Archive of Our Own ^beta

(who) they want you to be,
(who) they wanted to see
just leave the party with me
and never go home

are we still having fun?
are you holding the gun?
take the money and run, we'll never go home
i've got nothing to lose, you've got nothing to say
and we're leaving today
we'll never go home

------ part 1 - she left her name (on my lips) -----

Catra didn't know what to expect from a Friday 13th in October, but it certainly wasn't five frantic texts from the girl she cut all contact with three years ago at 3 AM. Or said girl showing up on her doorstep an hour later, half-hysterical and covered in mud. 

Honestly, she never expected to see Adora again anyway, so, as far as she's concerned, today has already become a disaster. 

And, surprisingly enough, the first words out of her mouth are "Woah, are you okay?"

Adora shakes her head. She looks on the verge of tears, with red-rimmed eyes, mud caked on the collar of her shirt - how did she get mud on her shirt? - and a bruise forming on her temple. "No. I'm not, I'm -" She sags forward, collapsing against the door frame.

Catra nearly reaches out to catch her. Nearly. Instead, she just watches all 5'6" of her ex-best-friend almost topple backward into a bush in silence, holding her breath in case she starts laughing. Or crying. Or yelling. This would be funny if it wasn't nearly four in the fucking morning and Adora was looking like... like that.

A moment of silence passes. Adora leans against the door, panting, and explains, "I ran here. I... I had nowhere else to go. I'm sorry." 

Catra snorts. "Really? Couldn't stay with Sparkles or Arrow Boy?" 

Silence. Adora doesn't answer, just gazes aimlessly at her feet. The bruise on her forehead looks more painful the longer Catra stares at it, and yet she finds herself staring at it more, as if sheer force of will is going to make it vanish. 

A bubble forms in her chest and she looks away, meeting Adora's eyes. "Why not?"

More silence. Vast, yawning silence, the kind only they seem to share at times like these, the kind it's easy to fall into and-

Well, this is awkward. 

"... Come in, I guess," she offers. And winces. That just made it worse, for fuck's sake.

Adora just rights herself, and Catra wonders if she imagines the faint tremble to her hands as she pushes off the doorjamb. She doesn't speak, doesn't make a noise except for a low grunt of effort. Mud drips from her hair and down over her nose. She doesn't make any effort to move, so Catra steps aside. 

"You gonna stand out here all night or come in?" 

Adora blinks like a startled deer. Her eyes have a silvery hue to them, she notices, which is.... new. She doesn't remember them being like that before.

Catra watches as she shakes herself and pushes the hair out of her eyes. She smells like woodsmoke and pine trees. Also new. But she can't really expect Adora to be the exact same girl she was three years ago, can she?

"I'm... okay. Okay."

A moment of hesitation. Something like panic crosses her eyes for half an instant, then flickers and fades. Catra meets her stare, determined not to blink. "It's cold. Come on."

The softness in her voice comes as a surprise. She nearly flinches and instead bites down on her lip, choosing to ignore the spike of pain. Looking uncomfortable is not going to be helpful in this situation. 

Adora lets out a small, pained noise. "I- I'm gonna fall over again if i try to move-"

"Okay. Just- here." She holds out her hand, and Adora... Adora just stares at it. Something like disbelief and relief cross her face in quick succession, then vanish. Catra doesn't move, keeps her hand extended. The night air is cold and bites into her skin like ice, but Adora is still standing there, gentle surprise filling her gaze. 

"Come on. I'll help you inside."

Adora looks up slowly. "I-"

G0d, she looks on the verge of tears.

Catra steps outside, ignoring the fact that she isn't wearing shoes and the doorstep is cold and caked in mud and fallen leaves, and guides Adora's arm around her shoulders. There is a brief moment of hesitation where she can physically feel Adora leaning away from her, swaying awkwardly to the left, and then her entire body weight falls against Catra's side and she has to stumble a little to right herself.

"Okay?" she prompts.

Adora nods once, forcing herself upright. "Okay."

Helping her limp inside is an overly complicated task. Catra winds up half-carrying Adora, holding almost her entire weight, and nearly drags her down the hallway and into the living room (in the time of around 10 minutes, which is a lot longer than it should take, but she can't really be too irritated, because Adora is very obviously one bad move away from collapsing and crying her eyes out). And when she's finally sitting down, eyes squeezed shut and holding her knees to her chest, Catra has to go and stand in the hallway for ten minutes and collect her thoughts.

Adora is here. Adora is here. 

She could've gone anywhere else, but she came here, to Catra. She could've stayed with her last foster parents, or the friends she still thinks of as brand new despite how long Adora's known them, or gone to literally anyone except the best friend she stopped communicating with over three years ago. It just... it doesn't make sense. 

Catra tips her head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling, letting her thoughts trail into silence. She can't hear anything from the living room anymore - no stifled sobbing, no sounds of fabric shifting around, nothing. Adora must have sprinted the whole way to her house to make it before 5 AM. Her entire body must feel like it's been set on fire; it's no wonder she's stopped moving. She's probably fallen asleep on her couch by now. 

Weaver kicked her out. Weaver kicked her out.

She pushes back the urge to let out a slightly hysterical laugh. Of course she did. Of course she'd kick her out. It was going to happen eventually. It happened to me. Why am I so surprised? Why did I let her have Adora in the first place? 

G0d, she can't even begin to imagine how Adora must be feeling. Of course Catra was the first person she came to; she's the only person who could possibly understand half of what she's been through. Glimmer and Bow... Glimmer and Bow never saw any of it. They were both so careful to hide it from everyone who could do anything, now that she thinks about it.

Adora is here. 

Adora is here.

Adora is here.

I should - uh -

And before she can stop herself, she is turning around and pushing back into the living room, fighting the bubbling anxiety in her chest.

"Adora?"

Adora lifts her head from the arm of the couch. Her hair has come completely out of its usual ponytail and is hanging in her eyes. Catra can't remember the last time she saw her with her hair down in any capacity. It's... it's scary, actually. Like watching her crumble entirely.

"Mhm," she mumbles. "'M awake. 'M okay."

Catra eases down onto the other arm, careful not to dislodge her. "I don't think lying on it is going to make your head hurt less."

"Doesn't hurt." Adora settles her head back down, squeezing her eyes shut. "I can go in the morning, I just - 

"No, you can't," she says firmly. "You're staying here as long as you need to. And you're not going back to Weaver."

She blinks at her, but doesn't argue, which is a relief. "I... I didn't know where else-"

"I get it. I get it. I'd have gone to you, too." Catra settles her hand on her ankle, avoiding the bruises visible through the soaked (soaked?) fabric of her trousers. "Seriously, though. You're not allowed to go walking around town like this."

Adora sighs. "Where would I even go, anyway?" she asks in a small voice. "Glimmer and Bow are out of town, everyone I know is either too far to reach by foot or not interested in my personal life, I have no clue where Angella is-"

"The last thing I am is annoyed with you, Adora. You needed help. You need help." Believe me, I couldn't be mad at you if I tried.

She laughs a little, eyes glowing in the half-light. It feels good (even if good isn't the right word) to see her smile like that again. There was a time when making Adora smile was the high point of Catra's day, and she missed it more than she cares to admit out loud.

Maybe that's what prompts her to move forwards, to reach out and let her hand rest on Adora's shoulder. If Adora minds, if she even notices, she doesn't show it, only lets out a slow breath in response, and Catra breathes out too. "Like I said," she says, and her voice comes out so much smaller than she wanted it to, "You can stay. As long as you need to. You can sleep in Scorpia's room if you want. We have an air mattress somewhere. She's away; she won't mind."

And to her surprise, Adora rolls onto her back and smiles at her again, gaze softening. "I- I don't want to intrude- but- thank you. I-"

"And you're absolutely not allowed to sleep on the couch. It's horrible." She pokes the arm behind her, hiding her grin at Adora's expression. "It's falling apart, and it feels like a rock."

"It feels fine to me," she mumbles.

"That's because you're a jock and you used to sleep on a bed made of steel," Catra says. "You'll hurt your neck if you stay here all night. Trust me."

Adora rolls her eyes, but doesn't protest. (Catra smiles to herself and wonders why.) "Fine."

She pokes her shoulder as gently as she can, grinning. "Don't make it sound like you're doing me a favour, Princess."

She rolls her eyes again, and the corners of her lips twitch up. Catra wonders, briefly, if she'd swat her hand away if she reached out to brush the hair away from Adora's eyes. If it would remind her of the same false affection Weaver used to show her, must've shown both of them. If it'd sting like it used to for her, if she'd recoil immediately like Catra used to. The idea of Adora physically pulling away from her, the distrust in her eyes, is enough to make her push the thought aside. 

Instead, she reaches for the hand resting on Adora's ribs, tangling their fingers together. And Adora doesn't resist - if anything, she almost sinks into the contact, squeezing her hand as gently as she can, with something like... like warmth in her eyes. They haven't done this in years, and her fingertips are rough and caked in mud and warm and familiar, and she fights the urge to smile at her like she wants to, to lean into her arms like she hasn't done since they were 18, to - to -

Pretty sure this is what they call overthinking.

"Do you need, like, an icepack or something?" 

Adora actually laughs properly this time, light flickering into her eyes. "I'll be fine. I'll let you know if I need one, I promise."

"But you won't, will you?" Catra squeezes her hand back, injecting as little lightness into her voice as she can, and flinching at how harsh it makes her sound. 

She sighs a little, letting her head fall back, and Catra wonders how much sleep she's gotten. In the dim light, the shadows under her eyes become even more pronounced, and it makes her lungs tighten. Seeing Adora look so - so lost - it's familiar, even if it hurts, and she hates that. "I will."

Catra offers her a tight smile (it's the best she can do, even if it stings a little). "Promise?"

"Promise."

They fall away into silence for long enough for Catra to start questioning her ability to form sentences, and then Adora eases herself up onto her elbows and mumbles, "Can... Can I have a hug?"

Despite herself, Catra lets out a small laugh. For some reason, the thought of Adora possibly wanting to hug her, to be close to her again, makes her feel more unstable than it has in a while. (She can't deny how much she actually wants to hug her. And maybe it's the fact that she feels like she has to ask, when all she's wanted to do since Adora got here is wrap her arms around her and never let her go again, or maybe it's because she thinks she's possibly losing the will to resist those eyes, but Catra nods and practically yanks her into her arms when she sits up.)

(Hugging Adora is a lot more... more than she remembers. Adora is impossibly cold and so, so broken, and she buries her face in the crook of Catra's neck and lets out a small sob, and her hands curl around the spot inbetween her shoulder blades and stay there, trembling, like she used to do when they were kids and Catra would find her in the middle of a panic attack. And she is content to hold her like that, caught up in her presence and the feeling of the fabric of Adora's shirt, stroking her hair until she finally gives in and starts properly crying into her shoulder.)

They're both silent for a while after that. More or less.

-----

She offers twice to sleep on the couch, in the living room, as far away from her tired host as she can get, and Catra refuses both times. Instead, she gets directed to the spare room (a.k.a. the room vacated by Scorpia when she went to visit her girlfriend two months ago) and has a bundle of old clothes shoved into her hands with a particular type of pained delicacy she usually sees on the faces of high school teachers.

Adora doesn't say anything. She can't say anything. If she talks, it'll all come spilling out, and she'll burst into tears, and then Catra will probably kick her out, because who wouldn't kick out a sobbing wild-eyed mess probably caked in mud?

Curled up on a bed that isn't hers, in the house of her ex-best-friend, Adora will wonder in the hours to come why she came here, what possessed her to knock on Catra's door at four in the morning, how she got here in the first place, but now she's exhausted, and almost all the mud in her hair is gone, and she can finally sleep -

Except she can't. Except she's been kicked out. Except she's too full of sheer terror to relax at all. Except if she falls asleep she'll dream and she'll wake up and want to go home -

Everything is so hard.

So she rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling and tries not to cry, which is harder than it should be. The feeling of sheer panic has faded, but her entire body aches, inside and out and everywhere, and- and in the back of her head there's an insistent little voice telling her to keep running, get as far away as you can, don't go back, because she'll hurt Catra again-

She'll hurt Catra again-

I'll hurt Catra again.

-----

Half an hour later and Adora is still awake, tracing patterns in the sheets and biting her lip so hard it hurts. Outside, she can hear Catra pacing the hall, the TV turning off and on and off again, the sound of a coffee machine. The noise is louder than her thoughts, and she's grateful. Catra always used to calm her down this way when they were kids, drowning out the raging sea of noise inside, and it worked, and it still works.

She shuts her eyes for a moment, lets the sound fade in and out, sinks into the darkness under her eyelids. For half a second, she lets herself forget, fade out from reality. It almost works. For half a second, she stops thinking.

"You are a disgrace-"

"I never want to see you in my household again, is that clear?"

"I thought I raised you well, I thought I did a better job than those degenerates that had you before, I thought I raised you right-"

Well, shit.

Adora sits upright, more to experience a different sensation again - any sensation again -than to try and dislodge the feeling of hands on her shoulders, mud dripping down her skin and soaking into her shirt, pain in her forehead that lasts for half a second and then fades to a dull, throbbing ache that lasts until-

G0d. Okay. Breathe. 

She puts her head in her hands and shuts her eyes. And it helps. Sort of. The noise from outside lowers to a low drone in the background, buzzing gently in the back of her mind, and that helps, too. Maybe she has a headache. Or a migraine. Or both. Or maybe she just needs sleep. Yeah, probably that. 

Adora takes another breath. Two. Three. Slow, deep ones, filling her lungs with air and emptying them again. It takes more effort than she would have liked, and more time to restore her breathing than she wanted, but she lies back down and shuts her eyes again nonetheless. If she can just get to sleep, maybe everything will stop hurting so much and those voices that have been whirring around her brain for the past few hours will quiet down. One can only dream.

The first thing to distract her is how much her back hurts. It starts as an ache in the middle of her spine, then spreads down to her hips, and fuck, it hurts so much. Adora rolls onto her side, then onto her front, which does nothing but make it hurt more. 

And then comes the incessant whirring of her thoughts, which not even the noise from what she assumes is Catra's room can drown out, and the overwhelming urge to cry, which she absolutely cannot do right now. G0d, everything would have been so much simpler if she'd just sucked it up and stayed with Weaver.

She tunes them out by humming (humming), but the sick feeling they give her remains, like a layer of oil, and it sucks, and that keeps her from falling asleep as well. If only she had enough mental energy to try and shake it off. And even worse is the deep, seated feeling of anger, roiling low in her gut. It makes her feel sick all over again. 

Adora winds up crouched on the mattress, bent over with her head between her knees, the sheets pulled over her back, hands pressed to her face to try and keep herself from crying. It works. Barely. She still finds herself wiping tears off her face, squeezing the blanket as hard as she can to do something other than focus on not crying, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Everything sucks. Everything sucks.

She blows out a long, slow breath to try and steady her pounding heart (it doesn't work) and shifts to stare at the ceiling. It lessens the ache in her limbs less when she elevates her knees, so she lies like that, and presses her hands over her eyes. Hard.

It shuts out the light trickling in from the moon in the window, which she supposes is... something, at least. Less sensory input will lesson the overwhelming feeling a little. Maybe. 

And, just maybe, if she tries to stop feeling so much, she might be able to get to sleep and leave this nightmare behind for a few hours, at least. 

-----

Adora doesn't sleep for another hour. 

And her dreams are filled with pain, with dark-haired women who scream threats as they throw her out of the door, with cold-eyed neighbours watching passively from their windows, with the desperate 23-minute run in the first direction she could go. Her dreams are filled with every last second of the past 12 hours, played back at dizzying speed, every detail maximised and in neon colours and -

- And she jolts awake at 7 AM, nearly throwing herself off of the mattress with the force of breaking out of the dream. 

G0d. Fuck.

Adora pushes herself up off of the mattress and rocks forwards onto her heels, careful not to make too much noise. It's unlikely that working out at the crack of dawn will help her much (in fact, it's probably more than likely that she'll go back to sleep aching even more than before), but... but it's a distraction. Something to empty her mind and clear her head. Something she can manage.

It's more difficult than it should be to get to her feet. Adora winces as she rises; even her ankles hurt way more than anything she's ever experienced, and it's making her head start to swim. Maybe sprinting the miles to Catra's house was a bad idea, but there's not much she can do about it now. Which sucks. Everything sucks.

She takes an experimental step (more of a lunge, really) and regrets it immediately. Fire burns up her calves and directly into the base of her spine, and Adora grits her teeth and forces herself not to yelp out loud.

Fuck. Fuck.

There's nothing else she can do. So she pushes forward, through the pain invading every inch of her body, and launches herself straight into a set.

Looking back, that definitely wasn't the best idea. Adora makes it exactly 12 sit-ups into her first set before she collapses back onto the mattress. Her entire body feels like it's been set on fire, which... which she should have expected, really. 

She squeezes her eyes shut. It's going to be difficult to fall asleep again.

-----

Adora is still asleep when Catra wakes up. She's still asleep when Catra leaves the house, and when she returns at noon, and when she leaves a sandwich a good foot away from the mattress an hour later (she sleep fights). The only sign of her having woken up is the plate left outside, which is better than nothing. But Catra still worries, because she knows what Adora's going through, and this... this is a bad sign. 

Which is why she finds herself stood outside her door at exactly 2 PM, trying to work up the courage to knock (it's just a fucking door, why are you scared??), make a noise, do something. And her heart is pounding out of her chest, leaving an odd, sour taste in her mouth, and now is really not the time to get anxious again.

She lifts her hand; drops it again. Her cat winds around her legs and meows indignantly, butting their head against the door. She nudges them away with her toe and they whine, then pad off to search for food. The clock Scorpia insisted on putting in the hall ticks seven seconds forward. 

G0d. Fuck.

She lifts her hand again, hesitates, lets it fall to her side.

She's probably still sleeping, right? Waking her up - waking her up will make things harder for her, and harder for me, and I won't be able to- I don't want to do that, I don't-

Fuck it.

Breathe and knock. It's not that hard.  It's not that hard. It's not that hard.

Catra knocks once, and harder than she meant to (ow). Waits a moment. Knocks again.

Nothing. Christ.

She lifts her hand to knock again as the door swings open and nearly hits Adora in the face. 

"What's up?" 

Catra shakes her head, leans against the doorframe. "You look like shit."

Adora scowls half-heartedly at her. There are bags under her eyes, and her hair is messy and down, for once. "I know I do. Why did you wake me up?"

"You weren't asleep." 

"I wasn't asleep."

She huffs a laugh. "I wanted to see if you were okay. You had a rough night."

And just for a moment, Adora's eyes widen. Something like disbelief crosses her gaze for half a second, then vanishes. "I- yeah. I'm doing okay. Now. Last night was.. a lot."

Despite herself, Catra genuinely smiles back. "It was, wasn't it? You get much sleep?"

She shrugs. "How much sleep is four hours?"

"Not much. I'm surprised you're still standing."

Adora huffs a laugh, combing her hair out of her eyes. Her shirt is hanging loose, exposing her collarbone, and it takes a monumental effort for Catra to pull her eyes away. "I tried, okay? It's harder than it looks." 

And Catra finds herself... laughing. Laughing with her, something she hasn't done in three years, nor did she expect to do again.

She missed it. It's... it's a nice feeling.

Judging from the expression on Adora's face, she's thinking the same thing. 

"... Do you... Do you want to-"

"Leave the room?" Adora laughs. "Please."

Catra smiles at her again and toes Melog away. She missed this, too - this easy, relaxed thing between them, more than she can ever say, and having it back makes her body start to hum alive for the first time in years. "I've got some normal-tasting food somewhere, I swear."

She rolls her eyes, grinning. "You'd better. I'm starving."

And before she can say anything else, before she can move away, Adora is pushing herself off the door frame and - and hugging her. Again.

(Catra wraps her arms around her waist almost immediately and leans into it, barely managing to resist the urge to bury her face in her shoulder like she used to when they were kids. And they stay there like that for a while, holding each other like they haven't in years, and Adora leans down and whispers "Thank you," into her ear and Catra smiles into her shirt.)

----- part 2 - but when i reach for you, there's just a supercut -----

She doesn't remember exactly how they stopped talking. Maybe it happened when Catra moved in with her friend, Scorpia, after finishing school. Maybe it happened four years before, and she just didn't see the signs. Or maybe it was sudden, and it was her fault. Whatever it was, it's been carefully erased from her memory, piece by piece. And it hurts, because she hates not knowing. She hates missing Catra. She hates this feeling more than she can ever express.

Maybe it happened after the kiss.

------

Adora falls in love with Catra slowly, over the years. It's so slow she nearly doesn't notice, too busy focusing on her studies or soccer or not disappointing her foster family, until it's almost too late, and Catra is nearly gone, and suddenly her whole world is vanishing before her eyes. 

-

It starts on a Friday, she realises. Friday the 18th of September, to be exact. They are 12 years old, sitting on Catra's front porch, watching the sun set over the rooves of the houses opposite, and she glances sideways, and Catra's eyes are glowing, reflecting the light perfectly, and her heart lurches into her throat for a second. 

Oh. Oh.

And then the moment passes, and the girl with the shining eyes turns to her, grinning, and slips her hand into Adora's. "You wanna go back inside? It's getting cold out here."

She just nods and smiles, forcing back the bubble of emotion in her throat, and picks up her jacket. Her hands are trembling from the cold and... something else. Something new. 

-

Thursday the 4th of April. Adora is sitting in the back of Scorpia's car, waiting outside Catra's house. Her new family are the kind who keep her running late and shower her with affection, which is... nice to hear. She's glad she's away from Ms Weaver. 

Oh, they are definitely going to be late.

Scorpia taps the dashboard nervously. "Should I go get her? I should go get her. I don't wanna be rude or interrupt anything but I really don't wanna be late for class again -"

Adora smiles and pulls out her phone. It's become automatic in the months since Catra moved, and it's honestly... it's liberating, knowing that Catra's in this kind of position. "I'll text her. They won't mind."

It takes Catra a whole minute to respond with a keysmash and 'coming now'. Adora relays this information to Scorpia through a mouthful of her lunch (it's early and she didn't eat dinner because soccer practice ran late). They spend a whole five minutes waiting, until the front door is kicked open and Catra stumbles out, hair in disarray and a handful of books under her arm. She spots the car and waves, eyes shining with laughter, and there's a smudge on her glasses, and Adora wants to lean over and re-adjust them and see her smile up at her like she used to when they were kids, and -

She blinks. G0d, she's getting gayer. 

The car door swings open and Catra tumbles in, laughter in her eyes and on her lips. She looks beautiful like this, with her hair tumbling down her shoulders and the light catching on her glasses. Adora smiles at her as she gets in, dumping a bag of books on the floor. 

"Wildcat!" Scorpia laughs. "We were getting worried."

Catra grins at her, pushing the hair out of her eyes. "Awwww, you two worry about me?" She doesn't wait for a response, leaning over the seat to tap Scorpia's headrest. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

"That's what I said!"

Scorpia shifts the car into gear and it lurches into movement with a sound like a dying guitar. In the seat next to her, Catra stifles a laugh. Her shirt is slipping off her shoulders, exposing her collarbone, and fuck, she shouldn't be as entranced by that strip of skin as she is-

Adora shakes herself and tears her gaze away, which takes more effort than it should. Is her face red? Fuck, if Catra notices-

But she doesn't, only plugs in her earphones and hands one over, whispering, "It's not MCR this time, I swear."

"You swear?" she teases.

Catra winks at her (she's getting gayer by the minute, Jesus Christ). "Yes, I swear on my grandfather's grave and the bones of my ancestors-"

Adora shoves her, laughing, and grabs it. 

-

Tuesday, 18th of June. Adora is 16, foolish, and hopelessly in love. Even if she doesn't quite know it yet.

It's too hot to be outside, so they sit curled up under Catra's (new, huge) bed and watch stupid documentaries on British squirrels for homework. Catra lies with her head on Adora's shoulder, glasses slid down to the bridge of her nose. Adora takes dutiful notes, Catra peers at hers and copies them when she thinks she isn't looking. (She doesn't mind. It's cute.)

They have been sitting in silence for a while now, staring at the flickering lights on the screen. Adora rolls her pen between her fingers aimlessly, trying not to focus on the sensation of Catra's breathing tickling the inside of her neck, which is near-impossible. 

"Hey, Catra?"

"Mmmph."

She laughs, shakes Catra's shoulder as softly as she can. "You awake?"

"Nooooo..." 

"Wanna go to bed? I can call Angella and tell her I'm staying over if you want," Adora suggests gently. "She won't mind." (She will mind, but that's an issue for tomorrow. She knows Catra hates sleeping alone on nights like these.)

Catra shakes her head, a tired smile forming on her lips. " 'M fine. We're watching this... stupid documentary about British squirrels and I'm stealing your homework."

"Doing your own homework."

"... Own homework," she agrees. "I'm awake, dipshit."

-

She falls asleep within the hour.

Adora gives it another 5 minutes before she turns off the documentary and slides her phone back into her pocket. Catra is dozing peacefully on her shoulder. She eases her off as slowly as she can and sets her on the blankets, doing her best not to startle her awake. Catra has always been a light sleeper, so it doesn't take much to disturb her, but for some reason she sleeps through the whole four-minute operation. (For weeks afterward Adora is convinced she was pretending to be asleep, which only makes her anxiety worse.)

Two hours later, when Catra wakes up, she will find a small note explaining where Adora went (home) and where she left a copy of her notes on the British squirrels (folded under her mattress, just in case Weaver sees it and gets angry), and Adora will be lying in her cold bed with the ceiling fan whirring above, wondering why she left a kiss on the top of the head of her sleeping best friend.

-

May 19th. Adora is 13, and her wrist is broken, and Catra is holding her close and whispering apologies in her ear for something that wasn't her fault, and her body hurts so much, but she doesn't want to say anything, because Catra is on the verge of tears and she can't bear to see her cry. Instead she finds herself mumbling apologies back, clutching her wrist to her chest, trying to stop the sobs building in her throat.

Ms Weaver is going to be so mad, she thinks belatedly. And she's going to punish Catra again for nothing and it'll be my fault.

Another spike of pain runs up her spine as she shifts to bury her face in Catra's neck, and Adora clamps down on a yelp. Above her, Catra stiffens, clings to her back, and something in the movement makes her heart lurch in her chest.

"Adora, are you okay?"

She lets out a muffled whimper. "Hurts."

Catra's hand moves to cup the back of her head, stroking her hair. "G0d, I know. I know it does. I'm sorry."

"No. Not your fault," Adora mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. "My fault."

Catra just shakes her head and presses her closer. "Angella's gonna be here soon, okay?"

"M'kay."

"We're gonna take you to the hospital."

"Uh-huh." 

"Ms Weaver won't be there. Angella says I can stay with her until you're getting better."

That perks her up. "Really?"

Catra smiles at her. "Yeah. She doesn't want her to get mad at me."

Adora grins back, shifting as slowly as she can to avoid hurting her wrist. "That's so cool. We're gonna have sleepovers every night. You can tell me about those books you were reading last week."

"What, the dragon ones?"

"The dragon ones!"

They keep talking like that until Angella shows up, barging into the back garden with a first-aid kit and demanding to know what happened. Adora listens in numb silence as Catra give a shaky explanation, clinging to her shirt as tightly as she can. The story seems dumb now she thinks about it - after all, who climbs a tree to retrieve a kite at sunset and jumps down? - but to her relief, Angella neither sounds disappointed nor annoyed. Instead, she reaches out to remove Adora from Catra's arms (she goes reluctantly) and bears her to the car, the other girl following at her heels. How her foster mother is this strong, Adora will never know.

She sets her in the back seat and straps her in gently, keeping her wrist tight to her chest. Catra crawls in next to her and rests her head on her good shoulder, sliding their hands together. Adora leans back almost immediately. Its familiar, it's comfortable, it's safe. She keeps her grip tight as Angella explains where they're going (as if it wasn't already obvious), and neither of them let go.

She drives them to the hospital in silence, with only a small curse when she runs a red light. Something about it feels tight, feels angry. Not at anyone in the car, just... generally. It's new, this tension, and she doesn't like it.

But Catra is there. Catra is there, smiling faintly and pressing up against her side, and Adora feels... warm. 

-

December 18th. It's snowing, and Adora is 17 and fucking freezing, and Catra is laughing and gazing up at the sky with stars in her eyes.

There is snow in her hair, snow forming crystals on her eyelashes, snow caked in the folds of her clothing (seriously, who wears a t-shirt and sweatpants in a snowstorm?), and despite the cold, despite the six weather warnings and the possibility of Ms Weaver barging down the door and dragging her home, she's laughing, arms stretched wide to embrace the wind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Adora has to bury her face in her jacket to stop herself from turning red.

Over in the street, Catra turns to face her. There is laughter in her eyes, something she hasn't seen there in years.

"Adora, are you coming or not?"

"Uhhh, not."

She laughs again (the high-pitched, adorable kind). "But it's snowing!"

Adora shivers, clacking her teeth together. "It's freezing," she points out. "My nose is numb."

"All part of the fun, Princess."

She stuffs her hands into her pockets, hiding her smile. "You're going to get a cold."

Catra just shoots her a grin and lifts her arms to the sky, turning in a slow circle. Something in her expression holds so much... joy. She finds herself staring at the spray of freckles across her nose, the way the light catches the rims of her glasses. G0d, she's beautiful.

"Adora?

"Yeah?" 

"What are you looking at?"

You, she wants to answer. I'm staring at you. I think you're beautiful, I think you're the most amazing girl in the world, I'm so lucky to have met you. 

"Nothing," is what comes out. Adora offers Catra a smile, and she smiles back, and for a moment her heart lifts in her chest and feels like it's going to float out of her lungs. Fuck. Fuck.

And for a moment, Catra holds her stare, and her eyes widen a little. Something like shock crosses her expression, and Adora's heart jumps again, and G0d, she could swear-

But no- the moment passes, and she blinks and turns away like nothing happened, laughter still spilling from her lips and echoing over the empty street. Like nothing happened, like Adora didn't just think for more than her allotted 2 seconds about running down into the road and kissing her, like-

G0d. 

Adora tears herself away, tries to focus on the snow trodden into the pavement (it doesn't work). Her hands are trembling and numb with the cold. She catches herself wondering if Catra's hands are just as cold, if holding them close will help, and has to pinch her wrist. Stop. Stop it. Don't.

-

It occurs to her far too late.

It should've been obvious from the start, really. Now that she thinks about it, she's always known, even if she couldn't identify the feeling. 

She doesn't know why she never... thought about it before. It took almost losing Catra for her to finally admit to herself exactly what it was that made her feel so- so like this, and it sucks. It sucks that it took her so long. It sucks that she had to quite literally get drunk and kiss her best friend on the lips for her to fucking realise just how deeply she's in love with her. It sucks that she's realising this now, when she's so tired she can barely move or form a coherent train of thought, when every emotion in existence is already threatening to crawl up her throat and make her cry, when she can't even begin to sift through everything happening in her head anyway, when-

When-

-

Lying on her back on the spare bed Catra's foster parents keep in the guest room for her, Adora realises exactly what she's done. 

Everything is wrong. Everything is wrong, and she's ruined the perfectly happy relationship they've already had, she's pushed Catra away, she's- she's fucked up so badly that Catra must hate her now - how am I going to face her tomorrow? How am I going to explain getting drunk and kissing her? How am I going to fix this? She doesn't want me, she doesn't want me to love her, she doesn't-

She rolls onto her side, gritting her teeth to stop herself from sobbing, and pushes her face into her pillow. It's been two days since she left the house. Weaver is going to kill her. Everything sucks. Her entire body aches, and she now she's started crying, she can't stop. She can't stop. She can't-

----- part 3 - it's hard to love (with a heart that's hurting) -----

For some reason, Catra keeps re-reading the messages. She spends hours doing it, scrolling up and down aimlessly, re-living old conversations that meant more to her than she realised and generally yearning, hoping Adora won't wake up and come into the living room. It's liberating, oddly, like she's let something go. Like she felt when she left Weaver.

She flicks down to the latest messages again.

catra i know we havent spoken in ages and this is really random but uh i rly need help can i come over to yours tonight? that sounds really weird but im lowkey panicking 
could you call me when you get this?

yeah its like 3 in the morning g0d im sorry hgbnhjbn youre probably still asleep but um im really panicking ive been kicked out and i dont have anywhere else to go uhhh help

she wont think to come to yours right? does she know your address? jesus i sure hope not lmao

uh im near your street pls tell me if i cant stay ill go find a hotel or smth i just need somewhere to go like. right now

lmao youre probably wondering whats going on so um basically ms weaver found my pics from pride last year with glimmer and bow and she got really mad and i had to come out and
it really didnt go well as youve probably guessed by now and she kept threatening to call the police and then kicked me out so i really need a place to stay and youre the closest by 

G0d, Adora must've been panicking. Catra's never known her not to use correct punctuation and grammar, or to use "pls" in a sentence unironically. 

She reads the messages again. Again. Again. Regretting the way she just behaved like that last night, ignoring Adora's expression, Adora's... everything. Fuck, she's been such an asshole. 

I can't take any more of this. Fuck.

She drops her phone next to her and buries her head in her hands. Why is everything always so complicated?

What was i doing at 3:04 AM? Falling asleep. Bingeing some stupid show, probably. Ignoring her. Ignoring the world. Spiralling again-

Catra picks up the phone again for fear of the cat sitting on it. Exactly a minute has passed. Because time doesn't exist anymore, apparently. She bites her lip in frustration and throws it down again with enough force to nearly crack the screen. This isn't helping at all, and there are essays to be completed, and she still needs to call Scorpia, and if she gets her work done for the weekend there'll be time to panic and spiral again later.

Hopefully. 

Well, not hopefully. 

-----

It takes Adora another 2 hours to make the journey to the living room, carrying all 10 cups of water, now empty, that Catra deposited outside her door yesterday. There are dark circles under her eyes. Catra hasn't seen her look this since they were in school.

"Catra?"

"In here," she answers, swinging her legs off the arm of the sofa.

"Where do I put.." She waves a cup in the air, gesturing vaguely. "...These?"

Catra lifts her head from her laptop and winces. "You look like shit."

Adora sticks out her tongue and shuffles in, balancing a stray cup on her forearm. "Yeah, well. So do you."

"I know," she grins. "It's great, isn't it?"

A moment of silence. Catra watches her stare at the cups in her arms for a moment and tries not to get distracted by the sheer amount of muscle there. Jesus. Fuck. I'm still gay.

She stands up, dislodging her laptop and the dozing cat resting their head against her thigh. Melog lets out an indignant squeak, then settles back down again in her place. Adora tracks her movement through narrowed eyes as she approaches, half-jumping over the coffee table, and lifts a cup out of her hands. "I'll take these, dummy. You still need rest."

Adora scoffs. "I don't need rest. Why would I need rest? I can do these, you get on with-" She glances at the discarded laptop and the pile of paperwork scattered on the couch. "-Whatever you're doing here, I'll handle this."

"You're going to drop all of them," Catra warns. " And we are literally fighting over who gets to wash the dishes."

"I am. I will."

"If this is about your hero complex again-"

Adora levels a glare at her that nearly makes Catra choke. Not because she's intimidated (Adora isn't intimidating in the slightest, especially not with Scorpia's 2-sizes-too-big t-shirt hanging around her knees), but because.... because she's extremely gay, and because 3 apart years have made her even hotter, if anything.

"I don't have a hero complex. I just.." Her expression deadens. "I need something to do with my hands."

Catra's grip on the glass in her hand tightens. Fuck. Okay. Should've thought about that.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out. "Okay. Just... let me help. It's my house."

Adora gives her a Look. The bruise on her forehead has faded to an ugly yellow. It still looks sore. Catra wonders vaguely if she needs any ice for it, if it still hurts. "Fine. Just... please don't ask me about last night, okay?"

"I wasn't going to."

She sighs and turns away. Catra notices the tension in her shoulders drop slightly with no small amount of satisfaction and follows her into the kitchen.

------

It takes them half an hour to finish the dishes (Adora insists on doing the unwashed ones in the sink from last night) with the both of them working together, something they haven't done in three years. It feels awkward, to say the least, what with the cat having started winding their way around Catra's legs in an attempt to beg for treats. Adora thinks its cute and sneaks them a handful (being a cat and a little shit, they just keep winding around her legs and SCREAMING).

Afterwards, Catra takes Adora into the living room and sets her up with a cup of coffee (dark because she needs it) and her Netflix password. She gives her a blank stare in response. "What, you want me to watch TV?"

"Yup. Pick something good. I'll be back with snacks."

"You want to watch Netflix with me?" Adora asks. Her voice has gotten very small very suddenly, and it makes Catra feel... emotions. Powerful ones.

She coughs past the lump in her throat. "Uh, yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

"I just..." Adora turns away, brushing her hair out of her eyes hurriedly. "We haven't done that since you finished school. Why?"

Catra just shrugs. It seems easier than explaining exactly how she knows Adora is going to overwork herself and burn out within 24 hours. "Because you need to do something to relax. And I want to watch something new."

"I am perfectly relaxed, thank you," she mutters, but doesn't argue. (Good.)

-----

It's 4 AM, and the flickering of the TV across her glasses is the only thing keeping Catra awake. Adora is asleep on her shoulder, probably drooling, and the bowl of popcorn she was holding has spilled onto the blanket. She'll have to clean that up later.

"'Dora?"

Adora tucks her face into Catra's shirt, mumbling. "No..."

"You awake? Or am I gonna have to carry you to bed again?"

She shakes her head, curling onto her side. "Noooo. 'M fine. Watching... uh... this."

Catra smothers a laugh. Adora's hair is soft. "And you're enjoying 'uh, this'?"

She nods tiredly and shifts onto her side, knocking the popcorn bowl onto the floor. Her hand finds its way into Catra's designated Side Of The Blanket and settles against her ribs, curls round her waist (she tries her best not to hold her breath or cry or scream or laugh). "It's very... mmmh."

"How insightful."

"You sound like Glimmer."

She hides her smile and chooses not to respond.

Less than a day in, and Adora is this touchy. They're snuggling on the couch together already, something they haven't done since the last time Adora was sick, over 5 years ago now, and she... missed it. Adora is warm, and comfortable, and they fit perfectly together like this, and she's tired, and sleeping seems like a pretty good idea right now. Except the girl on her shoulder is mumbling something into her shirt, pressing her body closer, letting herself wind around Catra like she used to do when they were kids, and she feels just... peaceful. This is peaceful.

"Adora?" she whispers.

"Mmh. 'M awake."

"You want to go to bed now?"

A beat of silence passes. Then she nods, tucking her face into Catra's neck. "Carry me?"

"I haven't been able to carry you anywhere since you started working out. It's been seven years," she points out. Gently. "You're gonna have to walk, princess."

A smile twitches across Adora's lips, but she doesn't move. "Mmmhno."

-----

When Catra wakes up, the alarm on her phone is blinking and making the most horrendous noise known to humankind, Melog is screeching in some sort of attempt to drown it out, and instead of being curled around Adora, she's lying sprawled on her back on the couch with the blanket arranged carefully around her. At least her shoulders are a normal temperature, which is saying something.

She sits up, dislodging the blanket and the screaming cat perched on her thigh. "Adora?"

Something in the kitchen falls over. There is a muffled stream of curses and another bang, and then Adora's head appears in the doorway. Her eyes are unusually bright - she looks ecstatic. "Catra! Hey!"

Catra shoves her hair out of her eyes. "You look happy." 

"I am," she beams.

"Gonna elaborate?" 

Adora grins at her. "No."

She swings the door open (Melog, being a little shit, doesn't hesitate to sprint out before Catra can catch them). "I made breakfast, if you want some."

Catra blinks, "You made breakfast?"

"Yeah! And I took out the trash, and I fed Melog!" Her smile dims a little. "I know... I know that some days are gonna be worse, and today might just be a fluke or ...like, an exception or something, but-"

She stands up, which takes more effort than it should, and crosses the room. "Hey. Good days are good days, right? I'm not complaining. You made me food and you got shit done. That's great."

Adora nods once, slowly, and meets her eyes. That flicker of emotion crosses them again for a heartbeat, flutters, vanishes. Catra holds her gaze and allows herself the luxury of wondering what makes her eyes glow from within like that for half a second. For half a second, she lets herself entertain the notion that it's the same thing that crossed her eyes three years ago, when - when nothing happened. Nothing happened. Shut up, we're being functional.

"You-" she swallows, and Catra's eyes flick down to her lips for another half a second, then back up to Adora's eyes before she inevitably notices. "You mean that? I just-"

She lets herself smile. "I mean that. I've been there, remember?"

Adora nods again, with a little more certainty. "Okay. Okay, yeah."

Catra takes her hand, threading their fingers together - a slow, practiced motion, something they used to do every day of their lives. She missed it - the way Adora's hand automatically closes over her own, the rough skin of her palm, the way her breath catches in her throat and her heart jumps-

Adora offers her a small smile, squeezing her hand back. "It's gonna be okay," she murmurs, more to herself than to Catra, but she nods nonetheless, with what she hopes is an encouraging expression.

"It is."

-----

Adora spends the rest of the day testing her limits, seeing how much she's able to do before despair and excessive dysfunction set in and she inevitably collapses from the weight of the past few days. Catra stays at her side the whole time, determined not to let her overwork herself, and... she's grateful for it. Deeply. 

If things were better, if she wasn't fighting off the creeping sick feeling in her gut, she would insist that Catra went back to her paperwork (even though she's not really sure exactly what she does for a job), or fed Melog again, or did something other than watch her try and outrun the tide of emotions she's been battling since she woke up. She'd tell her, as delicately as she could without giving in to the ball of stress building in her stomach, to go do something helpful.

But she needs it - she needs Catra's soft encouragement, her laughter, the hand she sets gently on the outside of her forearm whenever she sees her shoulders tense. She needs to hear someone tell her she's not over-stretching herself, not doing anything wrong, no matter how selfish it makes her feel. And she's grateful for it. More than grateful. It makes her feel... whole, somehow. Less like she's drowning in emotion, in everything, like she was when she first arrived.

They eat dinner together, sitting on the couch with all the lights off except for the TV and the curtains practically sealed shut, exactly like they used to do when they were kids. (It's oddly relaxing. Catra chooses some random film she knows Adora doesn't completely hate or associate with Weaver and puts it on at a low volume, and they wind up laughing and throwing popcorn she knows she'll clear up later at each other at 8 in the afternoon, and she feels... safe. Steadier than she has for the past few days, which is always a bonus. And to her relief, Catra doesn't push her into trying to talk about anything, doesn't bother pressing the small moments where her mind wanders back to the start and she forgets what to do with her hands.)

(They both fall asleep on the couch again, and it's nicer than Catra will admit.)

And she starts to feel... awake again. Able to function without pushing herself. Catra seems very deeply amazed by this outcome, which is encouraging. 

Adora doesn't stop to think about what could happen if she just... stopped. If she gave up on trying to ignore the bad and let it swallow her, stopped distracting herself or trying to work past the insistent humming in her brain, if she just lay down and tried to process everything at once. She can't afford to let herself falter, can't let anything stop her from functioning now, because she knows it'll happen at some point in the future.

It's easier to try and make progress now and fight the impact later, when it comes, so that's what she tries to do, and she... succeeds. More or less.

_____

In Adora's defence, being productive is hard.

She spends 20 minutes staring blankly at the washing machine, waiting for her brain to find the exact order of actions that will wind up with her clothes being clean and dry and on her, before Catra steps in and talks her through each step (which she appreciates a LOT). And then another 5 trying to come up for excuses as to why she couldn't just shove the fucking clothes in the hole.

And Catra just shakes her head and laughs. "I've been there, remember?"

Shit. Yeah.

Adora scowls at her hands. "I just... I feel so useless, y'know? Like I should be doing something, or being helpful, or-"

Catra sets her hands on her shoulders as gently as she can, moving her away from the washing machine. "I get it," she says slowly. "I understand. Do you... do you want to talk about it? Do you feel like you need to?" 

She pauses. 

Yes. The answer is yes. She needs to talk about it, especially with the person who went through years with Weaver, who knows what it's like to feel like this - but she can't. It's an instinct bred of years spent hiding her expression whenever someone asked her about her foster mother, learning to obey every command thrown her way to protect herself, and shaking it off feels like peeling back a layer of skin. And she knows Catra knows what it feels like, and it doesn't make anything easier.

"I- it's complicated."

Catra just nods. Smiles. Releases her shoulders, even though Adora barely noticed her touch, and steps back, guiding her a few feet further from the washing machine. "It's okay," she tells her gently. "You did loads of random shit yesterday, which was a lot more than I expected, and you're allowed to struggle. It's... not an easy thing for you deal with, but it's okay. I wasn't expecting you to magically start functioning like you were before Weaver kicked you out."

Adora blinks.

"So... is that a no?"

"No! No, it's not a no, it's- it's a yes. I want to talk about it with you. I just-" She lets out a small sigh, relaxing her shoulders. "It's difficult."

Catra nods again. She lets go of Adora's shoulders, smoothing down the fabric there with... with delicacy, something she hasn't seen from her in years. "I know it is. We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to right now, or ever."

"...Okay." She hesitates, bites her lip, and adds, "I want to, though. Maybe... maybe later today?"

Catra smiles up at her (she really is short). "Later today. You have to eat something first, though."

Adora groans.

-----

"So."

"So," Catra agrees. (Her hair is still tied back from earlier, and Adora has to resist the urge to reach out and tuck a few stray pieces behind her ear. She looks... pretty. Prettier than Adora will let herself admit.) She presses up to her side, elbowing her gently, and adds, "You're tired."

"'M always tired."

"No, I mean..." Catra shuffles closer and leans her head on Adora's shoulder, eyes fixed on the television screen. "You're tired of functioning. To the point where it's getting hard for you to remember how to." She rests a hand on her knee. "Remember what I said earlier?"

"You're being too nice. I want to speak to a lawyer."

Catra huffs a laugh. "Tomorrow I'll go back to being absolutely horrible. Enjoy it while you can, princess."

For a moment they both grin at each other, and Adora watches the corners of Catra's eyes crinkle as she smiles. (I love you. It's such a simple thought. I love you. I love you. I love you.)

She glances away before - something - can happen, turning her gaze back to the wall opposite. (They've both been staring at it for the past 20 minutes. It's... relaxing, partially owing to the lack of things to fix her attention on.) If Catra lets out a small sigh in protest, she ignores it. Pretends she didn't hear it. Whatever.

"So," she repeats, and Adora lets out a long fake groan. "What do you want to talk about?"

"This was your idea," she reminds her.

 Catra huffs a laugh. (She has a beautiful laugh, Adora thinks.) "Yeah, yeah. What do you want, sentence starters?"

"You got any leaflets lying around?"

She elbows her gently, and Catra elbows her back, laughing again. Her glasses are sliding down the bridge of her nose. Adora wonders if she'd get annoyed if she reached over and pushed them up.

"I mean... uh, I could always just... ask you questions?"

Adora raises an eyebrow. "For free? Is that legal?"

Catra laughs again (she tries not to feel too pleased, even if oh my g0d I just made her laugh again wow wow wow). "For free, dumbass." She shifts to face her, dislodging herself from her position against Adora's side, and crosses her legs. "So. Um. Tell me about... tell me about sleeping. And dreams."

"Wow, really?"

"Hey," she defends. "I'm literally just paraphrasing my therapist. I'd like to see you try and come up with a better question, Miss Evasive."

Adora snorts. "How about 'how has your complete lack of a night's rest been affecting your ability to function, Adora dearest'?"

Catra rolls her eyes, but she doesn't miss the relief in her expression. "Yeah, start with that." She straightens her glasses and sits upright, exaggerating a stern expression. "I'm listening."

She nudges her with her foot, sitting back against the arm of the couch so they're facing each other properly, and for a moment, they could almost be 16 again, throwing popcorn at each other in the dark and hoping Weaver didn't come downstairs before the film they were watching finished. (She... she misses it, weirdly. She misses how intertwined they were, how instinctively they knew each other. She misses how easily they used to fall into rhythm, how they used to exist in their own little bubble, safe from whatever Weaver threw at them. She misses... she missed Catra. Much more than she realised.)

"Um. Sure." Adora tips her head back a little and avoids Catra's eyes, which have obligingly settled somewhere above her left shoulder. "It... sleeping's okay. But I - I just -" She sighs. "I thought it would be easier. Falling asleep. Actually resting - resting and feeling rested. I don't know. I just - it's tiring, really tiring, and it sucks, and I think that's part of what's been keeping me back these past few days."

"That happened to me," Catra says. Her voice comes out sounding... small. Way smaller than Adora's ever heard it. "All the time. Especially after - especially after we stopped - you know. I don't know why. Perfuma - that's, uh, that's my therapist - said it was something to do with... trauma response, or whatever. I don't really..." She laughs a little, glancing away. "I should probably ask her to explain it to you, shouldn't I?"

"Probably," she agrees, smiling, and reaches over to take her hand. "Isn't that going to cost you money?

"Nah, Perfuma's nice. I get a friend discount."

Adora grins at her. "Maybe I should get in with the therapist's girlfriend, too."

Catra pokes her shin, laughing again. "We're having an adult conversation, princess."

"And doing a great job of it."

"Pfft." She pokes her again. "Back to the conversation."

"Back to the conversation," she agrees. "We're serious adults. Functioning young people. We have jobs and everything."

"Well, I have a job."

"In looking at paperwork and Excel spreadsheets at 5 AM."

"It's very high-level," Catra says, fighting a laugh. "Very executive. I can put all the qualifications I didn't do to good use. Playing to my strengths. We're supposed to be discussing trauma, 'Dora."

Adora groans. "Do we have to? This is infinitely more fun."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to," she teases, poking her with her foot again. She's wearing the unicorn socks Adora got her for Christmas when she was 16. (Her heart leaps into her throat at the realisation, and she pushes it down with only a small amount of guilt and a slight hitch in her breathing.)

"Ugh. I know, I know. What were we talking about?"

Catra shrugs. "Sleeping. Something about how you're still... recovering, or whatever. Fighting the impact, you know? Your brain needs time to process it, I think. Perfuma would know."

"Perfuma would know," she agrees. "Maybe I should go see her at some point."

"Maybe you should," Catra says slowly. "Maybe... yeah, maybe I should talk to her about that. I - if you wanted to, I could try and -"

Adora raises an eyebrow. "You do worry about me," she grins, and ignores her scowl in response. "Seriously, though, we can think about this later, right?"

"Right." She reaches out, shuffling upright, and takes her hand, and the sensation is so familiar that it makes Adora want to - to sob - I missed you I missed you I missed you I missed you so much and now you're holding my hand like you used to when we were kids and I missed you I missed you I missed you I- "We can think about all of this later. When you're ready."

"When I'm ready," she echoes. 

Ready. 

Will I ever be ready? What does being ready even mean? How will I- will I know when I am? Does being able to talk about it now, to Catra, make me ready? Am I overthinking this? The thought makes her want to laugh. Almost definitely. 

Catra nods, watching her carefully. "It took me a long time to actually want to talk to Perfuma. Even though I knew I needed to. Scorpia was the one who convinced me, in the end." She smiles to herself. "She's very persuasive. I guess... I guess I never really let myself believe it was that bad, you know?"

That makes sense. More sense than Adora wants it to. She blinks hurriedly, avoiding Catra's gaze, stares up at the ceiling instead, and shuts out the rest of her thoughts. Not now. Not now.

"...You okay?"

She nods, feeling numb, and Catra settles her hand on the outside of her thigh.

"Are you sure?"

Adora nods again. Catra doesn't remove her hand. 

"D'you want to keep talking, or should we go do something else?" She offers her a smile, leaning against her leg. "I've been waiting three years to beat you at cards."

She huffs. "We'll see about that. But... yeah, I'm okay to keep talking. For now, at least."

Catra grins at her. "Good, 'cause it was either that or I teach you how to dance properly."

"Anything but that."

(They both start laughing, and Catra moves up to lie against Adora's side, settling her head on her shoulder like she used to do when they were kids, and she resists the urge to press a kiss to the top of her head.)

----- part 4 - i'm (not) gasping for air -----

Catra doesn't realise she's in love until later.

Looking back, the signs were almost impossible to miss. Looking back, she should have known from the moment her heart lurched in her chest when Adora's eyes lit up as she listened to her rant about some long-forgotten hyperfixation from when she was 13, from the moment she felt her breath catch in her throat when Adora smiled at her like that for the first time, from the moment she first heard her laugh and time seemed to fold in on itself and preserve it in her memory forever.

It's a lot to discover at the fragile age of 13, so her brain buries it, shoves it deep down where she won't find it after 2 years and a second sexuality crisis, tries to erase it every time she finds it again. Sometimes it comes in handy (you really don't want to be having an identity crisis when your foster mother is screaming at you), but... but mostly, it just makes everything worse. 

The realisation - the second one, the one that sticks permanently in her brain - happens when she is 16, curled up under the covers in her bed with a pillow clutched to her chest, trying not to cry loud enough for Weaver to hear. It happens when she least expects it, when she doesn't want to think about it, when she can't afford to think about it, and it sends her into a tailspin.

They've known each other for years, since Adora was 3 and Catra was 2. She doesn't remember exactly how they met, nor when, but she knows that it happened, and that they were inseparable afterwards.

She knows that she knows Adora like the back of her own hand. She's always known every last detail about her, from the exact shade of blue her eyes turn when she's mad to the way she likes her coffee, and Adora knows everything about her, too. She knows the face she makes when she's about to cry, the way she plays with her hair when she's upset, the half-smile she masks her pain with, the catch in her voice when someone brings up her old foster mother. And it used to make Catra feel... safe. Used to.

She used to think that their- whatever it was that they had- was permanent. More than permanent, actually. She used to think that nothing could tear them apart - nothing could erase the history between them, nothing could possibly be strong enough to force them to forget each other. It was stupid, and fuelled by her past with Weaver, and it probably made her look ridiculous, but Adora was the only constant thing in her life - the only unfailingly good thing in her life, and then she was gone, and Catra was alone.

When she thinks about it - really thinks about it - there are moments, fragments of memories, that stand out. Exchanged glances held for a heartbeat too long, stolen laughter that makes her ribcage feel slightly too full, seconds where she felt her gaze drawn to Adora's smile, her eyes, her laugh, for just long enough to make her feel... things. New things. Things she absolutely should not be feeling for her best friend.

She thinks it might have started when they were 12, and Catra found Adora dozing under her bed in the middle of winter. Her hair was loose, and it hung over her eyes and pooled under her head on the floorboards. She was tempted to reach out and smooth it out of her face, tug her close and hold her until she woke up. Neither of them should have been there at that point in time - especially not Catra, who was hiding from her foster mother at Adora's place, but... but she was glad for it, in that moment. Even if it earned her a black eye and four days off school.

In the end, she settled on crawling in beside her, tugging a blanket over them both and settling with her arms around Adora's waist. Angella found them hours later, curled up in a ball under the sheets, Catra wrapped as tightly around her as possible without hurting her. And when she tried to move Adora out of her arms to take her home, Catra resisted as gently as she could until she conceded and waited on Weaver's porch to take them both home.

And Adora woke up hours later to roll over in her arms and smile up at her, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. After a second, Catra smiled back, and reached up to stroke the hair out of her eyes. 

-----

She remembers realising for the first time, looking back. She remembers what it felt like, how her heart lurched in her chest, how sick she felt whenever she thought about it afterwards. She remembers shoving it down, to the corners of her mind, somewhere where she wouldn't find it until she was ready. Until she thought she was ready.

She remembers jumping up out of her seat on Adora's porch, nearly knocking her over, and mumbling "I have to... bathroom" under her breath as she practically sprinted upstairs. She remembers gripping the edges of the sink, glaring into her reflection in the mirror, fighting the urge to - to - to what? To start yelling? To hit something? To lie down in the bath and cry? 

She ignored Adora when she came for her half an hour later, ignored her again when she brought up a plate of food and some ibuprofen. Stayed silent when she tried to talk to her through the door. And felt like an asshole for days afterward.

And when Weaver came to collect her at sunset (7:34 PM precisely, like always), she bolted downstairs, shoved the food she didn't touch into Adora's hands, hugged her once, and ran outside. Ran. Like she wanted to be in the same house as her shitty foster mother. Adora stared after her like she'd gone mad or - or kissed her or something, and stepped out onto the porch to watch her go in silence. And Catra avoided her for the next week entirely, shrugging and mumbling "Panicked, I guess" whenever she tried to ask her what happened. 

Even looking at her... even looking at Adora made her vibrate with it, made her heart crawl back up into her throat, made the blood start rushing in her ears. Some days, it felt like a brand, a target on her back.

Like she wasn't supposed to - wasn't allowed to love her.

 -----

It doesn't happen again for a while, thankfully. And neither of them mention it again. Catra doesn't want to mention it again.

(Sometimes just thinking about it makes her stomach churn to the point where she has to sit with her head in a bucket for a few hours. And sometimes... sometimes she can't escape Adora's concern, that flicker of anxiety in her eyes that follow her out of the room and stay burned into her mind for days afterward. Sometimes saying "I felt sick" isn't enough, and she has to deflect her endless questions and unfailing gentleness until she can escape. And, honestly, she doesn't know how to feel about that, or how to respond to Adora's... affection without feeling like a piece of shit for being rude to her.)

The next time it happens, they're apart (thank g0d) and Catra is hiding under her bed like she used to do when she was 12, staring at the mattress above her head and feeling faint. Her entire upper body aches, blood is pounding steadily in her ears, and her glasses are cracked (which is her fault, again), but she can't bring herself to care.

Everything is moving too quickly. This wasn't supposed to happen, Weaver wasn't supposed to - to take Adora, they were going to be safe - she was going to get out, she was going to live with the older couple a few streets away and enjoy life for once, and Adora was supposed to stay with Angella, she wasn't supposed to end up in this hellhole, she wasn't supposed to suffer -

She takes off her glasses and presses the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose, sighing as quietly as she can. It wasn't supposed to go like this. She was going to move out in a few hours, and they were going to be free of this - this nightmare, and Adora -

Adora was supposed to be happy. Adora was supposed to be safe. Adora wasn't supposed to be knocking on her door at midday with a box of her things under one arm. She wasn't supposed to be taking her place.

And... and thinking about it makes Catra's chest ache. The more time she spends here, staring at the dust on the floorboards and listening to her own thoughts run in circles, the more that odd, protective instinct inside her starts to come out. It's the same feeling that used to lurch into her throat whenever Adora was in pain, whenever she used to start crying without reason, and it's so close to that tense bubble of emotion she keeps discovering over and over again. 

She wants to hit something. She wants to scream. 

It's all my fault - It's all my fault - 

- 

(Catra waits for as long as she can before crawling back out from under the bed and opening the door. She doesn't want to see the look on Adora's face when she realises... when she realises. She doesn't want to feel her heart stop dead in her chest again, feel that heavy, sick feeling come to rest over her lungs. She doesn't want it to start hurting again.)

-----

Catra turns 17 in a few months. And she wouldn't exactly say life is good, but it's... better. Better than it was last year, at least. She has a new family and glasses she can actually see out of, at least, and getting closer to being mentally stable more than 50% of the time.

And Adora... Adora is struggling, and Catra knows she's literally the only person on Earth who can see it.

(Maybe she wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't her fault she got landed with her abusive ex-foster mother. Maybe she wouldn't have watched her mental health slowly deteriorate, the light in her eyes grow steadily dimmer if she had come clean about Weaver to her social worker, if she had at least tried to explain everything, if she had just- if she'd cared more about Adora than saving her own skin, maybe Adora wouldn't be crying into her shirt at lunch break over the grade she knows she'll be punished for getting.

Maybe she wouldn't be watching it happen all over again to the girl who deserves it the least, to the girl made of sunshine and light and laughter, to the girl who helped her through it all the first time.)

-----

Catra can remember the moments that led up to the start of the end of their friendship with a startling accuracy (June 18th, 3:44 AM, in the middle of a party she didn't want to be at, with a girl who didn't want to be there either curled up in her arms, glasses slipping down her nose and streamers tangled in her hair. How could she forget?). She sees it in every time her mind succumbs to anxiety-fuelled dreams, replayed second by second over and over again, so she can see every mistake in high definition in her mind - right down to the way she stiffened when Adora reached up to push her glasses back up and laughed it off when she grinned, "Whaaaat?"

She remembers the way her heart lurched in her chest when Adora shifted to settle against her shoulder, the way she bit her tounge, determined not to react, and let herself reach up to cup the back of her head. How easily they both relaxed into it. How quickly she thought to slide her hand into Adora's, keeping her close.

How Adora looked when she glanced up and whispered, "Man, I'm tired."

"No shit."

"Are you staying?"

Catra shook her head. "Not until Sparkles leaves." She offered her a small smile, careful not to jolt her out of her arms. "Can't be the last one of us to go home, can I?"

"Netossa's gonna kill you." 

"She'll have to catch me first."

Adora huffed something like a laugh, settling back against her collarbone. "Whatever you say, fuzzball."

"What about Weaver?"

She shook her head. "Don't wanna think about her right now. She won't be too mad if Scorpia covers for me."

Catra didn't respond, only let out a small sigh. Her hand at the back of Adora's head started stroking her hair, almost automatically - something they hadn't done for years. She remembers the way it felt, how Adora smiled back and she could almost sense it on her skin, and how it occupied her thoughts for weeks afterwards.

"Catra?"

"Mm?"

"We're not.. drunk, right? Weaver's actually gonna murder me if we're drunk."

Catra actually laughed. "Well, I'm definitely not." 

"Mm. Reassuring."

-

"Cat?"

Catra fights a grin, balancing her chin on top of Adora's head. "Mhm?"

"D'you wanna dance with me?"

She smiles down at her. "Are you sure you're not too tired? Or drunk?"

Adora mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like fuck you and settles her head back against Catra's shoulder. "If I was drunk, we'd be halfway home by now and I'd have fallen asleep already. 'M not drunk." 

"Can't argue with that logic," she deadpans, and reaches around to remove the (empty) plastic cup from Adora's hand (because Weaver will kill her if she comes home with it), blanking out the loud noise she makes in protest. If she was less exhausted from dragging her best friend and her other best friend around town to buy shitty school supplies, she'd literally just scoop Adora up and carry her to the car. If she had more mental energy, she'd have made her go home before Weaver noticed she was gone.

Adora leans closer, shuffling forward until her face is inches away from Catra's. "You'll be okay if we go home now, right?"

"It's not like I want to stay here," she whispers back. "I got bored after the first six hours."

"SIX HOURS-"

"Adora, it's four in the morning."

"It is not," she mumbles, and Catra has to stop herself from holding her breath when she leans in, close enough to - to -

"Adora," she tries. Her voice comes out a lot smaller than she wanted it to, which doesn't help the way her heart is pounding out of her fucking chest, and g0d, she's close-"D'you want me to- um-"

Adora blinks. "To what?" she teases, but softly - soft enough that it makes Catra's breath catch again.

Well, this escalated quickly.

She could just move away. But that would be too hard to manage, and she can't seem to tear herself away for Adora's eyes, and- and Adora's gaze is sliding down, dangerously close to her lips, and-

She leans forward just a little further, and Catra finds herself echoing her, moving so close they're practically sharing what's left of the air between them. 

"'M waiting," Adora breathes. "What were you going to say?"

Catra shakes her head as steadily as she can without accidentally inching closer to the area of her best friend's face she is definitely not allowed to think about. "Nothing important."

"Mmh. Good."

Another pause. 

She wants to wreck the moment so badly. She wants to clear her throat, to 'accidentally' jolt Adora out of her lap, to do something to break the tension between them, to bridge the distance between them and kiss her stupid. She wants to know what her laughter feels like against her lips, wants to tell Adora just how much she loves her, wants to-

Adora's hand comes up to cup the corner of her jaw. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous, but she finds herself leaning into her touch anyway, letting her get this close when she really should have moved away by now, and- and maybe it's the lack of sleep, or maybe it's something else, but when Adora finally actually kisses her, Catra lets herself kiss her back.

Catra lets herself kiss her back.

Catra lets herself kiss her.

Adora is kissing her. And her lips are soft and her hand is curving back round to cup the corner of her jaw and play with her hair and she's laughing, she's laughing as she kisses her and it's all she's wanted for years, it's all she's-

Adora pulls away slowly, lips curving upward in another small smile. "That wasn't supposed to happen," she says softly, grinning. Catra is inclined to agree.

"... Yeah." She swallows, drawing her eyes away from Adora's mouth. "It wasn't."

-----

Catra takes her back to her house without saying a word. She doesn't want to risk opening her mouth, doesn't want to start - start telling her everything, start pushing her away. And Adora doesn't say anything either, slumping down in the back seat of the car she definitely wasn't supposed to borrow from Spinnerella and staring vaguely out of the window for the entire drive home. 

Netossa and Spinnerella are waiting for her when she gets home. Instead of chastising her like they normally would (which is... it's much better than what Weaver would have done), they both immediately grab Adora and practically drag her inside. Catra doesn't bother asking.

(FUCK I just kissed Adora I just kissed Adora I let Adora kiss me I just kissed her I just-)

"She's drunk," Spinnerella whispers to her, standing at the bottom of the stairs to watch Netossa lead her up them. 

"Yeah, no kidding."

"She'll have to stay the night." She sighs. "I don't want her getting in trouble with that..."

"Bitch?" Catra suggests.

To her surprise, Spinnerella laughs. "Not the word I would have chosen, but... yes. I wish there was a way to get her out of there, but-"

"But the system sucks," she supplies numbly. I'm exhausted. Again. Fuck.

She nods, slipping her hand around Catra's shoulders." She can stay as long as she needs. I don't want to explain this to Ms Weaver."

"... Are you mad at me?"

Spinnerella raises an eyebrow. Why would I be mad at you?"

Despite herself, Catra laughs. Why wouldn't you? It's not like I took my best friend to a party instead of just coming straight home like you told me to, let her get drunk, got back at midnight, made you take her for the night because Weaver sucks -"

"I'm not mad at you," she says firmly, before Catra can continue. "Neither of us are. Adora isn't. If anything, I'm glad you're being a normal teenager. I'm glad you're letting yourself have fun, Catra. I know it's not easy to internalise it, but remember that neither of us are ever going to be mad at you. Unless you kill someone, in which case, I'll be mildly disappointed in you."

She huffs a laugh, and her breath mists in the air. They must've forgotten to close the door. "Pretty sure Adora's gonna be mad at me when she wakes up."

"I highly doubt that," Spinnerella says gently.

Catra shakes her head and stays silent. She's wrong; she knows she's wrong, and her - her confidence only makes it feel worse. Of course Adora is going to be mad, of course it'll be her fault again, and of course it'll make two of the only three adults who've ever liked her realise what a piece of shit she is, of course -

A hand squeezes her shoulder, tethers her to reality again. (She realises later that Spinnerella is rubbing her back in soothing arcs, drawing her focus to the pressure of her hand and the sensation of fabric on her skin, and she smiles.) "I doubt that," she repeats, and Catra nods hollowly." You're her best friend, and she's yours. Nothing is going to change that. I won't let it."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay."

Spinnerella grins at her. It's been a while since she had to talk her down like that, and Catra wonders vaguely if she's annoyed about that part. 

Silence hovers between them for a few seconds. And then Catra blurts, "She kissed me."

"And did you want her to?"

"Of course I wanted her to, I've been in love with her since I was 12." (It feels good to say that out loud, she realises, even if right now it's the last thing she wants to be thinking about.) "Of course I wanted her to kiss me. But she didn't - she -" 

"Wasn't in her right mind?" Spinnerella suggests gently. She has a soothing voice. Catra is grateful for it. 

She nods (and bites back the tears that spring immediately to her eyes in response). "I just - I messed up. I let her kiss me, and now she's gonna hate me for -"

"For what? For letting her?" 

"For not telling her sooner. For letting her stay with Weaver, for-"

Spinnerella starts running a hand up and down her spine again, long, soothing arcs that match her slow breathing, and Catra lets out a small noise that borders on a full-on sob. 

"Hey," she breathes. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise. She probably won't even remember it in the morning. And even if she does, how could she hate you? Why would she want to?"

Catra shakes her head and doesn't answer. (She has, she's done everything wrong, she's screwed up so badly she can't even begin to fathom what she's done, she's-)

Her hand comes up to rest on her shoulder, tugging her gently closer, and she leans into her side. "Listen," she murmurs. "If you're worried, I can talk to her in the morning and see if she's annoyed with you. Or Netossa can. She'd be happy to."

Catra shakes her head again. "I don't- I don't want to make things worse. I don't want to hurt her."

Spinnerella nods. Her voice has an oddly soothing quality to it. It helps. A little. "Okay. Do you want anything to eat?"

And despite herself, despite everything, Catra laughs. She's... she's nice. Uncommonly nice. It threw her off guard the first time she met her, which is kind of sad, now she thinks about it, and it made her a lot more difficult to trust at first. It took her a while to believe that people that weren't Adora were capable of seeing her worth as a human being.

"No, I meant it."

She laughs again, and Netossa appears at the top of the stairs and mouths "She's asleep", padding down towards them as quietly as she can. Spinnerella grins at the sight of her, and Catra wonders if her eyes light up like that when she sees Adora. 

She takes Spinnerella's extended hand with something like relief and sinks into her side, tucking her head against her shoulder. And they stand there like that for a few minutes, just the three of them, and it's one of those rare moments where Catra finds herself thinking of them as... as family. She always forgets what this feels like.

And, eventually: "You've had a long night. Get some food and go to bed, alright?"

Spinnerella nudges her gently. "I've got some pizza in the kitchen you can have. What do you think?"

Catra lets herself hesitate, staring at the carpet until her mind stops spinning and starts to process thoughts. She doesn't want to run the risk of going upstairs and waking up Adora, but she doesn't want to stay down here and have to think about interacting with people, albeit very nice people, on top of everything else. But... but she hasn't eaten in hours, and eating pizza in the kitchen sounds amazing, and she knows Spinnerella and Netossa won't push her to talk about anything, and -

Before she can think about it for any longer, she's nodding and mumbling "Okay", and following Netossa into the kitchen.

-

They sit in silence for a little while, sharing the pizza Spinnerella produced from nowhere, and Catra tries to ignore the pounding, nagging ache in the back of her skull that keeps telling her to drop everything and run. Netossa keeps frowning at her like she's figured something out, and she catches herself wondering vaguely if Adora told her about what happened, or if she's annoyed with her. She wouldn't be surprised if she was.

(How long was she out for? How long were they waiting up for her to come home? Was Spinnerella worried about her? Did Weaver call them? Were they mad at her before she showed up?

Catra squeezes her eyes shut for a heartbeat to block out the rush of thoughts. It doesn't work.)

And after ten minutes, when the silence has gone on for so long that she can't bear it any more, Netossa whispers, "She asked to see you before she went to sleep. Adora, I mean."

Catra blinks at her. "She did?" (Why would she possibly want to?)

"She did," she says carefully. "I told her you'd come and find her tomorrow if you were feeling okay. Nicely, of course. She was too tired to answer, I think."

She swallows back a small laugh. That... that was nice of her, far nicer than she'd expected. (The best case scenario she'd had in mind involved dumping Adora on the couch and making Catra sleep on the floor, possibly throwing them both out in the morning, and/or several phone calls from Weaver. Knowing they would never do that... it's a relief, even if she was supposed to know that in the first place.)

"Yeah," Catra mumbles. "Yeah, I can go talk to her tomorrow. When she's less drunk."

Netossa smiles at her over the table. She's starting to learn to accept the warmth in her eyes is genuine, and meant for her. "She's pretty set on getting home before sunset tomorrow," she tells her gently. "Are you okay with that?"

She shrugs. "I can drive her."

"Make sure you get enough sleep, and don't drop her too close to her house," Spinnerella adds. "And don't worry too much. She won't be annoyed with you, Catra."

I doubt that, she thinks, but grits her teeth and nods anyway, and pushes back the rush of relief that bubbles to the surface at the assured, calming lilt to her voice.

Netossa raises an eyebrow. "Why on Earth would Adora be annoyed with you? She loves you."

(Spinnerella glares at her, and she gives her an extremely layered look in response. Catra decidedly chooses not to try to decipher that particular interaction, or think too hard about... about what she Netossa said before.

And she doesn't talk to Adora. When Netossa knocks on her bedroom door the next day, she pretends to be asleep, and waits until she knows Adora's left the house before coming downstairs. Talking to her, trying to explain everything that happened last night, is... an impossible task. There's no way she's capable of communicating everything she's realised over the past few years without making Adora start to hate her. And there's no way she can talk to her if there's a possibility of Adora remembering everything that happened last night, if she's mad at her because of it...

It just keeps getting worse, this building terror in the back of her head. She physically can't bring herself to reach out, and Adora... Adora certainly doesn't try. And Catra feels helpless.)

-----part 5 - you look so cool in the starlight -----

Two weeks pass. Time starts to feel real again. Catra calls Scorpia and asks her if Adora can have her room for as long as she's away, and she agrees almost immediately. They establish a routine - Adora wakes up early enough to make breakfast; Catra helps her with lunch, and she makes dinner herself so Adora doesn't burn herself out. Adora does all the laundry that needs doing and tries to do every single chore she can think of before Catra stops her. And she starts to... relax.

It's- it's helping. This routine. Catra doesn't ask anything of her, doesn't push her, and doesn't try to make her talk about... what happened. 

They only bring it up once after that initial conversation, which is a relief. Adora wouldn't even know how to begin talking about it. She wouldn't know how to communicate this mess of emotions to Catra, the one person who knows exactly what happened to her, the one person who could possibly begin to understand. She wouldn't know how to tell her about - about everything she realised when Weaver threw her out of the door, about the feeling in her chest, despite knowing how awful she was, despite having lived with her for four years of her life. 

And... they're falling into their old rhythms again. Teasing each other over meals. Ruffling each other's hair. The endless playfighting and elbowing she missed so much when they stopped... when they stopped being friends. Or whatever they were to each other. Adora never let herself realise how much she missed any of this until it was gone, and having it back is starting to make her feel... complete again, for the first time in years.

Maybe... this is it's own form of love. What they have. It's not romantic (even if she wants it so badly to be), but it's more than enough already. 

"I'm gonna go meet Entrapta in the park later; do you wanna come?"

Adora glances up from the bowl in her lap. "Hm?"

Catra waves her phone at her from the door to the kitchen, nudging Melog out from under her feet. "Entrapta asked if I wanted to meet up with her and some of her friends later today. Do you wanna come? We could get coffee-"

She pauses.

Yes. Yes, I want to come. I want to leave the building; I want to interact with people again. I want to try and work my way back up to normal. I can't stay like this for too long, I can't let Catra think I'm fragile, or broken, or- 

"You don't have to if you don't want to. I can stay here if you need me to. We can-"

Adora shakes her head. "No. It's okay. That sounds... really fun, actually."

Catra beams at her, and she feels her heart thud painfully against her ribcage in response. She's always had that effect on her. "I'll let Entrapta know."

-----

The nearest café is a ten-minute walk away, so Catra grabs two of Scorpia's jackets (with her permission, of course, but only because Adora insisted she check her roommate was okay with a random stranger stealing her clothes before they left the building) and they practically sprint there to arrive before Entrapta does. Plus, it's freezing outside.

It feels... fun. The kind of thing they'd have done when Adora was living with Angella, years before their friendship ground to a halt. The kind of thing she used to take for granted before. 

"I've never been here before," Catra tells her as she pushes open the door. "I mean, I've been outside, but I have no idea what it's like inside." She offers Adora a small smile. "Entrapta loves it here. They give her tiny pancakes for free."

It's... quiet. Cosy. Adora likes it immediately. There are only a few customers crowded into the furthest corners of the room, hunched over their tables in a way that somehow manages to effortlessly communicate just how little sleep they must've had, so Catra leads her to a booth right by the counter and makes her wait there while she buys them both coffees. The woman at the counter gives them both an odd look for no discernible reason. Maybe it's got something to do with how fast Adora's leg is bouncing.

Entrapta won't arrive for another twelve minutes ("She's always on time. Don't question it."), so they wind up agreeing to go straight ahead and meet her in the park across the road. Catra grabs her coffee and Adora's coat and practically sprints out of the door again, bouncing on the balls of her feet by the sidewalk until Adora catches up with her. 

"You excited?"

Catra beams at her. "Yeah." (She starts tapping her free hand against her thigh as they cross the road, nearly dropping her coffee, and Adora smiles to herself.)

-----

Entrapta meets them in the park, on a bench not far from the road. As soon as she sees her, Catra breaks into a run, and Adora has to jump to the side to avoid barging into her. She's never seen her this ecstatic to talk to another human being in her life. It's... it's amazing, actually. She grins into her scarf.

By the time she's caught up with them, Entrapta has stood up (she's shorter than Catra, which is an achievement in itself) and is talking animatedly to Catra, fiddling with the ends of her hair with one hand. She smiles at Adora when she spots her. "You must be Adora! Catra talks about you all the time."

Adora shoots Catra a smirk. "Oh?"

"Shut up." She stuffs Scorpia's coat back into her hands. "I didn't - I didn't miss you. At all. What?"

"On the contrary-" Entrapta begins, then slaps a hand over her mouth. "Never mind. Nothing. Shutting up now."

"I like her already," Adora grins. Catra elbows her, but a smaller, relieved smile twitches across the corners of her mouth. 

Entrapta claps her hands together, beaming at both of them. "I've been really excited to meet you, Adora. Catra's descriptions of you were very accurate, which is interesting. I mean, I knew you'd known each other for years, but-"

"Entrapta was my tutor last year," Catra fills in. "I may have... spent a lot of time talking about you. Especially after you - after we -"

Adora nudges her shoulder, ignoring the end of the sentence she knows is coming. "Wow, I can't believe you actually like me. That's kinda gay," she teases, and Catra shoves her, laughing. "You should've said something earlier."

"Oh, shut up."

Adora rolls her eyes and presses up to her side, sliding her hand into Catra's. "You're kinda stuck with me now, you know." (Catra's hand tightens around hers automatically, locking their fingers together, and she ignores the way it makes her breathing hitch in her throat, and how Entrapta's eyes flick down to her side, then to the expression she can't prevent from flickering across her face.)

"So," she prompts, and Catra jumps a little. "Where are we going?'

Adora shrugs. "We could go get some food? There's a café on the other side of the park; it doesn't take too long to get there from here."

Catra squeezes her hand again. Her palm is cold. "Are you sure?" she whispers. "Will you be okay?"

"We can always leave if she's not," Entrapta offers. "I don't mind. We can do this again some other time if necessary."

And Adora - Adora allows herself to hesitate for half a second. Catra's right, as ever. (She'd normally find it funny, tease her about it, if she wasn't suddenly so - so tense.) It hasn't been too long since... everything. It hasn't been too long since Catra had to physically drag her through the door of her house and make her stop for two seconds and let herself recover from - from what happened. Handling people - handling Catra by herself, even if they're practically attached at the hip again, handling her own mind - is already way more mentally exhausting than it should be. Her entire body still aches for literally no reason. 

"I'm sure," she says, before she can stop herself, before she can keep thinking. "It'll be fun. And it's just you guys, right?'

"Right," Catra says. She squeezes Adora's hand a third time, a little firmer than before. "But you have to promise to tell me if you get stressed out, okay?"

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, hiding her smile. "Fine. I promise."

(Entrapta glances between them again, and her eyes widen, like she's just figured something out. Adora pushes the thought to the side.)

-----

The park is... big. Adora could spend hours wandering through it and still not see enough. There are stretches of time where they see no one on the path, and sometimes they can't move for the sheer number of people blocking the paths. And Catra's hand stays locked in hers the entire time.

They walk down to the café together, listening to Entrapta talk about trees and science and her latest projects. (She's... she's really interesting, and really smart. Adora likes listening to her.) Catra's eyes are practically glowing, and she's been swinging their hands between them for the past few minutes, and Adora can't stop pausing to grin at her when she's not looking. She spends the entirety of the 43-minute trip trying not to stare.

Entrapta rounds a corner and comes to a halt, still rambling about her last project and the rates of reaction. "The café's down there," she observes lightly. "Adora, are you feeling like coming in, or do you want to wait outside?"

"Inside," Adora says. Firmly. "I can go inside."

Catra glances sideways at her, but doesn't say anything. (The afternoon light catches her eyes and makes them glow from within, blue and yellow and deepest gold, and Adora lets herself think that she's more beautiful than she remembered.)

They make their way down the slight incline, Adora leaning against Catra's side (for reassurance or actual physical support, she doesn't know). Entrapta starts talking enthusiastically again, and Catra's hand resumes its gentle bouncing against her thigh. She wonders, vaguely, what'll happen if she can't go inside, and brushes it away almost immediately.

(And when they grind to a halt at the bottom of the path, Catra's head falls onto Adora's shoulder and she has to fight not to tense up or hold her breath or do anything but squeeze her hand.)

Entrapta stares at the shopfront for a minute, then glances back at them. "It's busy in there," she says carefully. "It looks loud."

"You got earphones?" Catra asks. 

She nods. "Yes. Do you need them? Or Adora?"

Adora shakes her head almost immediately. She can handle high noise levels; she's done it before, and she knows how to deal with her own senses. Next to her, Catra shakes her head as well, sliding her thumb up and down the back of Adora's hand, and smiles at her. "You can borrow mine if yours aren't good enough. We can eat outside."

"That sounds good to me," she murmurs.

Entrapta nods once, offers them both a smile, and pushes open the door.

(It is loud in there, much louder than Adora expected, and a lot more cramped than she wanted it to be, but it's fine. There's a nice table at the back they can all hover by, and the space by the window looks relatively quiet. Catra squeezes her hand again when they walk in, but doesn't say anything, and Adora offers her a small smile as a form of vague reassurance.

"I'm okay," she whispers, as steadily as she can, and Catra nods against her shoulder.)

They find a quiet place to sit for a few minutes, and eventually Catra volunteers to get food for all of them, leaving Adora and Entrapta to sit and wait. Entrapta pulls out a small fidget toy from a one of her millions of pockets and starts threading it through her fingers, and Adora wonders if she'd have benefitted from having something like that in high school. Or at all. 

She contents herself with staring at her hands for a few minutes, listening to the buzz of conversation and pretending she isn't acutely aware of Catra standing at the counter a few feet away from them. Someone must have left the windows open, because there's a cold breeze winding its way between the tables, and Adora slips her hands into her pockets and stares reproachfully at the coats she left by the door.

"So, Adora -"

She blinks, jerking her gaze away from the window. "Hm?"

Entrapta removes her earphones, rolling the cord between her fingers. "Last I heard, you and Catra hadn't spoken for three years. What changed?"

Ah. Shit. "It's... it's a bit of a long story. And a painful one." 

She winces apologetically. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked-"

Adora shakes her head, smiling. She has a very soothing voice. "No, don't worry. It isn't- I mean, I'm not- it's hard to describe, I guess."

Entrapta pauses for a moment, then reaches across the table and takes her hand. "I understand," she says slowly, and smiles at her. "Communication is difficult at the best of times."

"It is," she laughs, and they fall away into silence until Catra comes back, bearing three coffees and a whole tray of muffins she's never seen before in her life.

She grins at the both of them. Her hair is coming loose and falling into her eyes, and Adora pushes back the urge to reach over and brush it away. "Having fun?"

Entrapta nods enthusiastically, eyes bright. "I have some theories on interplanetary travel and spaceships I'd like to run by you while we eat!"

Catra beams at her, and Adora tries not to get too distracted by the way she tilts her head when she smiles, or - or the - "That sounds awesome. Did you come up with that in the ten minutes you've been sitting here?"

She nods again, bouncing on her heels as they stand up, and pulls out a notepad and pencil as they stand up, balancing her cup on her elbow. "There's a bench we can sit on just outside, if you'd like? I have a few theories I can't really fully illustrate whilst standing."

Adora laughs, pushing her chair back from the table. Entrapta's enthusiasm is infectious, and it doesn't hurt that Catra takes her hand as soon as she's within range, either. 

(Entrapta starts talking animatedly as they get moving, scribbling rapidly without spilling coffee anywhere, which is an achievement in itself. And when they reach the bench she talked about, Catra and Adora sit down and watch her flip through her notepad, occasionally standing up to gesture dramatically. Adora has no idea what she's talking about, but Catra is nodding along with wide eyes, and that's enough to convince her that she's saying something insightful and intelligent.

Before she can really realise what's happening, or bother to try and keep track of the way time has been jumping and skipping around her, Catra is asking if they can take a group picture to send to Scorpia, and she's grinning into her cracked phone camera with their fingers intertwined, and her heart is leaping in her chest again. She mentions vaguely to Catra that she's kind of mentally exhausted, and Entrapta nods sympathetically, and then an hour later they're walking home, still hand in hand, and her mind is still back at that sunlit bench in the middle of the park.

"I think I'm tired," she says again, and Catra laughs. "It's been, like, ten minutes since we were in the café."

"Only so much social interaction per day, huh?" she grins. "I get it. Processing the passage of time on top of everything else is... hard."

Adora sighs, and lets her head fall onto Catra's shoulder. "I had fun," she mumbles. "Entrapta's really nice. But I just sort of... ran out of the energy to keep up with everything. It wasn't your fault or anything, I'm just... I don't know. Thank you for today, though."

She can feel Catra smiling, squeezing her hand as they cross the road again. "Did you understand anything we were talking about?"

"Roughly half it."

She laughs again, and Adora's heart lurches in her chest.)

-----

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Weaver slams her hands down on the table, startling Adora into jumping back a few steps. The expression in her eyes is terrifying.

"What is this?' she seethes. "Why-"

Adora cranes her neck forward to peer at the thing pinned under her hand. It's a picture, one she hasn't seen since- since-

"That isn't mine," she blurts, and Weaver's eyes burn. 

"So why are you and your friends all in this picture together? Why are you-"

"Glimmer must've dropped it the last time she came round. I don't know why she has it. I don't know-"

"Liar," Weaver snarls, and she takes a step back before her foster mother headbutts her accidentally. "You were here, taking part in this- this- hideous display of-" 

She holds up the picture, struggling to find the right words, and Adora stiffens.

It's... it's a picture of her and Catra, taken less than seven hours before she- before she fell asleep, sitting together on a bench in the park. Their hands are intertwined. She remembers the way her heart skipped and jumped out of her chest when Catra took her hand, the way she had to focus on her breathing to prevent herself from holding it in. But that was hours ago and this dream- this dream is from days ago, and she knows it's foolish but she hoped she'd healed, she hoped she'd be able to forget -

Weaver starts ranting again. Adora blocks her out, blocks everything out, squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn't help much, but she tries it again, pins her hands over her ears. Go away. Go away. Not again, not again, wake up- please-

Stop-

A hand grabs her chin, forcing her to look upwards, and Adora cries out, more out of shock than pain. 

"YOU WILL EXPLAIN."

Weaver's voice isn't quiet anymore, it's booming with fury, filling the room, and she cringes away from it automatically, trying to writhe out of her grip. She hits the hand around her jaw twice, but it only makes her hold tighten, and it's cutting off her oxygen, and it's- 

"EXPLAIN," she demands again, and Adora coughs, tries to drag some air into her lungs, tries to wriggle out of her grip. She can't- everything-

In real life, she ran the moment Weaver started screaming. In real life, she was halfway out of the door before she caught her again. In real life, she managed to escape- this.

Last she checked, in real life, Weaver couldn't summon lightning.

Everything's spinning, everything's happening too fast. One minute, she's gripping Weaver's wrist, trying not to flinch away from the odd cool texture of her skin, and the next, she's being flung across the room, back slamming into the doorframe, lights swaying overhead.

Adora grits her teeth and pushes herself to her feet, ignoring the feeling of her side screaming in protest. Lightning crackles across the edges of Weaver's desk, illuminating the scorch marks from when she must have slammed her hands down on the desk and blown her backward. It's bright, far brighter than Adora expected it to be, casting an eerie glow over what she can see of Weaver's face, and it makes her feel slightly sick.

"Get out," she snarls, and Adora's feet move without her permission, dragging her back through the door, pressing against the frame.

"I- I'm sorry- I-" 

"Get OUT!"

The door swings open behind her and she falls onto the floorboards like she's been pushed, like -

Weaver throws something at her as she rounds the desk. The picture. Adora reaches out to catch it before she can stop herself. It - it's hers, after all, hers and Catra's, and she can - she can - 

"If you can't explain, you must leave," she snaps. "I don't want to see you within a mile of this house after sunrise. If you cross my path again, the punishment will be -" - a small smile twists across her lips, and Adora shivers - "- severe. For you both."

Both?

"You can't hurt Catra anymore," she whispers. "She's - she's not yours. You don't look after her; you haven't for years. You don't even know where she lives now."

Weaver smiles at her again, and the lightning playing around her fingers flares again, singeing the hem of her shirt. "I can."

N-no - Catra -

She doesn't know why it scares her so much. This - none of it is real. It happened days ago - weeks ago, and she's spent every waking moment with it playing on the edges of her mind. She knows enough to recognise what this is, to try and break out of it, but the thought of Weaver getting her hands on Catra again, even if she knows it isn't possible, hits her like a blow to the gut.

Adora bites her lip, forcing back a wave of tears. "No, you can't," she repeats. "Touch her and I'll kill you."

Weaver just smirks at her. "Threats of violence? You really have gone astray, haven't you?"

She scowls up at her, scrambling backwards until she's out of kicking distance. "Fuck you."

Weaver's smile grows broader. She points towards the door, and the lightning crawls down her sleeves and up to her shoulders, humming above the rain she knows is pounding against the window. "I loved you like my own," she murmurs. "And this is how you repay me, after everything I have done for you?"

And Adora - Adora feels something snap inside of her. Something that breaks the dam she's been building for years, building since the day Catra walked into school with more bruises than she could conceal, building since the first time Angella had to practically force her to stay the night to keep her out of harms way, building since she can remember. Something that - something that used to hurt.

She gets to her feet and backs out of the door, into the hallway beyond, and something - rage - starts to trickle into her veins, building in her lungs. She grits her teeth again, squares her shoulders, and turns on her heel, ignoring Weaver standing behind her, ignoring everything apart from the blood hammering in her ears.

This didn't happen before. Before, she just - she just ran. Ran and didn't turn back, didn't try to stop Weaver, didn't fight back at all.

Weaver is probably going to get her before she makes it downstairs, and she doesn't care. She doesn't care.

"Loved me?" Adora says - hisses. "This is the furthest from being loved I've ever been in my life. Do you call threatening to beat me if I didn't get the grades you wanted love? Do you call cutting off my friends, taking me away from the closest thing I've ever had to a family, or - or any of this love?"

She makes it halfway down the stairs before she grinds to a halt and turns around. Weaver is standing on the landing, mouth hardening into a grim line, arm hanging loosely by her side. Adora would think she looked defeated if she didn't know better. 

"You know, I almost let myself believe it was," she says, and it comes out as a slightly crazed laugh. "I almost let myself believe that you really loved me. That everything you did to me and to Catra was what was best for us. I let myself think that you loved me, and that you cared about me, and that you cared about Catra. No matter how many times you hurt us, I tried to - to excuse it, or something. But you don't care. I almost let myself believe you did. For years, I let you get away with it."

She watches Weaver's lip curl. "Insolent child-"

Adora laughs. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, and you know it."

Weaver snarls something and lurches down the stairs towards her, lightning trailing at her feet. Adora doesn't move. It occurs to her that she might be running on pure adrenaline, that she should probably start running, but she's just so fucking tired, and everything-

"Get out of my house."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Get out of my house," Weaver repeats. Her voice has an eerie calm quality to it, and Adora struggles not to tense up in response. It's automatic, born of years learning that sudden calm meant punishment, and rebelling against it almost hurts. "I will call the police if I see you on my property again."

She fights a grin, turns on her heel again, and practically bounds down the stairs. "Is it bad that I'm happier about leaving than I am about getting you arrested?"

Weaver hisses something under her breath, but doesn't deign to respond. Adora lets the ice in her veins carry her down the stairs and into the hall. She doesn't let herself stop, doesn't look back. 

And when the lightning slams into her back and sends her crashing into the door, she laughs. It isn't real. It isn't real. Weaver can't hurt her anymore. No matter how hard her heart races, no matter how terrified her body insists she is, she's safe. The pain is fake. The pain is fake. The pain is fake.

Sh e reaches up for the doorknob, ignoring the screaming pain in her arm. Weaver cries out in something - something like rage - and stumbles forward again, nearly falling down the stairs with the force of her momentum. Smoke, or something like it, starts streaming from her hair, coiling around her arms and into the palms of her hands. It'd be funny if Adora wasn't too winded and possibly burned to breathe.  

She finds herself wondering how far Weaver will get before she wakes up. She finds herself wondering if it - it - will hurt, if she's screaming in real life, if Catra's already awake and wondering what happened to her. 

Lightning flares again. Adora squeezes her eyes shut.

-----

"Adora- Adora- hey, wake up, breathe, come on- Adora-"

Someone is calling her name again. She can't bring herself to recognise their voice.

"It's okay, I promise, just breathe- "

She wonders if they can see the lightning. She wonders if they care.

( Sometimes she wonders if anyone cares. It never used to hurt like this before.)

"Adora, I'm right here, please just- just- oh, fuck- please breathe, please-"

Adora lurches upright when Catra touches her shoulders, nearly throwing them both off the mattress. If she's screaming, if she's sobbing, she can't tell, she can't feel anything, she can't- she can't- why am I - why am I so - I was fine, I was dealing with it, I was - no - 

"Adora. Adora. Look at me. Breathe."

"I- I can't, I-"

She opens her eyes, choking back a sob, and Catra smiles at her through her own haze of tears. "Hey. That's good, keep going- breathe in with me-"

Adora nods, and it makes something in her chest come loose, and she pitches forward and catches herself against Catra's shoulder and starts crying and crying and crying until she's shaking with the force of it, and Catra settles onto the mattress next to her and pulls her into her arms and strokes her hair, and for a moment she just... lets herself be held. Lets herself crumple into Catra's arms like she's paper, lets Catra rock her gently until her breathing starts to even out again.

It feels... good, surprisingly. Better than she thought it would.

"D'you think you can breathe okay now?"

She nods, and Catra relinquishes her grip on the back of her shirt just a little, letting Adora shift into her lap and curl around her upper body. She's warm and solid and- and real, and small enough that Adora has to practically bend over to press her face into the crook of her neck.

They're silent for a long time.

Catra's hand finds its way to the nape of her neck and stays there, playing gently with the ends of her hair. She hasn't done that for four years. Adora missed it. It feels... comforting. Grounding, which is what Catra knows she needs right now. Familiar. Familiar is good.

"Do you... maybe want to talk about it?"

"You're crying," Adora mumbles.

She laughs. "You're avoiding the question."

"So are you."

Adora leans back to face her fully, dislodging her hand. The sudden movement feels... forced. Uncomfortable. She doesn't want to leave the safety of the circle of her arms, doesn't want to risk Catra letting go of her again. "'M sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Catra asks. "You were calling for me in your sleep, and I panicked. It's okay, Adora. It's okay."

She just shakes her head and doesn't answer, shifting forwards to bury her head in the crook of her neck again. 

(It's not okay. It's not okay, because she made Catra cry. It's not okay because she can feel her shaking in her arms like she's going to come apart, clinging to her back, and she's still crying into Adora's shirt as she rocks her back and forth, and- and-)

"All you need to do is breathe, okay?" Catra whispers. "I've got you. She's not here anymore. She can't hurt you again."

She resumes stroking her hair, tugging her closer, repeating it over and over in her ear until Adora's breathing steadies again, and she finds herself- relaxing into her arms like she used to do when they were kids, the tension trailing out of her spine and from her shoulders. 

I've got you. I've got you. I've got you.

(And maybe she starts to let herself believe that. Maybe - maybe she wants that. She wants - Catra.)

A few moments pass. She spends them focusing on calming her breathing, matching the slow rhythm Catra sets out for her, trying her best not to stop herself from crying, and realising just how... scary it is in here. It has more to do with the residue of the dream clinging to the undersides of her eyelids than anything, but it's still there, still crouching in the corners of her mind, and it sucks.

"Ca- Can we go... into the living room or something? I wanna... wanna do something else. Something that isn't-" Adora swallows, shifts back again to meet her eyes. "It's really dark in here."

Catra smiles at her. She isn't wearing her glasses, and her hair is messy and still tied up from earlier. She must have just gone to bed. Adora would feel bad about waking her up if she wasn't already experiencing every other emotion in existence. "I can make breakfast. It's early."

"Carry me?"

"I'll think about it."

-----

She carries Adora into the living room. It seems like the simplest solution, and she's light enough that Catra can get as far as the couch before her arms start to feel like they're going to give way (Adora gives her a grateful smile, flicking her hair out of her eyes, and it makes it worth the effort).

"You want coffee?" she suggests gently. "I can make coffee."

She gives her a weak grin, laughter guttering to life in her eyes. "Yeah. Coffee, Miss Functional Member Of Society."

"Rude," Catra huffs, hiding her smile. "The usual?"

Adora shakes her head. "Darker. No sleeping. Sleeping is for cowards and the mentally stable." 

Catra laughs as she walks out of the room and resolves not to give Adora dark coffee. Ever. (Her eyes are a little brighter than they were when she carried her in, she realises, which is a good sign. Nightmares always, always suck.)

And when she comes back, bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of the first edible-looking biscuits she could find, Adora is lying on her back on the couch, frowning at the shadows on the ceiling.

Catra offers a cup to her. She glances at it, then back at the ceiling again, eyes focusing and unfocusing, and takes it absentmindedly. 

Ah.

"'Dora?"

Adora nods. Her hair is still hanging in her eyes. 

"What're we doing?"

She shrugs. "Staring at the ceiling. Thinking about... about when we stopped-"

"Being friends," Catra fills in. Gently. And Adora turns to look at her, the warmth in her eyes flickering a little. 

"Are you mad at me?" she whispers. "For not trying to talk to you? For- for not texting you? You took me home and everything and you tried to protect me from Weaver and it worked and I just - I didn't talk to you because I thought you were mad at me for getting drunk and maybe getting you in trouble with your foster parents and - and -" And kissing me.

She's crying again now. She's crying again, and Catra doesn't know what to do except rest a hand on her knee in solidarity and listen. (Something - that weird, protective urge she still carries around from Adora's time with Weaver - tightens in Catra's chest, and she bites her lip to stop herself from - from - G0d, she hates seeing Adora cry.) 

"- and I just... I just - I don't know what happened, but I just - I didn't want to reach out, I think - I didn't want to know if you were mad at me, I didn't want to hurt you, I-"

"I get it," Catra says slowly. "I understand. I'm the one who cut you off, Adora. I'm not mad at you at all. You're the one who should be mad."

She stares at her for a few heartbeats, and then chokes out a small "Okay. Okay."

Catra offers her a smile. (She wonders what would happen if she reached out and took her hand - if Adora would brush her away or... or if she'd lean into it, squeeze her hand back like she did the night she came. She wonders if she remembers kissing her.) "I'm here now," she murmurs, "And I'm not gonna let myself do that to you again. I missed you."

"I missed you too," Adora breathes, voice breaking a little. "I missed you so much."

She nudges the side of her leg, grinning. "Drink your coffee, idiot."

Adora grins back, and her heart jumps a little. "Dark, right?" she says, and a laugh forms on edge of the last word. 

Catra rolls her eyes. "Dark." (That's a lie; she added exactly a spoonful of milk and hoped Adora wouldn't notice, but it doesn't matter. She'll either immediately fall asleep or start vibrating, both of which Catra can handle.)

She raises an eyebrow at her, but drinks it anyway, which is a small victory in itself. 

They sit in silence like that for a while, and it's... it's relaxing, in its own way. Familiar. They've been doing this a lot recently, and Catra... likes it. She used to miss these kinds of moments between them. 

And then Adora sets aside her cup, making loud enough of a noise that Melog yowls from the hallway outside, and says, "Teach me how to dance?"

"Huh?'

She prods her gently with her foot, smiling. "You heard me. Teach me to dance?"

Catra blinks at her, pushing down the feeling rising in her chest. "You want me to teach you how to dance? As in, you want me to willingly subject myself to your complete lack of co-ordination and tendency to step on my feet every two seconds?"

Adora laughs. (She has a beautiful laugh. It used to make her heart lurch in her chest, make her think of sunshine and the kind of blue sky they used to watch together for hours, make her want to crawl directly under her bed and never come out again. Catra missed hearing her laugh like that, all warmth and open smiles.) "Yeah. I wanna do something with my hands, you know?"

"Feet," she corrects. "the only think you're gonna do with your hands is keep them in mine."

She snorts. "That sounds kinda gay."

"I'm kinda gay."

Adora heaves herself upright, wincing at the movement, and swings her feet over the edge of the couch. Catra pretends not to track her every movement, or the strain it places on her core muscles. "Are you alright with that?" 

And despite herself, she laughs a little, and springs to her feet. 

Adora eyes her. "So that's a yes?"

"Do you want it to be a yes?"

She rolls her eyes half-heartedly, a grin playing at the corners of her mouth, and gets upright. (Catra pretends not to hear her hiss in pain, pretends not to see her hand fly briefly to her side, ignores the way it makes her heart lurch a little.) 

"Of course I do," she mumbles, and takes her outstretched hand.

Catra grins at her. "Excellent."

- 

It takes Adora all of 45 seconds to step on her feet, so eventually they wind up turning in a slow circle in the middle of the living room, Adora's chin balanced on the top of Catra's head. She's acutely aware of everything, every small sensation - Adora's hand on the small of her back, their fingers interlaced, hanging by their sides, each breath she takes, the way her heart is pounding out of her chest - and it's kind of dizzying. And she can't help herself from smiling. 

They've been silent for a long time. Catra wonders vaguely if it - if this - is helping, if Adora's breathing slowly calming and settling to match hers is a good thing. If Adora's heart is beating as fast as hers.

And then she shifts back, leaning away from her, and mumbles, "It's really quiet."

"It is," she agrees softly. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Adora shrugs, careful not to dislodge her grip on her shoulder. She looks... distant. "Too much room to think, I guess."

"I'm not gonna start singing, if that's what you want."

She laughs, tipping her head back, and her hair cascades down her shoulders and falls into her eyes, and this time Catra doesn't stop herself from reaching up to brush it away.

Shit. Shit.

Adora stiffens a little, eyes going wide, and she jerks her hand away automatically. (Shit shit shit shit shit shouldn't have done that shouldn't have done that oh g0d don't panic this isn't three years ago you can handle this just play it off just play it off-)

And then her hand closes around Catra's, inches from her face, and guides it back to her cheek.

"It's okay."

(Catra keeps her eyes squeezed shut, ignoring the blood pounding in her ears. Adora's hand is rough and warm and gentle, and she can't bring herself to do anything except stay still, not give away how fast her heart is beating, not -)

"It's okay," she repeats, and smooths her thumb over her hand. "I'm not -"

Yes you are, I wasn't supposed to do that, the last time I let myself do something like that we- I

"Catra, you know I remember what happened the night before we stopped talking, right?"

"Shit."

Adora laughs again, and Catra feels her breath hitch in her throat this time. "I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk."

"You were drunk enough to pass out as soon as you sat down, though," she mumbles, and the room spins under her feet, because trying to think too hard about the exact details of that night always makes her feel twice as dizzy as it should. "Netossa had to carry you up the stairs. You didn't say anything after we left the party."

She can feel her grinning at her (dork), still running her thumb up and down the back of her hand, but she doesn't - can't - open her eyes long enough to catch anything except for something like warmth in her eyes, and her heart is still pounding hard enough to break a rib. "She did," she murmurs. "And I was too - shocked, I guess - to talk to you, I think."

"Shocked?" (Catra opens her eyes properly this time, flinching at the harsh glow of the lamp Adora must have turned on whilst she was outside, and she's watching her with wide eyes, studying her expression like she's never seen her before, and she - oh, fuck-) "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Adora shrugs, and before she can react, she's removing Catra's hand from her face and sliding their hands together, letting them fall back to her side, like they were before. "Because," she says, and her voice comes out like a whisper, "I think you're scared of what I think of you. Because I know why you stopped talking to me, and because we stopped dancing a second ago and I don't think that was intentional."

"You like turning in a circle?"

"It's soothing," she says defensively. "And you're warm."

Catra rolls her eyes, blocks out everything she said before, blocks out the realisation that Adora remembers kissing her and that she maybe, possibly, doesn't regret it, and starts moving on the spot again, letting go of her hand to slide her arms around her shoulders.

Adora raises an eyebrow. "Am I leading?"

She huffs. "No one's leading, stupid, we're not going anywhere."

"I don't think that's how dancing works."

"Shut up."

And Adora leans into her arms, resting her head on her shoulder, and shuts her eyes. And Catra's breathing hitches again, and she huffs a laugh, and they fall away into silence again. 

(Catra lets herself hold her, lets her hands curl around her back and come to rest against her shoulder blades, lets her head settle against her shoulder. She really is tall, much taller than she remembers, and it's kind of awkward, standing here like this, but it works. Something about it feels... feels different, like their relationship has become something... more. Like they would never have even dared do anything this intimate before, even if it was just standing and hugging each other under the pretence of dancing. 

And it takes her a few seconds, but she realises that it's entirely possible that Adora knows - knows, and doesn't care.)

And, eventually, she lifts her head from her shoulder and finds Adora gazing at her again.

She's... wow.

"'Dora?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you staring at me? Again?"

She swallows, blinking hurriedly. "I- because... because-"

Catra grins at her. "You're blushing."

Adora scowls back, and her hair falls back into her eyes. She tries not to get distracted by the way her lips twitch upward when she meets her eyes. "I'm not. Your glasses are fucked up."

"My glasses are fucked up," she agrees, and pokes her shoulder gently. "You're thinking about something."

She shakes her head rapidly, and Catra laughs. She looks like a wet dog. It's... it's cute, actually. "When have you ever known me to think?"

"That's a good point," she grins, and shifts her hands up to curve around the nape of her neck. Adora leans into the touch automatically, and the corners of her mouth twitch up again. 

They're impossibly close together now, and she doesn't know whether to be horrified or... something else, but the proximity is making her chest start to tighten. She never realised how little they used to do this before. This - all of this - is... is new.

"'Dora?" 

Adora's eyes flick up to hers again, and this time it's her breath that catches. "Mhm?"

"We've stopped moving again."

"Okay," she says, and kisses her.

-----

Adora is kissing her. Adora is kissing her.

It's... it's everything it should have been the first time, it's soft and slow and Catra can't stop herself from kissing her back, and - wow, I should have done this years ago, I -

Adora is kissing her.

She forgot what it felt like before. She forgot everything except the panic, except the sickening dread twisting itself into knots in her stomach, but Adora is here, Adora is kissing her, and she- she -

(They stand there for minutes like that, holding onto each other, and Catra reaches up to smooth the hair out of her face again, and Adora smiles against her lips. She wonders vaguely if this is what she wanted the first kiss to be like, if she regrets it going wrong. She wonders if Adora can feel her sinking into her touch, leaning into the hand cupping the side of her face, playing gently with the ends of her hair. She wonders if she should pull away, and decides against it, and it hits her that she wants to do this again and again for the rest of her life.)

And - and Catra pulls away, smiling at Adora's stunned, slightly dazed expression, and lets herself take a deep breath. For a moment, she lets everything stop, sinks deep into the heartbeat between gently pulling back and seeing Adora's face start to light up at her smile.

"Well," she says, and takes another breath. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

Adora laughs and smiles back, smoothing her thumb over Catra's cheek. She's... she's tall, and it's mildly distracting. "Yeah," she agrees. "It wasn't."

"You remember the first time," she mumbles. 

"Most of it. I remember being very drunk, as well."

"Not very drunk. Moderately drunk."

She laughs again, softly this time, and the hand resting on her cheek slides down to the nape of Catra's neck, mirroring her. "I- I didn't think that through, did I?"

Catra raises an eyebrow. She leans forward to rest their foreheads together as gently as she can, and Adora rolls her eyes as returns the contact. "What, now or before?"

"Both," she sighs, another laugh forming on the end of the word. "I mean, the first time I didn't even get past the 'oh maybe kissing my best friend in the middle of a party whilst drunk isn't the best idea' bit of my grand plan."

"You had a plan?"

"Of course I didn't. Why would I have a plan?"

Catra nudges her gently, laughing. It feels good to laugh like this, holding Adora in the middle of the night, with nothing left between them anymore. "I don't know, why would you?"

"Shut up," she mutters, and kisses her again. (Catra smiles into it, cupping her jaw, and when Adora laughs and quite literally picks her up and spins her around, she mumbles "I love you," over and over again until she drops her out of shock.)

"You love me?"

Ah. Shit. "Well, I mean - I - yeah," she mumbles, and it comes out way quieter than it was supposed to, but Adora's eyes light up again, and she grabs her shoulders and kisses her for a third time, and everything is perfect, actually.

She lets out a small laugh as she sets her down again and steps back, brushing her hair out of her eyes (oh, that's adorable), and breathes, "G0d, I love you too, Catra. I- there was- for a while there, I really thought you didn't."

Catra leans back into her arms almost immediately, wraps her arms around her waist. "But I did," she says softly. "I do." She takes Adora's head in her hands, and she leans into her touch automatically, pressing another kiss to her palm. 

"You love me," Adora whispers, and her voice breaks. "You love me."

"I love you," Catra whispers back. "I've never said that out loud before. I love you. I love you. G0d, Adora, I love you."

And Adora laughs and hugs her, burying her face in the crook of her neck, and Catra realises she's crying. And when she smiles and kisses the top of her head, she laughs again, and mumbles something into her shirt about how they should probably sit down again.

"Your side," she guesses. "It's hurting, isn't it?"

Adora nods, sniffing. "Probably pulled it when I woke up. It's fine."

"Still hurting you, though."

She nods again. "Fuck Weaver, huh?"

She laughs. (She has a beautiful laugh, Catra thinks, and remembers the first time it made her heart stop dead in her chest. It's hazy by now, lost to time, but it still makes her feel slightly dizzy.) "Yeah. G0d, yeah."

"It'll be okay. Eventually. Even if it takes a while."

Adora nods a third time, lifting her head to look at her. "Yeah. It will. Thank you. For everything."

Catra grins at her, playing gently with the ends of her hair. It's amazing how quickly they've become this touchy. Like the only barrier keeping them from this has just been broken, like they were always supposed to be like this.

(Later, she knows they'll crawl back into her bed and hold each other as close as they can, just in case she has another nightmare again. Later, she knows she'll ask Adora about what happened in her dream, and stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head as she cries into her shirt. Later, Adora will ask if she can stay for a few more weeks, and Catra will tell her that she can stay for as long as she wants. As if you even needed to ask, dumbass.)

"Always," she says, and means it. "Always."