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Initially, Catra ignores the not so subtle smell of sweat and slick that pretty much takes over Adora’s small room. She's almost used to it, as it's not the first time she’s been here this late. Even if she hadn't noticed the smell, it’s not like it isn’t obvious what late night activities Adora’s been up to— the longer breaths and slower movements tell Catra everything.
She doesn’t mind. Even if she could of been sleeping right now. Instead, she’s here, checking on Adora. Adora. Oblivious, wonderful Adora.
“Hey,” She says as she moves to sit at the foot of her bed. “Having trouble sleeping?” Her voice is soft, with a tint of concern.
Adora nods in response. “I thought I would be able to after…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, because Adora knows Catra knows exactly what she would say if she was going to say it. But, as always, she decides against finishing the sentence, almost as if in some way it is preserving her dignity, her innocence.
“Was it the nightmares that kept you up?” Catra asks, shuffling up a little closer, not wanting to get to invade her personal space, to cross a boundary, a line.
Another nod.
“And you tried everything we've talked about before? You didn’t just…?”
Adora’s silence is enough emission to tell Catra the truth. Looking at her with her brows furrowed and mouth turned downwards, Catra sighs, moving up to sit next to Adora, shoulders touching. Unexpectedly, she’s very warm, and Catra finds it more comforting than she should.
“You know that it doesn’t really help right? That it’s just a crutch?” Despite the harshness in the words, Catra’s voice is still as soft as before.
“I know…” Adora looks down, “it’s just, I guess I’ve gotten myself stuck in this...this—”
“Cycle,” Catra offers, and Adora takes it, a quiet ‘yeah’ slipping out.
“Okay, so how do you suggest we break it?” Catra wants to help Adora, more than she knows, but she needs to know what she wants to do, not what Catra thinks will work for her.
There’s silence, a pause, a moment for Adora to think of something, anything. After another minute or two, she finally speaks again.
“I...I don’t know, Catra,” is what she says, voice breaking, clearly on the brink of tears, and Catra feels like someone is slowly chipping away at her heart as a sad attempt to make meaningful art.
“Hey, hey, Adora, don’t cry,” she moves to pull her closer, saying screw boundaries and screw lines because all her adoptive mother’s teachings, all of that means nothing when Adora, her roommate, looks so small and helpless; when Adora, her roommate, looks so broken; when Adora, her roommate, needs comfort and support, not the usual cold, callous Catra.
Catra holds Adora close to her chest, one hand stroking her hair. It’s odd, other than Scorpia she doesn’t hug or hold people often, if at all, because she hates it, but there is nothing she hates about this right now, nothing she hates about Adora. She likes Adora. She really does.
Even now, with her tears soaking through her shirt, with her room still heavy with that smell, with her having an emotional breakdown at 3am in the morning— Catra likes her. Which is more than she can say about most people.
After ten minutes or so, Adora has little tears left to cry, and she has no more breath to sob, whimper, or cling onto Catra like she’s the most holy thing on this earth, like she’s somehow her saviour.
“Thank you,” is the first thing she says as she pulls away, “for putting up with me as your roommate, you really don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” Catra replies, and she means it, more than Adora knows. She grabs a pack of tissue that are sitting by Adora’s bedside table. “Here.”
Adora blows her nose, tossing the tissue into the bin by her desk, a metre or so across the room. Catra thinks she’ll miss, but of course, she doesn’t.
“Thanks, again.” Adora repeats, this time however, she’s really looking at Catra, almost studying her, even though, surely, it should be the other way around.
They are facing each other, knees touching, and Catra can’t help but think of how despite everything, even after sobbing in Catra’s arms (in Catra’s arms) she looks beautiful. It’s unfathomable.
“Anything…” for you, she wishes she could say, but although Catra wasn’t the best at reading social situations, and knew nothing about the rules of liking people, she decides that definitely isn’t the right choice of words.
“...to help,” she decides to finish her sentence with. “Anything to help you. Seriously, whatever you need, just ask.” She accompanies her promise with a small smile.
Adora is scanning her, looking up, and down, eyes quickly moving to look at Catra’s lips (her lips?) before locking eyes with her again.
Biting her lip, Adora starts, “What if…” she reaches for Catra’s hands, taking each in her own, Catra’s heart stopping in the process, “...I said that I wanted you?”
Now, not only has Catra’s heart stopped, but her brain has too.
“I— uh, what?” She feels frozen to the spot, reduced to a sputtering, incoherent, shocked mess.
Adora’s eyes are clouded with want, desire, but from the way her thumb runs over Catra’s knuckles, it’s difficult to ignore the care that is present too. Adora, her roommate who she’s known for less than nine months; Adora, her roommate whom she once hated; Adora, her roommate whom she was now infatuated by, had just said she wanted Catra. Of all people. Catra.
Before she even recovers from that realisation, Adora is caressing her jaw, hand warm, soft, welcoming, pulling her in and once more her brain has to reboot, because what is happening, what is happening, what is—
In the next couple seconds, so many things happen it’s hard to keep up, but Catra does the best she can while the pesky voice of her ‘mother’ in the back of her mind, tells her what she’s doing is unacceptable, wrong, when really— she’s wrong, because nothing has ever felt so good in her whole life.
They keep kissing, and after getting over the first hard hurdle of awkwardness, it’s fun, it’s nice, natural, more natural than anything Catra’s ever done. Being so close to another human being does something to you, its electrifying, and it sets Catra’s whole body alight. Once Adora pulls her on top of her, that feeling is quadrupled, because wow , this is new, having someone under her, at her mercy. She worries that maybe it’s uncomfortable for Adora, or that she’s too heavy, or that—
When Adora pulls her down to kiss her on the mouth, hot and hungry and teeth nipping at lips, Catra forgets, forgets everything, forgets her own damn name. Her hands are on Adora’s waist, pressing down with as little pressure as possible as if she's a fragile vase which she's not meant to touch, but she is, and she’s feeling so fervid, and flushed, and it’s all so new it’s overwhelming—
Adora’s hands sneak up her sweatshirt and now her body is practically scorching, on fire, as those same soft, warm hands roam across her abdomen, and just feeling the muscle there causes Adora's breath to stutter and hitch, causes her to look up at Catra like she's just walked on water. And Catra does feel like she's done the impossible, she is impressed that Adora reacts that way, to her, to her body.
Up until now it’s only been gasps, and sighs, and heavy breaths, but now Adora, in the most intoxicating voice she’s ever heard, says:
“God, Catra...I need you.”
And wow. No one's ever spoke to her like that, told her that. Just that alone erupts a familiar pool of heat in her belly, makes her feel like she could get drunk of Adora's words alone.
Catra feels powerful. Catra feels wanted, Catra feels—
She’s kissing her jaw: working her way down to her neck, desperate to give Adora what she wants; desperate to hear Adora say her name over and over; to hear her gasp, sigh, moan, that she almost forgets; forgets how new she is to all of this, how sensitive, destructive Adora must feeling be right now. How she’s got so much on her mind, because Catra's been there, in fact she still is at times.
As their lips crash together once more, and hands move from stomachs to asses, gripping and groping, Catra asks herself:
Am I just a distraction?
A crutch?
Am I just—
“Fuck, Catra, can we—” Adora’s breath is heavy, voice dripping with lust, hunger. A hunger Catra realises she can’t sate, a hunger she realises she mustn’t sate.
Moving away from Adora's touch, no longer straddling her, Catra faces away from a perplexed Adora, her legs hanging off the bed. One weight lifts and another is chucked down on her.
Catra feels a lot colder now, she feels the flame that just seconds ago was lit inside her is now simmering down. But she knows it’s for the better, knows that she would just end up feeling used, or worse, that she would be using Adora. That's the last thing she wants.
Adora reaches out, and Catra can’t help but flinch.
“Ca...did I do something wrong?” There’s hurt in her voice, and it hurts Catra too, but she can’t let Adora do this to herself.
“You can’t just...do shit like that Adora. After everything we've talked about, I thought you'd— You know it won’t help.” This time her voice is as harsh as the words that come out, and Catra tries not to think of the damage this will do.
Adora moves to sit beside her, but neither girl looks up from anywhere but the floor, or the wall.
“I’m–I’m sorry, I just thought…” she moves to place her hand atop of Catra’s, but Catra pulls her hand closer to herself, out of her reach.
“I guess you thought wrong.” Catra stands up to leave, and she tries to ignore the feeling of her throat closing up.
Adora sounds desperate, a different desperate to before. Catra likes this desperate a lot less. “Please, just—”
“I think you need to talk about this with someone else. Try to get some rest Adora.” Adora’s tears are truly her kryptonite, so Catra is willing her not to cry, not to cry not to cry—
She cries. “Catra, please—”
Eyes closed, and biting her lip, she walks out. The door clicks closed, and Catra likes to imagine her heart made a similar sound.
Adora, her roommate, isn’t perfect, in fact she is far from it. Catra isn’t either, but Catra knows her limits. It seems Adora, her roommate, doesn’t. And while Catra likes Adora, really likes Adora, her roommate, she can’t let herself be her crutch. Not like that. Not when it comes to that. Not when she cares more about this girl than she ever has in her whole life about anything, that even when she wants to be mad it dissipates into something...worse.
Not when it’s clear Catra is not what Adora needs. Catra knows Adora knows that that’s the truth.
Though, it still hurts to admit.
Catra knows she won't be getting any late night (or early morning) texts from Adora for a while, and Catra has to learn to live with that.