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one.
Catra’s eyes flare open with a gasp, chest tightening as the last of the images from her nightmare flash in her mind’s eye before dissipating into nothing but soft echoes. Moonlight streams in through the curtains—in the low light, it takes a while until she realizes how hard her hands are shaking. Catra sucks in a deep breath, letting out the air in a shaky exhale. Her heart’s still beating a mile a minute.
Slowly, the rest of the picture comes in. The soft blanket pooling around her legs, claws twisted in—Catra releases her grip suddenly, but she’s already ripped holes into the fabric. Ruined.
The night lights twinkling above her head, fashioned into little shapes like a child’s mobile. Catra tilts her head back and watches one of the figures circle around: a little bow and arrow set. Bow had made it for her, a sign of goodwill—you have my back, I’ll always have yours.
Adora’s arm slung around her waist.
Catra watches the gentle rise and fall of her chest, admiring the way the light lands on Adora’s face. Snoring softly, she looks so peaceful, like none of the horrors they’d both been through had ever happened. Catra’s chest tightens at the thought—even as her guilt threatens to swallow her every day, a constant force she’s scared she’ll never escape from, Adora is there to remind her every day that things will get better. That Catra’s trying so hard to be a good person, and that her effort isn’t in vain. That Adora loves her.
That last one is still a whole revelation every time she thinks of it, imaginary fireworks going off in the back of her mind. Adora loves her, and Catra doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being amazed at how wonderful of a gift it is.
Adora tightens her arm around Catra in her sleep, and Catra would lie back down and snuggle up to her if she thought she could go back to sleep. But she’s already far too awake for that, mind racing and body restless. Gently, Catra moves Adora’s arm off her, sliding silently off the bed. She readjusts the blanket to tuck it under Adora’s chin and watches fondly as Adora smiles in her sleep.
Then she lets herself out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her so that all the sound it makes is a soft click.
Catra herself doesn’t have any idea where she’s going or even what she’s doing awake at this hour, but her feet seem to have a mind of their own. Eventually, she finds herself in front of a pair of double doors. It’s easy enough to push them ajar just the slightest and slip in through the crack.
She takes careful steps inside the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but once they do she stops to take in the surroundings. It’s a kitchen.
A really big one, if she’s being honest—it’s probably the main kitchen that services all of Bright Moon. Catra’s hands find a light switch, and suddenly the whole room is bathed in light. Rows of ovens line the walls, and countertops lie in the middle of the room. There’s still stuff left on top of them, and Catra goes to investigate.
A recipe book lies on the counter, flipped open to a random page in the middle of the book—chocolate chip cookies, Bright Moon style. There are clean mixing bowls scattered throughout the rest of the kitchen. Catra pulls open a random drawer and finds flour, sugar, and lots of chocolate chips.
It looks like she has plans for the night, then.
There’s something about trying something new and failing miserably at it the first time. She cracks the first egg open and it explodes all over her. A familiar anger rises up in her as she crushes the egg shell in her hands and almost gives up in a huff, but then she relaxes, palm falling open. She throws the broken egg away and washes her hands. It’s just chocolate chip cookies—definitely no life-or-death endeavor—and there’s a small comfort in knowing it won’t kill her if she’s not perfect at making them the first time. She can try again.
The second egg breaks open cleanly, yolk falling straight into the mixture.
Catra loses track of time putting the ingredients together and stirring the mixture, mind shutting off as her hands take over the simple action. She scoops the batter into small balls and lays them out on a pan, giggling to herself at how misshapen and lopsided they look. When her cookies are finally in the oven, she presses her face to the glass to try and watch them rise, hissing when it gets too hot and she has to pull away.
By the time the cookies are finally done, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. Catra takes the tray out of the oven and breaks one of the cookies in half, mouth salivating at the melted chocolate. She takes a bite, and it’s just the right amount of sweetness, edges crunchy and center chewy—perfect.
She’s so pleased with herself she doesn’t even notice the door swing open with a slight creak. It’s only after she hears soft grumbling sounds that she turns around to look at the intruder.
Adora pads slowly into the kitchen, rubbing away the sleep from her eyes as she lets out a kittenish yawn. She’s draped the blanket over herself, and Catra’s heart warms at the sight. “You weren’t there when I woke up,” she says, more childish than accusatory. It’s unbelievably cute.
“Sorry,” says Catra, eyes skimming over the tray of cookies for the least ugly one. She picks it up and holds it out to Adora like a peace offering. “Cookie?”
Adora takes the cookie, eyes shooting open after the first bite. “Wow, Catra, this tastes amazing. You made this by yourself?”
Catra hums, a yes. “Couldn’t sleep,” she offers by way of explanation.
“Well, this is the best stress-baking I’ve ever had,” Adora declares, popping the rest of the cookie into her mouth. Catra squeals when Adora pulls her into a hug and swaddles her in the blanket, but only pretends to resist a little when Adora plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
“You like it?” teases Catra—asking a question she already knows the answer to.
But when she looks into Adora’s eyes and finds only love and adoration there, it’s like the breath is stolen right out of her lungs. Adora smiles. “Yes, I do,” she says, and Catra’s not sure she’s talking about the cookies anymore.
two.
Catra’s bored.
Technically, she should be resting. She has the day off, while Adora and a few of the had gone for a routine check up on some of the nearby villages. But she’s always liked being busy, and doing nothing makes her restless. It adds to the unease she feels of knowing Adora’s out there without Catra to back her up if anything goes wrong. Objectively, she’ll be fine—Adora’s She-Ra, after all, and the other princesses are nothing to scoff at.
But she can’t help but worry.
Which is ridiculous, because Catra’s not a worrier and she doesn’t worry about people. She just needs something to do.
When she finds herself in front of the kitchen doors again, she’s surprised at how natural it feels to slip inside and immediately start looking for ingredients. Eggs, butter, milk come out of the cupboards and onto the counter; Catra pulls out a few mixing bowls and whisks, wincing when they rattle loudly. She’s almost done gathering everything she needs when she finally comes across the flour—or what’s left of it, at least. Catra opens the bag and accidentally inhales a lungful of flour, hacking it up. There are only a few small, sad clumps sitting at the bottom—nowhere near how much she actually needs.
She has no idea where she could find more. She does, however, know someone who might.
There’s voices coming in from Glimmer’s room, and for a second Catra thinks that maybe Bow didn’t go with Adora after all. As she gets closer, however, she realizes it’s just Glimmer, her naturally loud voice projecting out of the slightly open doors. Catra hazards a knock on the door. When Glimmer doesn’t react, still talking to herself, Catra shrugs and walks inside.
“You like me?” says Glimmer, in a fake deep voice, before turning around to face the other wall and resuming her normal voice. “Of course I do, Bow, and I understand if you don’t feel the same, it’s just—”
Glimmer lets out a screech when she notices Catra, accidentally knocking off one of the plants on her dresser. “What are you doing here?”
“I knocked,” says Catra, smirking, “but it looked like you were occupied.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Glimmer says defensively.
“So you weren’t roleplaying your confession to Bow?”
“Wh— no!”
Glimmer crosses her arms, refusing to meet Catra’s eyes, and Catra can’t help but tease her a little. “Are you sure? Because it sure looked like you were.”
“Obviously not,” says Glimmer, trying to look annoyed, but the blush on her face gives her away. “What did you want, anyways?”
“I—” and Catra blanks. She was going to ask for flour, but there’s a difference between thinking of the idea and actually carrying it out. “Hypothetically, if I wanted flour, where would I get some?”
“Flour?” Glimmer blinks. “There should be some in the kitchen, right?”
“All out.”
“No one restocked it?” Catra shakes her head, and Glimmer uncrosses her arms, her embarrassed expression becoming more thoughtful. “There should be some in the stores downstairs, then. What do you need flour for?”
“Nothing,” says Catra, too quickly. When Glimmer starts to grin, though, Catra knows she’s already messed up.
“Are you sure?” Glimmer teases, and Catra really doesn’t like how fast their roles switched. “You’re not baking or anything?”
“No!” insists Catra, but Glimmer still looks smug, like she’s caught Catra with her hand in the cookie jar. “Forget it,” she says, turning on her heel. “I’ll ask someone else.”
“No, Catra, wait!” Glimmer catches her by the wrist before she can walk out. Catra itches with the instinctive urge to rip her hand away, but she pushes it down long enough for Glimmer to catch up to her. “I’ll help you find the flour. I was just surprised you liked to bake.”
“I don’t,” Catra snaps, but she lets Glimmer lead her out of the room and down the corridors.
“Baking is a good stress-reliever,” declares Glimmer, talking over Catra’s attempts to deny that she likes baking. “It’s therapeutic. You put your heart into creating something, and the results are delicious. And you can share them with the ones you love.”
Whatever Catra was going to say to that dies in her mouth. She walks alongside Glimmer, turning her words over in her head. Catra flexes her hands, claws gleaming at the tips of her fingers, and thinks that maybe, these hands aren’t destined to be destructive. They can be used to create. To bring happiness to people.
“Also, it’s super cute that you picked up baking as a hobby,” says Glimmer. “I’d bet you’d look adorable in an apron.”
“Shut up,” Catra splutters, but Glimmer’s already giggling too hard for Catra’s glare to have any effect on her. “I would not.”
“Would too!”
“Are we getting the flour or not?” asks Catra, picking up her pace to speed ahead of Glimmer. Glimmer runs to catch up to her, clinging to her arm and laughing so hard Catra can’t fully contain her smile either.
—
Glimmer delivers her back to the kitchens, bag of flour nestled safely in her arms. “Well, there you go,” she says, feet angled like she’s ready to walk off.
But Catra catches a flash of something in her eyes—worry, maybe, or loneliness—and it’s enough to spur her into asking, “Do you want to help?”
Glimmer’s jaw drops. “Me?”
“No, the fly on the wall,” Catra scoffs, turning to head inside. “If you don’t want to, it’s fine.”
“I didn’t say that,” says Glimmer, stumbling to rush after her. “I’ll help.”
“Then you better not slow me down, Sparkles,” says Catra. She sets the bag of flour on the counter, coughing as the impact causes some of the flour to fly into her throat. Not again.
Glimmer helps her right the bag, organizing the ingredients Catra had haphazardly set out earlier. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Horde scum.”
Catra flips through the recipe for a red velvet cake. She throws the dry ingredients for the cake together in a bowl, putting Glimmer in charge of making the frosting. At first, it’s silent, each of them working diligently to make her own part, until Glimmer nearly drops her whisk and doesn’t manage to bite back a curse in time.
Catra snorts. “Real lady-like.”
“Oh, shut up,” says Glimmer, scowling in a way that’s so obviously over-exaggerated. Catra can’t help but laugh at her theatrics.
“Didn’t know the Princesses were actually so crude.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Glimmer scoffs. “Don’t act like you weren’t using your claws to pick food out of your teeth at dinner yesterday.”
“At least I’m not trying to hide it,” says Catra, smearing flour onto Glimmer’s cheek and dancing away before she can get her back, still whisking the mixture in her arms.
“Wh— hey!” splutters Glimmer. “Come back here!”
—
By the time they finally stop squabbling to actually bake the cake and decorate it, the sun is low in the sky, about to dip below the horizon. Catra puts the finishing touches on the cake, piping the last swirl of buttercream on just as voices float in from outside.
Glimmer turns the tap off, washing her hands after Catra had smeared frosting on them. “Oh, they’re finally back.”
She looks wistfully in the direction of the open doors, smiling when Bow’s voice suddenly gets louder, laughing about something Catra can’t hear. Catra looks between her and the cake, and quickly cuts a slice, putting it on a plate. She shoves it in front of Glimmer. “You should give it to Bow. Tell him you made it for him.”
Glimmer blinks, hands hovering around the plate like she wants to take it but can’t. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” When Glimmer still doesn’t move, Catra clicks her tongue and shakes the plate in her face. “Come on.”
“I—” starts Glimmer, but she doesn’t get the chance to finish before the doors to the kitchen swing open and Catra shoves the plate into her hands.
“It smells good in here,” says Bow, walking in. Adora flanks him, brief surprise passing over her face when she sees Catra before she smiles. Catra smiles back. “What are you making?”
“Red velvet cake,” says Glimmer, giving Bow the cake. “Try it.”
Bow takes a bite, and Catra wants to scoff at how visible his reaction is, eyes almost literally glittering. “Glimmer, this is amazing! You made this?”
“Well, Catra did,” says Glimmer bashfully. Catra mentally claps a hand to her forehead. “I just helped out a little.”
“Don’t undersell yourself,” scoffs Catra. “You did most of the heavy lifting, I just got flour on your face.”
“You bake?” says Bow, staring at Catra with that dumbstruck expression that all the Best Friend Squad members get sometimes, jaw dropped open.
“No,” says Catra, waving him off. “Now tell Glimmer how good the cake tastes, she didn’t spend all that time whipping frosting for you to look at me like that.”
While Bow turns to Glimmer to heap tons of praise on her, so much that the poor girl looks like she’s about to explode, Adora sidles up to Catra. “Aw, look at you, trying to wingman for Glimmer.”
“I’m not doing anything,” says Catra, cutting another slice.
“Cute,” says Adora, laughing when Catra glares at her.
“Shut up,” says Catra, shoving a forkful of cake into Adora’s open mouth. She watches as Adora chews thoughtfully, savouring the bite. “How does it taste?”
Adora grins, frosting smeared on her lips. “Why don’t you find out?” she says, pulling Catra in by the back of her neck for a kiss.
three.
Adora finds her in the early morning, sitting on the floor of the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asks.
Catra jolts in surprise, fumbling the piping bag and dropping the tiny cupcake she was frosting. “Oh, not again,” she groans, chucking the ruined cupcake into the trash, where it meets several other ruined cupcakes.
She casts a forlorn glance at the rest of her slowly diminishing batch. At this rate, it might be a good idea just to get a new one started, because right now her failure to success ratio is staggeringly high.
Adora drops to a crouch next to her, watching Catra pick up the next tiny cupcake and painstakingly try to frost it. “Are you making tiny cupcakes?”
“No, I’m crocheting a scarf,” Catra snorts. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“What for?” asks Adora, unfazed by Catra’s biting sarcasm.
Catra sets the piping bag down with a sigh, examining her handiwork. It’s not… terrible, but she could do better. She puts the cupcake down on the tray with the rest of her passable attempts, looking down at the lopsided cupcakes with disdain. It didn’t take her long to realize that her claws weren’t made for delicate work like this, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying.
“Today’s Entrapta’s half-birthday,” says Catra, picking up another cupcake, “and I kinda forgot until like, yesterday. So I didn’t get her anything. And I feel bad, since we didn’t celebrate her actual birthday because… reasons.”
Adora snorts at that; she knows exactly what reasons Catra’s talking about. “So now you’re making her tiny cupcakes?”
“If you’re just gonna laugh at me, you can go back to bed,” snaps Catra, cursing when she nearly drops another cupcake.
“Aw, I’m not laughing at you,” says Adora, pulling her in for a side hug. Catra gasps at the sudden motion and almost drops the cupcake again, but her accusatory glare does nothing to wipe the stupid smile off Adora’s face. Adora taps her lightly on the nose and laughs when Catra scrunches her face up. “I think it’s sweet. Do you want help?”
“I don’t think I have enough frosting for another bag,” Catra answers truthfully. She finishes frosting this cupcake, smiling to herself in satisfaction as she places it on the try. It’s the best one she’s done yet—now if only the rest of the cupcakes could look like this. “Unless you can She-Ra everything into being perfectly frosted.”
“Do you think it’d work?” asks Adora, already getting up and sticking her hand out.
Catra looks up at her, the literal love of her life, and thinks, what an idiot. She voices this thought out loud before Adora can go all for the honor of Grayskull or whatever. “You can’t just use brute force for everything.”
Adora sticks her tongue out. “So what are you gonna do then? Strategize until all your tiny cupcakes are done?”
“No,” Catra says emphatically. “Maybe. I don’t know, I’m figuring it out, okay?”
Adora sits back down, criss-cross applesauce. She rests her elbows on her thighs and leans forward, watching Catra frost yet another cupcake. (She should really make another batch at this point.) “What do you want me to do, then?”
Catra pauses to contemplate the question. There isn’t really any way Adora can help her with the cupcakes, but Catra doesn’t want her to leave. In the end, she answers the question the same way she always does.
“Just stay.”
“Okay,” Adora says happily, hugging her knees to her chest. She’s still wearing her pajamas, a cute cotton set that a boutique owner had gifted her once when they’d stayed overnight. Like this, she looks so soft—nothing like the all-powerful, supernatural being that Catra knows she can become in the blink of an eye. Catra stops frosting to just look at her for a minute, a small smile playing at her lips.
“Something on my face?” asks Adora, and Catra snaps out of her daze. She’s been staring too long.
Catra reaches out to brush a few stray hairs out of Adora’s hair, tucking them behind her ear. “Just your face.”
She laughs at Adora’s pout, jaw dropping open when Adora picks one of the tiny cupcakes off the tray and pops it straight into her mouth. “Hey!”
The petty smirk on Adora’s face morphs into something like wonderment as she chews. “Catra, it’s really good. Entrapta will love it.”
Catra looks down at the piping bag in her hand, trying to hide her smile. “You think so?”
Stupid, perfect, beautiful Adora—Catra can even hear the smile in her voice. “I know so.”
four.
Whoever said baking was supposed to be a good form of stress relief was wrong. Catra’s never been more stressed in her life, and that’s really saying something.
“No one told you that you had to be in charge of the entire catering for Scorpia’s ball,” says Adora, leaning against the counter and being wholly unhelpful as she watches Catra frantically rush around.
“Well, I wanted to,” Catra snaps, taste-testing the batter in a bowl one of the kitchen staff hands her. “Needs more sugar. And add a pinch of salt, too, while you’re at it.”
The cook toddles away, and Catra takes it upon herself to check the meringues, the pie, the little finger sandwiches—every other dish she has planned on the menu. Everything has to be perfect. She won’t allow it otherwise.
“You’re so tense,” Adora comments, grabbing Catra by the shoulders so she can massage her. Catra nearly claws her face off, startled by the sudden action. It’s not long before she’s melting under Adora’s touch, suppressing a purr if only to not give her the satisfaction.
Through sheer willpower, Catra finds the strength to push her away. “No, you can’t distract me,” she says, glaring with all her might. From Adora’s expression, though, it probably isn’t working. “I need everything to be perfect.”
Of course, that’s the perfect timing for one of the tiers of the three-tiered cake she’d planned to get dropped on the floor and completely ruined. She nearly breaks her neck turning around to glare at the culprit. “Kyle!” she barks.
Kyle gapes like a fish, opening and closing his mouth before finally deciding on the words he wants to say. “Lonnie tripped me!”
“No I didn’t,” says Lonnie, passing by with her entire hand stuck in a bowl of batter. She winks at Catra when she notices her staring and walks off to another section of the kitchen.
Catra sucks in a deep breath. “Adora, stop me before I commit murder.”
“Killing people is bad,” Adora says, tone placating. Her grip on Catra’s shoulders tightens just the slightest, as if she’s preparing for the event that Catra actually does try to kill Lonnie. Catra appreciates the acknowledgement. She may be trying to be a better person, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t have her moments of weakness—and being nicer doesn’t make her any less dangerous.
—
“It looks fine,” Adora whines after trying to drag Catra away from the refreshments table for the tenth time now. Catra resists her pulling, staring at the now two-tiered cake—they hadn’t had time to prepare a new middle tier.
“It looks weird.”
Adora can’t deny that it does look a little strange—like a disk with a small part in the middle popped out. If Catra squints, it starts to look worse.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Adora. “Once people start digging in, I guarantee they won’t care about the shape anymore. Just the taste, and I can guarantee you they’ll love it.”
“You’re biased,” Catra huffs, but there are already people gathering around, piling their plates high with the snacks and desserts she’d spent a harried morning carefully preparing.
“Listen to that.” Adora cups her hands around Catra’s ears. Murmurs float through the air, and Catra blinks in surprise when they’re all… positive. More than positive, in fact. She watches people take a few steps away from the refreshments table, pop a treat in their mouths, and then come back to grab a few more. “What did I tell you?”
“The bar was low,” argues Catra, and she’s not wrong—most of the dishes prepared for the last ball had been ruined in a freak accident during an argument between Frosta and Mermista—but she’s still blushing, pleased.
“Catra, these are great!” An arm comes down heavy on her shoulder, and before Catra knows it she’s being dragged into a crushingly tight hug. “You did all of this? For me?”
“I had help,” Catra wheezes, patting Scorpia’s arm. Scorpia doesn’t seem to notice, and only lets go when Adora points out Catra’s starting to look a little blue in the face.
“Oh, gosh, sorry about that,” says Scorpia, letting go of her. Catra sucks in a few deep breaths. “But everything tastes amazing! Love what you did with the macarons, that was genius.”
“Hey Scorpia, what do you think of the cake?” asks Adora, shooting a sly glance at Catra.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” says Scorpia, nodding. “The detailing is so pretty! I wish I had the fine motor skills for that,” she adds, with a mournful glance at her pincers.
Adora slings an arm around Catra’s shoulder. “See? What did I tell you?”
“Okay, I guess you were right,” Catra concedes with a scowl.
“When am I not?” Adora asks, eyes widening when Catra opens her mouth to respond to that. “Don’t answer that. Let’s go dance.”
“Hey, wait—” Catra yelps, casting a glance back towards Scorpia to at least say bye first only to see Scorpia nibbling on a cupcake and waving goodbye.
“No time,” Adora bulldozes on, dragging Catra onto the dance floor. There’s a new song starting, something upbeat with a heavy bass. “I like this song, we can’t miss it.”
Catra crosses her arms, watching Adora wiggle around. “I don’t dance.”
“You danced perfectly fine last time,” Adora says, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember.”
Catra flushes—she does remember, unfortunately. “Well, that was for work purposes,” she argues weakly.
“You can dance for fun too, you know.”
The song ends, switching to a slower waltz. Around them, Catra can see groups of people splitting off into pairs, stepping in time with the swell of the strings. Adora reaches out for her, one hand poised to rest on Catra’s waist and the other near her hand, but otherwise doesn’t make any move to touch her.
Catra pauses at the gesture, protest drying up in her throat. Another beat passes, and neither of them have moved—before Adora can let her arms fall back to her side, Catra steps forward, fitting smoothly into her hands. She braces her own hand on Adora’s shoulder, twining their fingers together.
A simple waltz, three-quarter time. Catra tries not to be too surprised at how easily they move in sync, stepping in time like they were born to do it. The melody is a light one, but still pretty. Soft piano chords harmonize with Adora’s voice when she says, “You look really pretty.”
Catra’s lips part slightly, before she presses them together firmly—she doesn’t know what to say to that. Before she can come up with something, though, there’s a resounding crash off to the side. Once the commotion clears, she can see the cause of the noise—one of the children had tripped on the tablecloth covering the refreshments table and brought the whole display crashing onto the floor. The fruits of Catra’s labor litter the ground, completely ruined.
Adora gasps. “Oh no, Catra. I’m so sorry.”
But Catra just looks at the mess on the floor, the people gathering around to check on the child and mourn the food, and laughs. The catastrophe she’d been worrying about had finally happened. There’s nothing really left for her to do but look at Adora, gentle features twisted up in anguish. She brushes Adora’s cheek with her thumb, cupping her face. “You look beautiful today.”
five.
“You’re going to knead that dough to death,” Bow comments, leaning against the counter like he has nothing better to do.
“Shut up,” Catra hisses through her teeth. Unfortunately, he has a point—she’s been beating her frustrations into the dough, sinking her claws into it and almost ripping it apart.
“Isn’t bread supposed to be made with love?” asks Bow. “How is it supposed to taste any good when you’re making it with anger?”
Catra squeezes the dough, relishing the squelch between her fingers, and takes a deep breath. She knows Bow’s probably just curious, but she wishes his questions didn’t feel like such deliberate provocations sometimes—unless, of course, they are.
She looks up to see a spark of mischief in his eyes—yep, definitely on purpose. She releases the dough from her grip, patting it back into shape. “If you’re gonna stand there and talk at me, at least pass me the flour.”
Bow passes the box over. Catra scoops a big chunk of flour out—much more than she needs, frankly—and slaps it onto the dough, kneading it in. She works silently, even under the weight of his penetrating stare.
It’s only a matter of time before he speaks again, though. “Isn’t this kind of running away?”
“No,” Catra grunts out, eyes focused like laser beams on the counter so she doesn’t have to look at him. She presses her palms deep into the dough, folds it over, presses them in again.
“Not the baking. Just, like. You stormed off and came here instead of talking to her.”
Catra flinches. “I didn’t ask you to follow me.”
“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. When Catra finally chances a look, he’s not looking at her anymore, inspecting his fingernails instead. “But better me than her, right?”
Catra hates how easily Bow’s learned to read her. She bites her lip, refusing to say anything. It’s all she can do not to turn way when he finally looks up at her again.
“She wouldn’t have come anyways,” he says, before the silence stretches on for too long. But Catra knew that.
“Then why did you?”
Bow’s expression is no longer teasing, just contemplative. When he looks at her, it’s like his eyes aren’t just seeing her—they’re seeing straight through her, like she’s as transparent as a pane of glass. “You’re not good at being alone,” he answers, finally. “And I didn’t want you to be alone.”
And this is the difference between her and Adora—Adora just needs time to scream into the void and cool off. Catra, left to her own devices, bottles things up and gets destructive.
“It’s not like that,” Bow says, like he can tell what she’s thinking. “I’m not here to supervise you, or anything. It’s just—sometimes, you need someone to be with you when you go through things. It’s nice to have a friend.”
A friend—the concept that Catra has grappled with her entire life, its definition constantly shifting as she reevaluates her relationships with the people around her. Right now, she’s made a tenuous peace with the word as ‘someone she cares for’—as abstract as it is.
Bow’s gaze is heavy. It makes Catra think that maybe she’s always known that friends care back—she just doesn’t like to think about the repercussions of it.
She looks away, returning to the dough. It’s still salvageable, the rips starting to close up as she continues to knead—carefully, this time. Firm but gentle.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Bow says, voice low. “But I’ll be here. Until you feel better. It’s not good to stew in things by yourself.”
Catra manages a nod, throat choked up with gratefulness.
Bow talks at her, or she lets him. It’s a seemingly one-sided conversation that she reciprocates with the gradual drop of her shoulders, tension leaving her body. Bow talks about anything and everything—the weather, archery practice, the little trinkets Glimmer’s given him that he keeps in a box for sentimental value and refuses to tell her about. The meaning of life, what love is like in all of its different forms, the repairs he has to make to his tech pad. Catra listens to all of it, packing her dough into a pan and pushing it into an oven. She grabs a free stool and sits next to him, waiting for the bread to rise.
“Thank you,” she finally says, watching the timer run down to its last few minutes.
Bow grabs her hand and squeezes once before letting go. “Any time,” he says, and Catra knows he means it.
The outside of the bread is golden brown when Catra pulls the pan out of the oven. She cuts off a slice. The insides are fluffy, texture perfect as if she hadn’t just shredded it to near-death an hour before.
She offers a slice to Bow, but he waves her off. “I’ll have some later. I think there’s someone else you should offer it to first.”
She narrows her eyes at his obvious nudging, but he only grins at her. “Fine,” she concedes, loading a few slices and some butter onto a plate. When she leaves the kitchen, she already knows where to go.
She finds Adora outside sparring with one of the guards. Adora disarms the guard with a smooth flick of her wrist, staggering a few steps back. She drops her sword when she sees Catra, hands braced on her knees as she catches her breath.
Catra winces at the clatter. “Bread?”
Adora accepts the plate, eyes widening in surprise. “You made this?”
“Yeah.”
Adora beckons her over to the side, sitting on a terrace and waiting for Catra to follow suit. Catra watches her spread butter on one of the slices and take a bite. “It’s good.”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Adora blinks, before her face spreads into a small smile. “I’m sorry, too.”
She spreads butter on another slice and offers it to Catra, who takes it without fuss. Together, they sit and watch birds flying above in the sky, leaves on trees swaying in the wind. “It’s a beautiful day,” says Adora.
and one more—
The other side of the bed is empty when Catra awakes. It’s still dark. The blankets are arranged in the imprint of Adora’s body, still warm.
Catra creeps out of the room, feet instinctively leading her to where she needs to go. It’s a reminder that she knows Adora better than she thinks sometimes. When she finds herself in front of the kitchen, the doors slightly ajar, she’s not surprised.
The lights are still off, but one of the ovens is on, preheating. Adora sits along the adjacent wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She looks so small—Catra’s heart breaks at the sight.
Adora looks up at the sound of Catra’s footsteps. “Oh,” she murmurs. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”
Catra shakes her head, sliding down to sit next to her. They’ve both always been light sleepers, but Catra especially. And when it comes to Adora, she can’t help it. She reaches for Adora’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah,” says Adora, staring into empty space. “Couldn’t fall asleep again after that. You seem to like it here, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”
For once, Catra doesn’t deny it, just lets her gaze sweep over the space—the ovens, the cabinets, the countertops. “It’s— It’s a nice place. It always smells good. It’s warm.”
Adora doesn’t say anything to that, but she squeezes Catra’s hand. Like she knows Catra has more to say.
Catra tucks herself into Adora’s side, letting Adora rest her head on her shoulder. “It’s where I feel safe. Where I can express myself through baking, and make the people I care about happy with the food I make. It’s… comforting like that.”
She’s said her piece. She’s willing to just sit with Adora in silence and keep holding her hand, but after a few moments Adora finally speaks again. “I’m… I’m really glad, Catra. That you’ve found a place like that for you. Your happy place.”
Her happy place. As cheesy as it sounds, the kitchen is Catra’s happy place—but Adora is her happy place too. She wants to share her happy places with Adora, wants her to be happy.
Catra squeezes Adora’s hand. “Do you wanna try baking something?”
Adora blinks slowly, like she hadn’t considered the idea. “Baking?”
“Yes, silly,” says Catra, holding in a laugh. She stands up and pulls Adora up with her. “After all, we are in a kitchen. And a wise woman once told me that baking is a great stress-reliever.”
“Wasn’t that just Glimmer?”
“Ahem. Identity of said wise woman will remain secret,” says Catra, already pulling out ingredients for a recipe she knows by heart: chocolate chip cookies. They can skip the electric mixer today. There’s no distraction quite like using your entire back to mix batter by hand. “Prepare for your arms to feel like they’re about to fall off.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Adora comments, watching Catra from a safe distance. No worries—she’ll soon learn that there’s a method to Catra’s madness.
“It’s a good pain, trust me.” Catra grabs Adora by the wrist and tugs her closer so that she’s standing in front of the items laid out on the counter. “You’ll be too occupied with how sore your arms are to think about anything else.”
Catra walks her through the entire process, helping her crack the eggs and pour milk in increments. When it comes time to mix the batter, she laughs at Adora’s expression, face screwed up in concentration as she puts her entire shoulder into it. “You weren’t kidding when you said it’d hurt,” sighs Adora, setting down the spatula to shake out her arm. “Do you think it’d be easier if She-ra did it?”
“No fancy magical transformations,” says Catra, wagging her finger in Adora’s face. “Feel the burn, Adora. That’s the best part.”
“I beg to differ,” Adora snorts.
“Then beg,” says Catra.
Adora looks away with a huff, but there’s a smile on her face. Mission accomplished.
It’s a long process, drawn out by how meticulous Adora insists on being. When Catra just dumps the batter onto baking sheets in haphazard clumps, she tsks at her and reshapes them into uniform sizes. Catra watches her fuss, tongue slightly stuck out in focus. When the cookies are finally baking in the oven, Adora leans back against the counter, elbows on top. “I can see why you like it so much,” she remarks, staring at the closed oven door. “Baking, that is.”
“Yeah?” says Catra, looking at her instead. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”
“It’s very honest,” says Adora, gaze sliding back to focus on her. “It… suits you.”
Catra blinks. That’s not something she was expecting to hear. “Really?”
“Mhm. Balances you out.”
Another day, she’ll ask Adora to explain the logic behind that, but for now Catra’s content to just stare back at her. It’s a comfortable silence that lies between them, and even her sensitive ears can’t pick up any noise except for the whirring of the oven and Adora’s slowed breathing. Catra looks, and looks, and her eyes catch on something— “Hey, there’s some batter on your face.”
“Ah, really?” says Adora, scrubbing at her cheeks with her hands.
Catra holds in a laugh—the bit of batter sits high on her cheekbone, just under her eye, and she keeps missing it. “Hold still, I’ll get it for you.”
She brushes it off with a thumb, quick and gentle. “There,” she says—or tries to, but the words die in her mouth when she looks up and Adora’s already staring at her, eyes filled with immeasurable fondness. The breath catches in her throat, warmth snaking up from her chest, and it’s almost instinctive the way both of them lean in at the same time.
Adora’s lips are sweet with the chocolate chips from earlier. Catra hums against them, loops her arms around Adora’s neck, pulls them closer together and reduces the space between them down to zero. Adora holds her firmly by the waist, hands burning hot like a brand (later Catra will check for red imprints and marvel that there are none). The way Adora tilts her head to fit their mouths together, the way she moves in sync with her, pushing and pulling in a whirlwind dance—it all feels so familiar. Practiced to the point where it’s as easy as breathing, and yet the fire in Catra’s chest is still the same as the first time.
Learning each other is a love language of its own. Catra teases her tongue at the seam of Adora’s lips; Adora lets her in. Break apart to breathe for a moment, before coming together again—all perfectly timed movements. Catra loves her—loves her so much it used to scare her. She’d die trying to move mountains for this girl, and it was terrifying at first.
But now, as they pull apart and Catra’s lips still tingle with the ghost of Adora’s on hers, all she can think is that if she has Adora by her side, she’ll be okay.
Adora rests her hand over Catra’s where it’d migrated from her neck to her cheek. She holds Catra like Catra holds her—like a gift. Something to be treasured, something wholly given. Her skin is warm to the touch. “Hey,” she breathes.
“Hey, Adora,” Catra says back, matching her smile.
Adora opens her mouth to say something else, but pauses mid-motion. She scrunches her nose up. “Is something burning?”
Catra’s eyes flare open. “The cookies!”
Adora rushes to the oven, pulling open the door and catching the mitt Catra tosses at her in one smooth motion. Catra inspects the cookies once they’re laid out on the counter—they’re not that burnt.
Gingerly, she picks one up and takes a bite, coughing when she swallows a charred chunk. Okay, they’re kind of burnt.
Adora grabs a knife and another cookie, scraping off the burnt parts. “It still tastes okay,” she says, shrugging.
Catra looks at the “semi”-burnt cookies, the knife, Adora chewing with her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel—and laughs, so hard she’s gripping her stomach with one arm and bracing herself on the counter with the other. She laughs and laughs and laughs, and Adora laughs too, and they’re just laughing alone in the kitchen at 3 in the morning. Catra’s never been happier.
“You’re such an idiot,” she says, once she’s calmed down enough to start speaking coherently again. I love you.
“You’re stuck with this idiot forever,” Adora responds, grinning. I love you too.