(no subject)
Title: Mornings
Rating: PGish, I suppose
Pairing: Gelphie! :D
Summary: This is possibly the most fluffy thing I have ever written. To read it will be to drown in the fluff.
Word Count: 900
Disclaimer: No, sir, not mine, sir.
A/N: We were pretty slow at work tonight, and, for some reason, everyone suddenly wanted me to write for them. (Fo' serious. Coolest day of work by far.) So, in the midst of bread-panning and cooking and passing, I was writing little snatches of love and letters on scraps of Spring Creek paper and got myself in this overwhelming writer's mood. Obviously I didn't have the time or the attention span to write this at work, but the idea developed throughout the night. So... yay for slow nights and striking ideas. :)
Mornings had come to be her favorite time of the day. When she and Elphaba had rearranged the room the week before, it had seemed logical to put the beds side by side. “It’ll be like a sleepover, Elphie!” she had exclaimed, positively thrilled. She had braided Elphaba’s hair for her, they’d stretched out side-by-side to mull over things that mattered, things that didn’t. There was no longer a middle of the room, no division line, no separation. It just fit.
Just like she fit into Elphaba’s arms.
She made a small production of it every night. As soon as the lights went out, they climbed into their respective beds and curled up under the covers and said goodnight. After a few minutes had passed, Glinda would stretch or yawn or kick or readjust herself, anything, and inch slightly in the direction of Elphaba’s bed.
She knew that Elphaba was awake. She knew that Elphaba knew that she was awake, knew that Elphaba knew what she was doing and that Elphaba knew that she knew that Elphaba knew. But it didn’t matter. She refused to fall asleep until the entirety of the ten-minute routine had been completed and she was safely snuggled in Elphaba’s welcoming arms.
It was never spoken about; it was just expected to be that way.
And in the mornings, Elphaba was a different person than she was in the day. She’d lay still, and they’d lie in the cool-white of the morning sunlight and talk or not talk, think or not think. In those few minutes, no one in the world existed. No one but the two of them and the birds that sung the arrival of the morning, no worries or classes, just warmth and not caring.
One morning Glinda woke to find that Elphaba wasn’t in bed; she stretched her arms out behind her and felt only emptiness and warm bedclothes. She sat up and looked around and heard the noise of Elphaba’s feet on the bathroom tile and relaxed against the pillows and gazed out the window. Rain was throwing itself softly against the glass in tiny waterfalls and the sky was a dull, heavy gray. Elphaba emerged from the bathroom.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Elphie.” Her face split into a smile as Elphaba crawled into the bed and leaned against the pillows beside her. “It’s raining.”
“I noticed,” Elphaba replied, nestling into the covers. “I’m skiving off Nikidik’s today.”
“Are not.”
Elphaba looked at her for a moment over her arms, which were wrapped around her knees. “Am so. No reason to go out in this weather for that fool’s excuse of a class.”
“I’m staying with you,” Glinda replied promptly, sliding back down into the bed.
Elphaba slid down beside her. “Okay.”
“You aren’t even going to argue with me?”
“Why would I argue with you?”
“Elphaba, you are so different in the mornings. You know that?”
“Am I?” she asked, feeling out Glinda’s hands under the covers.
Glinda beamed at her for a few moments before the thought occurred to her that her breath was probably bad. She closed her mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“What are you thinking of, my pretty?”
“You.”
“And why would you waste your time on such trivial thoughts when there are so many millions of more worthwhile things to think on?”
“There’s nothing more worthwhile than you, Elphie.”
“Sure there is. How about shopping?”
“I love you more than shopping.”
Elphaba ran her fingers lightly against Glinda’s knuckles. “I love you, too.”
It became tradition. Every morning, she told Elphaba what she loved her more than. “I love you more than rainbows.” “I love you more than lace.” “I love you more than shoes.” More than notes, more than gossip or tea cake or the perfumed smell of the grass by the Suicide Canal. And every day Elphaba replied the same way, the same, “I love you, too.” How much Elphaba loved her she could never be certain, and neither could she ask. She didn’t know if Elphaba loved her more than books, more than dry weather, more than the musty smell of libraries or the bliss of silence. She didn’t want to know that she didn’t.
One morning Glinda woke to find Elphaba still asleep. She turned onto her side to watch Elphaba’s face as she dreamt, her eyes flitting around beneath the lids and the thin fingers curling and uncurling against her cheek.
Eventually she woke, fluttering her eyelids open and closed several times before accepting the arrival of morning.
“Elphie,” Glinda whispered to her, scooting closer.
“Hmm?” Elphaba replied, eyes closed.
“I love you more than pink.”
“That can’t be possible,” Elphaba replied sleepily.
“It’s true,” she said. “Without looking, pink isn’t anything.” She paused, smiling as Elphaba reached, characteristically, for her hand. “When I close my eyes, Elphaba,” she whispered, scooting closer yet, “you’re still here.”
Elphaba, eyes still closed, smiled. “I love you.”
“How much?” Glinda asked.
Elphaba opened her eyes. “Pardon?”
“How much do you love me?”
Elphaba gazed at Glinda for a long moment, waiting for her to continue. “You know that I love you more than cookies and presents and clouds. More than pink. But you don’t ever tell me what you love me more than.”
Elphaba knotted her fingers through Glinda’s. “That’s because,” she said, leaning her face against Glinda’s ear, “in comparison, I don’t love anything but you.”
Rating: PGish, I suppose
Pairing: Gelphie! :D
Summary: This is possibly the most fluffy thing I have ever written. To read it will be to drown in the fluff.
Word Count: 900
Disclaimer: No, sir, not mine, sir.
A/N: We were pretty slow at work tonight, and, for some reason, everyone suddenly wanted me to write for them. (Fo' serious. Coolest day of work by far.) So, in the midst of bread-panning and cooking and passing, I was writing little snatches of love and letters on scraps of Spring Creek paper and got myself in this overwhelming writer's mood. Obviously I didn't have the time or the attention span to write this at work, but the idea developed throughout the night. So... yay for slow nights and striking ideas. :)
Mornings had come to be her favorite time of the day. When she and Elphaba had rearranged the room the week before, it had seemed logical to put the beds side by side. “It’ll be like a sleepover, Elphie!” she had exclaimed, positively thrilled. She had braided Elphaba’s hair for her, they’d stretched out side-by-side to mull over things that mattered, things that didn’t. There was no longer a middle of the room, no division line, no separation. It just fit.
Just like she fit into Elphaba’s arms.
She made a small production of it every night. As soon as the lights went out, they climbed into their respective beds and curled up under the covers and said goodnight. After a few minutes had passed, Glinda would stretch or yawn or kick or readjust herself, anything, and inch slightly in the direction of Elphaba’s bed.
She knew that Elphaba was awake. She knew that Elphaba knew that she was awake, knew that Elphaba knew what she was doing and that Elphaba knew that she knew that Elphaba knew. But it didn’t matter. She refused to fall asleep until the entirety of the ten-minute routine had been completed and she was safely snuggled in Elphaba’s welcoming arms.
It was never spoken about; it was just expected to be that way.
And in the mornings, Elphaba was a different person than she was in the day. She’d lay still, and they’d lie in the cool-white of the morning sunlight and talk or not talk, think or not think. In those few minutes, no one in the world existed. No one but the two of them and the birds that sung the arrival of the morning, no worries or classes, just warmth and not caring.
One morning Glinda woke to find that Elphaba wasn’t in bed; she stretched her arms out behind her and felt only emptiness and warm bedclothes. She sat up and looked around and heard the noise of Elphaba’s feet on the bathroom tile and relaxed against the pillows and gazed out the window. Rain was throwing itself softly against the glass in tiny waterfalls and the sky was a dull, heavy gray. Elphaba emerged from the bathroom.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Elphie.” Her face split into a smile as Elphaba crawled into the bed and leaned against the pillows beside her. “It’s raining.”
“I noticed,” Elphaba replied, nestling into the covers. “I’m skiving off Nikidik’s today.”
“Are not.”
Elphaba looked at her for a moment over her arms, which were wrapped around her knees. “Am so. No reason to go out in this weather for that fool’s excuse of a class.”
“I’m staying with you,” Glinda replied promptly, sliding back down into the bed.
Elphaba slid down beside her. “Okay.”
“You aren’t even going to argue with me?”
“Why would I argue with you?”
“Elphaba, you are so different in the mornings. You know that?”
“Am I?” she asked, feeling out Glinda’s hands under the covers.
Glinda beamed at her for a few moments before the thought occurred to her that her breath was probably bad. She closed her mouth.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“What are you thinking of, my pretty?”
“You.”
“And why would you waste your time on such trivial thoughts when there are so many millions of more worthwhile things to think on?”
“There’s nothing more worthwhile than you, Elphie.”
“Sure there is. How about shopping?”
“I love you more than shopping.”
Elphaba ran her fingers lightly against Glinda’s knuckles. “I love you, too.”
It became tradition. Every morning, she told Elphaba what she loved her more than. “I love you more than rainbows.” “I love you more than lace.” “I love you more than shoes.” More than notes, more than gossip or tea cake or the perfumed smell of the grass by the Suicide Canal. And every day Elphaba replied the same way, the same, “I love you, too.” How much Elphaba loved her she could never be certain, and neither could she ask. She didn’t know if Elphaba loved her more than books, more than dry weather, more than the musty smell of libraries or the bliss of silence. She didn’t want to know that she didn’t.
One morning Glinda woke to find Elphaba still asleep. She turned onto her side to watch Elphaba’s face as she dreamt, her eyes flitting around beneath the lids and the thin fingers curling and uncurling against her cheek.
Eventually she woke, fluttering her eyelids open and closed several times before accepting the arrival of morning.
“Elphie,” Glinda whispered to her, scooting closer.
“Hmm?” Elphaba replied, eyes closed.
“I love you more than pink.”
“That can’t be possible,” Elphaba replied sleepily.
“It’s true,” she said. “Without looking, pink isn’t anything.” She paused, smiling as Elphaba reached, characteristically, for her hand. “When I close my eyes, Elphaba,” she whispered, scooting closer yet, “you’re still here.”
Elphaba, eyes still closed, smiled. “I love you.”
“How much?” Glinda asked.
Elphaba opened her eyes. “Pardon?”
“How much do you love me?”
Elphaba gazed at Glinda for a long moment, waiting for her to continue. “You know that I love you more than cookies and presents and clouds. More than pink. But you don’t ever tell me what you love me more than.”
Elphaba knotted her fingers through Glinda’s. “That’s because,” she said, leaning her face against Glinda’s ear, “in comparison, I don’t love anything but you.”