He didn't know that she watched over him, or, at least, he had no solid evidence. And when he felt like she was nearby, he chalked it up to hopes and wild delusions. Madness. Yearning.

Yearning was the best word for how he felt when he thought of Elphaba. Aching, twisting yearning like tar in his veins, traveling to and collecting around his heart. He could feel her under his fingertips, pressed against his lips; her arms clutching him, her hair flying around him, and, worst of all, he could imagine she was simply sitting with him.

Making love to her had been transcendent, but he couldn't pretend that the way he missed her was purely physical, or even mostly physical. He missed the way it felt to simply be around her. To look at her, at the myriad of facial expressions she possessed, all subtle but distinct. To watch the way her body contorted into anger, impatience, and, every so often, happiness.

All five senses wanted to be satiated by her once more.

It was easy for him to think he was imagining things when he thought he spotted a flash of green in the crowd, or hidden in some tower. When he heard something whip through the air above him, he told himself it was a bird or a bat. He knew he was pretending she was around because it comforted him.

One night, very late, he was unable to sleep, as he often was, but, this time, decided that it would be a good idea to take a walk. He usually only made it as far as the washing room, or to the balcony, to vomit into a basin or off the edge, respectively. But tonight, in the chill, he pulled his cloak tight around him and left the Wizard's palace, where he "oz-fficially" had his own room but spent most nights with Glinda. It would have been better if she hadn't been so available to him; he slept with her out of weakness, out of guilt.

"Fiyero, dearest, are you coming?"

How could he say no? She looked at him so adoringly. And he did care for her - maybe, one of these times, he'd realize he loved her? And instead of taking out his frustration on her, pretending she was taller and stronger instead of tiny and all soft curves, he'd look down at her to realize she was the one for him?

It wasn't going to happen. He knew it wouldn't. He wished he could bring himself to say that he was tired, and go to his own room, where he couldn't hurt her, where he couldn't do things that made him feel like the worst human being who ever lived. He used to think he was brainless - lately, when he thought about Glinda, he just felt heartless.

The streets were deserted at the late hour. It was cold, but it felt nice to know it was the weather, and not just the permanent chill of regret that clung to him.

He found himself back in the courtyard of the Wizard's palace before long, and stood in the middle, staring at the banners and flyers that plastered literally every surface. Long, grotesque tapestries of Elphaba, looking evil. To Fiyero, she could have just been debating the rights of Animals. That glint in her eye was just passion. The twist of her lip and the set of her jaw were determination.

He stared at one of the posters, drank in the image and, after casting a quick glance around, whispered, "I'm sorry, Fae." A few tears rolled down his face, and stung in the cold, but what was a little cold salt in comparison to the ripped apart feeling of being blindly in love with her?

He turned to go, not being able to look at her anymore, and felt angry at her. Beyond angry. She could just come back and take him with her, if she wanted to. She could release him from this misery. It was her choice to be apart - she knew where to find him, hadn't he been searching hard enough for her? Didn't she think he deserved to find her? Nobody had looked harder, exhausted more leads, pored over more maps, interviewed more suspected connections than him. Nobody.

"But you're still out there, aren't you," he spat, spinning around to stare at a banner of her again. The green flashed in the moonlight. "It doesn't matter to you that I'm searching for you, you don't care that it's all I do, you're just out there, and -" he cut himself off, before his voice could get too loud and wake someone. "I miss you," he whispered. "I miss you."

Elphaba, from her place on the roof, watched him wander away, looking deflated, and closed her eyes, steeling herself against chasing after him and telling him she was sorry, she knew he was searching, and she wished he could find her. She would give anything to be found by him, discovered, and taken in his arms and discovered again and again. He weakened her, made her consider giving up the fight, made her actually think seriously about simply running to him, and surrendering, if it meant they could be together.

She'd thought sometimes that she could maybe talk to him, briefly. He managed to find ways to be alone often enough. But any time she thought of the look in his eyes the last time she'd left him, she knew that, yes, she would do anything to be with him, and that his mere presence, that one simple word from him, would cloud her judgment far too much for her to fight through. So she kept herself away, at a distance, watching him suffer and hoping he would eventually give up on her.

Fiyero paused when his hand touched the door. There it was again, that Elphaba feeling. He didn't turn his head, didn't try to see her, for he knew she couldn't be there. What were the chances? Taking in a deep breath, he existed in the moment, then pulled open the door and disappeared into the palace.

He didn't know that she watched over him, or, at least, he had no solid evidence. And when he felt like she was nearby, he chalked it up to hopes and wild delusions.

Madness.

Yearning.