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Catra's fingers are already deep in the fur of her chest, lathering the soap in as quickly as she can manage, when Adora decides to turn around and glare at her.

Catra just hisses back, flicking one of her sudsy hands at Adora to fling some now-dark soap her way.

"I'm working on it," she growls, returning her hand to scrub with an exaggeratedly pointed motion under the curve of her breast. Adora always thinks she knows best, she grouses bitterly. If Catra hadn't been intending on getting under the water, she wouldn't have taken off her stupid clothes and gotten near the stupid shower. "Why don't you do something to help instead of standing there and lecturing me?"

The blackened foam lands right across her face, and Adora's eyes narrow with an affronted gasp before she shrinks back under the stream to rub it out. Stupid Catra.

"Help? Oh, you mean like--" She reaches up for the showerhead, angling the cold spray directly at Catra. "This?"

Anyone who hears the scream that tears up through Catra's throat as she all but jumps out of her skin could be forgiven for thinking that Adora had just run her through with a blade.

But it's worse than just one blade. It's hundreds of sharp pricks of cold assaulting her, and she hunches in on herself against it; curling instinctively to protect her stomach and chest and face from the blast. The fur of her back gets soaked through quickly, which is terrible because it didn't need washing at all, and with claws fully extended her hand swipes out in the direction of Adora's leg. They're going to fight again; Catra won't just take this.

Catra strikes out sooner than Adora's ready for-- she flinches half a step back at the first glimpse of silver, but the blow still connects. The pain makes her stumble, heel slipping against the wet floor, and before she knows it her whole body jolts with the impact of her tailbone hitting tile, and she cries out from the base of her throat.

It hurts. The fresh row of cuts across the flesh of her thigh hurts, too, thin red trails seeping through and mixing with the shower stream on its way to the drain. She's aching from head to toe and too, too tired to fight, and there's a throb between her temples and her body is tense and hot all over, and her heart still hasn't quieted down this whole time. Catra doesn't get it or care, all she's been doing is make one big stink over this stupid shower, and when Adora looks up at her she's so helplessly, overwhelmingly frustrated that her shoulders shake and she feels a pressure behind her eyes and--

"You're the worst," she grits out, screwing her eyes tightly shut as she pushes onto her feet. She shoves past Catra on her way out the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it over her quaking shoulders. She's going to need to dress this wound now, too. Great.

"Whatever. Good night."

Edited 2020-06-13 19:19 (UTC)

There is nobody in the world that Catra ever feels bad for lashing out at.

...except Adora.

Her eyes widen as Adora crumples. The blood running off her leg is expected but her fall is not, and the look in her eyes is-- is--

--It makes Catra recoil. She really is the wild, worthless creature Shadow Weaver always warns them about.

She wants to say -- something. Anything. When Adora picks herself up and shoves past, Catra's throat works; but her tongue is heavy in her mouth and she can't think of anything to give voice to.

She just crouches there, for a long time, the water soaking through her hair and fur and freezing her the whole way through.

It's late when she finally finishes up. By herself, in silence. Adora's blood is long since washed away, but the guilt weighs heavy in Catra's stomach, clawing up at her chest. The press of her hand against the ache does nothing to dissuade it.

It's so late that she's risking a reprimand for being out of bed past curfew, but unlike what seems like literally everyone else in the Fright Zone, Catra can't just dry off. She has to shake herself out, mop up moisture with thin towels, squeeze water out of her hair. She has to do it all in a cycle, until it reaches the point where one of the hair dryers the Horde supplies can finish the rest. It's a process made more difficult by the bone-deep shivers of cold, and takes more than twice as long as usual because she - great person that she is - has chased away the person who would normally help her.

It gives her too much time to think, to dread what's going to happen when she goes back to their dorm. Adora's not going to want to have anything to do with her, wretched thing that she is. She's going to have to feel her glare as she walks right past her; going to have to hear her sniff of disdain as Catra climbs into the seldom-used bunk above hers.

She lingers after drying to collect their clothes for laundry, and to mop up the tiles the way she normally complains at length about. Somebody else is just going to come along and shower at some point anyway, so why do they have to mop after every one? It's just another stupid Horde rule that Catra hates. But it's a reason to delay, to procrastinate. She can't stand knowing that she's really done it now. She's really, finally made Adora hate her.

She does slink in eventually, silent as she slips past the other bunks. Her heart is a sick, terrible weight in her chest that grows heavier with every step, and her shoulders hunch as she braces herself. She can do this. Everyone always warned her she'd eventually cross the line that would turn Adora against her. She's had a lifetime to prepare herself for it. She just has to get through it, and get onto her bunk, and then she can -- deal with the rest of it from there.

The first thing Adora does once she's made it to their sleeping quarters, is bury her face in her pillow and scream.

Well. Not scream-scream. She can't scream-scream, because everyone around her is asleep and she'd be disturbing all the other cadets, but she at the very least lets out a long, miserable groan that manages to carry some of her frustration and drown it in the pillow. But it's far from enough. In fact, once the floodgates have opened, Adora only finds her feelings all the harder to rein in, and she ends up rolling on her mattress, senselessly punching her pillow and kicking her legs at the air for a good couple of minutes before she can settle.

And then she's left lying on her back in the dark, breathing harshly through her teeth, stare fixed on the bottom of Catra's bunk overhead. With the tidal wave of her anger flushed away, all that remains is the uneasy twisting in her gut. The shame and guilt that's been festering there since being caught by Octavia, now amplified tenfold by the knowledge she's hurt her best friend.

You're the worst. Why did she say that? Adora shouldn't have said that. It's just some minor cuts on her leg, they're not even that deep. Why isn't Catra back yet? She's taking forever. She's doing okay in there, isn't she...?

Adora rolls onto her side to face the doorway, pillow squeezed to her chest. She definitely can't fall asleep like this, not until she's talked to Catra. She'll be back any moment now, won't she? It shouldn't take that long to towel up.

She watches the entrance intently, through heavy, tired eyes, for what feels likes eternity. At long last, Catra's silhouette appears in the doorway, and Adora instantly perks up, leaning onto one elbow.

"Catra," she calls to her in an urgent whisper as she draws closer, her bare feet padding softly against the concrete floor.

Edited 2020-06-13 21:19 (UTC)

Catra's ears twitch immediately towards Adora's voice, picking her up instantly. And Catra's feet freeze on the cold, hard floor.

Run, her muscles scream. She is -- terrified, panic rising sharp and vicious in her throat. Her hands tremble as she curls them into stubborn fists. She won't run away, this is where she sleeps too, and she won't surrender her bunk just because Adora hates her.

But her next few steps are quick, building up a pace before she drops to all fours; and then with a push of hands and feet, she leaps, easily clearing the height and distance to her bunk. A puff of dust shoots up as she lands with a barely a thump, and the small sneeze the irritation elicits is the most noise she's made during this process.

That's not to say she doesn't deliberately rock the bunk as she starts to go about settling down, or that she doesn't intentionally thwap her blanket around low enough to be a nuisance to Adora when she leans over to shake the dust from it. This is what she wants to do, she tells herself angrily. She wants to make life difficult for Adora, because it'll make her feel better. She wants to sleep in her own bunk, because she doesn't need or want Adora's company.

(She wants nothing more than to clamber down there and curl up against Adora's knees; to feel her hand carding through her thick mess of hair, and massaging gently at her scalp. But she's saving herself the rejection by pretending otherwise. She's only protecting herself.)

Edited 2020-06-13 21:31 (UTC)

"Catra!" Adora hisses sharper, still making an effort to keep her voice down. She knows Catra heard her, she's doing this on purpose--

But she stops herself before she can work herself up into a seethe, pinching the bridge of her nose and shutting her eyes with a steadying breath. She doesn't want to get angry at Catra again. She wants to fix this.

And so Adora climbs up to Catra's bunk, two steps of the ladder at a time, and plants both elbows on the edge of Catra's mattress. At the top, of course, she's only greeted with the sight of Catra's turned back.

"Catra, I need to talk to you." She exhales, slouching her shoulders. "Please?"

By the time Adora - stupid, slow Adora - has managed to climb up the ladder, Catra's got herself curled up on her side, tail safely in her own lap, and her blanket firmly drawn over herself.

Still, her shoulders hunch further when Adora says words at her; and silently, Catra grabs her pillow from under her head and stuffs it over the top instead, pointedly blocking her ears and providing a cover over her wet and scrunched eyes.

It's late, and it's time to be asleep. Adora can just wait until morning, and yell at her then with everybody else.

"No! Don't--"

That is the exact opposite of the reaction Adora was going for, and she gestures desperately at Catra's back for a moment before accepting defeat. Fine. No talking, then.

This doesn't mean she's ready to leave Catra alone.

Picking up the closest end of the blanket, Adora lifts it up, tucks herself in behind Catra's curled back, and drapes the blanket back over the two of them. She doesn't quite dare rest her arms over her, the way she normally might -- but she hopes this closeness will be enough to communicate something, if Catra doesn't pull away from it.

Why won't Adora just leave her alone?

Catra's body can't tense any more, and she's curled so tightly there's nothing else she can do. She just holds her breath, pretending that shreds of her heart aren't tearing themselves off while she waits for Adora to give up on her.

Except she doesn't, because she never does. Catra's fingers grip tighter on her pillow, digging in and tearing through the already-repaired materials. (This isn't the first time she's stowed away up here, and isn't the first time she's accidentally destroyed her bedding. The survival skills they learn include sewing and uniform repairs, and Catra's pillow got its first clumsy stitches a long time ago. She can feel them still, ugly bumps underneath her fingers.)

And then Adora's warmth is against her back, following the brush of cool air that the lift of her blanket exposes her to. Catra continues to hold her breath until her chest shudders with the effort; and she turns herself over, pressing her face into the crook of Adora's neck.

She won't apologize. She never apologizes, and she's never going to. But she feels -- so bad, and she wants Adora to hate her so that she has validation for her own self-loathing, but Adora doesn't. Adora never hates her. Adora never learns.

"...Does it hurt?" She croaks, voice quieter than a whisper. Her face is the only part of her that she allows to touch Adora, and when she sucks in a rattling breath it comes with Adora's comforting smell, and the scrunch of Catra's eyes doesn't stop tears from spilling over. One day, one day Adora is going to stop doing this. One day Adora will learn, and she won't come after Catra; she'll leave her alone to be miserable, and weak, and worthless, and she'll finally achieve all of the great things that Shadow Weaver always says she will. One day, Catra's going to curl in her bed, and know that Adora won't ever be warm against her again.

She should break it off now, for her own sake. Should put an end to it. Should stop hungrily drinking up Adora's attention. Should stop breathing in her scent. Should stop dedicating every beat of her heart to her.

...But she really, really doesn't want to.

Edited 2020-06-13 22:46 (UTC)

"No, it's totally okay," Adora's quick to reassure, "it's just a little sting--"

But then she hears Catra sniff, and feels a faint wetness drip onto her shoulder, and Adora's heart thuds to a halt for the first time tonight-- before resuming its pace at double time, hastened with panic.

"No, no, Catra," she pulls back just enough to look at her face, cup her cheeks with her hands. She can't believe she's made her cry. She's the one who comforts her, how could she have made Catra cry?

Adora's thumbs rub frantically at the tear-trails, words gushing from her throat in a hushed, panicky babble. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so angry, I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I just, I've been feeling weird all night and I took it out on you, and that wasn't fair." She lets out a shaky exhale, uncertain hands patting at Catra's jaw, her hair, anything that might bring comfort. "I know you hate water, I know it's hard for you, I should've been more considerate-- don't cry, please?"

She wasn't crying.

Or, she wasn't until Adora started rambling. That's when Catra's lip trembles, and when she clenches her jaw.

"I'm not crying," she grits out, blinking determinedly to will the moisture in her eyes away. They always do this, they always start tearing up. She hates them. Sometimes she feels like she could scratch them out in her frustration. But she holds Adora's gaze in a dedicated glare, determined to prove that they're drying.

Slowly, she unfurls from the tight ball she'd compressed herself into. Holding the position hurts anyway, and the bruises of the day ache anew as she tries to force her tense muscles to relax. But that's not what she cares about. One of her arms reaches down, blindly; pressing against Adora's leg and searching for where there must be a bandage, somewhere, holding tight against the skin Catra had torn through. Her hand roams indiscriminately until she finds it, and then halts, her fingers glancing at the edge.

"I'll cover you in the simulation tomorrow." Her words are abrupt, but have the ring of a promise. She doesn't usually show up for them on time, doesn't usually work as part of the team like she's supposed to. But she will. To make up for what she's done.

Edited 2020-06-13 23:40 (UTC)

It doesn't matter to Adora that it's just a stray few drops and a shimmer at the edge of Catra's eyes. The fact that she caused it overloads her chest with guilt, and so she continues to fuss and fret until she's sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Catra's eyes are dry. Only then can she breathe fully from her lungs, and begin to relax.

-- Begin to, until Catra's roaming hand has her tensing up for a whole nother reason, and Adora has to swallow.

"You don't have to do that, silly," she says, wrapping careful fingers over Catra's wrist. Her smile slants lipsided, straining at the edges. "I told you, it's barely a sting."

Catra's ears immediately tilt back in offense, Adora's fingers around her wrist stinging like a rejection. Adora doesn't want her help in the simulation tomorrow, Adora doesn't need her. What good is it anyway, to have Catra on her side?

She's about to jerk her hand back and roll back over again to nurse the fresh pain in her heart when her eyes, so close to Adora's, catch sight of something new.

She's always had good vision in the dark. She's always been able to keep track of things that Adora insists she could never see, and she's always been able to follow movements well.

She gives her fingers an experimental twitch against Adora's thigh, stretches them out along the edge of the bandage and then curls them back into a fist, nails dragging along her skin. All the while watching Adora's eyes, silent and intently focused on her pupils. Did she really just...?

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?"

There's no way.

No. Way.

Catra's other hand slips up between their bodies to grasp Adora's chin, tugging her back down to continue staring as her fingers trace down the line of the bandage, following it around to the inside of her thigh.

And she sucks in a deep, sharp breath as Adora's pupils all but explode.

"No way." They're really the only words that can exist in her brain right now, so suddenly jarred from upset and hurt to --- this. A literal dream come true. Catra's body is too quick to jump on board with the updated situation, flushing warm despite the lag her thoughts are experiencing. "Adora, are you -- seriously?" Her fingers curl against her thigh, scraping with nails once again and then pressing in with a knead of her knuckles. Just to -- to check, or something, like Adora's face is going to tell her something more than she already knows. "Seriously?"

Catra doesn't even allow her pitiful attempt at seeking reprieve, pulling her chin back down to reenforce the eye contact, and Adora-- Adora is freaking out. Because now Catra's bombarding her with those questions like she just did something weird, but she didn't do anything, and Catra's hand on her thigh keeps touching her in a way that's sending sparks up to her belly, and she won't stop looking at her face.

"What are you doing? Stop!" she squeaks out, planting a hand against Catra's face to shove her away. "What are you talking about?!"

Catra balks at the hand in her face, and her hand does shoot up from Adora's thigh to grab it, the blanket settling haphazardly across them with the movement. With her other hand she releases Adora's chin, quickly grabbing at her other wrist.

Her now ragged breathing has nothing to do with exertion, and neither does the breathless laugh that huffs from her lips.

"You -- you're seriously getting off on this." It's amazement in her tone, because all this time. All this time when she's been trying to get this sort of reaction from Adora, and all she had to do was... cry a little? Make herself seem weak? Let Adora take care of her?

This somehow seems like the incorrect conclusion to be drawing, but Catra's brain isn't home right now.

Edited 2020-06-14 01:01 (UTC)

Now Catra's laughing. Why is Catra laughing? The only reason Adora doesn't retaliate by shoving harder is that it'd knock Catra off the bed, and that'd hurt.

"Getting off from where?" she shoots back, her rising panic making her forget volume control and driving her very close to yelling. "I don't know what you're saying!"

"Shh!" Catra is quick to slap Adora's hand over Adora's own mouth, covering it quickly with her own to keep it in place as she hisses out warnings. "Shut up, you idiot! You're going to wake everyone up!"

Her ears strain to pick out the sounds of breathing from the rest of their squad. Thankfully, the only one who seems to have stirred is Rogelio; who also sounds like they roll back over with a disgruntled rumble, and fall back asleep.

Only then does Catra move Adora's hand away from her mouth, and in that long tense moment she'd really hoped she might take up thinking again. You know, as maybe something of a hobby? But instead she's very distracted by the rapid fluttering of Adora's pulse under the fingers she has pressed against her wrist, and the tension obvious in the line of her shoulder, and how Catra can feel the warmth emanating from her body like a furnace. (Or maybe that's just Catra's own body heat. Too hard to tell, not worth figuring out.)

"What's your problem?" She demands, keeping her voice to annoyed whispers. "Why are you being so weird about this?"

Because Catra thought she'd made it pretty clear like, ages ago, that she'd be more than willing to help Adora with these things.

Edited 2020-06-14 01:22 (UTC)

"Mrrph, mmph!" That's the extent of the reply Adora can give with Catra clamping her own hand over her mouth, the jerk. Although upon being reminded of her surroundings, she can't help but acknowledge Catra was right -- so Adora stops trying to speak over the barrier of her palm, and resorts to quietly fuming.

At least until her mouth is free.

"I'm being weird? I'm being weird?!" She's regained enough awareness to keep her voice down, but Catra's infuriating effect on her is already wearing away at her restraint. Adora can't help it-- she feels like she's losing her mind.

"You're the one who started looking at me all funny, and-and touching my leg, and laughing at me! How am I being weird?!"

"You're the one who's freaking out!" It's not the first time they've had heated arguments in the dark of the dormitory, and it surely won't be the last. If only Adora could be actually relied on to keep her voice down during them.

And Catra really just -- can't believe what she's hearing. She started this? She was only trying to be considerate!

"It's not even that big a deal!" So she tells herself. "But if you wanna do it by yourself, fine. Just do it in your own bunk, and get out of mine."

She punctuates the statement by releasing Adora's hands with a push, and she's serious about Adora getting out of her bunk. It's bad enough to imagine Adora grinding into her own hand on the bunk beneath Catra's - she might actually die if she did it right next to her.

"Ah-- buh-- hey!" Catra doesn't get to push her away mid-argument like that, that's not fair. Adora shuffles back closer, a determined scowl on her face. She's not leaving Catra's bed before she makes some degree of sense of this whole situation.

"Do what by myself?"

Catra actually fully expects Adora to leave; to get back down into her own bedding so that Catra can take advantage of the illusion of privacy on her own.

But instead she just shuffles closer again, in the world's most frustrating example of giving mixed signals.

"Get off," she enunciates with exasperation, rolling her eyes. It's like Adora needs it spelled out for her or something, seriously.