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Galinda had always loved mirrors.
Not in a vain way. (Okay, sometimes in a vain way. Shiz did not exactly discourage the sport of admiring yourself until you believed it.) Mirrors were proof. Mirrors were theater. Mirrors were the friendly little gasp of reality that told you your hairpin was holding and your smile was doing what it was supposed to do.
Elphaba treated mirrors like they were traps.
It started small, the way most tragedies do - quiet, polite, almost missable unless you were the sort of person who noticed everything and then pretended you didn’t.
Galinda noticed.
The first time was in their dorm, in those early days when they were still learning how to share air without it turning into an argument.
Galinda had been mid-twirl, hair ribbon fluttering, practicing a wink in the little standing mirror near the wardrobe (because the universe deserved to witness her excellence). She’d turned, ready to tease Elphaba into laughing, and found her standing stiff as a fence post by the window.
Elphaba wasn’t looking at Galinda. She was looking anywhere else.
The mirror caught her in its corner, a sliver of green shoulder and the sharp line of her jaw. And Elphaba - brilliant, brave Elphaba, who faced professors with her chin lifted like a challenge - shifted half a step back as if the mirror had reached out and touched her.
Galinda had blinked. “Oh. Sorry. Was I… in your way?”
Elphaba’s answer came too fast. “No.”
It was the kind of no that meant yes, but the person saying it was already sprinting away from the conversation in their mind.
Galinda, who had never met a conversation she didn’t want to chase down and tackle, almost did.
Almost.
Instead, she had pretended to be busy fixing her sleeve. She’d made her voice light. “Well. I’ll try not to blind you with my radiance.”
Elphaba snorted, a small involuntary sound, and that, Galinda decided, was worth postponing the interrogation.
But it didn’t stop.
It was in hallways, where polished portraits held gilded frames and reflective varnish. Elphaba walked with her gaze angled downward, as if the floors were full of fascinating secrets. In the common room, where a silver tea tray reflected everyone’s faces in soft, warped ovals, Elphaba would reach past it without looking, fingers careful not to meet her own distorted eyes.
And then there were compliments.
Galinda had always been lavish with her praise. It was practically her love language. You did something well? Galinda would hand you a bouquet of words and insist you smell every one.
Elphaba, however, reacted to compliments like Galinda was throwing pebbles at her.
“You were incredible in seminar,” Galinda said one afternoon, breathless from climbing stairs too fast because she’d been excited to tell Elphaba exactly this. “The way you dismantled Professor Rowland’s argument? I mean - Elphaba, you made him blink.”
Elphaba’s mouth twitched like she might smile, but her eyes flicked away. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”
Galinda leaned into the doorway of Elphaba’s study alcove, bright as sunlight and determined as a stubborn cat. “It was. Also, your hair is doing this thing - like-“
“Don’t.” Elphaba’s voice sharpened, not angry, just… protective. Like she was snapping a curtain closed before Galinda could look inside.
Galinda paused, caught mid-bloom. “Don’t what?”
Elphaba swallowed. “Don’t… talk about that.”
“That,” Galinda repeated carefully, like approaching a skittish animal with an offered apple. “Your hair?”
Elphaba’s shoulders rose, tense. “Any of it.”
Galinda’s heart did a weird little hiccup.
Because “any of it” wasn’t about hair. It wasn’t about seminars. It was about how praise slid off Elphaba like water off stone - except stone didn’t flinch.
Elphaba did.
They’d been together for… not long.
Long enough that Galinda’s hand had found its home at the small of Elphaba’s back in crowded rooms. Long enough that Elphaba had started stealing Galinda’s ribbons and pretending it was purely practical. Long enough that Galinda had kissed Elphaba under the shadow of the library stacks with a boldness that surprised even herself - and Elphaba had kissed back like she’d been starving for years.
New, but real.
And Galinda, who was used to being wanted, who was used to being looked at, was still learning the sacred, terrifying math of being the one who wants.
She wanted Elphaba to be safe. To be soft, sometimes. To be held without bracing herself for impact.
So Galinda tried.
She made it a game, at first. A gentler kind of persistence.
When Elphaba changed clothes, she always turned her back to the mirror. Galinda started to stand between Elphaba and it, leaning on the frame like she owned the place, chattering about the day’s gossip until Elphaba’s shoulders lowered from their habitual defensiveness.
When Elphaba avoided the reflective windows in the corridor near the ballroom, Galinda would walk on the outside, closer to the glass, like a shield made of satin and determination.
And sometimes, in their room, when Elphaba looked like a storm cloud stuffed into human skin, Galinda would slide into bed behind her and wrap her arms around Elphaba’s waist, cheek pressed to her shoulder blade, and say into the dark, “You know you’re beautiful, right?”
Elphaba always went very still.
Not like someone hearing a compliment.
Like someone hearing a lie.
“Galinda,” she’d whisper, strained, and her voice would crack on the last syllable like the word hurt her mouth.
Galinda would try to keep it playful, keep it easy. “What? You’re allowed to be beautiful. It’s not a crime.”
Elphaba’s laugh would come out wrong - too sharp, too small. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say things you don’t mean.”
And Galinda would feel, every time, like she’d reached for Elphaba’s hand and found a thorn instead.
Not because Elphaba wanted to hurt her. Because Elphaba expected to be hurt.
Galinda didn’t know where all of Elphaba’s pain lived. She knew pieces. The obvious ones. The stares. The whispers. The way people at Shiz had first treated Elphaba like an unpleasant rumor walking on two legs.
But there was something else.
Something private.
Something Elphaba carried like a secret bruise.
Galinda tried not to push. She tried to be patient.
But patience, Galinda learned, did not mean silence. It meant staying. It meant returning, over and over, like a tide that refused to be shooed away.
One rainy evening, late in the term, Galinda went to a society meeting (because apparently she was still, in some doomed way, the sort of person who could be elected to anything). She left Elphaba in their dorm with a stack of books and the promise of hot tea.
Elphaba had grunted in acknowledgment, eyes on her page, jaw set like a lock.
Galinda had paused at the door anyway, because she’d become the sort of person who paused at doors now - like part of her stayed behind every time she left.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe. “It’ll be terribly boring. You’d have so much fun glaring at everyone.”
Elphaba’s mouth lifted at one corner. “I have plans.”
“Plans,” Galinda echoed, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “Without me? Cruel.”
Elphaba finally looked up, and there was warmth there, muted but real. “Your presence is not required for all of my activities.”
“Wow,” Galinda said, clutching at her chest. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me and I’m counting the time you said my hair just looked ‘fine’!”
Elphaba snorted. “Go.”
Galinda grinned, and on impulse she crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to Elphaba’s temple. Elphaba stiffened for half a second, always that half second, and then softened.
Galinda left with the taste of rain in her mouth and the hope of that softness tucked under her tongue like a secret sweet.
The meeting dragged. People argued about flowers, of all things - what color, what arrangement, what message. Galinda contributed exactly one opinion and then spent the rest of the time thinking about Elphaba’s hands, ink-stained, clever, and the way Elphaba’s gaze had flickered toward her kiss like she didn’t know what to do with tenderness.
By the time Galinda escaped, the sky had gone from gloomy to downright dramatic, the kind of storm that made the world look like a watercolor someone had smeared.
She hurried back, skirts lifted, hair frizzing, cheeks pink from cold.
The dormitory hallway was quiet. Most girls were out, or asleep, or pretending to be asleep so they didn’t have to talk to anyone.
Galinda reached their door, tugged it open with her elbow, and-
froze.
The room’s main lamp was off. Only the small candle on Elphaba’s desk burned, its flame wavering with each impatient gust that sneaked in through the window crack.
The standing mirror by the wardrobe caught that candlelight and threw it back in pale strips.
And in front of it, Elphaba stood.
Galinda’s first thought - absurd, instinctive - was that Elphaba looked like a painting someone had started and then gotten too emotional to finish.
Her shoulders were bare, her shirt half-unbuttoned like she’d forgotten what she was doing halfway through. Her hair, usually pulled back in something practical, had come loose, curling damply around her face.
And her face.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Silent. Relentless. Like she’d been crying long enough that it no longer surprised her.
Elphaba stared at herself in the mirror like she was confronting an enemy.
Her hands were braced on the dresser, knuckles white.
Galinda didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud. She felt like she’d walked in on a prayer.
Elphaba’s mouth trembled. She whispered something, too quiet to hear, but the mirror caught her expression clearly - raw, furious grief.
Galinda’s stomach twisted.
This wasn’t just I feel ugly today. This was older. Deeper. This was a wound with roots.
Elphaba lifted one trembling hand, as if to touch her own cheek in the glass, and then flinched away like the reflection might bite.
Something in Galinda broke, soft and sharp at the same time.
She stepped inside and shut the door as gently as if the sound could hurt Elphaba more.
Elphaba didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed pinned to her reflection, wide and wet and haunted.
Galinda crossed the room slowly.
“Elphie?” Her voice came out like a whisper dressed up as bravery.
Elphaba’s shoulders hitched. The tears didn’t stop.
“Go away,” Elphaba said, but it wasn’t a command. It was a plea that sounded like humiliation.
Galinda’s throat tightened. “No.”
Elphaba’s jaw clenched. “Galinda, don’t- please.”
Galinda stopped a step behind her. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the tremor in her breath. Not touching yet. Touch could be too much too soon.
“What’s happening?” Galinda asked softly, like she was asking about the weather, like she wouldn’t shatter if the answer was sharp.
Elphaba let out a laugh that cracked into a sob. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” Galinda murmured, without judgment, like it was just a fact.
Elphaba’s eyes squeezed shut. Fresh tears spilled. “I can’t-“ Her voice broke. She swallowed, tried again. “I can’t stand it.”
Galinda’s gaze flicked to the mirror.
To Elphaba’s reflection: green skin, tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed, mouth tense with self-disgust.
Galinda had seen Elphaba angry. Brilliant. Sarcastic. Defensive. Even frightened, once, when a professor had cornered her with questions that weren’t really about academics.
But this.
This was Elphaba turned against herself.
Galinda’s hands curled at her sides. She wanted to punch the mirror. She wanted to punch every person who had ever made Elphaba feel like she had to apologize for existing.
Instead, she breathed.
“Can I touch you?” Galinda asked, voice trembling with how badly she wanted to.
Elphaba’s shoulders trembled too. She didn’t answer, not right away. Then she whispered, “Why are you here.”
Galinda blinked. “I live here.”
Elphaba’s laugh was wet and bitter. “You know what I mean.”
Galinda stepped closer until her chest was almost against Elphaba’s back. “Because I came home.”
Elphaba shook her head, tiny. “You shouldn’t… see me like this.”
Galinda’s heart clenched so hard it felt like it might fold in on itself. “Elphie.”
Elphaba flinched at the nickname. Not because she hated it. Because she didn’t feel like she deserved it.
Galinda lifted her hands slowly, like offering them. “I’m going to hold you,” she said. “Okay? You don’t have to do anything. Just… let me.”
Elphaba’s breath stuttered. For a moment, Galinda thought she might pull away, might bolt, might choose loneliness over being witnessed.
Then Elphaba whispered, barely audible, “If you look at me-“
“I’m looking at you,” Galinda said, immediate and firm, and then gentler, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
She wrapped her arms around Elphaba’s waist, carefully, like she was holding something fragile and precious and easily startled.
Elphaba went rigid.
Galinda held anyway.
After a few breaths, long, trembling breaths, Elphaba sagged, like her body finally admitted it was tired. Her hands slipped from the dresser. She leaned back into Galinda, heavy with grief.
Galinda pressed her cheek to Elphaba’s shoulder. “Do you want to tell me?” she asked.
Elphaba swallowed hard. “It’s stupid.”
Galinda exhaled a humorless laugh. “I’m Galinda Upland. I majored in stupid.”
Elphaba made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t immediately turned into a sob.
Galinda tightened her arms. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay.”
Elphaba’s voice came out muffled against the air. “I-“ She tried again. “I saw myself.”
Galinda’s brows knit. “In the mirror.”
Elphaba’s breath shook. “I wasn’t trying to. I just… walked past and it caught me and-“ Her throat worked around something too sharp. “And I thought, how can anyone look like that and still expect to be… treated like a person.”
Galinda’s chest went hot with anger.
“Elphaba,” she said, voice low, dangerous, “you are a person.”
Elphaba shook her head, frantic. “I’m not- I don’t-“ She squeezed her eyes shut like that could erase her own reflection. “I don’t look like one.”
Galinda felt her own eyes sting.
Because this wasn’t vanity. This wasn’t insecurity in the way Shiz girls giggled about being sooo hideous while wearing dresses that could blind the sun.
This was self-erasure.
Galinda glanced at the mirror again, then made a decision with the kind of ferocity she usually reserved for social warfare.
She shifted, keeping one arm around Elphaba, and reached out with her free hand.
She grabbed the edge of the standing mirror and turned it sharply toward the wall.
The candlelight slid away. The room felt immediately softer, like a harsh spotlight had been cut.
Elphaba startled. “What-“
Galinda kissed the side of Elphaba’s head, hair damp against her lips. “We’re not doing that tonight.”
Elphaba’s voice was small. “I’m ridiculous.”
“No,” Galinda said. “You’re hurt.”
Elphaba’s breath shuddered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
Galinda pulled back just enough to see Elphaba’s face in profile. Tear tracks glistened on green skin like little rivers.
Galinda’s voice went quiet. “I want to.”
Elphaba’s eyes flicked toward her, suspicious and desperate. “Why.”
Because you’re mine, Galinda thought, and immediately hated the possessiveness of it. Elphaba was not something to own.
Because I love you, Galinda thought, and her chest tightened around the truth of it.
Because I don’t want you to be alone in your own head, Galinda thought, because that place sounded like a warzone.
Out loud, she said, “Because I’m here. And you’re here. And I’m not going to let you drown quietly because you think you’re being polite.”
Elphaba’s lips parted. She looked like she might argue.
Galinda kissed her cheek, salty with tears. “Can you sit with me?” she asked. “Just… over there. Bed. Soft things. We’ll be dramatic about it.”
Elphaba’s laugh came weakly. “You’re always dramatic.”
“Exactly,” Galinda said. “Let me use my powers for good.”
She guided Elphaba to the bed, keeping one arm around her as if letting go might cause Elphaba to disappear.
They sat. Elphaba hunched forward, elbows on her knees, hands clenched together like she was trying to keep herself from flying apart.
Galinda climbed behind her, back against the headboard, and pulled Elphaba into her lap.
Elphaba stiffened again, reflexive, then slowly leaned back until her head rested against Galinda’s shoulder.
Galinda stroked Elphaba’s hair, gentle. “Talk to me,” she murmured. “Even if it’s messy.”
Elphaba’s voice came out raw. “When I was little… my father used to-“ She swallowed. “He used to call me… things.”
Galinda’s stomach dropped.
Elphaba kept staring at her own hands like they were guilty. “He would look at me like I was proof of something he didn’t want to be true. Like I was punishment.”
Galinda’s fingers stilled in Elphaba’s hair, then resumed, slower. “Oh, Elphie.”
Elphaba’s laugh was sharp. “Don’t. Don’t pity me. He had… reasons.”
Galinda’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care what his reasons were.”
Elphaba flinched at the anger in Galinda’s voice, and Galinda softened immediately, kissing her temple. “Sorry. I’m mad on your behalf. Continue.”
Elphaba’s breath shook. “He would tell me I was… unnatural. He would tell me no one would ever want me. That I would ruin everything I touched.” She swallowed hard. “And then people outside the house… they stared, and they whispered, and sometimes they threw things, and sometimes they didn’t even bother to pretend I was there.”
Galinda’s throat went tight like she’d swallowed a ribbon and it had tied itself in a knot.
Elphaba whispered, “So I learned not to look. Not to notice. If I didn’t see myself, maybe I could forget what everyone else saw.”
Galinda felt tears slip down her own face, silent. She hated them. She didn’t want Elphaba to have to comfort her. So she wiped them away quickly with her sleeve.
Elphaba sensed it anyway. “You’re crying.”
Galinda huffed a shaky breath. “I’m allowed.”
Elphaba’s voice wavered. “I don’t want you to… see me like this. I don’t want you to realize you made a mistake.”
Galinda’s head snapped down. “Elphaba.”
Elphaba’s eyes squeezed shut. “It’s new. You’re still… enchanted. You’ll wake up one day and think, what was I doing.”
Galinda stared at her, stunned by the cruelty of that thought - cruel not because Elphaba was saying it, but because Elphaba believed it.
Galinda shifted Elphaba in her lap until Elphaba was turned slightly, forced to face her. Not the mirror. Galinda.
Elphaba resisted weakly. “Galinda-”
“Look at me,” Galinda said, voice quiet and deadly serious.
Elphaba hesitated, then lifted her gaze.
Her eyes were dark and bright at once, like stormwater reflecting candlelight.
Galinda cupped Elphaba’s face with both hands, thumbs wiping away fresh tears. “I need you to listen,” she said. “Not argue. Not flinch. Just listen.”
Elphaba’s mouth trembled. “I can’t promise-“
“Listen,” Galinda repeated, softer, and kissed Elphaba’s forehead. “Okay?”
Elphaba nodded once, shaky.
Galinda took a breath. The words felt too small for the task. She had built entire lives out of language, but this - this was sacred. This needed honesty, not performance.
“I didn’t fall for you because I was bored,” Galinda said. “I didn’t fall for you because you were convenient. I didn’t fall for you because I wanted to be rebellious.”
Elphaba’s eyes flickered, uncertain.
Galinda continued, voice trembling with it. “I fell for you because you are you. Because you make the world feel… sharper. Realer. Because you notice things no one else notices and you care even when it costs you.”
Elphaba whispered, “That’s not-“
Galinda pressed her thumbs gently to Elphaba’s cheeks. “No. You’re listening.”
Elphaba swallowed the protest like it burned.
Galinda’s chest ached. “And yes,” she said, voice softer, “I fell for you because you’re beautiful.”
Elphaba flinched, immediate - there it was, the reflex.
Galinda held her steady. “Don’t run,” she murmured. “Just… let the word sit there for a second. Like a cat on a windowsill. You don’t have to pet it. Just don’t throw it out.”
Elphaba’s breath hitched, a wet laugh trying to escape. “You and your metaphors.”
“I know,” Galinda said. “It’s unbearable.”
Elphaba’s smile trembled into existence, fragile as a soap bubble.
Galinda leaned in, nose brushing Elphaba’s. “When I say you’re beautiful, I’m not saying it to fix you. I’m not saying it to earn points. I’m saying it because I look at you and my brain goes quiet.”
Elphaba’s eyes shone. “That’s just… infatuation.”
Galinda snorted softly. “Elphaba, my infatuations don’t usually come with moral crises and late-night arguments about the ethics of enchantment.”
Elphaba let out a real laugh then, small but genuine, and Galinda felt something in her chest unclench.
Galinda kissed the corner of Elphaba’s mouth. “You don’t have to believe you’re beautiful,” she said, voice gentler now, “for me to see it. But I need you to know something.”
Elphaba’s gaze held hers, wary.
Galinda swallowed. “The way you see yourself… it’s not the truth. It’s what people taught you. It’s what pain taught you. And pain is a liar. It’s persuasive, but it’s a liar.”
Elphaba’s throat worked. “It feels true.”
“I know,” Galinda whispered. “Of course it does. That’s why it hurts.”
She slid her hands down to hold Elphaba’s, prying Elphaba’s fingers open one by one like she was coaxing a fist into a palm.
Elphaba’s hands were cold.
Galinda brought them to her lips and kissed each knuckle. “Can I tell you what I see?” she asked.
Elphaba’s eyes darted away, panic flashing. “Galinda-“
“Just once,” Galinda pleaded quietly. “And if you hate it, you can hex me. Lightly.”
Elphaba hesitated. Then, barely, she nodded.
Galinda took a breath, like she was about to step onto a stage - except this time there was no audience, no applause, no safety in being admired. Just truth.
“I see a girl who survived,” Galinda said. “I see someone who learned to be sharp because the world was sharp first. I see someone who tries so hard to be strong that she forgets she’s allowed to be held.”
Elphaba’s eyes welled again. She blinked hard, furious at herself.
Galinda continued, voice soft as a lullaby. “I see your eyes, and they’re… they’re intense. Like you’re always looking for the deeper story. Like you refuse to accept shallow endings.”
Elphaba’s lips parted.
“I see your mouth,” Galinda said, smiling faintly, “and it always looks like it’s about to say something brilliant or devastating, and I never know which one, and it’s terrifying.”
Elphaba made a wet sound that might have been a laugh. “That’s not-“
“You’re listening,” Galinda reminded, and her smile softened. “I see your hands, and they’re clever. They do magic like they were born speaking it. They hold books like they’re holding answers. They touch me like you’re afraid you’ll break something, and you never do.”
Elphaba’s breath shuddered.
“And your skin,” Galinda said, voice dropping into something reverent, “is the color of… of life that refuses to apologize. The color of leaves after rain. The color of new beginnings and stubborn hope.”
Elphaba’s eyes snapped back to Galinda’s, stunned, like she’d never heard anyone describe her without flinching first.
Galinda’s voice cracked. “When I look at you, I don’t think ‘wrong.’ I think… miracle.”
Elphaba stared at her like she’d been struck.
Then her face folded.
She tried to look away, but Galinda held her gaze gently, like a promise.
Elphaba whispered, broken, “I can’t understand how you could want me.”
Galinda’s eyes burned. “Well,” she said, voice thick, attempting humor through tears, “that’s because you’re not me. And thank the stars for that, honestly, because we can only handle one of me at a time.”
Elphaba let out a shaky laugh that collapsed into a sob, and Galinda tightened her arms around her, rocking them slightly.
Elphaba buried her face against Galinda’s shoulder. Her tears soaked into Galinda’s blouse, and Galinda didn’t care at all. She wanted to be a place where Elphaba could fall apart safely.
“I hate it,” Elphaba whispered into the fabric. “I hate that it still gets to me. I hate that I’m-“ Her voice broke. “That I’m this old and still- still-“
“Still hurt?” Galinda finished softly. “Yeah. That’s how wounds work, Elphie. They don’t care about age. They care about healing.”
Elphaba shook her head, fierce. “I don’t want you to have to-“
Galinda pressed a kiss to Elphaba’s hair. “Stop trying to protect me from loving you.”
Elphaba went still.
Galinda’s voice softened even more. “You don’t have to earn tenderness,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be flawless to be held.”
Elphaba’s fingers curled into Galinda’s sleeve like she was grabbing onto the only solid thing left in the world.
They stayed like that for a while, breathing together, storm outside and storm inside slowly losing its teeth.
When Elphaba’s sobs quieted into trembling breaths, Galinda shifted carefully, reaching toward the bedside table.
Elphaba tensed. “What are you doing.”
“Getting a cloth,” Galinda said, “because you’re basically dissolving and I’m not letting you become a puddle on my watch.”
Elphaba let out a tiny huff of laughter.
Galinda dampened a cloth with water from the pitcher and dabbed gently at Elphaba’s cheeks, wiping away tear tracks. Elphaba winced at first, then relaxed when she realized Galinda wasn’t treating her like something ugly, something shameful.
Galinda kept her movements slow. Careful. Like she was doing something sacred.
“There,” Galinda murmured, smoothing Elphaba’s hair behind her ear. “Better.”
Elphaba’s eyes were swollen, lashes clumped with wet. She looked exhausted, and still, somehow, like she was made of lightning.
Galinda’s heart did that quiet thing again - soft awe.
Elphaba watched Galinda, voice barely there. “Do you really mean it.”
Galinda’s throat tightened. “Which part.”
Elphaba swallowed. “That I’m… that you… that you see—” Her hands clenched. “That you see something good.”
Galinda set the cloth aside and took Elphaba’s face in both hands again. “I mean it,” she said. “I mean it so much it scares me.”
Elphaba’s eyes filled again, but this time it was different - less like drowning, more like rain that feeds something.
Galinda kissed her, slow and careful. Not a kiss meant to distract. A kiss meant to say: I’m here. I’m still here. I’m not afraid of your sadness.
Elphaba kissed back, hesitant at first, then with a desperate tenderness that made Galinda’s chest ache.
When they parted, Elphaba rested her forehead against Galinda’s.
“What do I do,” Elphaba whispered, “when I look at myself and all I can hear is… them.”
Galinda closed her eyes, thinking.
Then she said, “Borrow my voice.”
Elphaba blinked. “What.”
Galinda smiled faintly. “When your brain starts being cruel, you get to borrow mine. I will be obnoxiously kind to you until you learn how to do it yourself.”
Elphaba let out a breath that almost sounded like relief. “That sounds… exhausting.”
“Oh, it is,” Galinda agreed brightly. “For you. I’m very persistent.”
Elphaba’s mouth twitched. “I’ve noticed.”
Galinda brushed her thumb over Elphaba’s cheekbone. “And we can make rules,” she added. “Not… rules like punishments. Rules like ropes. Something to hold onto.”
Elphaba’s gaze stayed on her, cautious but interested.
Galinda said, “Rule one: no mirror staring alone when you’re already hurting.”
Elphaba’s eyes flicked toward the turned mirror, then back. “That seems… specific.”
Galinda arched a brow. “I’m an artist.”
Elphaba huffed softly.
“Rule two,” Galinda continued, “when I compliment you, you don’t have to say anything back. You don’t have to agree. Just… don’t slap the words away like they’re poison.”
Elphaba swallowed. “I don’t want to lie.”
“You won’t be lying,” Galinda said gently. “You’ll just be… letting them exist.”
Elphaba nodded, tiny.
“Rule three,” Galinda said, and her voice softened, “when you feel like you don’t deserve me, you tell me. Not as a warning. Not as an apology. Just as information. And I’ll remind you that you don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
Elphaba stared. “That’s unfair.”
Galinda smiled, wicked and sweet. “Yes. Love is famously unfair.”
Elphaba’s laugh came out shaky, but it was real.
Galinda kissed her nose. “And rule four,” she said, quieter now, “we make room for the fact that this might not go away overnight. You don’t have to be ‘fixed’ to be loved. You just have to let me walk with you.”
Elphaba’s eyes went glossy again. “Galinda-“
“I know,” Galinda whispered, pulling her close. “I know.”
Elphaba curled into her, finally, fully, like she’d been holding her breath for years and was only now learning how to exhale.
Outside, the rain softened to a steady hush.
Inside, Galinda rocked them gently, hands smoothing down Elphaba’s back, murmuring nonsense and comfort and the occasional dramatic insult aimed at the concept of mirrors in general.
Elphaba’s fingers clung to her shirt like an anchor.
After a long while, Elphaba whispered, barely audible, “Do you think… I could ever look at myself and not… feel sick.”
Galinda swallowed, heart breaking open with hope. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I do. Not because you’ll change. Because the voice in your head can change. Because you deserve peace. Because I’m going to fight for you until you can fight for yourself.”
Elphaba’s breath shook. “You shouldn’t have to fight.”
Galinda kissed her hair. “I’m not fighting you, Elphie. I’m fighting the lie.”
Elphaba went quiet. Then, so small Galinda almost didn’t hear it, she whispered, “Okay.”
Galinda’s eyes stung.
“Okay,” Galinda echoed, voice trembling with joy and grief and something that felt like devotion.
She held Elphaba tighter, as if she could press the truth into Elphaba’s bones: you are not wrong, you are not ugly, you are not unlovable.
Eventually, Elphaba’s breathing evened out, heavy with exhaustion. She didn’t fall asleep fully, not yet, too raw, too alert, but she softened into that half-dream state where her body trusted the moment more than her mind did.
Galinda stayed awake, because that’s what you do when someone you love finally lets themselves rest: you become the guard at the gate.
She stared at the turned mirror and thought, fiercely, absurdly: I will make this room a sanctuary. I will make my love a language Elphaba can learn to speak without flinching.
And maybe someday—someday—Elphaba would stand in front of a mirror and see what Galinda saw.
Not perfection.
Not a punishment.
Just a girl.
Just Elphaba.
Alive. Bright. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful: not because they’re gentle, but because they are real.
Galinda pressed a kiss to Elphaba’s temple and whispered into the quiet, like a promise to the universe:
“I’ve got you.”
And for the first time that night, Elphaba didn’t say you shouldn’t.
She only sighed, small and soft, and let herself be held.