Touch
Elphaba's hair is soft as Fiyero winds it through his fingers, committing every feeling to memory.
He runs a hand along her face, her cheek, smiling as she blushes and warms beneath his fingers.
She does the same with his hair, his skin, even the feel of his sweat after a long day, the blue diamonds that dance along his chest.
The intimacy is something to remember, to cling to, and after his death Elphaba longs for his touch once again.