what we choose to do with our time
For @gelphiebigbang2025 and in collaboration with @sirazaroff
“You know, we haven’t seen snow together in almost ten years?” she says, pressing her lips to Elphaba’s shoulder.
Elphaba nods, slow, measured. Thoughtful. “Snow at Shiz was different, though.”
Galinda knows what she means. It was softer, somehow. It didn’t feel nearly as cold, even though it most certainly reached lower temperatures.
It felt wilder back then—life—more fun, and the urge to throw snowballs at each other hadn’t quite curtailed. Galinda smiles at the memory of Pfannee accidentally taking one to the face before he tackled ShenShen onto the ground. Elphaba had laughed and laughed; in response, Galinda kissed her, her warm mouth on Elphaba’s suddenly timid lips, while their friends whooped and hollered.
It feels too long ago. Out of reach.
Maybe— maybe they were just different. Still taken by how every snowflake looks different if you catch them beneath a magnifying glass.
“I was going to surprise you and make tomato soup,” Elphaba says after a moment.
(Or, winter over the ridge at the farmhouse.)