It was truly sad how much he had been looking forward to going to class Monday morning. He actually had sat on the edge of his bed fully dressed, watching the second hand slowly tick around his clock until it was a reasonable time to go—that's how pathetic he was. But he didn't care.

Elphaba had narrowly beaten him to the classroom, judging by how she was still hovering over her chair with her hands and attention buried deep within her shoulder bag. Fiyero slipped into the row of desks behind her and picked a spot just a couple of seats off from the one held by her notebook. Stretching out his long legs as much as he could in the narrow aisle, Fiyero watched her dig through her bag and smiled at her cutely furrowed brow.

"Need a pencil?"

She jumped, startled, placing a green hand on the navy-blue strap of her frock over her heart as she glared at him. Clearly she hadn't been expecting anyone to be so close.

"Master Fiyero," she greeted formally, glaring at him with those blazing eyes.

He grinned, holding up a pencil of his own. "I have one. Don't plan on using it."

"Why am I not surprised?" she asked, but chose to ignore him in favor of looking through her bag once more.

He let his hand linger out towards her anyway, determined to be as stubborn as she was, until she finally retrieved her loose writing instrument and took her seat. Then, to be annoying, he tapped the rubber end against his small wooden writing surface, to rub in what could have been avoided had she simply accepted his gesture.

He could see the tension building in her back the longer she tried to ignore his continual drumming. She was trying not to react to his goading, it seemed, which only made his game that much more interesting. Just to mix it up, he started changing up the beat, putting in random pauses of different lengths and watched with a smile as she twitched in aggravation. After one particularly long pause, he had tapped the pencil against the desk once more and she finally snapped.

"I imagine that the seats in the back of the classroom would be more to your liking," she said, flipping around in her seat to stare at him.

"Why? Isn't this where the smart kids sit?" he asked innocently.

She was fuming. "What do you want?"

"Why didn't you dance with me?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded, probably trying to determine his level of seriousness—which to him was a shameless 100%. He waited patiently.

"I told you," she answered finally. "I don't dance."

"That's not an excuse. Even your sister danced with me."

"My sister—" she began heatedly, but then to Fiyero's fascination she stopped and seemed to be evaluating him. Her eyes glinted as she propped her chin on a fist. "I get it. You're just upset that I didn't respond to your charms."

"I…" began his defensive retort, but she was right and he was man enough to admit it. "Well, yes."

"Ah." Her eyes crinkled with laughter at him, which would have been delightful if it hadn't been at his expense. "Next time I'll try to be more amenable to them, Your Highness."

He was about to banter back when the teacher entered the room, Dr. Dillamond, the infamous Goat whose dismissal from the University spurred a great deal of changes to his circle of friends. He only had a few weeks of classes with the renowned biology professor before Dr. Nikidik replaced him, and most of the time he slept through these morning lectures.

By the time he looked back down at Elphaba she had already turned back around in her seat, finding her place in her lecture notes as Dr. Dillamond did the same with his. When class started a minute later, Fiyero merely sat back and listened, finding the address to be more informative than he expected.

Still, he found his concentration drifting as the lecture went on, because no matter how brilliant the old Goat was there was only so much he could care about tiny organisms and such, especially on his first day back. At least his distraction was as equally educational, for Elphaba's hand shot up in the air frequently to ask a question or pursue a point. Sometimes she succeeded in redirecting his attention back to the front, but other times…well, other times he forgot to look away from her again.

She was left-handed, he noticed, as if she wasn't odd enough, which meant that while he couldn't see what notes she was writing from his angle he had a great view of her other hand. It played with her braid as she listened, twirling the thick ends of her hair around and around with a long finger. Fiyero began to feel a little envious of that finger after a while, for her hair was indeed lovely to play with. It was like black silk. Coffee spun into threads. Night rain.

Her older version was entrancing, yes, but in the years since Shiz her features became far sharper, her color duller, and her eyes wearier and warier. The hands he had gotten to hold in his own had been bony and her body had seemed frail in his arms. But the Elphaba that sat in front of him, while still slender, had this robustness that was exuded in her every movement; the lines of her face and body were softer, more inviting to his eyes and his hands, which itched to feel them; and her eyes were both assiduous and adorably naïve behind her thin glasses.

She seemed so happy and healthy on the whole. And he was glad that even if he hadn't seen his Elphaba to a good place again, that he at least got to see an Elphaba at peace. Relatively. Every now and again she'd peek furtively over her braid at him and he'd see that piercing gaze for just a moment, and as they'd flash away he'd smile into the pencil he ended up chewing on.

"You're staring," she finally said when class was dismissed. She had stood to pack her things and now that she was facing him, he was getting the full force of her glare.

Needless to say, he loved it.

"And?"

"And I wish you wouldn't. It makes me uncomfortable."

"If it makes you feel better, it's not for the reason you think."

"And what is it I think?"

He grinned at her bait. He wouldn't go near that question with a ten-foot Munchkin, so instead he said, "I was thinking about that hat you wore to the Ozdust," which probably wasn't much better.

Indeed it wasn't, for it put her on edge. "What about it?"

"It suited you nicely," he said, and she scowled in confusion. Complimenting her was fun. "I simply wonder if it's more of an outdoor accessory."

"Oh, is that why everyone was gawping at me so?" she wondered sarcastically, shoving her notebook in her bag with unnecessary force. "How enlightening. It was merely a fashion faux pas."

"Perhaps they were ogling in envy at how well you pulled it off."

She scoffed at that and made to flee the room, but Fiyero leapt over the row of desks below and trailed behind her.

"This class was excellent. How unique that a professor like Dr. Dillamond can teach such dissimilar courses."

"Excuse me?"

"Life Sciences and History," he said in impressed voice. "I have him again tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait."

She froze in place in disbelief, for as he knew she had both classes as well, and he waved merrily as he walked away, leaving her stunned in the hustle and bustle of the hallway. He smiled. He couldn't ever remember being excited for history class before.