, his footsteps too loud in the silence. He splashed cold water on his face, gripping the edges of the basin until his knuckles went white. His reflection stared back, uncertain, young, like someone playing dress-up in a life they didn't understand.

The walk to the fountain felt like a death march, each step heavier than the last.

Boq arrived at nine fifty-five, partly because Father had drilled punctuality into him since childhood and partly because standing around waiting felt marginally better than sitting in his room imagining disasters.

Nessa was already there, sitting near the fountain's edge in her chair, her long dark hair loose and flowing freely. She wore a soft blue dress in the Munchkinland style, with a matching scarf around her neck to ward off the autumnal chill. A leather-bound history text rested closed in her lap, her finger still marking a page as though she had been reading until the moment he arrived.

She was worrying her hands in her lap, fingers twisting together in a way that made Boq's chest tighten. Their eyes met across the courtyard. She offered a shy smile, and Boq's stomach knotted itself so tightly that he thought he might be ill. He forced his feet to move, to carry him across the stone pavers toward her.

"Hello," he managed when he reached her. "You're early."

"So are you." Her tone was careful, measured in that particular way she had when she was trying to sound more composed than she felt. "I suppose we're both terribly prompt."

"Better than being terribly late, I suppose." The joke fell flat even as he said it, landing awkwardly between them. Nessa's smile widened slightly anyway, and Boq noticed how she'd twisted the corner of her scarf between her fingers, worrying the fabric. "How are you?"

"Nervous," she admitted, then seemed to regret the honesty. A faint flush crept up her neck. "But that's... It's fine. I'm fine."

She wasn't fine. He could see it in how her fingers knitted together, in the tightness around her mouth, in the way she held herself too carefully, like she was afraid of taking up too much space.

"Nessa, I..." he started, not sure what he was going to say.

"Yoo-hoo! Nessie! Bick! Oh, you're both here already, how perfectly wonderful!"

Boq's heart sank straight through the cobblestones.

Galinda swept toward them like a vision in pink and cream, her dress catching the morning light, making her look like something from a painting. Fiyero trailed behind, hands in his pockets, looking amused by the whole production. She carried an enormous wicker basket that looked like it weighed more than she did, decorated with ribbons and actual flowers woven through the handle.

"Good morning!" Galinda sang out as she set the basket down with a graceful little flourish, practically glowing with delight. A soft cloud of floral, expensive perfume drifted through the air. "Isn’t it simply marvelous? All of us together on such a lovely autumn day!"

"You did mention it," Fiyero said, his tone light and teasing, as though he'd been hearing about little else for days. "Several times, in fact. Maybe hundreds."

"Well, I was absolutely right, wasn’t I? Now, Elphie should be along any moment. I made her promise she’d come, though she was simply dreadful about it, and then we can be off! I’ve found the most divine little spot in the poppy fields!"

Boq forced a smile. "Good morning, Miss Galinda."

She beamed at him, and for one terrible, wonderful moment, he let himself look at her properly. Really look, the way he'd been trying not to for weeks. The morning light caught in her strawberry-blonde hair, turning it to spun gold. Her smile was soft, her eyes so bright that everything around her seemed dull and grey by comparison. She was beautiful. Devastatingly, impossibly beautiful. Boq felt the familiar ache in his chest, the one that never quite went away, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. Then she turned that smile toward Fiyero, linking her arm through his with easy affection, and Boq remembered exactly where he stood. Nowhere. He stood nowhere at all.

"Now then! Bick, dear, you don’t mind carrying the basket, do you? Fifi has the blankets, and I simply can’t be expected to juggle both. It wouldn’t be at all becoming!"

"Of course," Boq said automatically, bending to lift the basket before she'd even finished asking.

This was his role, apparently. The helpful Munchkin boy who carried things and made himself useful and tried not to get in the way. The basket was absurdly heavy, packed to bursting with whatever elaborate provisions Galinda had deemed necessary. His arms strained immediately, muscles protesting, but he held it steady.

Galinda kissed his cheek, quick and casual, the sort of affectionate little gesture she likely gave to everyone. "You’re such a dear! I simply don’t know what we’d do without you!" Boq’s face burned hot enough to fry an egg.

The words were kind. Meaningless. The sort of thing you said to someone helpful, someone useful, someone utterly unremarkable. Boq's stomach lurched, but he kept smiling. He caught Nessa watching him, saw something flicker across her face, hurt, maybe, or understanding, before she looked away quickly.

"There you are!" Galinda's voice rang out. "Oh, Elphie! You came!"

Elphaba approached across the quad, dressed entirely in black as usual, her green face set in an expression that suggested she was already regretting every decision that had led to this moment.

"Against my better judgment," Elphaba scowled. "Let's get this over with."

"Oh, Elphie, don’t be such a sourpuss! This is going to be wonderful!" Galinda linked her arm through Elphaba’s with cheerful insistence. "Now then, is everyone ready? Fifi, darling, do you have the blankets? Bick, the basket? Nessie, are you quite comfortable?"

"Yes," Nessa said, her voice perfectly even. "I'm fine."

"Wonderful! Then let's be off!"

They set off toward the poppy fields, the path winding through a grove of trees where roots and fallen leaves made the ground uneven. Boq walked beside Nessa, arms already aching from the basket’s weight, careful not to stumble while she navigated the terrain carefully. Ahead of them, Galinda chattered about the weather, the scenery, and how perfectly romantic the day was sure to be. Boq tried to focus on not dropping the basket. On watching where he stepped. On keeping pace with Nessa's chair. But he couldn't help himself. His eyes kept drifting forward, finding Galinda's figure ahead of them. The way she gestured when she talked, her hands moving like birds. The sound of her laugh, bright and musical and so far beyond his reach it physically hurt.

She was walking with Fiyero, their heads bent together, talking about something Boq couldn't hear. Fiyero said something low, something meant just for her, and Galinda laughed, really laughed, not the polite titter she gave to everyone else, but something genuine and delighted. Her whole face transformed, lighting up from within, and Boq nearly dropped the basket.

"You're not subtle," Elphaba said from behind him, her voice flat and unforgiving.

Boq flinched, nearly tripping over a root. "I don't know what you..."

"You're staring at Galinda as if she’s water and you’re dying of thirst," Elphaba said, stepping up to Nessa’s other side, her presence cutting through the air like a blade. "All while walking beside my sister. You do realize how pathetic that looks, don’t you?"

"I wasn't... I didn't mean..."

"You absolutely were. Whatever game you think you're playing, Boq Woodsman of Munchkinland, stop it. Stop now, before I take matters into my own hands; trust me, you will not enjoy my methods." Elphaba moved ahead before he could answer, leaving Boq beside Nessa in a heavy silence. His face burned, and his arms ached.

"I'm sorry," Nessa said quietly after a moment, so softly he almost missed it.

Boq looked at her, startled. "What? Why are you apologizing?"

"For this. For all of it. For making you do this when you clearly don't want to."

"No, Nessa, that's not..." He stopped, struggling to find words that weren't lies but wouldn't hurt her more. "I do want to be here. With you." He trailed off, the unfinished thought hanging between them.

She gave him a sad smile that suggested she understood exactly what he couldn't say. That made it worse somehow.

The poppy fields opened up before them, a rolling expanse of flowers fading from deep crimson to softer shades of rust and gold. The morning light caught them just right, making the whole valley shimmer.

"Oh!" Galinda cried, stopping at the field's edge and pressing a hand to her chest. "Isn't it simply breathtaking? I just knew this would be perfect!"

It was beautiful, Boq had to admit. The kind of place where young people were supposed to fall in love, surrounded by flowers and autumn light. Except none of them were falling in love. They were performing a play where everyone had the wrong role. They made their way to the spot Galinda had chosen; a stretch of grass surrounded by flowers. Fiyero spread out the blankets. Galinda supervised, adjusting corners until everything met her exacting standards.

Boq set down the basket with relief, his arms throbbing. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache.

"Are you all right?" Nessa asked, and the genuine care in her voice made his throat tight.

"Fine. Just heavy."

"You should have said something."

"No, it's fine. Really." He smiled at her, or tried to. She smiled back, and something warm flickered in Boq's chest. Not attraction. Just something softer. Grateful that someone cared if his arms hurt.

"Now then! Everyone, sit!" Galinda settled onto the blanket, patting the space beside her for Fiyero. "Bick, would you sit there? Next to Nessie?"

Boq lowered himself onto the blanket near Nessa, acutely aware of how close they were. Elphaba sat as far from the group as possible while still technically being part of it.

"Isn't this lovely?" Galinda sighed. "All of us together, enjoying this beautiful day. It's simply perfect." Galinda served the food as though presiding over a grand society luncheon, arranging each portion with dainty care and a running commentary. "These are from the bakery on Market Street, you know, the one with the blue awning, and this is a soft cheese from Gillikin, Papa’s absolute favorite..."

Boq accepted a plate he had no appetite for. The sandwich tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

"So!" Galinda looked between Boq and Nessa with barely contained glee. "Tell us about your study session! How did it go?"

Boq nearly choked on his water. Near him, Nessa went very still. "It...it, uh, it was fine," Boq managed once he could breathe again. "We covered a lot of material. History. Governance structures."

"Just fine?" Galinda repeated, her lower lip curving into an exaggerated pout. "Oh, but I was hoping for something more exciting! Did something terribly romantic happen?"

"Galinda," Elphaba said, her voice smooth as silk but sharp beneath the surface. "They were studying. In a library. What exactly did you expect to happen?"

"Well, I was hoping for at least a little romance! Don't you think they make the most darling couple, Fifi?"

Fiyero glanced between Boq and Nessa, his expression that of a man doing his best to avoid trouble. "They're sitting next to each other. That counts as something, right?"

"Exactly! They're sitting next to each other, and they studied together, and they're clearly getting along wonderfully."

"Are they?" Elphaba asked, her gaze locking on Boq with unsettling focus. "They look miserable to me. As if they’re being forced to endure some elaborate form of torture disguised as a social outing."

The words landed like stones. Galinda's smile faltered. "Elphie, that's not very nice."

"It's honest. Honesty isn't always nice. But it's usually more useful than pretty lies."

Boq felt heat crawl up his neck, spreading across his face.

"We're fine," Nessa said quietly, her voice steady despite the tension. "Really. Last night was good. We covered the governance structures, the taxation reforms, and I think we're both better prepared for the exam."

"See?" Galinda's brightness returned full force. "I knew you two would be absolutely perfect together! Exactly as I imagined!"

Boq caught Elphaba's expression and immediately wished he hadn't. She looked like she was watching a particularly gruesome accident unfold in slow motion.

"Galinda, sweet," Fiyero said with an easy smile, his tone warm but coaxing, "how about we change the subject? Maybe give them a little breathing room, yeah?"

"But I want to hear about them! They're my dearest friends, and I want to know that they're happy together!"

"They don't look happy," Elphaba said flatly. "They look like they're being tortured. Slowly."

"Elphaba! Why are you being so perfectly dreadful about this?"

"Because you’re staging their relationship like a play, and neither of them wants the part," Elphaba said, her voice low and cutting. "Look at them, Galinda. Really look. Not at the fantasy in your head, but at what’s actually there."

Galinda did look, her gaze moving between Boq and Nessa with something like confusion.

Boq wanted to disappear into the grass, wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

"They’re just shy," Galinda said at last, though her voice wavered with uncertainty. "Aren’t you, dears? Just a little shy about your feelings?"

"Yes," Nessa said softly, the word barely audible. "Just shy."

The lie hung in the air between them, transparent and fragile as spun glass.

Fiyero awkwardly cleared his throat. "You know what this picnic needs? Wine. Definitely wine. A lot of it." He reached for the bottle, pulling out the cork with a satisfying pop. "Let's all have a drink and talk about literally anything else."

"Wonderful idea, darling!" Galinda exclaimed, taking a glass as her cheerfulness rallied with determined brightness. "Now then, let’s talk about something pleasant! Oh, classes! How is everyone’s semester going?"

The conversation shifted, mercifully, to safer topics. Boq contributed when expected, offering bland observations that required minimal thought. Near him, Nessa did the same.

They were both performing, following the script Galinda had written for them. Fiyero refilled everyone's glasses multiple times, and the wine helped slightly loosen the tension in Boq's shoulders, making the awkwardness more bearable.

"You know what I've never understood?" Fiyero said, stretching out on the blanket, "Is why everyone at Shiz is so desperately serious all the time. It's a university, not a funeral."

"Some of us are here to learn," Elphaba said coolly. "Not everyone has the luxury of treating their education like a diversion for the bored and privileged."

"And some of us are here to have a good time while learning. You should try it sometime. Having fun."

"I have fun."

"Reading doesn't count."

"Why not? Reading is perfectly enjoyable. More enjoyable than most people, actually."

"Because fun involves other people. Social interaction."

"I'm here, aren't I? Surrounded by people. Interacting socially."

"You're sitting three feet away from everyone else and looking like you'd rather be literally anywhere else in Oz. That's not fun. That's endurance."

"Maybe I enjoy endurance. Maybe suffering builds character."

"That's concerning. Also, probably unhealthy."

Despite herself, Elphaba's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. Their bickering continued, sharp and oddly intimate, like they'd developed their own private language.

Boq found himself watching Galinda instead, noticing the faint tension around her mouth, the way her fingers worried at one another. She held her wine glass just a little too tightly, the stem caught between pale knuckles. When Elphaba laughed at something Fiyero said, a genuine, startled sound, Galinda’s smile thinned, fragile at the corners. Something in her was unsettled. By the ease between them. By the way they seemed to fit.

Boq knew that feeling too well, the quiet ache of seeing someone you care for drift toward another.

"Boq? Are you all right?" Nessa asked quietly.

"Yes," he lied automatically. Then, "Are you?"

"No," she said with such plain honesty that it startled him. "But I'm managing. I'm surviving this."

He wanted to say something reassuring, something true and kind that would somehow fix everything. But what could he say? Before he could formulate any response, Galinda was on her feet again. "Oh! I have the most wonderful idea! We should each share something about ourselves! Something true and meaningful!"

"That sounds like torture," Elphaba said flatly. "Specifically designed torture."

"It sounds like fun! I'll start." Galinda launched into some story about her childhood in Gillikin, something involving a pony and a birthday party and a scandal with the governor's wife.

Boq stopped listening. He was too aware of Nessa near him, of how wrong everything felt.

"Your turn, Bick!" Galinda's voice pulled him back.

Boq's mind went completely blank. "Uh...I'm from a village in Munchkinland. Rush Margins. It's very quiet there. Peaceful. Nothing much happens."

"Oh, how charming! A village! Nessie and Elphie, you're from Munchkinland, too, aren't you? You and Bick must have so much in common!"

"Yes," Nessa said, her voice perfectly neutral. "We must."

The weight of unspoken things pressed down on them. Boq felt like he was drowning in all the words he couldn't say. He wished silence could fix what honesty would only break.

The rest of the afternoon wore on with agonizing slowness. The wine bottle emptied, then another one appeared. The conversation meandered through various topics: campus gossip, upcoming exams, and Fiyero's recent disciplinary meeting.

"He was terribly stern," Fiyero said, flashing a grin. "Went on and on about ‘responsibility’ and ‘living up to my potential.’ As if I ever asked to have potential in the first place."

"You could try," Elphaba said, her words slightly less sharp than before. "Living up to it, I mean."

"But that sounds like work. Sustained, difficult work."

"Most things worth doing require work."

"Most things worth doing are insufferable."

"Don't you ever get tired of being so relentlessly competent? Don't you want to just... stop trying so hard for one moment?"

"No more than being relentlessly incompetent exhausts you."

"I'm not incompetent. I'm selectively engaged. There's a difference."

"That's just another way of saying lazy."

"It's strategic laziness. Very different. It requires careful planning and execution."

Elphaba actually smiled at that, reluctant, but genuine. "You're impossible."

"I've been told that. Many times. But at least I'm consistently impossible. That has to count for something."

They continued their strange dance, and Galinda watched with an expression that had shifted from cheerful to something more complicated, something tighter. She smoothed her skirt compulsively, the pink fabric already perfect, then reached for her wine glass even though it was still half full.

Around four o'clock, Elphaba stood abruptly, brushing grass from her black dress.

"I'm leaving," she announced.

"What?" Galinda looked up, stricken. "But Elphie, we've barely been here."

"We've been here for six hours. That's more than enough social interaction for one day. Possibly for one month."

"But we haven't played any games! And I packed those cakes."

"You'll survive without me. You have Fiyero."

"Elphie, please." Galinda stood, reaching for Elphaba's arm with something almost like desperation. "Just a little longer? For me? I planned this whole day."

Something complicated crossed Elphaba's face. She looked at Galinda with an expression Boq couldn't quite interpret. "I can't," Elphaba said finally, her voice quieter than before. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

"Fine," Galinda said, her tone suddenly cool and clipped, the sparkle gone from her voice. "Leave then, Elphaba, if spending time with your friends is such an unbearable hardship."

"That’s not what I..." Elphaba began, then stopped, drawing a slow, measured breath. "This isn’t about you, Galinda. I’m just not built for this. The smiling. The endless pretending. Acting like everything’s fine when it isn’t. I don’t know how to wear that mask as easily as you do."

"You don't have to perform," Galinda said, but her voice wavered. "You just have to be here. With us. With me."

The air between them felt charged somehow, heavy with things neither of them was saying. Boq found himself holding his breath.

"She doesn’t want to be here, Galinda," Fiyero said quietly, his voice steady but kind. "Let her go."

Elphaba turned toward the path, but Fiyero spoke again before she could leave.

"You know what your problem is?" he called after her.

Elphaba stopped. Turned back slowly. "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You’re so busy being above it all that you can’t see when someone actually cares about you," Fiyero said, his tone exasperated. "Galinda invited you because she wants you here. Not out of duty, not out of pity—because she likes you. She enjoys your company, even when you’re prickly and impossible. Especially then. That’s saying something, don’t you think?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe not," Fiyero said lightly, though his eyes stayed on her. "But I know fear when I see it. And you, Elphaba Thropp, are absolutely terrified."

Elphaba stiffened at the implication. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of this. Connection. People who want to know you instead of just tolerating you or being afraid of you." He paused. "Also, if you leave now, you'll miss me making a complete fool of myself, and I know how much you enjoy that."

"I do enjoy that," Elphaba admitted slowly. "It's one of the few pleasures available to me in this wasteland of frivolity."

"See? There's your incentive. Stay. Mock me mercilessly. It'll be therapeutic for both of us."

Something flickered across Elphaba's face. She stood there for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Then she released a long, suffering sigh. "Fine. But only because watching you humiliate yourself sounds marginally more interesting than returning to my room to read about Animal sentience in the eighteenth century."

"That's the spirit," Fiyero said cheerfully.

Galinda’s face lit up, relief and delight shining through every feature. "Oh, Elphie, how wonderful! I’m ever so glad you’re staying!" She caught Elphaba’s hand in both of hers, giving it an affectionate squeeze and holding on just a touch too long.

Elphaba looked uncomfortable but didn't pull away. "Don't make a production of it."

"I would never!"

"You're making one right now. This is literally a production."

They were back to it again, Fiyero and Elphaba trading barbs while Galinda watched, her expression softening from relief into something far more complicated. Boq understood that feeling, too. Understood it so well it hurt.

The afternoon drifted into early evening. The light changed, grew softer and more golden. Boq's thoughts drifted, wine-loosened and unfocused. He was tired. Tired of performing, tired of pretending, tired of everything.

Eventually, Galinda started packing up with less enthusiasm than she'd unpacked. They gathered their things in relative silence. The energy from earlier had faded.

The walk back to campus was quiet. Galinda held onto Fiyero's arm but no longer chattered constantly. Elphaba stayed close to them. And Boq found himself near Nessa again, pushing her chair over the uneven path, trying to navigate around roots and stones.

"Thank you, Boq," Nessa said quietly after a while.

"For what?"

"For staying. For trying. For not making it worse than it had to be."

The words cut deeper than she probably meant them to. Not making it worse. That was the best he could manage.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I'm sorry today was..."

"It's all right." But her voice said it wasn't. "We knew it would be difficult."

"Still."

"Still," she agreed softly.

They reached campus as twilight settled over the buildings. Galinda and Fiyero peeled off toward the dormitories with subdued goodbyes. Elphaba went with them, shooting one last unreadable look at Boq.

Then it was just Boq and Nessa, standing outside Morrible's apartment as the evening closed in around them.

"Would you like me to walk you inside?" Boq asked.

"If you don't mind."

He didn't mind. Or rather, he minded everything about this situation but couldn't figure out how to say no. So he walked near her as she wheeled herself to the door.

At the door, she stopped. Turned her chair to face him. "Boq?"

"Yes?"

She was quiet for a moment, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft he had to lean closer to hear.

"I still think about it. The kiss." The words came out in a rush. "I know I shouldn't. I know it didn't mean... I know you said it was a mistake, but I do. I think about it. I can't seem to stop thinking about it."

The confession landed hard, leaving him breathless. He stood there, frozen, not knowing what to say. He should tell her the truth. Should say that he thought about it too, but not in the way she wanted. Should be honest, the way he'd promised to be.

Instead, he did something worse.

He leaned down and kissed her. Not because he wanted to, not because desire had suddenly bloomed in his chest, but because she looked so vulnerable sitting there, so hopeful and sad, and he thought stupidly, desperately, that maybe if he just tried hard enough, everything would somehow work out. Maybe if he kissed her enough times, his heart would catch up with his actions. He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and careful and completely hollow.

She made a small sound—surprise or happiness, he couldn't tell which—and kissed him back immediately. Her hands came up to his chest, tentative and sweet and trusting. The evening air was cold against his neck, sharp with the scent of dying leaves, but Nessa's hands were warm through his shirt.

Somewhere across the quad, someone laughed, the sound distant and carefree, and Boq felt the wrongness of this moment settle into his bones like a chill. Her lips were soft against his. Warm. She tasted faintly of wine and strawberries from the picnic, and her breath came quick and hopeful.

Boq felt nothing except the crushing weight of his own inadequacy, the terrible awareness that this was wrong, that he was giving her something he didn't have to give.

When he finally pulled back, her eyes were shining in the lamplight, bright with unshed tears or joy or both. Her fingers still rested against his chest, and he could feel his own heartbeat against her palm, too fast, panicked.

"Boq," she breathed, and there was so much hope in her voice. "That was..."

"I should, uh, I should go." His voice cracked. "It's getting late. I should... I need to..."

"Yes. Of course." She was smiling now, really smiling, her whole face transformed by happiness that he didn't deserve. "Goodnight, Boq. Thank you for everything. For today. For this."

"Goodnight, Nessa."

He turned and walked away before she could see the expression on his face, before she could see the guilt and self-loathing written there. Before she could realize that the kiss had meant nothing.

He made it halfway across the quad before his legs gave out. He sank onto the bench near the fountain, the same fountain where they'd met this morning. His hands were shaking. His breath came in shallow gasps. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to breathe through the panic rising in his chest.

What have you done? What in Ozma's name have you just done?

He'd kissed her again. Made her think he cared when he didn't, or couldn't, or wouldn't. He didn't even know anymore which was the truth. He'd given her hope when he had nothing real to offer, had lied with his actions even as he promised himself he was trying to be honest. Had done the one thing he'd sworn he wouldn't do again.

Avaric was right. He was stringing her along, using her affection to fill the empty spaces in his own heart. Not intentionally, maybe. He didn't wake up every morning planning to hurt her. But the result was the same. Every kind gesture, every kiss, every moment of false intimacy was just making things worse, digging the hole deeper.

Boq sat on his bench and let his head fall into his hands.

Galinda had Fiyero. That was obvious now, painfully obvious after today. The way they'd laughed together, the way she'd touched his arm, the way her whole face lit up when she looked at him. Boq had spent weeks hoping for something that was never going to happen. Waiting for Galinda to notice him, to see him as something more than helpful little Bick who carried baskets and made himself useful.

She never would. Not as long as Fiyero existed. Maybe not even then.

So what was the alternative? Spend the rest of his time at Shiz alone, nursing his hopeless feelings for a girl who would never love him back? Or actually try to build something with someone who wanted him—someone kind and intelligent and patient, who looked at him like he mattered?

Nessa deserved better than what he'd been giving her. Deserved someone who showed up fully. And maybe if he actually committed to this, if he made a real decision to let Galinda go and focus on Nessa, maybe his heart would eventually follow. Maybe feelings could grow if he gave them room to. Maybe he could learn to love her the way she deserved to be loved.

It wasn't fair to keep one foot out the door. He was making himself miserable chasing something impossible when he had something real, something possible, right in front of him.

People fell in love over time, didn't they? People grew into relationships. Not every great love started with thunderbolts and instant attraction. Sometimes it started with friendship and respect, and the conscious decision to build something together.

The guilt in his chest eased slightly, replaced by something that felt almost like determination. Almost like hope.

He stood from the bench, his legs steadier now. He walked back to his dormitory with purpose, with a plan. Tomorrow he'd start fresh. He'd show up and really be there, really present, without letting his mind wander to Galinda. He'd ask Nessa about her day, about her thoughts, about the things she cared about. He'd stop comparing every interaction to some imaginary version where Galinda loved him back.

Tomorrow, he'd start earning her trust. Tomorrow, he'd be the person she thought he was.

The room was empty when he entered, Avaric's bed unmade and abandoned. Out causing trouble somewhere, no doubt. Boq undressed and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling. He thought about Nessa's smile when he'd kissed her tonight. The hope in her eyes. The trust she'd placed in him.

He thought about Galinda. Beautiful and bright and forever beyond his reach. It hurt to let go of that dream, hurt more than he wanted to admit. But holding onto it was only making him miserable. It was only making him cruel.

It was time to move on. Time to really try. For Nessa. For himself. For the possibility of something real, even if it wasn't the fairy tale he'd imagined. Boq closed his eyes and, for the first time in days, felt something close to peace. He'd made a decision. He'd chosen a path forward. The morning light would come soon enough, grey and cold.

Tomorrow felt different now. Tomorrow felt like a new beginning. Even if some traitorous part of his heart whispered that he was lying to himself again, that this was just another form of the same weakness wearing a more noble mask, he pushed it down. Ignored it. Told himself that this time, he really meant it.

This time would be different.

It had to be.