Okay, Adora accepts with a swallow. So Catra wasn't kidding, neither about shoving something in Adora's mouth nor about the very specific placement of her hands on her.

It's kind of sweet, actually, how Catra insists on her hand in her hair. Adora's in no position to give it voice right now, but the thought does tug on the edge of her lips, and she curls her fingers in that thick dark hair, thumb grazing the base of one ear.

"Blanket," she answers, less to do with any real preference and more for the sake of being as contrary as her situation allows. And because moving her hands, as she's come to understand, is no longer an option-- she tilts up her chin and opens her mouth, waiting for Catra to place it there.