Chapter Text
"Darn it," Boq hissed under his breath as he speed walked towards the dorm rooms, blinking back hot tears—just his luck that he'd woken up late, the Professor had assigned impossible equations today, Galinda had laughed when he tripped in the dining hall, which didn't even have any food he wanted to eat so he left hungry. He just needed to get to his dorm before he burst into tears.
But suddenly, pain exploded through his shoulder as something heavy barreled into him. His books went flying from his satchel that he'd forgotten to properly close, papers fluttered everywhere, and Boq landed hard on his ass. He looked up—and up—into the startled face of Prince Fiyero Tigelaar.
"Oh!" Fiyero blinked down at him, still mid-stride like he'd tripped over an inconveniently placed footstool. He had the decency to look mortified. "Oz, I didn't see you there."
Boq's throat closed up. Of course it had to be him. The prince who'd just arrived in Shiz university and now Boq had just humiliated himself in front of him.
"I-I'm so sorry," Boq stammered, scrambling onto his knees to gather his scattered papers.
Fiyero crouched down beside him, he grabbed a sheet mid-air before it could fly away even further. "No, I'm sorry, that was entirely my fault." His voice carried an easy warmth that made Boq's shoulders tense—was he laughing at him? But when he glanced up, Fiyero's dark eyes held only earnest concern as he handed over the paper. "You alright? That was quite the collision."
Boq stared. The prince's jawline was sharp unlike Boq's rather round face, his lips curved in a way that made Boq's stomach inconveniently full with butterflies. Then he blinked—what was he doing? Boys didn't think that way about other boys, especially not about princes who probably pitied clumsy Munchkins like himself. "Fine," he managed, voice cracking. He shoved the papers into his satchel with more force than necessary. "Just—fine."
Fiyero's quickly reached to retrieve a stray quill. His fingers—long, tanned, —brushed Boq's hand when passing it back. "Truly didn't mean to knock you over." He said while the two stood up. "I somehow didn't see you at all!"
Fiyero straightened to his full height—all six-foot-one of him—and Boq's head barely cleared his collarbone. A beat. Fiyero's eyebrows shot up. "Oh." His mouth twitched. "That explains it."
Boq chuckled awkwardly, fingers tightening around his satchel strap. "Munchkin. Yeah." His ears burned. He wished the floor would swallow him whole. "We're, uh. Not known for our towering stature."
Fiyero tilted his head, studying Boq like he was some exotic specimen in a glass case. Not unkindly, just... fascinated. "Huh." He rubbed his chin. "I thought people were exaggerating. But that's beside the point, I've hardly introduced myself." He held his hand out for Boq to shake. "Prince Fiyero Tigelaar. Of Winkie Country."
Boq stared at the offered hand—long fingers, clean nails—then wiped his palm on his trousers before taking it. His grip was firmer than he expected. "Boq Woodsman. Of Munchkinland."
Fiyero grinned like this was the most thrilling news he'd heard all day. "A pleasure, Boq Woodsman." He hesitated, glancing down the corridor where students streamed past whispering gossip. "Actually, I was wondering if you might—"
The sharp click of polished heels echoed against the floor before Miss Coddle's silhouette rounded the corner. "Prince Tigelaar!" Her voice carried the weight of a gavel. "You were meant to report to my office fifteen minutes ago for your orientation paperwork. Need I remind you that tardiness is what expelled you from your last institution?"
Fiyero's hand froze mid-air where it had been gesturing toward Boq. His grin didn't waver, but Boq saw the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. "Ah. My apologies, Madam Headmistress." He executed a flawless bow and Boq wondered how many times Fiyero had charmed his way out of consequences with that exact motion. "I was just assisting this fine gentleman after an unfortunate collision. Priorities, you understand."
Miss Coddle's lips pinched, yet Boq watched in real time as her shoulders softened beneath the fabric of her blouse. "Be that as it may," she said, though her voice had lost its edge, "orientation is mandatory for transfer students, regardless of..." She waved a hand vaguely at Fiyero's general princeliness.
Boq flinched when her gaze snapped to him next. "Mister Woodsman," she said, tapping her nail with sudden cheer, "how fortuitous! Your former roommate's withdrawal paperwork cleared this morning. You'll find Prince Fiyero's things already delivered to your suite. Do show him the ropes, won't you? Shiz expects its students to support one another."
Fiyero’s outstretched hand dropped slowly, his princely facade cracking at the edges. "Ah. Madame Headmistress," he began, voice syrup-slow with diplomacy, "I was—um—promised private lodgings in my acceptance letter." His fingers flexed—Boq recognized the motion of someone resisting the urge to fiddle with expensive cufflinks.
Of course, Boq thought numbly. As if they'd ever put royalty in a shared dormitory. Especially not with a Munchkin who still slept with a frayed childhood quilt.
Miss Coddle's lips pressed into a line that could have sliced apples. "We're experiencing an unexpected housing surplus," she said dryly, gaze sliding over Fiyero's gold-embroidered collar to land on Boq's secondhand shoes. "Shiz welcomes many distinguished students these days. You'll find the accommodations... adequate."
The prince's smile didn't waver, but Boq noticed his jaw tighten. "With respect—where would Feldspar sleep?"
"Your... horse," Miss Coddle enunciated slowly, "will be quartered in the stables."
Fiyero inhaled sharply through his nose. "Feldspar," he corrected, "is a Horse."
Miss Coddle's spectacles flashed opaque in the gaslight. "Well I don't see why that means he can't stay there."
Boq watched realization dawn on Fiyero's face—first incredulity, then grudging amusement tugging at his mouth. The prince exhaled, shoulders relaxing into something resembling surrender. Still, when he turned to Boq, there was an unfamiliar hesitation in his gaze—not pity, but something more unsettling.
"Lead the way, roommate," Fiyero said, stretching the word into three syllables that made Boq's ears burn. Behind them, Miss Coddle's heels clicked away with finality, leaving only the rustle of Fiyero's absurdly expensive cloak and the muffled sound of Boq's dignity dissolving into the floorboards.