Adora shifts to move in front of Catra as Catra shrinks behind her, forming an instinctive barrier between her and Octavia. Her body is rigid, shoulders pushed back, eyes alert. She keeps her lips sealed while Catra grumbles, unwilling to risk it, and after a long moment of scrutinizing them with her one good eye, Octavia seems finally content to leave them be.

Adora's jaw is tight and her heart is pounding. From the shock of the interruption, but more than that, from the memory of Catra's body against hers: warm and malleable and trembling, and how close that felt to-- something. She doesn't know what. But it definitely felt like they were on the brink of something.

It doesn't matter now. Adora heaves out a sigh, pulls the hairband from her ponytail, and sets about peeling away her mess of a uniform -- stained with oil and sweat, and soaked through with water from the shower floor. It's the filthiest she's felt in a long time. Even the sensation of the fabric dragging across her skin on the way down is enough to make her grimace.

"Come on," she mutters to Catra. "Let's just get this over this."