Adora's hands come to rest over Catra's breasts in a mirroring motion, and it's-- incredibly hard not to notice the gap in their positions, what with Adora's undershirt still on, and Catra wearing nothing under her leotard. If Catra were in her place, she surely wouldn't complain: her hands have full, unhindered access, and she can drink in the sight of her without interference. And it's safer, less vulnerable, to still have something concealing her own bare body. (As if the wrestling excuse could still help them now. As if there's any excuse that could help them now, if anyone were to see.)

But Adora's not Catra, and Adora wants them both on equal grounds, even if it means forfeiting her advantage. Even if it means sharing in that vulnerability.

"You-- you should take that off, too," she says, gesturing to her undershirt with a bow of her head. "Fair's fair."