The knock at his door that evening was abrupt, startling him from his thoughts as he began to remove his collared shirt. Figuring it was some overeager fresher wanting him to sign some petition or other, he cracked open the door. He didn't expect the fury of green to come pushing in.

"What do you think you are doing?" Elphaba asked, whirling around at him with a green hand peeking out from her sleeve to point at him accusingly.

How did she even know this was his room? Did she knock on every door until she found the right one? No, that wasn't something she would do. No doubt she scared it out of one of the boys returning to the dorms to save time. He almost asked how she got past the porter until it occurred to him that he was probably who she had bullied.

"Um…" Fiyero began, bewildered. "Undressing?"

Her face flushed as though she only just realized this; trust Elphaba to leap before she looked when she was in a rage. "No, I mean meddling with my sister."

Understanding dawned on him and he hadn't been smart enough to prevent it from showing on his face. She crossed her arms at that, waiting impatiently, silently demanding an answer. He copied her stance but remained impassive.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. Nessa has been in my arms for the last hour, sobbing about how she and Boq had broken up."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you? Because apparently you played a part in it."

"I'm sorry that she was upset," Fiyero clarified boldly.

"So you did meddle?"

"I never meant to get involved," he said, half-honestly. "I certainly did not want to hurt her feelings. But she insisted I tell her what I thought about little himmy-who—"

"You know his name! I know you're acquaintances, as much as it befuddles me."

"Fine. She wanted my honest opinion about Boq. Did you want me to lie to her?"

"She's delicate. I only seek to protect her from callousness." ("…the callousness I receive," said words unspoken.)

"She says that she doesn't need protection. Moreover, if you're absolutely concerned for her wellbeing, tell me: Would you rather she be in a relationship based on lies and pity? You know how Boq favors Galinda."

"Galinda doesn't look twice at him."

"It doesn't matter. Boq will come to resent Nessa and she will be left truly heartbroken. Is that what you want for her?"

"How could you be so sure it will be that way?"

"I've seen it before," he told her confidently. "Look, if they went their separate ways, then they did so on their own. If they decide later in life that they really do deserve each other, then bully for them. At least then it would be something they both want."

"You've been here less than a month. Why do you care?"

"I make friends fast," he said, unthinkingly. When the look of misery softened her features, he hated himself and took an unconscious step towards her. The only friend she had ever made was the result of cruelty and regret. She had such doubt in herself; if only she would look at him perhaps she could see how much he desired to be let in.

But her eyes flickered down, away from his, and caught on something on his chest. "What is that?"

He followed her gaze and saw the glint of blue in the V of his unbuttoned shirt, just above the swooping neckline of his undershirt, which he didn't even realized was exposed. He fastened the article, hiding the diamonds from view.

"It's nothing," he said vaguely. He hadn't planned on it, but because of how she confronted him like this, he wouldn't reward her with an explanation about his tattoos. He wanted her to wonder about them. In another life, the woman in front of him had been enthralled by his tribal markings – the very memory of her hands and lips tracing them was arousing, which presented a potential problem if he didn't return focus to the here and now – but in this reality it would be the ace up his sleeve. Assuming she ever stopped hating him, which at the moment didn't seem likely.

Fiyero should have been self-conscious; not even Glinda had ever really seen him in such a state of undress: the hem of his shirt was hanging about his waist, his feet were bare, and he had run a hand through his hair upon arrival home, messing it up. But Elphaba was so different from others – and he had exposed far more than his body to her – that he couldn't bring himself to even feel even a little discomfited in her midst. Truthfully, he was more interested in how she felt as she watched him.

"You're neat."

"Thanks, I think you're pretty swell yourself."

She scowled at him and he flashed a grin and a wink in return.

"I mean you're tidy," she corrected, waving a hand about at his room. "I hadn't expected it."

He didn't used to be. But the military demanded a change of lifestyle, especially in his daily routine: the bed made to precision, the floors clear, his clothes folded and put away, his boots lined up by the door, and all personal items put from view. The only exception to this was his desk, which had a slightly askew stack of books and a couple loose sheets of paper with his sloppy scribbles on them—his attempts at drafting a paper due the next day.

"The semester's still early; I have plenty of time to develop bad habits," he said nonchalantly, reaching for his wrist to undo the button there; it wasn't long ago a similar move would have released a cufflink instead. He favored the former's simplicity and plainness. "Why does it surprise you so?"

"I guess I just assumed that you've always had people picking up after you."

"I've been on my own for a long time," he admitted, and Elphaba seemed sympathetic to that. She stepped over to his window, peeking through a gap she made in the curtains. A bar of golden red light cascaded through the open drapes onto her face, glinting off the frames of her glasses and illuminating one of her dark and strange eyes. He stared then, seeing a different depth that he hadn't known before, and found he could not find names for all the colors there.

He approached her quietly, wondering what caused that wistful look she wore. "What are you looking for?"

"How do you get on the roof?" she asked him lightly, catching him off guard. He hadn't realized she had noticed his excursions to the top of Briscoe Hall on nights when nightmares plagued him—no one else had. Even when he would linger up there to watch the first light of day, Shiz continued to slumber. Apparently Elphaba was an exception.

His bare feet were silent as they moved to her side, and he pulled aside the curtain to point outside. "There's a gutter drain just there," he said, and tried to calm his heart as her green face turned up to his with those enthralling irises, which were highlighted by the doe-eyed expression she wore. His eyes fell to her mouth, her full, inviting lips, which were ruddy in the glow of the setting sun.

She was so close that his senses felt over-stimulated. She smelled really good, he noticed, different from anything he had ever experienced before but at the same time something he also had engrained in his memories of her. He wanted to reach out for her, touch her, kiss her, but it was too soon. She did not trust him yet, and that was more important to him than anything. So he would wait. The fabric slipped from his fingers and drowned her beauty in shadows again, killing the moment.

She seemed to come back into herself again. "I should go," she said, and before he could stop her she stepped away from him and fled the room without another word.