"Adora--" It's supposed to come out stern. Commanding. Instead Catra's voice breaks on the first syllable, as Adora slides their palms together and laces their fingers, and that. That's it. There's no more fight left. There's nothing left to be confusing and funneled into rage, there's no energy left to huddle around her weaknesses and defend them with literal tooth and claw.

There's just Adora. Stupid, dumb, kind, sweet, smart, beautiful, warm and too-good Adora. It makes Catra's chest hurt, more than Hordak's dumb machine or Shadow Weaver's stupid spells ever did. And because she's - she's nothing but a kid still, apparently, always running from her feelings; because she's that, she slumps, defeated. And then leans forward, cautiously dropping her head to Adora's shoulder, no longer caring about the water or being wet. Seeking comfort and refuge in the last place she knows to look.

"I'm sorry," she breathes first. Because she is. Because Adora deserves to hear her say it. Because she's been exactly who they both know she is as a person, and for some reason Adora's still here. Right where she's always tried to be. "You--" (no, what was it Perfuma had said? 'I statements'. 'Use I statements'. Don't put the blame for her actions onto somebody else.) "I--" (it's hard though, and her grip tightens suddenly on Adora's hands.) "I tried, okay? I really tried." (she didn't want to ruin everything. That still never seems to stop her.) "I couldn't keep it together. I screwed up."