Adora's sure Catra's about to say something-- braces for some biting retort from the sharp downward flick of her ears-- but no words come. Instead, Catra only stares at her. Her eyes are bright and alert in the dimly-lit room, as her fingers graze those patterns into Adora's thigh that, although faint, feel unplaceably deliberate.

And Catra keeps searching her face like she's trying to find something, the same as Octavia's probing gaze back in the bathroom. All at once Adora's chest is buzzing with nerves again, and her leg keeps twitching, even though she's trying, okay, she's really trying to hold it still.

She cranes her neck back, like it'll help her escape Catra's inquisitive eyes, and sheepishly murmurs:

"... What?"