"It means you haven't got two braincells to rub together, idiot." When in doubt, when on the back foot: double down. Catra's life motto. But her heart's not in it this time; instead, it's lodged somewhere up in her throat. She has been waiting, so long, for Adora to catch up to this - and after last night, she'd written her off completely. Adora was disinterested, Adora hadn't even noticed her, Adora wouldn't have even considered her.

"--Where?" She breathes, suddenly demanding. She barely remembers to keep her voice down, and it grows huskier with the effort. Her blood's rushing again, in heated pulses through her body. She wants to move, but she's paralyzed by the fear of having misunderstood, still. "Where? Tell me, Adora. Where do you want me to touch you?"

Because she's willing. She is so willing and if Adora still can't see that - if she can't recognize the tremble in Catra's fingers as restraint, if she doesn't see the gleam of desire in her eyes, if she can't identify the way Catra's entire body leans into hers - then Catra may just give up and die here.