It turns out, as a matter of fact, that Adora is not just fine the next day.
Sleep feels like it takes a century to come. Her racing mind takes ages to quiet, and every time Catra shifts against her in bed, it's kicked back up with a barrage of new, whirring thoughts. She doesn't know when it is she falls asleep, but as soon as the morning alarm blares she's sure it happened far too late, because her eyes are crusty and her head is aching and everything is awful forever.
She's on hyper-alert for all the wrong reasons, ears tuning to every thread of conversation that might confirm Catra's claims from the previous night. And any that she misses, Catra, ever-considerate best friend that she is, points them out to her. It quickly becomes clear to Adora that virtually every word in the Etherian vocabulary can be, and is, used as a euphemism for those things, which makes her overthink every single thing she hears until she has no idea what anybody's saying.
She's terrible at training, sore and tired and unfocused, and she's grateful to Catra for covering her after all. But Shadow Weaver picks up on her lagging reflexes and poorly-aimed blows, and quietly pulls her aside afterwards to ask if something's the matter.
As if Adora could possibly answer that.
She's just glad when the day's finally over, so she can get through her shower quickly and efficiently -- without having to drag Catra howling and shrieking in there, thank God. She couldn't go through that again. Not with Catra kneading into her scalp as she curls around her on the floor. Not with Catra's bare chest brushing her back as she leans into her in the shower.
Nope. Nope. None of that.
She scrubs herself clean as quickly as she can, ignoring the way her throat goes tight when her hands brush over certain spots. Great. Even showering feels weird now. The cold stream used to be one of the few things that would clear her head and calm her down.
When she finally makes her way to her bunk, ready to collapse into the sheets and never move again, she's instead faced with the sight of Catra, face down in her pillow. Usually, she'd find that kind of endearing. Right now, she buries her face in her hand with a sigh.
"You're hogging the whole bed." She nudges Catra's leg with her foot-- maybe the first time she's touched her all day. "Move."
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Sleep feels like it takes a century to come. Her racing mind takes ages to quiet, and every time Catra shifts against her in bed, it's kicked back up with a barrage of new, whirring thoughts. She doesn't know when it is she falls asleep, but as soon as the morning alarm blares she's sure it happened far too late, because her eyes are crusty and her head is aching and everything is awful forever.
She's on hyper-alert for all the wrong reasons, ears tuning to every thread of conversation that might confirm Catra's claims from the previous night. And any that she misses, Catra, ever-considerate best friend that she is, points them out to her. It quickly becomes clear to Adora that virtually every word in the Etherian vocabulary can be, and is, used as a euphemism for those things, which makes her overthink every single thing she hears until she has no idea what anybody's saying.
She's terrible at training, sore and tired and unfocused, and she's grateful to Catra for covering her after all. But Shadow Weaver picks up on her lagging reflexes and poorly-aimed blows, and quietly pulls her aside afterwards to ask if something's the matter.
As if Adora could possibly answer that.
She's just glad when the day's finally over, so she can get through her shower quickly and efficiently -- without having to drag Catra howling and shrieking in there, thank God. She couldn't go through that again. Not with Catra kneading into her scalp as she curls around her on the floor. Not with Catra's bare chest brushing her back as she leans into her in the shower.
Nope. Nope. None of that.
She scrubs herself clean as quickly as she can, ignoring the way her throat goes tight when her hands brush over certain spots. Great. Even showering feels weird now. The cold stream used to be one of the few things that would clear her head and calm her down.
When she finally makes her way to her bunk, ready to collapse into the sheets and never move again, she's instead faced with the sight of Catra, face down in her pillow. Usually, she'd find that kind of endearing. Right now, she buries her face in her hand with a sigh.
"You're hogging the whole bed." She nudges Catra's leg with her foot-- maybe the first time she's touched her all day. "Move."