Work Text:
1
Adora aggressively avoids being alone with her thoughts. A good leader is always working towards their goals, keeps scheduled and busy for the sake of the team, etc. etc. Having free time means that Adora has somehow done something wrong and needs to fix it immediately. Ideally with more training, or another strategy class, or just going for a lap around the training courts to build lung capacity. Time to think is time to waste.
(She’s not afraid of what she might hear. Being scared of your own brain is stupid.)
But here in Bright Moon, there is so much time and so much space and Adora is starting to lose it, because there’s only so many laps she can do before the gardeners start to get concerned and nobody will let her in on any strategy meetings because it turns out they only have, like, one every two weeks. (Adora privately thinks that this might be why they’re losing the war). And she can’t avoid her own thoughts any more than she can avoid her own shadow, flickering across the smooth marble of the palace walls- there’s so much light here, too, it’s terrifying- and it’s actually driving her insane. It’s fine! Everything is fine.
It’s worst at night.
In the calm darkness of her bedroom (as in, the room that belongs entirely to her, and serves the sole purpose of sleeping, and is the size of a small gymnasium, and has its own fucking waterfall) she has never felt so stressed. Her entire body is on alert. The silk pajamas Glimmer’s letting her borrow feel far too smooth and elegant for the ordinary task of sleeping. They slip and slide against the sheets. It’s like being wrapped in a very comfortable seal, not that Adora has ever met a seal in person. Being here in Bright Moon is the furthest she’s ever been from- well, not home. But what used to be home.
She knows, logically, that maybe that has something to do with why she can’t sleep. Why she’s so on edge. Hell, she’s literally living in the palace that she trained for years to attack.
That’s in the past now. The very, very recent past. The life Adora needs to forget, and fast.
She used to be able to literally fall down on her mattress and be asleep in seconds. She doesn’t know what’s happening. Queen Angella was even kind enough to get her an army cot- hard, short, and skinny according to Horde specifications- to replace the terrifying feather-filled poof of the first night. The mattress is regulation ¼ an inch thick. The pillow is just the right size to tuck her knife under. And yeah, Kyle isn’t snoring two bunks away, and yeah, she can wake up whenever she wants, and yeah, there are actual birds chirping outside the window, but something about the picturesqueness of it all is deeply terrifying. Because as she lies there, staring up at her bed’s stupid canopy, she has nothing to listen to but her own thoughts.
Her own thoughts rarely go anywhere good these days. Case in point: tonight, she’s vividly replaying the look on Catra’s face as she backed away from Adora, disappearing into the smoking ruins of Thaymor.
Adora hasn’t seen Catra since. It’s the longest they’ve been apart since the day they met, over a decade ago.
The room is too quiet to cry. Someone would hear. Adora doesn’t cry, anyway; crying is a waste of time and solves absolutely nothing, and Shadow Weaver always hated it when-
She rubs furiously at her eyes and ignores how her fingers come back damp.
Catra’s freckles had been getting darker. They always did, come summer- the spare moments Catra and Adora could sneak off to the rooftop meant slight rays of sun, which did absolutely nothing to Adora save turning her nose pink, but brought out Catra’s freckles in a way she always hated (and Adora admittedly loved). She liked how uneven they were, sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks. When they were younger, Adora used to try to count them. Catra let her trace a finger down the line of her nose and tickle the edge of her mouth.
Even through the smoke, Adora had been able to see them. Those freckles. Catra’s eyes narrowing, her shoulders stiffening, her whole body folding in on itself, like she was closing herself off to the world. To Adora.
Adora turns over and curls her legs in towards her chest. She can barely breathe. Her throat is burning and so is the bridge of her own freckleless nose, and she knows it means she’s failed- failed at pretending she’s not crying, failed at pretending everything is fine. Failed at the most important promise she ever made, because if Catra was able to look at her like that, and then turn and run away…
Okay, fine. Adora wraps her arms around her knees and lets herself cry.
It’s some time later when she finally stops to breathe. She chokes on the air, on her own tears, dripping down her cheeks and getting salt in her mouth. Adora figures she deserves it. She coughs and rubs at her eyes and lets herself be miserable for another second.
Then the soldier in her switches back into control, and she uncurls herself. Sits up. Brushes at the bits of her hair- still in its regulation ponytail- that have broken loose. And the voice that’s always thrumming in the back of her mind, saying further and faster and keep pushing through, once again rises to the surface. It asks her, how do you fix this?
There used to be a very easy answer. It was curled up at the foot of her bed.
Any change in Adora’s breathing, and Catra would hear- Adora always apologized, over and over, for waking her, but Catra would say I’d rather know. She was always more direct at night, too tired for sarcasm. She’d crawl up to meet Adora.
Come here, dummy, Catra would say, and Adora would twist herself around till her back was to Catra. She’d feel her friend’s arms wrap around her, and Adora would take her hands, lace their fingers together. Catra’s claws pressed gently, reassuringly, into Adora’s skin. She would feel Catra’s breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck. It made the skin on her arms shiver with goosebumps.
Usually, when they slept tangled up like this, it was face-to-face. But Catra knew that on the nights when Adora was upset, she liked to keep her face hidden. Catra could read it all in her body anyway.
Adora has never realized how much of their whole lives they spent tangled up together- trainings and classes and lectures, late nights and early mornings and every second in between- until now. Alone.
Adapt, the voice in her head commands. And, well. Adora can adapt.
She pushes herself, ever so softly, off the bed. Her feet touch the cold marble floor. She almost hisses from the shock, but it reminds her too much of Catra- all the little sounds she made that told Adora how she was feeling, too low for anyone else to catch. Adora pads gently across the room and stubbornly ignores the iciness of the floor.
She pushes the door open and pokes her head out into the hallway.
And the thing is, Adora is great with directions. She was top of her cartography class, age eleven, before Shadow Weaver decided that drawing maps wasn’t the most necessary skill for a future Force Captain. Adora can read directions by the moons and tell whether the wind is coming from Salineas or Plumeria. She can even navigate the crumbling halls of the oldest parts of the Fright Zone, built before Hordak got all intense about symmetry and minimalism and architectural choices making sense. Other cadets ask her- used to ask her- for help getting around. But the airy, elegant halls of Bright Moon have so far evaded her.
She knows the way to Glimmer’s room. She does.
It only takes Adora about fifteen minutes to get there, ignoring a near crash with a coatstand and her accidentally apologizing to a mural for bumping into it. Fortunately, nobody is awake in this part of the castle. (There aren’t even any guards posted, which is insane to Adora, since she’s pretty sure the queen also sleeps somewhere in this wing). It also gives the tears on her face time to dry. It turns out that Glimmer’s room is actually just down the hall from Adora’s, which she’ll definitely remember for next time. Hopefully.
She knocks and prays Glimmer is a light sleeper.
Fortunately, it only takes about twenty seconds before Adora hears the now-familiar flash of Glimmer’s teleportation. She turns. Her friend is next to her, looking rumpled and exhausted and slightly confused. (Her hair desperately needs to be brushed). She yawns and leans against the wall.
“Sorry,” Adora says, wincing. “I didn’t mean to wake yo- well, I did, I guess. I mean, I just… uh.”
Glimmer is looking at her funny. Maybe the tear tracks haven’t disappeared yet. Adora is too tired to care.
“I…”
She doesn’t know how to ask. (She never had to ask before).
“You can’t sleep again?”
Thank the moons for Glimmer. Adora nods, and feels horrifyingly close to crying a second time.
Her friend just smiles, looking tired, but takes Adora’s hand. “Let’s go to your room.”
It’s not a long walk, of course. Soon Adora’s sitting back on the edge of her bed, and Glimmer is carefully shutting the door, and Adora is realizing how much more awkward it is to ask for- well, help- with someone new. Someone who doesn’t just know. But she has to try. So when Glimmer turns back to her and starts walking over to the bed, of course the first thing out of Adora’s mouth is “I’m sorry.”
And Glimmer doesn’t say I’d rather know. She sits next to Adora on the rock-hard cot and asks, “What was it?”
Adora blinks. “What was what?”
“Your nightmare?” Glimmer says, like it’s obvious. (Adora is quickly learning that Glimmer is completely opposite to Catra in that she gets more sarcastic when she’s sleepy). “What had you standing in front of my door like a zombie in the middle of the night?”
Is it really that late? Adora curses inwardly. They’ll both be useless tomorrow. “I… never even made it to sleep. I was just…”
Thaymor flashes through her head again. Adora shouldn’t bring it up. Glimmer probably sees the same images in her mind, too, some nights.
But she didn’t see Catra’s face. She doesn’t feel the ghost of her breath on the back of her neck.
“Can we… uh,” Adora says eloquently. “When I was- there. When I couldn’t sleep. We would…”
And Glimmer, mercifully, seems to understand. She shifts with Adora to lie down on the cot, which definitely isn’t big enough for the two of them. They’re side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling, and it’s kind of awkward but still a million times better than being alone. Also, now Adora doesn’t have to look directly at Glimmer.
Maybe that’s what lets her admit it. “I keep seeing Catra.”
There’s a minute of silence. Glimmer’s breathing, at least, hasn’t changed.
She sounds calm when she says, “Yeah?”
It’s the kind of yeah that means go on, and Adora finds that she wants to. So she keeps her eyes fixed firmly upwards, staring at the silky fabric of the canopy, and does.
“The last time I saw her. Her… her face,” she manages. “The way she was looking at me…”
Adora feels a warm hand slip into hers. She’s not blinking back tears. She’s not.
“She… meant a lot to you, didn’t she?” Glimmer says. “Catra.”
“Yeah.”
There aren’t really any other words that Adora knows that would explain just what Catra was to her. Best friend comes the closest. But you can’t tell your new best friend that your old best friend was actually the girl you’re all kind of fighting now, who works for an evil army trying to destroy your home and kill everybody. Casual friend stuff.
Instead, she asks, very softly, “Can we be closer?”
Glimmer’s hand twitches in her own. “What… do you mean?”
“I… uh… like with Kowl,” Adora says. She pictures the little stuffed animal, probably sitting on Glimmer’s bed right now. “When you sleep holding him. That’s what- what we used to do.”
She doesn’t say Catra and I. She figures it wouldn’t help the situation.
“When you couldn’t sleep?”
“Yeah.”
Adora really, really hopes she hasn’t just fucked this all up. But Glimmer’s hand is still in hers, so.
She sneaks a peek at Glimmer beside her. Her friend is still looking at the ceiling. But after a minute, she senses Adora, and Glimmer tilts her head over to meet her eyes. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but her cheeks look flushed.
“... Okay.”
And Adora turns, the way she has a hundred times, onto her side. Glimmer doesn’t slot into place immediately; she takes a moment to adjust. But soon, her small frame curls up against Adora’s- she presses in different places than Catra, her whole body is warmer- and it’s not the same. Maybe nothing will ever be. But it’s better, so much better, and Adora could cry in relief.
Without thinking, she reaches behind her for Glimmer’s arm, which has been laying awkwardly over her side. She pulls it over her and laces their fingers together. Glimmer squeaks.
“Sorry,” Adora says immediately, flinching. She releases her grip. “I- sorry.”
But Glimmer hesitates, then twines their hands together again. “No. I lik- I’m okay with it.”
Glimmer’s breath comes less evenly against Adora’s neck. Her cheeks feel warmer, though. It doesn’t raise goosebumps on Adora’s arms, but it makes her face flush too.
The two of them are silent for a long time. The room is dark and calm, with the waterfall trickling gently nearby. The silk pajamas don’t feel so wrong against Adora’s skin anymore. And for the first time since she got to Bright Moon, she realizes, she’s alone with her thoughts- and she doesn’t feel as afraid.
Adora hasn’t learned to read Glimmer’s breath yet- not in the same way. But her friend has relaxed against her, their temperatures meeting somewhere in the middle, hands still intertwined. Adora could have sworn that by now Glimmer was asleep. But then she feels a soft, slightly hesitant whisper against her neck.
“You and Catra used to do this?”
“Yeah.”
Glimmer is quiet after that.
2
It very quickly becomes a thing that they do. And Glimmer very quickly becomes more comfortable with it.
Now, on the nights when Bow isn’t sleeping over (which Adora has her own questions about; where exactly does he live? and why is no one else curious?) Glimmer almost always either follows Adora to her room or beckons her up to Glimmer’s own slightly terrifying hanging bed. Adora learns how Glimmer likes to be held; unlike Catra, she prefers to be curled up in somebody else’s shadow, so Adora begins turning towards her instead of away. It’s new, and strange, but Adora finds that she likes the feeling of sheltering her. Glimmer is so sharp and certain and irrepressibly energetic during the day. It’s nice, at night, to see the softer side of her.
They never curl up face-to-face. It reminds Adora too much of Catra.
But tonight, Glimmer wants to talk. She does this sometimes- bounds into bed and looks at Adora with her eyes glittering, like she’s just waiting to be asked. It always makes Adora laugh.
So tonight, Adora asks, “What is it?”
Glimmer takes a second to respond. She has a certain smile on that Adora’s come to learn means mischief.
Finally, she bursts out with, “Did you see the new guard at dinner?”
Adora isn’t sure what she was expecting to hear, but this definitely wasn’t it. “Uh… maybe? I was on the other end of the table than you.”
“The one with the dark hair. She’s General Juliet’s younger sister.”
Adora racks her memory until she comes up with a mental picture from dinner. “The one who was talking to your mom about Dryl?”
Glimmer nods, practically bouncing where she’s sitting. “The cute one.”
And. Well. “Yeah, the… cute one.”
Glimmer giggles a little. “Don’t act so shy. You have to admit it. And she’s only two years older than us.”
And Adora isn’t stupid. She’s learned a lot over the past year. What it means to find someone ‘cute,’ and exactly in what way, and what that might mean you want to do with them. She wasn’t even all that sheltered in the Horde (as much as Bow and Glimmer like to tease her). She just… well… never had the time to think about it. Much less talk about- as Glimmer calls them- crushes.
And they don’t talk about it often. Adora doesn’t want to seem naive, so she never brings it up, and she certainly never asks any questions. But admittedly, she isn’t sure what exactly the linguistic difference is between liking someone and liking someone, or what half the words Glimmer throws around mean. Usually she just acts as if she does and picks up context on the fly. It’s been working pretty well so far.
So. “Um, yeah. She’s… very nice looking.”
Glimmer swats at her. “You don’t have to say that if you don’t agree. Just- I don’t know. I figured you’d get it.”
“I do!” Adora protests. “You have a- uh- crush on her, I mean?”
Glimmer flushes a silly shade of pink. “Not like, a full-on crush. Just… I don’t know. I knew her growing up. She trained with her sister, and she’s been away for years. But I always thought she was… yeah.”
Adora is deeply confused. It’s not a ‘full-on’ crush, but Glimmer thinks she’s really cute, but Glimmer also has that whole weird thing about Bow (that she adamantly refuses to talk about) and nearly bit his head off that time he took Perfuma to Princess Prom? Can you have more than one crush at the same time? Do you have to pick which one you’re going to think about for each day?
Glimmer is looking at her expectantly, and Adora feels so lost, and okay. Glimmer is her friend. She can ask.
So she swallows. Tries not to look nervous. Goes for it. “Glimmer… how do you know that you have a crush on someone?”
Glimmer blinks. Adora barrels ahead. “I mean, what does it feel like? What makes it different from being friends, and like, being best friends, and how do you know for sure, and…”
Words are kind of vomiting out of her mouth. Adora’s been keeping this inside for too long- the kind of burning curiosity that was generally discouraged in the Horde. But it’s eating her alive, this sense that there’s something she doesn’t get; something she should understand so naturally but was never given the proper words for. Something else the Horde denied her.
And she’s figured out birthdays and aunts and all that, okay; she’s asked lots of questions that got her weird looks, and she started writing some definitions down so she wouldn’t forget them. She’s survived every awkward moment where Bow and Glimmer realize that no, Adora actually doesn’t know what a strawberry is and she’s not kidding, and she’s come out the other side wiser and less embarrassed. But asking about objects and foods and family connections is completely different than asking about all these sorts of things you can’t see. Feelings. A racing pulse and heat rushing to your cheeks and why, exactly, you feel that way- what makes certain people so much more exciting to be around than anyone else.
Adora knows what love is. Even the Horde, with all its mangled, backwards systems of power and control, couldn’t stop her from learning that. Love was saving your gray ration bar for somebody else after a long day of training. Being in love was finding out that the other person had saved their gray ration bar for you, too.
She’s just not sure, exactly, what it looks like now. Here.
Or maybe before.
“There’s just… there’s all these little things,” Adora manages, cheeks hotter than she’s maybe ever felt. She might actually be on fire. “And everyone just seems to understand. And I… don’t.”
Glimmer is quiet for a moment. Adora keeps her head down, so she can’t tell if Glimmer is making a wow-Adora-is-more-of-an-idiot-than-I-thought face or if she’s just thinking. She hopes for the best.
Finally, Glimmer says, “To be honest? I don’t know everything, either.”
Adora looks up.
“I mean, I’ve heard… but I don’t… you know. Bow was, uh, my only friend until you. And my mom didn’t let me out much. So, don’t quote me on this, but…
“Having a crush is a little different for everyone, right? But, like, when you touch someone, you don’t normally think too hard about it. Usually. But when you like someone- when I like someone- it’s like you’re… on fire, I guess. Every time they touch you and you touch them. Your brain is on fire. Everywhere you go you want them there, and you get dressed in the morning hoping they’re gonna see your outfit, and you remember everything you hear about them like you’ll be quizzed on it. You wanna talk about them all the time. It’s like… a new radar system in your head that lights up every time you hear their name.”
Glimmer flushes as soon as she’s done talking and buries herself in her pillows. “That was stupid. Ignore me.”
“No- no,” Adora says, catching her friend’s wrist. “Glimmer, that made so much more sense.”
Glimmer peeks out from where she’s hiding her face. “It did?”
“Yes,” Adora says, desperately trying to ignore just how much sense it made and how it’s kind of seeping into all the parts of Adora’s brain she likes to keep quiet, especially the ones that can still pull up a perfect map of Catra’s freckles. “Really. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Glimmer says, face turning even pinker. “I mean, I’m not an expert.”
Adora smiles hesitantly. “You’re better than me.”
They sit there, in the darkening quiet of Glimmer’s room, before Adora gains the courage to ask the other half of her question. The messier one.
“So, uh, about touching,” she says, finally. “Like, you feel different about it- I know- but, um. The ways you touch. Is it- different- than how you touch friends?”
Glimmer is still slumped sideways on her pillows, but Adora could swear her neck tenses, just a little. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“How?”
For a second, Glimmer doesn’t respond. Adora isn’t sure what to make of her face. The light is getting dimmer, anyway.
Finally Glimmer pushes herself back up. “Like… like this.”
The room is very still. Adora can hear her own breath, and Glimmer’s, coming softly- almost in unison. There is something in her friend’s eyes that feels familiar, yet Adora can’t name it. She realizes that she really has no idea what Glimmer’s about to do.
Her friend reaches out a hand, and ever so softly, traces her fingertips along the edge of Adora’s face.
“Like that?” Adora whispers.
Glimmer nods.
“Or like…” Adora lets her own hand brush down Glimmer’s other arm, watching curiously as goosebumps appear. When she reaches Glimmer’s fingers, she takes them in her own. “This, too?”
“Maybe,” Glimmer says, softly. “Or- here.”
She drops her hand from Adora’s face and pushes herself forward, just a little. There really isn’t that much space in Glimmer’s bed, so their knees bump into each other. Glimmer keeps going, till she’s nearly in Adora’s lap. She traces along Adora’s upper thigh as she goes, up to her waist. When she lifts her gaze, their faces are inches apart.
Adora can hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She isn’t really sure what they’re doing, but she doesn’t feel uncomfortable, and she doesn’t think Glimmer does either. It’s weird. It’s nice.
It reminds her, horribly, inevitably, of Catra.
Because why else would Adora be asking about touching if she’s not thinking, as she always is, about Catra?
“Adora?” Glimmer breathes, eyes wide and right there, and Adora thinks to herself that maybe Catra is a later problem.
“Hi,” Adora whispers back, and they both break into a fit of giggles. Whatever was going on breaks quicker than stained glass.
Glimmer pulls back, and Adora won’t admit that she feels disappointed. She misses- something. The warmth. Having a person that close to her, in that way. (In what way?)
“All of… that,” Adora says, once they’ve recovered their breath, “is what you do, uh, when you have a crush?”
Glimmer shrugs, a little too quickly to be nonchalant. “I think so.”
“But we… touch like that,” Adora says. “Sometimes. Is it always…”
“I guess it depends.”
“On what?”
Glimmer meets Adora’s eyes. Adora can’t name the expression in them anymore. “On what the other person reads as… romantic.”’
Adora doesn’t know how to respond. She honestly doesn’t even know what she’s feeling, exactly. Her mind is a flickering reel of every interaction she’s ever had with Glimmer, interspersed with the ways she’s seen Netossa and Spinnerella touch each other, and the faces Mermista and Sea Hawk make at the other when they think nobody can see. And further back, but repeating over and over in her mind, is every memory she has of touching Catra- her hands, her arms, tracing her freckles, combing fingers through her hair. The sharpness of her jawline. The points of her teeth.
(She pushes down all the memories of Catra touching her.)
“Adora?” Glimmer asks, gently. “You good?”
Adora blinks rapidly. “Sorry. Yes. I’m- we should go to sleep.”
It’s an abrupt end to a strange conversation. But Adora isn’t ready to think about whatever’s just happened.
They shift into their usual position, Glimmer curled up in Adora’s arms, hands laced together over her stomach. It’s comforting. It didn’t use to make Adora think so hard. But now…
“Glimmer?”
“Yeah?”
“If this can be read as… um, whatever… should we- do you want to stop doing this?”
Glimmer tightens her grip on Adora’s hand. She takes a second to respond. “I don’t think so.”
3
The queen no longer sleeps in Adora’s room. Even during the day, they hardly talk half as much as they did before.
It’s okay, though, because Adora honestly needs the space. Needs the time to think. She’s come a long way, okay- she takes time alone now. She sifts through her thoughts and replays every conversation of the past few days to make sure she didn’t say something wrong. She analyzes the details of every battle and tries to figure out what happened; why the Rebellion is struggling so much and what, exactly, it all has to do with the girl who won’t leave Adora’s thoughts, even years after it all broke down.
The problem is, Adora knows on the surface that Catra has done too many evil things to count. Knows that it’s her, now, that’s responsible for all the Horde’s sudden successes and increased brutality. (Always knew that, if Catra had been in charge the whole time, they would’ve stood no chance these past few years). She knows this and says it out loud and tells everybody who asks that she’s ready to fight Catra, ready to take her out, and yet there’s one major fucking problem.
Whenever Catra touches Adora, it’s like they’re suddenly eighteen again, and the feeling of Catra’s hands on her is the most natural thing in the world.
It happens in every battle. It happened in the fucking portal. It’s probably the reason it took Adora so long to accept that they were in the portal at all, because feeling Catra grab her hand or climb over her knees or just brush their shoulders together was so normal and nice and why would anything be wrong about that? It didn’t happen during that fight the other day in the Crimson Waste, but that one was weird- something was off about Catra- and Adora doesn’t have high hopes for the next time they (inevitably) meet.
It also doesn’t help, at all, that Catra has always preferred to fight hand-to-hand. (Or hand-to-claw, or knee-to-face, or whatever the case might be.) Adora had favored the training staffs growing up, and managed to transition fairly easily to the Sword of Protection. Her instinct is to hit things with a weapon before she goes in with her own limbs. Unfortunately, Catra prefers to get up close and personal.
And in the end, the real problem isn’t that Adora feels comfortable when Catra’s touching her. It’s not just that it lulls her into this strange sense of security- disarming all her instincts. No, the problem is that when Catra touches her, Adora wants her to.
She wants Catra’s hands on her all the fucking time, and she absolutely can never tell anyone else, because they are literally on opposite sides of a war.
Adora misses feeling Catra there when she wakes up. She misses poking her during boring strategy meetings. She misses holding hands in the halls and fixing Catra’s crooked headpiece and Catra skimming her fingertips over Adora’s arms, misses the feeling of Catra’s claws pressing lightly into her skin, misses leaning against each other and yawning after a long day of training. She misses hugging her, burying her face in her neck.
It’s not even that Adora misses having physical contact with others. She has that- has a million very touchy-feely friends in the Rebellion, has Bow there to hug her whenever she looks just a little bit sad, and even Swift Wind will wrap her up in his wings when things get tough. No- Adora is starting to realize that the way she wants Catra’s touch is specific to only Catra. And no matter how many Bow hugs and Frosta fist-bumps she gets, it doesn’t change the strange feeling in her stomach she gets every time she sees her former best friend.
She doesn’t talk about this kind of thing with Glimmer anymore. She’s not sure who to go to, at this point. In a strange way- even though she has more friends now than she’s ever had in her life- she’s never felt so alone.
So tonight, Adora lays on her hard, short, skinny cot all by herself and tries not to think about Catra.
She isn’t thinking about Catra’s new outfit. She’s not. She’s definitely not picturing Catra’s new gloves in vivid detail, or how they leave her fingers exposed, so if she took Adora’s hand they would still be meeting skin-to-skin. The way Catra’s new top is cut isn’t permanently burned into Adora’s eyelids.
She rolls over. Squeezes her eyes shut. Unfortunately, it only makes it easier to picture Catra.
Adora has known Catra since they were kids, and seen her in all manner of tattered hand-me-downs from the older cadets- seen her in training clothes and threadbare pajamas- seen her with purple smudges under her eyes and sweat staining through her shirts. Seeing her in new clothes shouldn’t be this strange. Seeing her in new clothes shouldn’t be making Adora feel any different than when she saw Glimmer in that new skirt yesterday, or Bow when he tried a new hairstyle last month. Hell, it should make her feel less than nothing, because Catra is her enemy and Adora needs to care more about her battle strategy than her style choices.
But.
It’s just unexpected, you know? The structure to it. The cut of the pants. The way one glove stops at the forearm and the other is a full sleeve. Adora had every version of Catra categorized in her mind. All of a sudden, here’s one she’s not familiar with.
And it is, admittedly, a good look on Catra. It fits her well. It makes her look… confident. Dangerous. The way she’s always been, sharp and curious and clever, proud- so proud- and ready to fight to prove it. Not that she really needs to, anymore.
Adora wishes she could ask why Catra chose it. Why she needed the change. What each little detail means.
And as hard as she tries to stop herself, she begins to imagine Catra here, sitting at the edge of her bed. It’s something that could never happen in real life. No, she and Catra are far past any chance of a civil conversation now. But in her dreams… well, anything is possible. Even a world where she and Catra can be friends again.
How would Catra sit, balanced on the thin mattress? How would she blend in to the strange shadows of Bright Moon? Would the bright blue-and-yellow of her eyes still glow in the dark, just like back in the old bunkrooms of the Fright Zone?
Adora wishes she could find out. Wishes she could see Catra lean back, carefree, on those new gloved hands. Wishes she could ask, Why’d you choose it?
And in this dream, Catra doesn’t brush Adora off. She responds.
It was… everything, you know? this pretend Catra says. She doesn’t meet Adora’s eyes. The portal. I… I kept looking at this arm. The one that got…
Adora remembers too well the way Catra had looked, after she’d crawled out of that void. The splintering, glasslike texture of half her face, her arm, her torso. When they returned to the real world, Adora had looked immediately at her friend’s shoulder. It had been good as new. Like none of it had ever happened.
(Adora doesn’t think she can ever forget the feeling of her fist connecting with Catra’s jaw. Nor can she erase the horrible image of her best friend choosing to let herself fall into the blinding void).
I wanted something that felt more like armor, pretend Catra continues. And, well, you’ve always liked my gloves.
Adora can’t argue with that. She has always liked Catra’s gloves- the first pair, the shorter ones. They were a rare accessory, saved for special occasions- days she needed the confidence, training fights Catra wanted to win. When she pulled up to Princess Prom in them, Adora nearly choked. (She’ll never forget the feeling of Catra’s hands against her back, dipping her low to the ground.)
See? Can’t deny it, Catra teases. I like messing with you.
That part, at least, isn’t pretend.
You like it, don’t you? Catra says, and now she’s shifting closer. I could see it. The way you looked at me, the first time you saw this… well. Your eyes were everywhere.
Adora wishes she could deny that, but unfortunately, her own brain is casting up the evidence back to her.
It’s okay, Catra says, and this is the part that Adora can believe the least but wants the most. I did it because I wanted you to look.
Her eyes flicker down to Adora’s lips, intentionally. Back up to meet her eyes.
What are you looking at now? Catra whispers. Tell me, Adora.
A gloved hand reaches for her face. Adora takes in a sharp breath, and all of a sudden, Catra’s fingertips graze her jawline. Tentative. Questioning.
Adora tries to turn away, but Catra grabs her chin and pulls her back so they’re face to face, and fuck. Catra’s eyes are narrowed, like this is a challenge. She’s no longer hesitant- her grip is strong, and her claws dig, just a little, into Adora’s skin.
No, Catra breathes. We’ve waited for too long.
And she leans closer, closer, closer, until her breath tickles Adora’s lips. Adora can feel her own pulse like a jackhammer, giving her away. Catra’s eyes are no longer meeting Adora’s. They’ve settled a little bit lower.
I don’t wanna pretend anymore, Catra whispers, and presses her lips to Adora’s.
And it’s like fire, the way Adora immediately comes alive- racing through her veins, buzzing in the tips of her fingers as she reaches for Catra’s face, pulls her closer to her. Her lips part. Catra is already there, chasing something, kissing her harder, biting Adora’s lower lip with just the tips of her fangs and-
Adora’s eyes flutter open.
Shit.
4
Catra’s new haircut tickles.
It’s nearing midnight- not that Adora can tell, because they’re literally in outer space, but Entrapta outfitted each room on Darla with a clock just for fun. Adora’s never asked where on Etheria the clocks are set to. They could be following the time zones in Dryl, or Salineas, or even the Crimson Waste for all she knows. But it helps, here in the endless void of stars, to have some kind of schedule. A reminder of home.
And a reminder of how terrible Adora’s sleep patterns have become.
She’s curled up with Catra- a sentence that would have been unbelievable literally a week ago- on a mattress that’s just a little too thick. Neither of them have bothered with a blanket; the room is warm. So is Catra.
Adora can still hardly believe that she’s actually here.
They fit so easily back into their familiar shape. Their legs are tangled together- not as easy and careless as they used to be, years ago, but they move closer each night. One of Catra’s hands traces loose patterns along the edges of Adora’s tank top. Adora reciprocates by running her fingernails through the jagged newness of Catra’s hair, where her head is tucked under Adora’s chin.
It’s a different feeling than when they were eighteen. But it’s still the safest place Adora knows- here, wrapped up in Catra, neither of them willing to let go again.
“You’re still awake,” Catra murmurs, her voice a gentle hum against Adora’s chest.
Well. Adora can’t deny that. “Yeah.”
Catra’s fingers keep tracing aimless circles. “Why?”
“I don’t know.”
To be honest, Adora had thought that now, with Catra finally- finally- back, she’d be able to sleep the way she never could in Bright Moon. But the past few nights have proven her wrong. Despite having Catra right here, sleep still eludes her. (It might have something to do with the whole evil-clone-army-invading-their-home-planet thing).
“You’re not asleep, either,” Adora shoots back.
“Yeah.”
“Stop caring so much about me, then.”
Catra is quiet for a minute. Her breaths come evenly, in time with Adora’s. Her pulse beats steady- they’re so close that Adora can hear it easily- and it’s indescribably reassuring. After so long not knowing where Catra was, or even whether she was alive… well, Adora is beginning to realize just how scared she was.
It’s probably wrong. They were enemies for a long time. Adora shouldn’t have felt like the whole world would come tumbling down if something happened to Catra.
But now that she’s here, warm and breathing and theoretically part of the Rebellion, it’s like Adora’s suddenly allowed to feel all the things she wasn’t supposed to these past few years- feelings that absolutely did not disappear anywhere or, it turns out, fade even a little. And yeah. She’s been worried about Catra this whole time. Been furious and fuming and confused with her, wanted to punch her just to recall the feeling of skin meeting skin, wanted to rile her and comfort her and feel Catra’s hand in hers again. Wanted this tired embrace, soft purrs lulling her to sleep.
She never stopped caring.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Catra says, so softly that Adora can barely hear. “Without you.”
The room, if possible, gets even warmer. Adora can’t see Catra’s face- and Catra can’t see hers, either- but she can feel the heat of Catra’s blush against her neck. She was always more direct at night.
“Or with you, apparently,” Catra adds, quickly, and Adora laughs.
And, well. If they’re being honest tonight.
“I couldn’t, either. Without you.”
Catra shifts, just a little. But she doesn’t pull away. And Adora can feel the purr thrumming through her chest.
Catra… Catra had missed her too.
Maybe that’s what gives her the courage to say, “You know, you don’t have to be so careful.”
Catra tenses in Adora’s arms. “What?”
“With me. With… the way you talk.”
Adora hasn’t been sure how to bring it up. But it’s been bothering her, these past few days- the sense that Catra is holding back. She’s calm. Quiet. After the first few days of, well, rage, she shifted into someone polite and amicable. Someone Adora doesn’t recognize. Someone trying to make amends, surely, and prove they can be kind and unobtrusive and a good member of the Rebellion.
And it’s funny, because that’s what Adora thought she wanted for so long- Catra apologizing, Catra letting everyone else see the side of her that Adora knew. The soft, sincere, secret side. But now that she’s here, and it’s really happening, well. Adora can’t help but feel like something has gone wrong. Like maybe Prime broke something inside her that Adora can’t fix. Because this is Catra, yes, but it’s not her Catra.
She doesn’t tease her. She doesn’t tease anybody else, either. She’s polite to the point of being unnerving. All her sarcasm, all her bite, all her Catra-ness, is just gone. And it sounds incredibly strange, but after all these years fighting on opposite sides of a literal war, all Adora wants is for Catra to be mean to her again.
Bow has been trying to teach Adora to verablize her feelings. It’s as good a time as any.
“You can… tease me, you know.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, something shifts against her. Adora realizes that Catra’s shoulders are shaking. She panics for all of a second before she hears it- Catra’s achingly familiar laugh, soft in the semidarkness.
Adora kicks at Catra without any real force. “I mean it!”
Catra doesn’t respond.
“I just- I want you to be… comfortable, again. With me.”
Quiet, again. Adora prays that she hasn’t just fucked this all up. She’s been so scared to acknowledge how different this all is- how much they’ve changed, over all these years- how their embrace is still the same but their scars are new, their shoulders tenser. How there’s a hesitance between them in a way there never was before.
But at the heart of it all, they’ve always been Catra and Adora. And maybe there’s no reason to worry.
Because Catra tightens her grip on Adora- lets the last of the tension leave her shoulders- wraps her tail around Adora’s thigh- and breathes, “I am.”
5
The failsafe doesn’t feel like anything, really. But it’s big and bright and glowing, and floats over Adora’s chest like a cheerful reminder of everything that’s going to happen tomorrow, and it’s keeping her very annoyingly awake. It’s worse than even Kyle’s most congested snores.
Catra’s bedroll is beside her. Catra isn’t on it. That might also be part of the problem.
Adora knows, logically, that Catra is mad at her. The sleepy, clingy half of her brain, however, doesn’t understand why she can’t please come to bed right now. Because it might be the last night before the world ends, and Adora wants her best friend curled up against her chest. Wants to feel their legs tangled together, wants to run gentle fingers through her hair.
A conversation she had with Glimmer, years ago, chooses this moment- of course- to resurface.
I guess it depends.
Adora isn’t stupid. She’s had too many dreams about kissing Catra to pretend that it’s never crossed her mind. What they’re doing.
But it might be the last night before the world ends. And Adora knows her role. Knows her responsibility to all Etheria, to the people and places that have accepted her, trusted her, venerated her as She-Ra. This is what she was born for.
The freckled forearms of her best friend, wrapped easily around Adora’s waist, shouldn’t be taking up this much space in her mind. The feeling of Catra’s fingers tracing along the edge of her face, thumb pulling her lower lip down…
There’s no time for Adora to want things anymore.
+1
Glimmer has, by now, gotten over her absolutely ridiculous crush on Adora. It’s been years. Years. She was young and they were both touchy-feely and Adora just didn’t get the message. Glimmer is fine with it and acting grown-up and is very occupied, anyway, with the boy that’s currently running his fingers through her hair, while Darla’s computer systems hum softly in the background.
But. Still.
She leans further back against Bow, who lets out a soft sigh, and asks, “Did you see the way they looked at each other?”
He doesn’t say who? Glimmer appreciates that. “Yeah… kinda hard not to.”
“You think they’re going to do something about it?”
She can feel Bow’s gentle laugh as he says, “You mean, while they’re sleeping in the same room tonight?”
Glimmer pushes herself up off him with a huff. She swats his shoulder. “Come on.”
Bow sits up, too, and they’re side-by-side on the lower bunk and it’s not awkward. It’s not. (Glimmer has never gotten this far in any kind of relationship, ever, even after all those nights sleeping literally curled up with Adora. She’s figuring it out, okay?) He tilts his head to meet Glimmer’s eyes, and she hopes he can’t read it all in her face- how hopelessly, terrifyingly hard she cares about him. How she can’t switch it off or push it down and it might definitely ruin their friendship, okay, but after the last few weeks, she honestly thinks she’ll die if she doesn’t say something soon.
And she’s working up the courage to. She is.
But for now, she says, “I kinda thought something was up.”
“Hmmm?”
Bow sounds so calm, here beside her. Glimmer’s own pulse is racing. “Yeah. For years. There were these…. things that Adora used to say. And the way we… uh.”
Bow shifts a little in his seat. “Can I… ask what? Totally cool if no.”
Glimmer thought she’d be more hesitant. But strangely, she finds that she wants to tell him. Wants to tell someone.
So.
“She… uh. We used to sleep really close. Like, not-platonically close. But I don’t think that she, uh, understood that. And I didn’t really either.”
Bow’s voice is calm- Glimmer has always loved that, how soothing he can be- when he says, “Sleeping like that can be platonic.”
“Maybe. But it didn’t… feel platonic,” Glimmer admits. “I liked her, Bow. For a while. But the thing was, we slept like that because it… it was what Adora used to do with her. With Catra. It calmed her down after her nightmares.”
It’s too dark in the bunkroom to see Bow’s reaction. Maybe he’s not surprised.
“And I… Adora used to ask me questions.”
She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t let herself remember the feeling of her hand on Adora’s thigh and Adora’s breath on her lips.
“I think I always knew Adora was missing someone,” Bow says, thoughtfully.
And Glimmer loves that about him- how kind he is. How much he wants his friends to be happy, and how willing he was to go back for Catra despite knowing nothing but pain from her. How he notices the littlest details.
“You could see it,” Glimmer says, quieter. Catra and Adora are just down the hall. “That night when they danced. Each fight. Every time Adora says her name.”
And it comes to Glimmer’s mind so easily, the look in Adora’s eyes. Like she’s being flooded with a million memories all at once, bright and aching with something unspeakable, yet soft under it all. Never wavering.
Glimmer wonders, with a pang, if anybody will ever look like that when they talk about her. But maybe it’s something you can only see from the outside. Love.
Bow catches her eye and smiles. That familiar warm feeling floods through Glimmer, like the whole sun has been poured into her veins.
“Don’t worry. They’ll figure it out.”