There's nobody awake to see, so Catra lets herself lean into Adora's hand at her chin, lets the curl and rub of her fingers draw out the quiet purr from her chest. Adora's forehead touches hers, their noses brushing - and it's such a familiar, them thing to do that Catra's eyes drift slowly shut, and then reopen half-lidded in contentment.

Then Adora's lips tickle her cheek, and Catra's face scrunches in protest as the laughter tries to rise up in her again. She's too tired to fight Adora, so she stays there, squirming with every ticklish move and huffing laughs against her ear. When they have their private rooms, this is what they'll do, all the time. They'll climb up the ranks of the Horde during the day, and at night, they'll lay together - just like this - and Catra will let herself laugh as loudly as Adora can make her.

She can't stop the prick of her ears at Adora's mumble, or the feeling of accomplishment they urge within her. It's not often that people recognize when Catra's done something well, but Adora always notices. Sometimes it feels insulting, sometimes it annoys her; but right now it's just. Nice.

"We take care of each-other," she murmurs in response, nuzzling back against her. How stupid the two of them must look, just rubbing their faces together like this while Catra purrs. But it feels good, feels happy and light and. Whatever, you know? It's just the two of them right now. Catra doesn't have to care about anything else.