Archive of Our Own ^beta

Age 10

Catra knows Adora’s face better than her own. No question. There isn’t a streak in her blue-grey eyes that Catra does not have memorised. She’s burned every mark Adora’s ever acquired over the years into her memory before they mysteriously fade to nothing - perfect Adora. She could picture her in her mind's eye clearer than anything else, clearer than the layout of the barracks she’d slept in her whole life. She knows everything.

So why could she never tear her eyes away?

Despite knowing every smooth inch of her face she just can’t stop. It makes her feel guilty, she’s never understood why. But it isn’t an issue that’s ever been brought to light so it’s fine. She loves knowing Adora better than anyone else. Does Kyle know that Adora got a cut on her jaw when she was nine and it took exactly eight days to heal completely? No, he doesn’t, Catra does.
It had always been this way and she felt safe in her silence.

But then people started noticing how often she looked, people like Shadow Weaver. And suddenly she had to pay attention to herself even more than she already had been, where she looked, where she put her hands, what her tail was doing lest she be threatened with darkness for ‘distracting’ Adora. Even without words Shadow Weaver made it clear that the simple fact that Adora looked back was her fault.

She’d always been told to horde information, or more accurately, had to learn to. Sometimes to know was to survive. The more she knew, the easier it was to stay safe. So surely, it made sense for her to know as much as she could about Adora? To keep both of them safe. The weak logic was more than enough for her to justify her actions.

And surely that’s what Adora is doing as well when she looks back. When she lets her eyes flick between Catra’s for minutes on end in comfortable silence. That’s it. What else could it be?

Age 13

There’s nothing good in the Horde, Catra has learnt that by now. Not the out-of-place moons overhead, not the endless twisting of green metal that she calls home, not even the people.

But Adora...she doesn't count. She’s good and earnest and funny and caring and so much more. She’s Catra’s only anchor here, keeping her trapped in the storm of red lightning and clawing shadows. But she’ll stay for her, for her light and her touch and her stupid face making her feel things she really can’t be feeling. Feelings she doesn’t have words for because they change so often.

Sometimes they’re warm, filling her up from the inside. Sometimes cold as ice, stealing her breath and leaving her chest empty. Sometimes there’s rage, though she knows that one. She doesn’t like being angry at Adora, a lot of the time she doesn’t know why she feels like that. She’s not good at hiding it - the rage at least - and Adora always stays anyway. And that just makes the feelings swirl again. She ignores them as best she can. It’s not like anybody needs to know.

Nobody needs to know that it’s only Adora who can make her smile with anything other than a promise of malice. Nobody needs to know that seeing her face makes her insides feel weird. And nobody needs to know how much she craves her touch in ways she can’t ever articulate. They’re best friends; of course she feels like this.

*

As she gets older, her body starts changing as they said it would. Plus some extra little things they either didn’t think to mention or didn’t know. She has to figure it out for herself, like always, since she’s never seen anyone quite like her in the Horde.

Amongst other things, her hearing gets even sharper, or at least it seems to. She’s constantly aware and listening for any little thing, but it’s not like it really helps. It doesn’t stop Shadow Weaver from sneaking up on her when she’s stealing food or medical supplies she knows she’ll never receive otherwise. It just makes her splitting yells that much louder.

But it also means she’ll catch pieces of conversation between older cadets. Which at first she pays no mind to, but boredom has its consequences. New words and concepts appear daily and curiosity states that she needs to know the meanings. Knowledge is survival and all that. Even if it might put her on some hit lists for eavesdropping, they’ll learn the bite of her claws if they try anything, none of them are as scary as Shadow Weaver anyway.

“Morgan saw flowers for the first time.”
She’s not really listening, it’s just that the room is big and mostly empty and the sound bounces into her ears in a way it doesn’t for everyone else. (She tries not to remember the childish awe on Adora’s face when they figured it out together.) Not even Adora is talking - her mouth is too full of food.
“Oh yeah what did they say?”
“Said they were pretty.”
“Figures they’d say something like that when going into a war zone.”

‘Pretty’. It doesn’t sound like anything too important but she continues to listen anyway, she still wants to know. And it’s not like she’s leaving without Adora anyway. She tries to show no sign of hearing them at all but her ears flick back towards the sound to catch it better. It’s fine, she reasons, the cadets aren’t smart enough to decipher what the position of her ears means. She’ll only pay attention long enough to see if an explanation will be given or if she can just guess from context.

It pays off as well, she figures out this ‘pretty’ is just a word meaning nice to look at, something that’s pretty means you feel good when you look at it. She stores the information away, it isn’t useful but she knows now. And maybe nobody else in her squadron does, so she fully intends on not telling anyone.

Adora grabs her wrist - Catra pushes down the urge to take her hand - to get Catra to look at her. (She knows they’re too old to do that now without repercussions for showing weakness, and yet the want is still there. If anything not being allowed just makes it stronger.)

Her ears flick back to their normal position and she meets her eyes. They’re more grey today, like liquid steel. Adora’s face is all soft and open in a way that’s just not safe in the Horde. Not that Adora could really be hurt; she’s Shadow Weaver’s favourite, she has a safety net. Catra doesn’t, her safety net is Adora and Adora alone. Adora and her nice to look at, squirmy stomach inducing face. Her pretty face. Adora is pretty. Huh. Maybe that word would come in useful.

It’s not exactly the explanation she wants but it’s what she has now. Adora makes her feel like this because she’s pretty. She’s pretty and she doesn’t even seem to know it. Or does she? Does she know how Catra feels when she looks at her?

“You ready to go?” Adora says, effectively breaking off that train of thought. It makes the air rush back into her lungs. She doesn’t trust herself to speak so she just nods and tries not to stare at the way Adora’s fingers leave her wrist way too slowly.

*

And so she uses it. Every time there’s that little melting feeling in her chest when she sees Adora her brain spits out ‘pretty’, and every time she does nothing with it. She doesn’t know whether she should do anything with it. For all the times she thinks it, she can’t bring herself to say it. And she just doesn’t know why. It’s infuriating beyond measure and has resulted many times in her snapping at Adora when she just didn’t deserve it, and every time she never apologises. Though if Adora still expects that from her she’s an even bigger idiot than she seems.

It happened again. Her frustration and confusion came out as blades and she refused to clean the wound, left Adora bleeding from her words while she ran. She started climbing higher like the distance would make her problems go away.

But is what she’s feeling a problem? She thinks of how sometimes Adora makes it impossible for her to think of anything else other than her laugh, how it rings in her ears for hours afterwards. And how the room narrows down to just them even if there’s a whole group of people speaking. And how every inch of her burns to touch her when they share a bed and - Yes, she decides, it’s a fucking problem.

And of course Adora’s come to find her. She’s still not tall enough to climb up to Catra’s perch by herself, and yet she still tries because she’s an idiot. An idiot who makes her feel all warm and breathless when she stubbornly comes to find her without fail despite the trouble she’ll get into. (Not that Adora ever really gets in trouble.)
She helps Adora get to safety on the platform below and she considers leaving her there again and returning to her high point if only because of that stupid dopey smile that says ‘You like me.’ (She really, really does.) But Adora will just try again, she always will. It’s why they’re best friends; she’s the only one stubborn enough to stay. And so she will too.

Adora lies down on the metal of the platform, not seeming to care about the harsh point of the bolts in her back. She takes this to mean Adora’s forgiven her, that Adora knows she didn’t mean it. She doesn’t ask to know for sure. She sits beside her, tail curled around her own ankle and looks at her. Adora doesn’t look back and it makes her chest constrict, even though having Adora look back would somehow be even worse. But like this Catra can just study her properly, she can still know her better than anyone else. She’ll still be the only one who knows that it’s taken two days for a scrape on Adora’s hand to heal.

Adora’s just lying there, looking skyward on warm metal and she’s pretty. She’s always pretty but the bright glint in her eyes that’s always looked so out of place in the Fright Zone makes her think the word isn't enough anymore. She’s not just pretty, she's...something else. Something more. But just like so many other times, she gets caught staring, only this time by Adora herself.

“Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?”
‘No, it’s just that you’re the prettiest thing in the Fright Zone and I don’t tell you for reasons I might not ever understand.’
“Yes.”
Adora sits up swiftly with that soft look she reserves for when they’re alone. “Where?”

She lifts her hand up to point, laying the clawless fingertip against Adora’s forehead. “Right there.”
It’s safe, something she always does, and it gets Adora to do that half-exasperated glare that she shouldn’t like as much as she does. Adora lies back down, completely unaware of how pretty she really is because Catra’s never told her. She ignores the venomous little song that tells her maybe others have, that other people think she’s pretty too, only they have the courage to fucking tell her.

She doesn’t lie back down with Adora that night, doesn't go to her bed either. She stays stubbornly put in the top bunk, glaring at the doorway. But not seeing Adora doesn’t seem to matter, Catra knows she’s there, can hear her breathe as it lulls with sleep, and she ignores the part of her saying, ‘It took longer than usual tonight because you aren’t with her.’
But no matter how long she lies there, she can’t fall asleep to the noise of her thoughts, all screaming ‘more-than-pretty’ at her.

Age 14

Puberty fucking sucks. That’s the most accurate summation Catra can give. Amongst other things, she’s left behind in many ways. Everyone else starts getting more muscle mass from daily training and she just...doesn’t. She’s strong, sure, but it doesn’t show in her body the same way. (Well everyone but Kyle.) She blames it on her species, but she doesn't actually know for sure.

That isn’t even the only thing, everyone else starts getting taller as well. Which she could’ve gotten over a lot faster if it hadn’t happened to Adora. She’d shot up seemingly overnight and now had even more of an advantage over her.

And she deals with it. She deals with the way Adora gets really close and has to look down her nose to meet her eyes. She can handle those otherworldly eyes bearing down on her, their sheer intensity during training and the softness when they’re alone. She’s absolutely fine with the way lights get trapped behind Adora’s head and it makes her pale hair glow like a halo. She deals with it.

The only place she doesn’t notice the height difference anymore is when they’re sharing a bed, sure Adora takes up more space now, but somehow she still feels the same as she always has. The Adora who whispers with her under the covers well past curfew, the girl who thrashes in her sleep until Catra shakes her awake is still one of the only things Catra truly knows.

In the dark Catra can pretend that these feelings don’t exist, that they’re kids again, that she doesn’t know how awful the Horde really is. She’s safe and far away from the intensity of steeled eyes, she’s free of a lot of things in the dark. But never the fluttery feeling in her chest she gets from seeing Adora asleep, she’s always had that. She can’t imagine it ever going away.

Age 15

She knows now. She knows what she feels, has a name for it. She knows she’ll never say it out loud; she knows she’s felt it her whole life.

Not for the first time in her life, she knows something she doesn’t want to. If knowing this is survival then maybe she doesn’t want to survive. Because the name makes it stronger, the lurching of her heart when Adora finds her eyes in a crowd, the quickening of her pulse whenever Adora so much as touches her. It makes her want. She wants things she can never have. She loves what she can never have.

She can barely think the word without wanting to scream because it’s not fair. But when was the world ever fucking fair? It’s just another weakness for her to manage and smother.

*

All her years of listening means she hears very little new things anymore. The stories change, the orders as well, but the words stay the same. And still she keeps the meanings safe and away from everyone else. She’ll take whatever power she can get. So when new words do come, she listens. And it seems like the world rewards her for her dedication because she learns ‘beautiful’ and it’s like everything clicks into place. All that time searching for that stupid word meaning more-than-pretty and she finally fucking found it. Adora is beautiful, she’s the most beautiful thing Catra’s ever seen in her life and she’s sure that’s never going to fucking change.

Doesn’t mean she isn't going to fight it; it’s all she knows how to do.

She tries to channel the warmth in her heart into the familiar flame of anger but it just won’t. It’s so much easier to be angry at Adora than it is to love her, at least with rage she can act on it. This pulling in her chest that leaves her both full and empty, it immobilizes her, even if she were to ever tell Adora how she feels it’s not like it would get past her lips. And it’s not like anything good would come from it anyway, there’s nothing to gain and everything to lose if she voices this. Isn’t that always the way with feelings?

There’s a fucking good reason why she only lets others see anger or nothing at all. Well, everyone but Adora, because she managed to break her open and claw her way in so early on. Stubborn, good, beautiful Adora. And now she doesn’t have a way to push her out without hurting both of them in the process. Losing Adora might kill her, if not from the pain in her chest then most likely by Shadow Weaver’s own hand. It’s a horrible thought but a truth she’s known for years now.

Why Adora? Why her of all people?
‘You know why.’

She denies it, doesn’t really know what else to do. She convinces herself it doesn’t matter, forces all thoughts of loving Adora in any way other than the way she’s supposed to from her head for her own protection. She can’t be in love with her if she doesn’t let herself be. It doesn’t matter how kind or good or caring or strong or determined or beautiful she is, Catra won’t let herself think that way about her. It just hurts too much.

She still knows though. The feelings don’t leave, they stay with her like cloying smoke, black on the edge of her mind. Denial becomes the strongest ally she has.

Age 12

Catra’s always been so many things. So much so that as they grow Adora has taken to seeing her as two people; there’s the Catra that’s the world’s and the Catra that she feels belongs to her. (Not that Catra will ever really belong to anyone, she’s too stubborn.)

The world gets the Catra that claws and hisses and spits at anyone who so much as looks at her funny. It gets her wildness, but the caged version, the one that’s shaped by what Shadow Weaver has been deemed acceptably human. It sees her danger and her disinterest, her coldness and nothing else.

But Adora, as well as all of that, she gets the rest. She sees her softness, her fear and her vulnerability, whatever little of it she allows. She gets to look at Catra and call her cute inside the comfort of her head. Adora sees her when she’s tired or hurting and needs someone to be there for her. She gets her wildness as well, gets her fangs and the whipping of her tail but rarely are they used to hurt anymore. They’re a part of her like everything else, it’s just that Catra knows she doesn’t have to hide with her. And it’s the best feeling in the world when Adora realises this.

But Catra starts changing and she doesn’t realise it at first because it’s so minimal. They’re just growing up, it makes sense. She talks the same, acts the same (if a little colder) but she doesn’t look the same, not entirely. Same eyes that Adora could happily stare into for the rest of her life, same soft fur and markings and freckles that she can picture accurately in her dreams, same smile that makes her breathless for no reason other than it’s so rare.

But there’s just more now and she can’t figure it out at all. She’s still the same mix of cute and deadly, safe and dangerous, but there’s just something else. Something that mesmerizes. Something without a name. Something that draws the blood to her cheeks and the breath out of her lungs when Catra looks at her a certain way. Something that demands she stop in her tracks to just take her all in. And she just doesn’t know what it is.

Age 14

It doesn’t get better. They keep growing and changing and Catra keeps getting more...whatever it is. She got more dangerous as well, fiery in her interactions with everyone around her. But she’s also got colder, her edges more jagged, the disinterest she wears more often than not, making Adora feel like she’s far away when she isn’t. And it’s infuriating but it’s not but it - Catra is just a lot, makes her feel so much. She’s everything Adora can think of. She’s most of what Adora thinks of actually. But that makes sense; they’re best friends, of course she feels like this.

She cares about Catra in a way she doesn’t with everyone else, and yes that might make her a weakness or a ‘distraction’ but Catra’s worth it. And Shadow Weaver may be right about a lot of things but she’s wrong about Catra. She has to be.

She’ll fight against the way Catra laughs when she’s training with her and it makes the whole world seem brighter, she’ll suppress that need to protect her above everyone else, she’ll force herself to breathe evenly when Catra looks at her from the side, smirk dangerous and full of teeth. She’ll do all of that to prove Shadow Weaver wrong.

*

Catra lets out a long sigh as she flops down into Adora’s lap. Training today had been all strength based and she knew that Catra would be complaining about it for at least the next few hours. She was almost looking forward to their strange ritual - Catra would complain about strength training and Adora would do the same about stealth exercises. She’ll sit back and soak in the sound of Catra’s voice, the rise and fall of it, will watch the movement of her tail behind her.

But the position Catra’s in right now won’t let her do that. She doesn’t mind so much given how close she is, she can smell her hair as it spreads over her legs, she doesn’t even care that it’s still damp from the showers. Her hands itch with the urge to touch it, to run her fingers through it. She doesn’t move; she knows she’s not allowed.

Catra’s voice distracts her when she starts speaking, the complaints welcome. She can’t stop herself smiling down at her, not even when her legs go numb. The metal pressing into her back keeps her awake despite how close she drifts to sleep, lulled there by Catra’s burning heat. The girl in her lap has no such issue it seems, Adora’s eyes snap open at the first of Catra’s soft snores. She hadn’t even realised Catra had stopped talking.

And oh. Catra’s...whatever she is, that damn word that still won’t appear. She’s so much of it that it takes the air right out of her, she tells herself that her chest is aching from the oxygen deprivation alone. She can’t move - not that she wants to. Her head spills thoughts like water, things she doesn’t understand, phrases that simultaneously make no sense but feel like absolute truths. She would give up moonlight and clean air and hot showers and everything else to be able to see her like this everyday. There’s a tugging in her chest telling her to get closer, warning her to stay back, pleading that she never moves.

It shouldn’t be this complicated. It shouldn’t, but it is. She doesn't know what to do. She waits, hoping that this knot in her head will unravel itself or at least give her one clear thought she can follow.

A thought never comes but a want does. That one from earlier that tells her to run her fingers through Catra’s hair, she thinks her hand might shake with it. She reasons that Catra’s asleep; it’s fine. But something stops her before she does. It’s infuriating. She knows she’s not allowed so why - why does she want to so bad?
‘You know that’s always been the way with Catra.’ Yeah, she does know.

But then Catra shifts her head just a little, it leaves her neck bared and she just looks so...soft. (It’s the best she can come up with right now.) She doesn’t move her hand once she dares to put in on top of the small thicket of fur on Catra’s jaw, tense as she leaves it there. It feels safe enough. In her sleep Catra leans into her hand and it makes Adora’s chest ache again (she can’t even blame it on her breathing this time.)

She lets her fingertips run a ghostly path along the grain of her fur, they shake the whole way. And still Catra presses further in. There’s almost a smile on her lips and everything just feels brighter, Adora imagines that if her eyes were open right now they’d be sparkling. She hopes that if Catra were awake she would be purring, it’s been far too long since she’s heard it.
‘She would never let you do this if she were awake.’

And just like that it’s dark again. She’s not allowed to do this. It was selfish and she can’t feel that, not even with Catra, she’s better than that. She has to be. She forces her hands back to the bed, head thumping back against the wall. Still, she can’t seem to stop looking at her.

Age 15

She’s never been the best with stun batons, they’re too short, too little of them can actually do damage. But Shadow Weaver demands she be competent with all weapons the Horde has to offer so here she is, choosing the stupid baton over the pikes she so prefers. At least Catra is with her, for once not putting up any sort of fight. She’d simply asked and Catra had agreed, it shouldn’t have thrown her as much as it did.

She blames everything else that happens on Catra’s proficiency with the weapon and not the rare, easy demeanor she’s wearing today. She won’t let Catra be a distraction.
‘Even if she is? Even if you like that she is?’
‘Shut up.’

“Wow you really are bad at this.” Catra’s got that insufferable smirk strapped to her face, lit up by the flash of electricity that jumps in her hands and it should be making Adora angry. It makes everyone else angry. And yeah, it makes her want to tackle Catra to the ground to rid her of it, but she also (maybe, kind of) just wants to stare at it; remain trapped in it.

Catra hasn’t actually shocked her yet, but they’ve gone five rounds and four of those ended with green lightning inches from her face or chest with Catra grinning down at her. She tells herself she’s breathless and flushed from the fight and nothing more. (Definitely not the way Catra isn’t at all scared to touch her when they’re training.)

Catra offers her a hand up and she doesn’t even bother stopping herself from smiling. “Guess you’ll just have to help me get better then.”
“Guess so.”

“Adora you’re swinging too much, that’s not going to do anything.” Round seven and Catra isn't even really engaging anymore, just looking at her with an eyebrow raised and her hip to the side.
“I know, I know I’m trying.”
“Are you though?” Gods she loves her voice.
“Shut up.”

She gets a little better, not much, but she’s able to block and dodge Catra’s strikes easier. She’s swinging less and getting more comfortable with the jabbing motion she’s been shown. But she needs to be quicker, something she’s never excelled at as well as Catra. Which just makes this all the more difficult. As soon as she thinks she’s got the hang of it, Catra gets faster, gets closer, and she feels like she’s starting all over again.

And then Catra gets just a little too close. There’s a horrid burn that shoots up her arm and into her chest paralysing her for a moment. She falls to the ground and the mat is actually rather welcome considering how hard she’s shaking. Her mind is blank. Entirely so.
She hears, “Oh shit,” above her. She forces air back into her lungs. “Adora?”

The shock leaves quickly and feeling comes back, she can’t answer because her tongue feels like jelly. There’s a sharp sting where the baton met her arm and she’s sure there’ll be a red splotch there for a day or so. She blinks her eyes open again and manages to roll onto her back.

For the moments after when she meets blue-yellow eyes she thinks she’s been shocked a second time. But she hasn't, it’s just that Catra’s still looking at her and she’s not moving. Catra’s just...she’s just that thing that’s only gotten worse as they’ve gotten older. But it’s not worse, it’s better, and she still doesn’t know in what way.

The shock in Catra’s own eyes flickers out as she crouches down. “Hey, Adora you okay?”
She shakes herself out of her stunned stupor, “Yeah, I’m fine. What setting is that thing on?”
“Regular one, you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, just help me up.”

Catra’s half-smile is filled with barely hidden concern, Adora puts her hand on her shoulder to begin to convince her that she’s fine except. Well. Catra’s face is right there in front of her and she’s breathing hard from the training and she’s still holding her hand and her face is soft with worry and she feels like she’s been stunned all over again. She’s stunning. Catra is stunning.

It makes more sense than maybe anything else ever has. It might not be the right word for what Catra is but it’s at least accurate. Catra takes her breath away and sometimes all it takes is a look and she’s rendered useless, it feels like she’s burning when she touches her. It’s accurate.

*

“The moons are beautiful tonight.”

Adora is grateful for the break in the silence, even if she does love the gentle quiet of their spot high above the restlessness of the Fright Zone. Only a whisper of the general hum can be heard up here. It’s probably the closest thing they get to being alone.

She tears her eyes away from Catra’s face to the glowing eyes in the sky, all of them ethereal blue tonight. “Catra, what does beautiful mean?”

She expects some sarcastic “Oh what, you don’t know, how embarrassing for you,” type comment. The same as Catra always does before she caves and tells her anyway. It doesn’t happen right now and it throws her. It’s not helped by the almost defeated way she says,
“It means that looking at it makes you feel...happy I guess. Or better. It,” Catra sighs, “It makes you feel better when you see it.”

She wants to comfort her. She doesn’t know why. Catra says that looking at the moons is making her feel better, she doesn’t need comfort. And yet the sad slope of her ears makes Adora want to wrap her arms around her. She settles for shifting just a bit closer and Catra’s tail brushes against her arm.

“Then yeah, I guess they are beautiful.” The melancholy smile stays in place.

It takes an hour or so, with the both of them lying in Adora’s bed in the dark for it to occur to her. Catra makes her feel better when she looks at her, makes her happy and warmer and...a lot of other things. Is Catra beautiful? She thinks so but does that even apply to a person? She doesn’t know, but maybe Catra does.

“Catra?” She whispers into the dark, as quiet as she’s able. She knows Catra will hear her anyway.
A soft, “Hmm?” comes from the end of the bed.
“Can a person be beautiful?” It feels strangely risky to ask the question and she doesn’t know why.
“Yes. Why who do you have in mind?” There’s only a parody of the joking she knows Catra is trying to put into the words. It echoes with that same defeated sigh from earlier. It keeps Adora silent for a moment, fighting back the urge to hug her just like before.

‘You.’ But she can’t say that. And she doesn’t know why. Why does she never just know these things?
“No one. Just wondering.”

It takes a long while but eventually she falls asleep to the gentle song of, ‘You’re beautiful Catra…’ playing in her head.

Now

Catra laughs from her position on top of her, careless giggles floating in the silence. Her hands have their place on Adora’s sides and they squeeze tighter as she laughs. Her face is scrunched up, her eyes closed, shoulders moving with her. It’s a sight Adora never thought she’d see again. Her hands drop from Catra’s waist to the bed and she’s just...staring. She knows she is but she can’t tear her eyes away.

“You’re beautiful.” It comes out before she can stop it.
Catra stills, hands going stiff over her stomach, her eyes, glowing in the darkness, are wide. Some part of Adora wants to apologise, feels like she’s crossed a line and she needs to retreat. But no, she can say these things now. She doesn’t need to stew in those thoughts confused anymore.

Catra opens and closes her mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. She sits up higher and Adora follows, she thinks she sees Catra blushing. She’s made Catra flustered and she finds that she’s craving this new high. It’s a new kind of power she’s only just getting to know.
After a while Catra finds her voice again, “I’m not.”
She doesn’t even hesitate, “You are.”
“Adora...” she whines her name, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

She sits up, hand finding its place behind Catra’s ear, “Is that really so hard to believe?”
Maybe no one’s ever told her that before. She can’t believe that, not when she’s...when she’s Catra. She’s the most gorgeous, stunning thing Adora’s ever seen.

Catra just sits on her lap in silence, unsure what to do or say, and Adora just lets her figure it out while she traces small patterns at the base of her ear. It takes a while but eventually Catra relaxes into it, barely-there purring coming into the quiet.
Catra’s reluctance to meet her eyes is obvious, but she manages it eventually, “I think you’re beautiful too, Adora.”

Huh. Okay. No, she gets it. Even despite saying it mere seconds (maybe minutes) ago to Catra, hearing it about herself is...odd. It feels like a lie. But Catra wouldn’t lie about that, just as she wouldn’t. People have said it about She-Ra, she’s still not used to that, but about herself? Just Adora? She thinks it’s something only Catra would say.

“Think you were the one who told me about the word actually.”
“Yeah...I did. You asked me if you could call a person beautiful and I was so scared you were going to say that you thought about Lonnie like that or something.”

It’s really only been a few days since the Heart but she would’ve thought by now that maybe Catra was finally getting it. She thought that maybe Catra would understand that, no, it’s always been her. She’s never had the capacity to feel this way about anyone else, she feels like Catra took her heart and her thoughts the moment they met. Even if they were both too young to actually remember it.

“Lonnie’s...fine, I guess. But she’s not you. She doesn’t have a face that makes me forget what I’m doing.” That blush regintes on Catra’s face, she can feel it under her hand. She knows Catra wants to tell her to shut up, but she won’t let her, not when they’re finally talking about this. “There were so many times I thought it, and I just couldn’t tell you. I never understood why. I didn’t know what it meant back then.”

Catra reaches up, keeping Adora’s hand on her face, “I did. I knew what it meant. I just couldn’t accept it, ignored it.”
“We were idiots.”
Catra rolls her eyes, “You’re still an idiot.”
She presses their foreheads together, just because she finally can. “An idiot that you’re in love with. An idiot that you think is beautiful.” It still sounds weird but it feels good too. (Most things feel that way now though.)
“Adora I think you’re gorgeous.”

She gets over the fluttering in her chest quickly and kisses Catra as soft as she’s able, successfully stopping herself from doing or saying anything stupid in response. Their hands drop to the bed, fully intertwined and Catra pulls back. When Adora opens her eyes again she's still right there, blue and yellow holding her and making her forget everything else.