Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes she wrote stuff. 

Stuff? What kind of stuff? 

It was a vague, thin explanation, designed for you to quit asking her questions and go away. 

In fact, Catra really hoped you wouldn’t approach her at all. 

To her, that stuff, those lyrics she carefully spit out at 3 am on her phone, those chords she calloused her fingers on until they burned or until her hands cramped, those notes she pushed though aching vocal chords again and again until the melody felt right, felt clean, the music that clung to her brain, haunting her thoughts until she gave birth to it as a song, that was the closest thing to holy that she knew really existed. It was the only thing she had of herself that wasn’t rancid, the only thing that was genuinely hers and it didn’t make her sick. 

She could admit, even if it sounded dramatic, intense or corny, it was the only thing that kept her alive recently.

How the hell could she make you understand that? Why would you even want to understand?

 It would be a flat, dry explanation anyway; the only person that could have understood now became what she wrote songs about, what she broke nails trying to claw out of her and what she buried in the backyard of her past, now the human shaped cloud she was running from and living under. 

Catra had no one to explain it to. So she had no need to learn how. 

“Alright, what’s your name?”

“Catra.”

He jut his left ear toward her, “Huh? I can’t hear you.”

“Catra!” She yelled, shoulder-checked by someone walking past her.  

The man nodded slowly, trying to mask the scoff somewhere in his stubble. 

“Aight, we got a slot at 1. You got enough for one song?”

“Yeah,” Catra said. She roughly rubbed her eye with the back of her hand; she was quietly thankful for the dark, hazy atmosphere that sat on the patrons of the bar, this one called Fright Zone, dark enough that the man couldn’t have noticed the heavy sunken circles underneath her eyes, puffy and red.
Not that he seemed the type to care anyway.

Her hands started to tremble so she shoved them back into her hoodie, curled into fists. 

“Go backstage around 12:40, the sound guy will handle anything,” He taped something to her chest but before it could land, she pushed his hand toward her guitar case. He rolled his eyes, stuck it there instead and looked back down at the clipboard. “What’s your gig? Just acoustic guitar? RnB?”

“No, not RnB. It’s-”

“-Cool, cool. Good luck,” He turned back into the crowd, leaving her alone. 

The crowd here was thin usually, but open mic nights always seemed to attract more than the usual degenerates that Catra saw from her dingy apartment across the street.

Enough people to bump into her guitar case and push her toward the bar camped in the back, in their haste to flood the dancefloor. 

Catra felt like a buoy, bobbing in a sea of harsh voices barking at each other, yelling over the music, jostling by her in indifference or annoyance.

Alcohol and syrup, both the smell and the stickiness, lay like a thin layer of coating on the ground, along with discarded napkins and toothpicks. 

A shiver settled in her skeleton, hot adrenaline currently waltzing with her anxiety through her nervous system.

I shouldn’t be here.

It boomed through her head, punctuating each dart of her eyes through the crowd, the shadowy faces hovering by were both incomprehensible and extremely vivid.

Her heart took up a frantic pace.

I shouldn’t be here. 

She reeled backwards into a bar stool, her guitar case on her back clattering against the stools, to the side-eyes and grunts of people at the counter.

I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here- 

“Heya! Need a drink?”

She whipped around to look at the source of the voice, knees banging into the stools. 

The bartender quickly held her palms up. 

“Woah! I am so sorry, did I scare you? Was it my enthusiasm again? Man, I really tend to overshoot my greetings.”

Catra, through the pain in her knees, struggled to understand what she was seeing.

The bartender had to have been at least 6 feet tall and sculpted like a god, with a waft of white hair curled atop an undercut. Easily, the person could pick Catra up with one hand with the same ease as picking up a glass. 

Yet the genial curves of her face, the way her eyes looked round and soft, the way she was wringing her hands betrayed no ill will or bad intention, almost as if she was incapable of it. 

The gentleness was so out of place on her frame, it jarred Catra enough to respond.  

“I’m...fine,” Catra said, smoothing her hair down.

Maybe today was the wrong day to take it out of its braids, but it was comforting to feel its thick texture again under her hands and its weight on her back. 

“No, no, that was my bad. A drink on the house?” The bartender slid a drink down the counter to a person beside Catra. “The name's Scorpia, by the way. Welcome!”

Catra remembered faintly nodding, but her eyes lingered on the red backlit rows of heavy liquor bottles looming behind Scorpia like a halo. 

Alcohol would calm the gnawing, wouldn’t it? 

Someone pushed past her, forcing the guitar case into her back. It brought her back to cold reality.

Right. Singing. 

“Coke Zero?” Catra hated how her voice cracked so she tried again. “I shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Coming up!” Scorpia must have spotted the guitar as she reached under the counter. “Ah! You’re here for the open mic! Are you excited?”

Catra shrugged, to hide the trembles. 

Scorpia placed the bottle in front of her and popped the cap smoothly, then put a glass with ice and a lemon slice beside her Coke. 

“What are you playing? Anything I would know?”

“No, I wrote it.” Catra pulled herself up on a stool and stuck her hands under her thighs, maybe that way they could stop being so clammy and shaky. She turned toward the drink, but made no move to drink it. 

Green and red lights glistened on the dripping ice. Scorpia must have been saying something but Catra could hear nothing, nothing but a slow growing ringing in her ears.

There it went again, I shouldn’t be here I can’t do this I can’t do this, her heart had made its way into her head and was viciously pounding away, her hands were shaking again even pressed against the chair, her entire body shaking, why am I here why am I here, her eyes were unfocusing, nothing was going in, why am I here-

“I just had a breakdown,” Catra cut the bartender off mid-ignored sentence. 

Scorpia had just opened a new bottle for a customer with a hiss, “Oh.” 

“Yep!” Catra went for the Coke bottle, unsteady as she poured. “I came straight down here from my apartment, thought I’d try singing in front of a crowd for the first time in my life. You know? Why not, right?” She slammed the bottle back down hard. “Fuck it, right?”

“Wow, um, that’s very...spontaneous!”

Catra sat, now watching the bubbles rise from the amber liquid.

She was there, but somehow she was not.

Every inch of her discomfort, her panic was crawling on her skin yet she couldn’t leave the bar. She couldn’t back out, even if she wanted to.

She was a voyeur, watching herself feigning normalcy and struggling, when she was just in a hole, wasn’t she?

Not two hours ago, she thought she would never move from her mattress on the floor, stew in her own depression and sink deeper into the sheets until she was melted away. 

Out of her window, she saw the sign for 'open mic night' and through a process unknown to her, she found herself getting dressed and grabbing her guitar.

Didn’t even have time to check if she smelled bad or not. 

So she was here now; participating in life and faltering a bit, but here.

“Is this a bad decision?” she didn’t even realize she spoke, but words were coming out of her before she could stop them. “Am I going crazy?”

Catra found a little comfort in this stranger at least trying to think of something to say. 

“Well, do you really wanna do it?”

“Huh?”

“Do you wanna share your music?” Scorpia asked. “That’s what it really boils down to.”

She took the empty bottle and tossed it in the can with a crash, "I mean, I don’t know you, but you seem all ready to go, so you’ve probably given it some thought already. Who knows! Maybe it’ll be just what you need.” 

Catra held the glass. She must have been staring at the space between the ice cubes for a while now. The noise of the bar was coming back, as the ringing subsided. 

She was ready, yes, she knew the song perfectly. She could sing, she could play. 

So then?

She took a sip. Maybe she was losing it, because she felt better. 

“Scorpia?” She extended a gross clammy hand. “I’m Catra.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Scorpia took it happily anyway.  “You’re gonna do great!”

. . .

This was gonna be hilarious in hindsight but for right now, Catra was gonna throw up. 

The stage was small, truly only built for one performer and an amp. Lights raised up to meet her, blinding her when she first stood at its center. 

Dazed, she walked toward the mic, surveying the people clumped at the edges of the cracked wooden stage. 

The crowd was...there.

Some hovering around little tables, others standing close to the edge of the stage, more at the bar who were turning to look at her. Most continued to ignore the stage entirely. 

Scorpia gave her a big wave with her rag. Catra gave a small one back. 

Here we go.

Catra squared her shoulders, sent one last prayer out into the world, and leaned into the mic. 

“Hello,” the feedback squealed out of the speakers, causing her to cringe. “Woops.”

A few chuckles rose up from the crowd. Catra could work with that. 

“Alright, I’ll make this part brief, so you guys can get back to drinking. My name is Catra, I wrote this song, I’m about to sing it. Hooray.”

More amused noises. People started to turn around and face the stage. 

Attention was being given to her, it elicited a flurry of something in her stomach.

Catra cleared her throat, fixing the mic. 

“It’s actually a sad song, so get your laughs in while you can. Here goes. It’s called Francis Forever.”

She slid her left hand down to the starting position. Catra took a long breath, faithful little heart going double-time in her chest. 

Heavy came the first notes, repeated dutifully into the still, hot air.

She’d played this one a thousand times, it must have been one of the first ones she scrawled into paper and onto tablature, the first one that felt coherent, felt honest.

The words rolled over and over like a pearl in her head, in her dreams, until they emerged fully formed.

This was the first one, named after the street they grew up on, the soil where they first took root in each other. 

Not the first person to hurt her (that was a long list), but the first one to be missed. 

The strings rung, steady, steady, beating like someone running or someone talking. 

It was the first song she wrote when Adora left. 

She let it ring until she felt everybody waiting, the hum of speech had quieted. Catra slid to the next note. 

Soft and dry, somewhere from the bottom of her throat, the words came:

I don’t know what to do without you

I don’t know where to put my hands

I’ve been trying to lay my head down

But I’m writing this at 3 am

She rocked slowly, eyes closed as her voice climbed higher: 

I don’t need the world to see 

That I’ve been the best I can be

But

I don't think I could stand to be 

Where you don't see me

God, how long had it been?

She knew it couldn’t be more than six years but it was so vivid that sometimes, it felt like she was still in it, or had just left it.

That last spring, that last time she saw Adora smile so hard that Catra could still feel its beams on her face sometimes. That was the still frame of her that she kept returning to, that unaware grin, that was how she chose to remember that day. 

Adora had sat her down on the hidden edge of the neighborhood, their favorite spot, somewhere where the grass was soft and the trees let peeks of sunlight through their long fingers of green.

On sunny days I go out walking

I end up on a tree lined street

I look up at the gaps of sunlight

Nobody knew about it except them, nobody loved that place like they did.

Catra had plopped down, confused by the slight distance Adora was keeping, quietly sitting beside her.

And for what? They had graduated high school, nothing left to do. She remembered saying that, nothing left to do, as she let her fingers ghost over Adora’s arm.

Adora perked up at the touch. Yes, the world lay open for them. 

Together they would enter adulthood, wasn’t that the idea?

Adora leaned on her, letting Catra stick dandelions into the poof of hair on top of her head, so long as she let Adora return the favor. Catra brought her little speaker, she forgot what songs she played from her phone.

Adora brought Catra those tart berries she loved, they took turns tossing it into each other's mouths.

Adora never missed. Catra missed on purpose.

There was a lot of laughing, lots of hitting each other through their laughter. Adora even let Catra lay her head on her lap, that was fairly new.

Berry juice still around her lips as she looked down at her, the sun turning her yellow hair white, the dandelions floating above her like a crown.

Catra didn't know what to do with her hands, so she let them pick at the grass.

She was very used to wishing that things would end, but she was new to wishing that they never did. 

A rasp dragged behind her words as she sang: 

I miss you more than anything

But of course it ended anyway. 

The sun was setting when Adora told her, voice low.

She didn’t turn down the scholarship after all. She would leave for California soon, off to college that Catra never had an interest in, and never could afford, the surrounding area beyond her price range.

Her body went numb.

Honestly, it was a blur after that. Somewhere, she remembered sitting up, ripping herself from Adora's lap, the flowers falling from her hair.

Catra knew it made sense, it clicked somewhere amidst the shock. How many times can she remember them both yearning to leave?

Ever since she met Adora as a child, hands seemingly made for each other, both finding everything they needed in the other; even in their gangly adolescence, when nothing was figured out or understood beyond the end of the week, they ached to leave.

Plans to go west, east, it literally did not matter, as long as they went together.

Remember? Together. 

Catra remembered trying to say that somehow, but it didn't come out right.

All that came out of her mouth was bitter venom, needy and wanton destructiveness.

All she could do was run and disappear until Adora left, sometime in May.

There would be no together, there would be nobody except her. 

Left behind for the last time.

She pushed into a harsher chord and let her arm swing down, letting that played-out rage enter her words: 

And autumn comes when you’re not yet done

With the summer passing by, but 

I don’t think I could stand to be 

Where you don’t see me.

. . .

“You did great!” 

Scorpia had found her on her way out and decided to literally take matters into her own arms when it came to celebrating.

Before Catra could protest, she was being squeezed and lifted into the air.

“Sc-Scorpia,” Catra could feel her ribs crunching. “Please let me go.”

“Gah, I'm sorry! I forget not everybody is a hugger,” Scorpia let her down gently. “But seriously, that was the saddest song I’ve heard in forever! You’ve got serious writing chops!”

“Thanks,” Catra didn’t know what to do with praise, it made her face hot.

She adjusted the case on her back, angling again for the door but Scorpia was still standing there, expectant.

Why is she still standing here?  

Oh, right, people talk to other people. 

Catra shifted her weight from foot to foot, “Was...the singing okay?”

“Okay?! Catra, you’ve got an amazing voice! I keep thinking about that one line,” Scorpia tapped her chin. “Something like, uh, 'miss you more than anything'. Oof, and the way you sang it? Right in the heart!”

“Ugh," Catra grimaced, "It is so weird to hear you say my lyrics."

“Well, get used to it! They’ll play that song on the radio someday!” 

“Yeah?” Catra scoffed, pushing at the trash on the ground with the toe of her boot. “What, like if they wanna make everybody depressed?”

People milled around them. The bar emptied somewhat, but there was still a steady current of movement from the bar to the tables. Another act had gone on but nobody was listening.

“People like being sad sometimes," Scorpia said. "I mean, the crowd loved you today! A couple dudes gave you money, remember?”

A half-smile, “Yeah, money is nice.”

“You should keep coming back! I bet you do enough open mic nights and the manager will let you do your own little concert one day,” Scorpia beamed, its infectious energy gave Catra a sense of hope.

“That’s how that works?” 

“I don’t know, but it sounds right! If people ask for you enough, why not?”

Catra chewed on the inside of her lip. She hadn’t considered coming back, not even one more time. This was meant to be something that she would chalk up to stress, like that time she wore cat ears for an entire month. 

But she couldn’t deny how intoxicating the feeling of singing your own songs in front of people felt.

Even if her songs hurt her to write, seeing other people feel it with her, made sense.

The crowd would witness her, witness music -the product of lost formative years and lost ideas of love- and cheer.

It was nice.

And she did get like 15 dollars. 

“Even if all my shit is depressing?” Catra challenged. “Even if it’s all about just...me being sad? Gay and sad?” 

“Well, I’d still listen,” Scorpia went to pat her on the shoulder, but drew her hand back when Catra moved away from the touch. “And it’s genuine stuff! That’s why people like it.” 

Catra let that settle.

Even if it was just her being sad...

She looked down at her phone, clutched in her hand.

There in her hand, was where poem after poem was buried, lyric after lyric rested.

Some could see the light of day, others couldn’t, but they were songs nonetheless, if just the beginning buds.

And most of them, Catra gripped her phone tighter, are penned in Adora’s memory.

That idiot still wormed her way into everything, still nuzzling into her chest after all these years.

Being haunted by the memory was getting old. 

And somehow, the idea of sharing that music, that old hurt, was growing more and more fine with her. Performing was starting to look like bloodletting, just opening a vein and letting the people below her catch what came out. The nerves even disappeared after a while.

“Can I ask you something?”

Catra’s head snapped up, almost forgetting she was talking to somebody.

Scorpia fiddled with the rag in her hand. It impressed her how someone so big could manage to make themselves look so small.

“Uh...yeah?”

“You write all your songs about that person?” Scorpia said. “Whoever you sang about today?”

Silence hung between them, thin.

Catra felt the familiar knife twist in her gut, the familiar sinking and gaping within her, whenever she had to bring up Adora.

It was something that probably was supposed to get better with time, but she refused to find that out for sure, so for now, it was an open wound.

“Yeah,” Catra managed, through a tight jaw.

Scorpia nodded, speaking carefully, “I ask just because it sounds like some stuff I would write if I could. Like about my ex. Well, ex-ex. We’re dating again. But I can remember the feeling. It’s...not easy.”

“We never fucking dated,” Catra spit out, feeling her heart rate spike. “I knew her since we were kids and she never wanted me like that.”

Silence, again, stretched between them. 

“Did you care about her?”

“Yes.”

“And you were only best friends?”

“Yes.”

Silence, again. 

Then a low whistle. 

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Catra blinked. And then cackled, unable to hold it in. 

“Yeah. It is." Catra laughed, shaky big exhales. "Yknow...maybe I’ll tell you about it someday, Scorp.” 

“Counting on it!” Scorpia smiled, jogging away after being waved back over to the bar. She called over her shoulder. “So you better come back and sing some more!” 

Maybe.

Catra grinned, it felt like the first time in a while, and turned to walk out of the bar.

So yeah, Catra was pretty sure it was one year since she started performing.

Scorpia had a point: people liked her songs.

Enough to seem to come to open mic nights, eager to specifically see her.

It was thrilling to run home from her day job at the souvenir shop and have something to look forward to that wasn’t sleep, Hot Pockets, weed, or a vibrator.

Out of her already made songs, she picked the songs she liked the best and out of the sprawling lyrics in her Notes app, she added musical meat to them: chords, melodies and rhythms.

Music had always captured Catra in a tight grip. Ever since she could babble, she sang, hummed, or made beats with her mouth. Sometime in high school, she developed an aptitude for guitar and her singing improved, even as her creativity was stifled by long bouts of serious depression. 

But, man, no one could tell her she wasn’t good. 

Things started to pick up when Scorpia introduced her to her long time friend, Entrapta. 

Entrapta was an actual name.

And it made sense that it belonged to the smartest, weirdest person she had ever met, a tiny Filipino girl with floor length purple ponytails and huge red sunglasses.

But Catra had met every type of person under the sun in her short life, so it had long stopped being so surprising.

(Once she used to work with this girl named Mermista at the local pool. And Catra thought her own name was weird, sheesh). 

This friend quickly confessed to a lifelong interest in music production, which made sense, because if it had anything to do with computers, chances were that Entrapta was extremely interested in it.

All of it, her love for robotics, neuroscience, slime, demolition, and coding, promptly flew over Catra's head, but Entrapta was determined on being in Catra's 'team' and there was little Catra could do to stop her.

She immediately set Catra up with a Bandee, the new streaming service targeted for local acts, and jumped at the chance to record and produce her songs.

Entrapta also offered to wipe Catra’s memory of Adora (who she referred to as 'the Girl in Your Songs' since Catra never said her name out loud) once she hit a breakthrough in her research.

Catra politely declined but said she would think about it. 

Through Scorpia, she also met a throuple of amateur musicians that each worked at the Fright Zone.

First she met Lonnie, the other bartender, and while their personalities rubbed against each other like sandpaper, they became quick friends.

Luck might have finally favored Catra, because Lonnie was actually a drummer, dating Rogelio, a bass guitarist and Kyle, a sound technician; they were all in search of an outlet for their musical hobbies on their time off, apparently as some sort of throuple bonding experience.

Perfect.

When Catra mentioned she was thinking of expanding her band, the trio accepted their roles, as long as transportation, food, and split checks were included. And Scorpia had a van and a knack for pasta making, so it worked out.

Octavia, the Fright Zone club manager and owner had grown fond of Catra, ever since she started bringing in more customers, and let them use the stage in the daytime for rehearsal. 

The little band, slowly and stutteringly, was taking shape. 

The first song the entire band performed, with Entrapta running the soundboard, was a song she called ‘Nobody’, a quick, manic, campy, disco number that, to quote Lonnie, 'makes me feel lonely and I have two boyfriends'.

Catra wrote that song a couple years back during a particularly bad night, that had her face down on the bathroom floor, sob-screaming the word ‘nobody’ over and over until she passed out.

Yeah, it was a bit on the nose, but it stuck and stuck well, because it was her most popular song on her Bandee yet, thanks to Entrapta's her tiny homemade soundbooth and masterful mixing.

Catra recalled punching Scorpia in the arm when she saw the streaming numbers.

She also recalled apologizing for punching Scorpia, which was new.

Scorpia made another point: the more people wanted to hear her songs, the more attention she got.

First it was an itty bitty weekly set at the Fright Zone, a performance of original songs supplemented with covers. 

Then she was getting voicemails from other small clubs, cafes, and bar management that inquired about her services.

The performances and the streaming gave her a small trickle of revenue, not enough to quit anything (except living solely off of reheated spaghetti and top ramen) but enough. Enough to flicker something bright in her.

I’m doing this. 

It was also enough to get back with her therapist, after years of no contact (mostly because the copay was much lower).

Her sleep schedule became more constant.

She was learning how to manage her temper, how to healthily express a wide range of feelings besides anger and irritation.

She was learning to journal, finding the task of deep introspection terrible and disgusting but so, so useful in facing the many dark corners of her memory.

Her self-esteem was growing. Drinking and smoking became an occasional treat and she stuck to drinking water, even if it had her pee every god damn five seconds. 

Slowly, achingly slowly, she let people in, starting with Scorpia, who quickly became a permanent sappy fixture in her life, and even gave her a nickname.

From a begrudging Lonnie and YouTube tutorials, she had learned new ways to properly take care of her hair and to the insistence of Scorpia’s girlfriend Perfuma, she finally had a skincare routine and a spot in her early morning yoga classes.

I'm doing this.

Catra, and this worried her greatly, was happy.

Okay, happy was a stretch, but she was fine at the very least.

Well fed, clearer skin, with energy, and positive.

Sure, her songs still bled an oozing, longing sadness so deep and wide that sometimes she needed to take a break from composing or performing, just to sit in it.

Anger still lived on the tip of her tongue, gut reactions and instincts always goading her into dipping back into her old ways of self-destructing and lashing out.

Sometimes it won, sometimes it lost.

Sometimes she stared at the ceiling at night, each memory resurrected over and over again in new paint with each song, sometimes she hasn’t changed at all and she shakes, she screams, she breaks things, she cries, ugly and long.

Sometimes Adora appears in her dreams, staring, and watching across the void of a cliff.

Sometimes she kisses her.

And in every single dream, she leaves.

But that’s apparently processing or whatever.

So says her therapist, the one Catra lovingly coined DT for Doctor Therapist, because she never learned their actual name. 

So yeah, it was a year and some, when things changed. 

. . .

"You ain't gonna fit that tank in there Brett, you fool."

Catra had become one with the couch, an Arizona ice tea in the hand dangled over the arm of the couch, feet up on the coffee table, no pants, and the fan blowing at full strength, sending her hair flying back as it whirred around.

'Tanked' was playing on the TV, they were attempting a very ambitious aquarium build inside of a dentist office. It was a break from her usual binging of old 'Dirty Jobs' re-runs.

In her opinion, Sunday afternoons were best spent immobile and unconcerned, and she succeeded; she hadn't moved in three hours.

Something under her leg began vibrating.  

Grumbling, she peeled her phone from underneath her thigh.

"Yeah?"

"Wildcat! Hey! I'm almost home," Scorpia's voice came through loud and clear.

Home referred to their apartment. Once their friendship solidified more concretely, they became roommates.

It was perfect because Scorpia loved doing everything Catra couldn’t stand, like washing dishes, cooking actual food, putting spiders outside, and reaching the top shelves because Catra was short and didn't want to buy a stool.

And Catra provided her own special services, like free haircuts, handling the crummy landlord, baking surprisingly amazing baked goods, and being Scorpia's unofficial hypeman.

The rent wasn’t too bad and now she had more reasons to get out of bed. Win-win.

"Woohoo," Catra put the phone on her shoulder, still focused on the television screen, "You coulda just texted me."

"I'm driving! And there's actually something important we gotta talk about. But first, did you take that chicken out of the freezer?"

The chicken.

The very laws of motion did not apply in that moment; one second Catra was on the couch, the next she was scrambling on the kitchen linoleum, having hurled herself, in a frantic tumble, toward the fridge. 

"Y-yeah, yeah, I took it out!" she flung the freezer door open, cold air greeted her with a crisp wave, and threw her arm inside to rifle through the ice cream tubs and frozen vegetables, "It's in the sink as we speak." 

"It is?"

"Yeah! Of course! I'm looking right at it," Catra said, eyes in a wild search of the package of chicken, apparently choosing this moment to turn invisible, "This bird is defrosted, yep-"

In the search, her phone slipped out of its hold and hit the floor.

She bent to pick it up. 

"So...we're ordering pizza?" said Scorpia.

Catra thumped her forehead against the closed freezer door. "Yes."

"Okie-dokie! Today's the two-for-one special at Tosci's anyway, so don't feel bad."

"I will try," she said, already half-way to feeling bad.

"Good!" Scorpia's phone clattered around the cup-holder it must have been placed in, "Look, you remember how Perfuma's friends with the people that own Club Bright Moon?"

Catra pushed around the fridge magnet letters on the door, until they spelled the word 'boob'. "Uh, yeah."

"Well, they want you to perform there! Friday night!"

"Woah," Catra turned. "What? Really?"

"Yeah!" The giddiness was vibrant, even through the phone. "But they need an answer by tonight. Are you guys free?”

“Fuck, I think so?” she took a quick sip from her Arizona. “I’ll hit up the throuple and ask. Entrapta’s probably free.”

“Uh, she might be working there that night, but I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“She works at Bright Moon?” Catra frowned. Was I supposed to know that? 

“Sometimes! But, anyway, what should I tell Perfuma?”

Catra wandered to the counter, idly pushing around the stacks of envelopes from today’s mail waiting to be noticed, with the bottom of her drink.

Club Bright Moon lived in the center of the city, the sun in a galaxy of upper crust entertainment clubs and bars. It was a thirty minute drive, shorter on the trains, but Catra still never found cause to venture there, so it remained an untapped glittery resource.

It was a different circle, a shiny ecosystem of new developments for a new ‘educated urban population’ or whatever new term gentrification was using these days.

Granted, it was no arena or stadium, but it wasn't a little cafe in Erelandia Heights, either. 

She leaned on her arms, thumbing her lip, “Why? Why us?” 

”What do you mean ‘why us’?” Scorpia said. “You’re great! They heard your music on your Bandee and they want you!”

Catra tugged at her bottom lip, feeling at its grooves absentmindedly. 

”I know, it’s a step from the performances you guys usually do," she could hear the fuzzy sound of traffic behind Scorpia's voice. 

”A big fucking step,” she pushed off from the counter, set to pace in front of the sofa, the television still chattering away. “Since when do places like fucking Bright Moon know about people like me? I’m local! Small act! I'm not that big.” 

”Not yet.”

”Well, what if not ever?” Catra stood up on the couch, “I-I don't know how big I wanna be! You know that I don’t know how far I want to go with this thing." 

The same old chorus.

Catra knew fairly early on, when her music was picking up traction on the streaming sites, that she didn’t want a bigger piece of that industry. 

Look at her, look at how she lived; she was a tender touch away from breaking into angry tears and an even gentler touch away from falling back into a dark hole of depression. She couldn’t take fame.

Not that devastating scrutiny at that level, fuck, like she couldn't even run a semi-popular Twitter dedicated to 'Things I Found in the Club Bathroom' without feeling the pressure.

Maybe a Catra of the past, the one that she never figured out how to tame but was barely learning to forgive, would have jumped at the opportunity for a spotlight, a moment just for her.

Catra kneaded her fingers into her neck, feeling at the curly edges of her hair.

But spotlights don’t equal control, that was a lesson she had learned in a bad way.

Maybe that’s why she shied away from too much promotional social media, even the one picture with her and her guitar she let Entrapta put on her website was pushing it.

Those songs were so achingly hers, finally something just hers. 

”And that’s okay, wildcat," even through the phone, Scorpia must have sensed her apprehension. "The art is yours, you decide how far you want to go with it. But see it this way! Bright Moon could be an experiment. A stepping stone to something bigger or just a one time thing."

"Yeah."

"Don't you wanna try it, just once? I hear it's so pretty inside."

"Are you even allowed to say that?" Catra bounced on the couch cushions. "Like, as an employee of the Fright Zone?"

"Ah, well, when I'm inside the Zone, no, Octavia would cut my hands off," she could hear the squealing of tires in their parking garage in the background of the call. "But outside the Zone, yes! I hear wonderful things about it. Perfuma said it's even nicer after they remodeled! They have waterfalls!"

"Rich people and their waterfalls," Catra rolled her eyes.

"So? Thoughts? What do I tell Perfuma?"

Catra hummed, a smile dawned slowly on her lips.

Friendships were still difficult and clunky for her to really understand, but Scorpia, in her boundless patience and empathy, proved they both could handle it.

Her gold-hearted enthusiasm made it felt like any problem could be solved with a long talk and a gentle nudge; she never wasted a chance to point out the light at the end of the tunnel or at the bottom of the barrel.

Catra, and she was working on expressing this more, was eternally grateful she met the big softie at this point in her healing journey; past versions of herself probably would have treated her like shit.

"I still have to ask the throuple but otherwise-oh hey, how long is the set for?"

"Uh, 30 minutes, I think." 

"30 minutes," A set list was already beginning to form in her mind. "Originals? Covers?"

"I think the owner just wants original songs."

The smile was growing bigger on her face,"Who are we contacting?"

"Perfuma's friend Glimmer. As soon as you're set, then she'll get in touch with you about the contract."

"Then yeah. I'm in."

"Then Friday night!" Scorpia announced as she threw open the door. "Catra takes Bright Moon!"

Catra hung up the call, "And Scorpia drives her there?"

"And Scorpia drives her there!"

"You okay? You ran up those stairs really fast."

"Yeah, it was...for dramatic effect," Scorpia caught her breath, leaning on the door. "Gah. I need to do more cardio."

"You could carry us to Bright Moon instead."

“I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

This had to be the last of the equipment. Scorpia let it hit the floor, giving herself a breather. 

Club Bright Moon was gorgeous, she could tell just from how clean and rat-free the back entrance alleyway was.

Tonight, Scorpia got to do her two favorite things: socialize and watching the bartenders closely to see how quick they could mix drinks (she'd be damned if they could pour a row of shots faster than her).

Turns out, her friend Bow was actually co-manager of the club, alongside his girlfriend Glimmer. She mentioned it on the car ride over but everybody seemed to be busy seeing how many Cheetos they could fit in a sleeping Kyle's open mouth. 

Eh, it wasn't important anyway.  

“But first thing’s first!” Scorpia pushed open the door to the green room with the box. “Wildcat! You ready?”

Now, she may not be the brightest bulb, but when Catra’s shoulders were almost up to her ears, her arms locked tightly in front of her, nose flared, with the corner of her lip snagged in a twist, chances were she was not ready. 

“We’re cancelling. We can’t do it.”

“Woah, woah. Cancelling?” Scorpia eyed everybody else in the room.

Lonnie leaning on the couch, arms also locked in a similar way across her chest, but otherwise watching Catra with mild interest. Kyle was glancing at the two, while sorting cables out on the floor and Rogelio silently tuned his bass, back to the group.

Okay, no context clues.  

“Yeah. Cancelling,” Catra grit out. 

“Well, why?”

Catra didn’t move, but her eyes flickered back and forth, a flash of yellow and blue. 

“Why? Uh. Well, um,” Catra pointed at Lonnie. “Lonnie forgot her drumstick. So pack it all up, I don’t care, we gotta go.”

“Lonnie did not forget her drumstick,” Lonnie moved a loc out of her face. “Cuz' Lonnie always packs like six. Catra is pussying out.”

“Catra is NOT pussying out,” Catra lied. “Catra... forgot her guitar.”

“Lonnie calls bull-shit,” Lonnie called. “Plus, it’s literally right there.”

They looked. Indeed, it was on the table. 

Catra’s grip on her arms was tightening at the extra pair of eyes trained on her, “That’s not her guitar.”

“Lonnie calls bullshit again.”

“Catra thinks Lonnie should shut her big mouth.”

“HEY! Lonnie thinks-”

“Guys!” Scorpia interjected. The two stopped, looking at her.

Scorpia rubbed the back of her neck. “Um, Scorpia...is confused if we are all supposed to be speaking in third person or-okay, no, it was a bit you had going on. Moving on. Wildcat, I know you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!” Catra lied again, her voice shooting up an octave.

Man, she’s not very good at lying under pressure. Scorpia made a note to not let Catra play poker. 

“Buddy, hey,” Scorpia stepped closer, but kept her distance. “Everybody is a little nervous. And that is okay. You will be okay.”

“Everybody isn’t a little nervous,” Catra scoffed, turning to the rest of her band. Suddenly, nobody could keep eye contact. 

“You’re all a little nervous?!” Catra’s shoulders dropped. 

“Yes bitch, it’s allowed,” Lonnie rolled her eyes, leg starting to jiggle. “You think you’re the only one going on stage?”

Catra frowned, arms slowly slacking.

She looked at Rogelio, “Even you, big guy?”

Rogelio shrugged, and signed an half-hearted, “Yup.”

The band stewed in this information.

Kyle raised his hand, “I’m a little nervous too, if anyone was wondering.”

Rogelio pat his knee. 

The last bit of tension was seen leaving through her shoulders, all the way down to her fists, unclenching slowly, “Okay. Maybe. Perhaps. I was pussying out a little.”

Lonnie made a noise in the back of her throat and fell on the couch with a thud. 

Catra studied the floor. Scorpia could hear the deep breaths whistling under the mane of curls. 

She looked up, those mismatched eyes wide and drilling into Scorpia’s, “Am I-”

“-crazy? No way,” She held out her hands and Catra let herself lean into the touch. 

"You’re getting the pre-show jitters. You used to get them all the time at the Zone, remember? And you killed it anyway." Scorpia shook her slightly. “Cuz you’re you! That’s what matters. You got the songs! The voice! The hair! The bad girl attitude!”

Catra squinted, “Bad girl attitude.”  

“You’re wearing a whole leather jacket,” Lonnie piped up. 

“And boots,” Kyle added. “Cool stompy boots.”

“And you like to smirk, like this,” Rogelio pointed to his face, now hosting a fairly decent reenactment of Catra’s smirk. 

“I do not SMIRK,” Catra stomped. 

The three just stared back. 

“See? Your friends agree! Bad girl attitude!” Scorpia said.

“Yeah, ‘my friends’, sure.” Catra growled, but a sigh chased it out. “Okay. Fine. No cancelling.”

Scorpia gave a thumbs up with a big sweep of the arm, “Great! Because we already spent the advance! Okay, they want you all back here for warm up at like 11, so you all have about an hour to hang out. No heavy drinking, please?”

“Yes ma'am,” Lonnie saluted and stood up. “C’mon you two, let’s be gay and do crimes.”

Kyle and Rogelio got to their feet to follow. 

“Funny! But, um, no actual crimes okay?” Scorpia called out, but they had already scampered off. "Oh boy."

Catra was on the couch, sitting upside down, boots to the wall. “Where’s the nerd at?”

“Entrapta’s been working since the place opened. She’s friends with the DJ here, DJ uh… Robo-something or the other. But worry not, she’ll be here for warm-ups.”

“Fantastic,” Catra said, leg bouncing. 

Through the walls of the room, the bass from outside made its way in. But the tinny whining of the air conditioning managed to keep any actual music from flooding in. 

Scorpia appeared over Catra, “You’re coming outside right?”

Catra rolled on her side and flipped back into a standing position with a whoosh of curls. “C’mon.”

“Yay!” Scorpia ran to hold the door open as Catra moved slowly toward her. “Plus, you kinda agreed to meet with the owner at the bar before the show.”

“Hoo-ray.”

. . .

Bright Moon was beautiful.

Catra couldn’t even pretend to not be impressed.

Where the Fright Zone thrived on darkness, heavy bass and questionable large pipes crowding the ceiling to create the illusion of a sewer, Bright Moon sought the ambiance of a hidden magic palace and nailed it.

Fog machines-probably the kind used at theme parks- were pumping out thick white clouds that actually made her legs almost vanish. The clouds were sprayed pink, purple, blue, gold with each pulse of the lights from above, below, and god knows where else.

Catra almost collided with a waiter from craning her head to look up at the ceiling, the high marble-like arches and small lights affixed to the shadows made it look like the stars.

And it was cool. Catra blinked. Wait, like actually cool. She could wear her old jacket and not feel the hot sticky warmth that usually swamped the clubs. 

“What the hell is this place?” Catra warily stepped closer to Scorpia. 

“I don't know, but I want to say it is...ephemeral."

"Ephemeral," Catra mused.

"Ephemeral."

"I think we are misusing that word."

“Probably,” Scorpia whispered and pointed to the huge bar at the back. “I’m gonna go ogle at the bartenders and see if they’ll part with any special recipes.”

“Right behind you,” Catra pat her arm.

Scorpia could befriend anything with a heartbeat and would probably end up with ten or more recipes by the end of the night. Catra would be the first to try them back home. 

Together, they made their slow trek through the thickening crowd, it wouldn’t be too hard; most were stuck staring up at Scorpia leading the way. Yet eyes still fell to Catra, who had trailed close behind her friend. They could probably smell the outsider on her, and that wasn’t a position she liked to be in. Catra kept her head low, the music muffling whatever the people she jostled by were probably saying about them. 

Calm. Catra exhaled through her nose, I know you have major insecurities, but chill. 

At least the music was good, she couldn’t lie there either. Nothing but surprisingly high quality hip-hop, rap, and reggaeton mixes that she physically couldn’t help but bounce to. She tried to look for the DJ booth, but it was no use.

The speakers were excellent too. One thing was certain, the crowd would definitely hear her voice. 

“What do you want?” Scorpia turned at last. They had arrived at the bar quicker than she thought. Catra’s eyes almost popped out- my god, is that a waterfall in the middle of the bar?

“Coke Zero!” Catra said in her ear. “What’s that lady’s name again? The one we gotta meet?”

“Glimmer!” Scorpia was positioning herself to push to the front of the bar. “She’s really nice! Short, hair is like purpley pink and fluffy. She’ll probably be with Bow! Tall guy, cool hair, wearing a crop top suit probably.”

“Glimmer and Bow?” Catra muttered to herself. "Man, we all have weird ass names."

She looked for something that would remotely look like the description but all she could see was backs and impatient faces at bar.
The search continued, until she spotted a flat top, perfectly shaped, on the other side of the bar.

She moved away from Scorpia, on her tiptoes trying to get a better view. 

“Yo, is that him?” She tugged on Scorpia’s dress sleeve. 

Scorpia leaned over, “Uh, yeah! I think! Let me call his name!”

“Wait-”

“BOW! OVER HERE!” Scorpia hollered, loud enough to make the nearest people throw looks and move away. 

Catra shielded her eyes, trying to not look associated.

Thankfully, it got his attention and he excitedly waved them over. Scorpia motioned that she was trying to buy drinks but Bow waved her off. 

“He heard me! I think he’s gonna get our drinks,” Scorpia started left. 

Catra grumbled, “You got pipes. You should be the singer here, not me.”

“Maybe one day! C’mon!”

Her friend parted the waters with ease.

The bar was a oblong beast, the pair were constantly buffeted by strings of people as they travelled its circumference. Catra almost missed the two steps that fed into a lower seating area spotted with tall, circular black tables and shiny booths.

Catra cracked her knuckles in her jacket pockets.

Fear again was biting at the back of her neck, fear of saying the wrong thing, being the wrong type of person; her red silk button up was starting to stick to her back, finally, it seemed even the club’s superpowered AC couldn’t stop her body from the sweaty effects of anxiety. 

Was her hair okay? Was her smile okay? Catra quickly tried to check her reflection on her phone screen, hands flitting around her hair, pushing back the strands that always fell in front of her left eye.  

“Yeah, that’s my guy alright! Bow!” Scorpia had stopped.

Catra barely noticed in time to avoid a headbutt into her friends back, and with those muscles, that shit would have hurt. She stepped out from behind Scorpia.

The crop top suit.

She couldn’t be sure if he ripped it or cut it out or had it specially designed but where the bottom half of a shirt would be, the soft dark skin of his midriff peeked out.

Catra really prayed she wasn’t staring for too long. 

”Scorpia!” He eagerly mashed his face against Scorpia’s shoulder as she hugged him, soundly thumping her on the back. 

“Bow!” She lifted him high in the sky.

Based on the way he curled his legs up as they embraced, they were kindred spirits. 

“You look amazing! I love the dress!”

”You too! And you smell great! You know, we miss you in yoga class.”

“Aww, I miss you guys too!” Bow squeezed her arms. “Tell Perfuma I’ll be there next week, for sure.” 

“Will do!”

He noticed Catra, standing small to the side.

“Then you’re Catra! Wow, it’s so great to meet you!” He held out his hand and quickly engulfed it with another when Catra raised her clammy hand to his.

She shook it firmly, (that’s what I’m supposed to do right?) and maintained eye contact (that too, right?) and marveled at how smooth his hands were. Catra had never really met someone with eyes like his, with that high level of a sweet chaotic gleam that transferred to the rest of his boyish face.

In fact, Bow radiated sweetness, in the way he completely turned his body to talk to Catra and smiled like he missed her. 

“I’m Bow!” He brought her back to reality with a rousing shake of the arm. “We’re thrilled to have you here! I hope you’re loving the club.”

“I am!” Catra croaked, but quickly cleared her throat. “I mean, yeah, yeah it’s... really nice.”

He brought them over to the table closest to them and knocked on it, “Drinks? It’s on us, so don’t hold back.”

“Coke Zero,” Catra said. 

“I’m undecided!” Scorpia announced. “But you two stay here! I can go get our drinks. I wanna have a chat with your bartenders.”

She gave a grand thumbs up and then dipped away into the stream of people heading for the bar.

“Wait-” Catra jolted, but stopped herself from reaching out to her when she noticed Bow was still standing there, benign and quiet.

“Ah.” She offered a weak smile. “Well...um. This is fun.”

Nice.

“It really is!” Bow took up his drink, a bright yellow concoction, and sipped. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen Scorpia.”

Catra nodded slowly, mind racing for another thing to say, “Yeah. You two...go to yoga?”

“Yep! Monday and Thursdays, usually. But I’ve been slacking ever since I got the manager spot. I’ve been friends with Perfuma for a while, but never met Scorpia until pretty recently. Weird how friend groups work like that, huh?”

“Yeah. Weird.” Catra repeated. 

“You ever take her classes?”

”Wednesday and Sunday sunrise classes.”

His eyebrows twitched up. 

Man, people really don't think I can wake up that early. 

“Bow!” A shriek sounded behind them. 

There she was, the type of girl Scorpia would classify as 'zesty', slamming her glass into the table and making the two jump at the sound.

Yikes.

This must be Glimmer.

And judging by the pretty hair, the hard way she stomped over to the table, and the empty drink, she had to have a lot of responsibilities.

Wait. Catra took her in again; despite the sharp dress and the makeup, she looked young around the eyes. This bitch is probably my age. Oof.

“Glimmer! So glad you found us, finally.” Bow said pointedly. “This is Catra.”

“Hello,” Catra held her hand out. 

Glimmer returned her energy, by giving her a once-over that lasted a little bit too long. Then took her hand.

“Catra! Good to see you. You're gonna have to excuse the way I look like I’m completely fucking losing it.” Glimmer straightened herself, chin high. “That’s just because I am.”

“I can tell.” Catra fought hard to keep a smirk off her face and the sardonic bite out of her responses.

Something about this Glimmer's rhythm felt very in sync with her own, so they would probably be great friends or bitter enemies.

Briefly, she thought about what she’d be like in a leadership position like that.

“Oh lovely. Running a club is definitely not for the weak. Or the sober.” Glimmer let out a few high pitched chuckles and rocked back on her heels. “Again, super sorry we couldn’t get you guys in for a rehearsal beforehand, this week has been kinda-"she let out a small scream,"- but you’ll be fine, right?”

“Of course,” she said, just now realizing they never rehearsed here before. Woops.

Glimmer elbowed Bow, the poor man was mid-sip. "Where's your big lesbian friend?"

“Scorpia's getting drinks." He coughed, so Glimmer whacked him on the back. 

"You okay, baby? Yeah? Good. Okay.” She pressed her palms together. “Catra. No bullshit or anything, but tonight is super important.”

“Uh huh.” 

“But no pressure.” Bow added. 

“It’s the whole grand reopening thing, since my-” Glimmer shut her eyes and tried again, “-since I took over the club. So. This is it.” 

A reopening? Catra felt the squeeze of pressure setting down on her. I didn’t know this was a fucking reopening!

“But no pressure! Ha!” Bow tried again. 

Glimmer pushed her glass out of the way, locking into Catra’s eyes. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

That damn question.
Two sets of eyes were scanning her, possibly waiting for the first sign of crumbling to either strangle her or give her a hug. Catra couldn’t lie, her nervousness had shot into the mesosphere, but she still had a big ego in danger of bruising, god damn it. 

“Tell you what.” Catra leaned on the table as smooth as she could muster, not faltering under Glimmer’s stare, “Worry about everything except me. You two paid for a good show and you’re gonna get it. Promise.”

Something akin to calm flooded her face. “Good. Good. You’re all set backstage?”

“Yup.” 

“Need anything else from us?” Bow chimed in. 

“How about future bookings?” Catra said.

Glimmer smiled, the way things have gone, it was maybe her first smile of the night. “Okay, bold. Talk to me after the show and we’ll see. Well. I need another drink.”

She went on her tip-toes to kiss Bow on the cheek and left. 

Bow touched the smudge of lipstick now on his face, with a small silly smile.

I am happy for people in love, Catra tried to remember her mantra when it came to witnessing PDA, digging her nails into the table. I am happy for people in love. I am not bitter and jealous.

He slid his hand across the table. “So full disclosure, she’s working on being a wee bit more professional and a wee bit less drunk. But I really hope Glimmer hasn’t put too much pressure on you.”

Catra could only give him a look. 

“Okay, maybe a little too late for that,” He winced. “But...hey! You seem the type to do well under pressure.”

“Then I should be an actress, too.” Catra said, still looking for Scorpia. 

“Hey,” He said, in a tone so earnest Catra had to look at him. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Catra let a breath go. “Yeah. But it’ll be fine when I get on stage.”

. . . 

Famous fucking last words!

Hot, panicky blood was thundering away in her ears as she took a step toward the microphone.

Entrapta was right, the guy in charge of the lights was definitely winging it, because the stage remained a dark shadowy blue, almost completely darkened still. Maybe I have to step closer. 

Another step. 

Lights rose slowly, gently wavering across eye level rhythmically, moving with the waves of blue and white flickers up above. Fog kept rolling, crawling around on her feet and vanishing the dark tile beneath the crowd.

People were quieting, as if their sudden silence could start the music quicker. A thousand thoughts all impatiently zig-zagged across Catra’s head, and in their wake, giant visions of disaster now sported the soured human faces of Bow and Glimmer, along with Scorpia and even Lonnie.

She felt so naked and small without the weight of her guitar pressing on her stomach, fighting back the urge to look back once more at Entrapta at the ready with the keyboard, her laptop, her equipment just out of eyesight. So much of the performance banked on Entrapta’s skill, and Catra could do nothing but believe in her. 

Stronger came the lights, now from above and Catra could tell, by way of a hundred or so eyes, she was being witnessed. 

And by way of the microphone patiently standing at attention, she was being heard. 

That’s what you wanted, right?

Catra wrapped her hand around the microphone. 

“Bright Moon!” Voices returned the greeting with a modest roar. Catra felt adrenaline start to take over for anxiety. 

“My name’s Catra! This one is for my lonely people. My lesbians! My lonely lesbians! Make some noise!”

Noise she got. Thank fuck. Catra took a deep breath, fingers meeting over the mic. 

“This one’s called Nobody.”

Maybe not the best move to play your most popular song first, Catra knew it. But that’s probably what they came to hear, and anyway, it was one of her favorites to sing; she needed to feel that surge of energy right out of the gate to keep her afloat.

Lights Guy turned out to be really good at winging it, covering the stage in waves of bright colors as Lonnie picked up the beat, as Catra’s voice started climbing up, higher long stretched out notes.

Riding the frantic, exhilarating dark disco with a clean, plain-faced voice paired excellently; she wanted them to feel the blind rush, like a downward hill on a bad wheel, of a total surrender to nothingness.

She had pulled the mic free with the first chorus, she liked to walk around the stage and look down at the people through the tips of her eyelashes. 

And when it felt right, she’d give a smile to whichever especially pretty girl was looking up at her, thrilled when they usually smiled back.

When the song dissolved into the buoyant, repeated ’nobody, nobody, nobody’, Catra remembered how right Scorpia had been: people liked being sad sometimes, and they liked it best when it was pretending to be a happy song.

They warmed up quickly, most of them with arms up, mouths open, lips formed into her words. My words! Catra could sing a lifetime and would never get used to it. 

After the applause, Catra was handed her guitar. Not the old reliable acoustic this time, but her new electric guitar, a sleek black thing that was the best she could afford at the moment, and damn sexy anyway.
Kyle gave her a thumbs up and pointed to her pedals and the amp. 

Here we go. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s not be sad anymore, huh? This one is called Townie.” Catra said.

She'd consider being famous if it meant she didn't have to announce her own songs. 

Lonnie gave a quick, sharp count and Catra squealed out the first distorted notes, landing in the gritty chords near the belly of her guitar, and earning a new rush of noise from the people below, probably the rock fans. Rogelio and Lonnie were doing their best making everything rumble and crash. 

Rumble. Yeah. Catra closed her eyes and her mind left as she felt the words pool in her mouth. That’s what it sounded like. A rumble. 

That party. 

She approached the microphone. 

There’s a party and we’re all goin'

And we’re all growin’ up

It probably was junior year.

She almost broke her leg climbing up to Adora’s window, not adjusting for the new bougainvilleas that Razz, Adora’s adoptive grandma, planted. When she pushed the window open, the dork in question was fully dressed under the covers and could barely stop giggling; Catra didn’t want Razz to catch them, even though she would probably be fine with it, the whole point of rebellion was to sneak around.

The unimportant little shit-head group Catra talked to from from time to time were waiting at the curb with a car idling. Years tried their best, but could never erase the feeling of Adora’s grip on her shoulders as they made their way to the ground, her breath on her ear with every worried concern she offered up and each giddy whisper of excitement.

But the teenage itch had finally found them. Catra whispered back about the alcohol what’s-his-face had gotten and his big house was empty and waiting and, wow, they were so close she could feel Adora’s pulse with the thought, see the vein in her neck going.

Getting drunk was so important somehow, but Catra could forget about it with how Adora was pulling her by the hand.

Somebody’s driving and he will be drinkin'  

And no one’s going back

And it all went to shit so quickly. This was back when Catra tolerated straight boys, only because they gave her stuff, she wanted to kick herself to death when she approached the car with Adora in tow and their eyes lit up.

She should have known they would drink in Adora’s growing beauty like Catra always did, except they were coarse, greedy with the way they stared at her, the way they always tried to get closer.

But Catra was the only one on edge it seemed, she remembered how Adora smiled back at them, punched them back when they joked, and in the yellow of the backseat light, Catra thought she saw a blush. 

Catra snatched the bottle they were passing around in the car and took a hard, long chug. 

‘Cause we’ve tried hungry and we’ve tried full

And nothing seems enough 

So tonight, tonight

The boys are gonna go for 

More, more more

This was nothing new, Catra was forcing that into her skull, this type of ache at the sight of Adora and boys.

This was nothing new, the little game everybody seemed to be playing but her; truly it looked like a play, the bonfire they had started casted dancing little shadows on the backyard trees, the walls and on the people.

Catra could try, and she did, try to reflect that energy toward a boy, any boy really, but even then it still seemed like she was playing pretend. She couldn’t take it seriously.

Why did she keep looking back? Half-formed gut reactions told Catra she was probably jealous of Adora hogging all the attention, yeah that’s it. But this was nothing new, the denial so strong it never registered as denial at the moment, that her jealousy raged uncontained and confused as to where it was aiming.

It was at the boys, of course, the way they could look at Adora so plainly, why couldn’t she do that?

All she could do was linger by her side, held in a turbulent orbit, never able to move as close as she wanted.

But the thing in her hand was new, the thing in the cup, loosening her mind and making everything move a beat faster. It burned from the throat to the pit of her stomach and with whatever punch they put in it, it tasted good.

And Adora, that idiot, was gulping it down like it was punch. Catra remembers holding her by the wrist, their drinks sloshing, both laughing shakily at how much they were drinking, both leaning on each other, so close. 

She remembers when Adora had found a lawn chair somewhere beyond the music and the classmates, and firmly pulled Catra down to sit on her lap.

Somewhere in reality, the claps of the chorus kicked in:

And I want a love that falls as fast

As a body from the balcony, and

I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground

Adora was drunk. So was she.

But they both were playing at hiding it, insisting the other was absolutely smashed, then taking turns denying it.

Adora’s words were too loud, her hair too undone; Catra could not stop touching Adora, her tongue now unbridled by pride, she could say anything. And Adora would listen, red cheeked and shining eyes, god, they were so blue. 

Adora was drunk. It rang like a fire alarm in the back of her head, Catra couldn’t come closer; even if Adora pulled at her, she couldn’t savor the hands on her face, the cooing of her name, the feeling of her strong arms around her waist.

She was drunk. Adora kept trying to drink with her eyes closed, missing her mouth and fucking up her sweater. Catra was now horizontal across her lap, calling her an idiot but their hands were clasped tight together (did they notice?).

Catra couldn’t see too well, but god, she remembers those eyes.

They flashed like stage lights, like the ones now oscillating across her face:

I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat

Though I don't know what I'm waiting for

I am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be

Why did Adora keep saying that?

Catra had tumbled out of the chair, the giggles taking her when Adora suddenly burst out with that statement. She didn't even have a dad!

Well, wherever he is, fuck em! Adora had tried to stand up, but got tangled in Catra’s legs and fell next to her.

They took the next ten minutes yelling up into the air, a beautiful song of bad parents. Parents they never knew, the ones they now had, or rather, the mother Catra now had.

It mostly was Adora who yelled, yelled at the stars for her. That’s what she told Catra anyway, who was half-buried in the grass, staring in awe.

She yelled so that everybody could know that Weaver can rot in hell, god damn it. 

Even on that stage, where the visions of the past wandered behind each word, Catra still wanted to know if Adora knew they were still holding hands. Still wanted to know if she remembers them leaving late and alone, stumbling to the front and pausing in the unruly rose bushes of what’s-his-face’s house, shielded by the low trees.

She still wanted to know if Adora remembered grabbing the sides of her face and promising Catra, in a hushed voice, that she mattered a lot to her, if she noticed the way Catra was staring right at her mouth, and the trembling heavy hug that came after.

She still wanted to know if she could hear the sound of Catra’s heart plummeting to the floor when she said you’re my bestest friend ever, Catra. 

“I liked her last one! Uh...‘Washy’...'washy' something?” 

“‘Washing Machine Heart‘, I think.” Bow stopped walking to readjust his slipping grip on Glimmer’s waist. “I did too. I think my favorite was ‘Texas Reznikoff’ though. She plays a real mournful guitar.”

”Mournful.” Glimmer repeated, pulling the word long 

Spinnerella, their senior staffer, took one look at Glimmer and assured Bow they could leave before closing time.
Glimmer made it to the end of the show in one piece, though, he gave her credit for that.  

“You’re gonna have to call Catra in the morning, okay? Any thoughts about future gigs?”

“Fuck yeah! She’s the best! Hot, talented, and yearny.” Glimmer held her shoes in her hand, poking Bow in the chest with the heel. “Didn’t I tell you it would all be okay, bay-bee?”

“You sure did,” Bow looked at his phone, the Uber now five minutes away. “And remember, don’t poke the chest. It's still sore.” 

“FUCK! I keep forgetting. I’m sorry.” Glimmer wrapped her arm around his waist. He gave a reassuring squeeze back.

She hummed, pressing her face deeper into his side, “Did you like the show?”

“Oh yeah! I love dancing to sad music.” He said, carefully taking Glimmer’s earrings off for safe keeping. “You know, I really like her vibes, and the whole aesthetic. And her voice! She could probably go big one day, I can see it for her.”

“Yeaah.” Glimmer looked up at Bow. She pointed at him with the point of her heel. “Okay. I'll say it. You got it."

"What?"

"You got the thinky face.”

Bow looked away, “Wh-aat? No I don’t.”

“You got the thinky face!” Glimmer unsteadily moved to plant herself in front of him on the sidewalk. “Spill! Spill! No secrets!”

“Glimmer.” 

“Okay, some secrets because I respect your boundaries! But I know you’re thinking something!”

”I’m...thinking that you’re so beautiful and I love you?”

Glimmer softened, “Aww that's so-wait. No! No! You’re distracting me with being cute! That’s not fair! Bad Bow!”

Bow hoped Mark the Uber driver and his blue Chevrolet would appear and save him, but he did not.

Glimmer stood, waiting and wavering. 

“Okay, fineeeee.”

“Yay!”

Bow rubbed his chin, “Alright. Let's go back. Do you remember that night, about a year ago, when Adora got a bit too drunk?”

It was a infamous memory. 

“You mean the Big Lesbian Union? With all her weight-lifting lady friends?” 

“It's not called the Big Lesbian Union."

"Well, they're big lesbians!" Glimmer said. "Together! United!"

"Hmm, fair. But yes. That party. When Huntara sent her back in that Uber and she came home missing a pant leg.” 

 “And she had a little sword!” Glimmer cooed, almost tipping over before Bow caught her. “She had a little sword!”

“Right.” Bow continued. “After we washed out the puke in her hair, do you remember what she kept saying?”

“Uh...that she 'must be strong and she must be brave'?” 

"No, no!" Bow shook his head, fighting to keep the smile off his face at the memory of her singing into the toilet bowl. "After that!"

"Bow, I have three brain cells! I don't remember," Glimmer whined.

“Well, I do. It was all so weird, like Adora never gets that drunk. And she kept trying to tell us about that girl she used to know, like before she passed out. Only that time, she said her name, remember? But we both didn’t catch it.” Bow turned, sharply, as if a camera was following him. “Today it clicked. I remember the name.”

“What was it?”

“Catra.” Bow concluded. “I swear on my two dads. I swear on my Whitney Houston poster, that thing she kept saying was a name: Catra.”

“CATRA?!” Glimmer screeched. 

“Yes," Bow hissed, "Like the one that could be in this parking lot right now, so shh!” 

“Catra?!” Glimmer enunciated each syllable. “She’s the girl Adora never talks about?”

“I really, really think so.” Bow held her by the shoulder.

The two absorbed the gravity of this discovery, the 1 am wind scattered trash on the street beside them.

Ever since they met in college, Adora had been an easy, devoted friend who loved them both quickly and firmly. The friendship thrived well into their adult years, its what kept them roommates in Glimmer's apartment.

But Bow and Glimmer both knew there was some heavy shit going on with the ‘girl from back home’ as Adora would refer to her, if she ever referred to her at all.

It wasn’t just the refusal to mention details, but how quick the mood would shift if Adora accidentally found herself on the edge of a story about them, their childhood, her high school, anything from around seven years ago. It was as if Adora blocked that memory, blocked her past out so entirely that Bow and Glimmer could only join her in pretending it didn’t exist. Sometimes, they could get another piece of the story. My friend, this girl, we stopped talking, it hurt.

Hurt, deep and dull, was at the front of it.  

Sometimes, she was sober and offered it quietly. Sometimes, she would not be sober and offered it heaving over a trash can and in the after shakes of a particularly bad day.

They once used to ask ‘is this about her?’ but they had long since stopped asking, once they could read her face better. Therapy seemed to have helped in the last years, but they still could see something touching the shadows of her face at times, and they knew she was back there, wherever the memory lived. 

“Is it the same Catra?”

“I don’t think it’s a real common name, Glimmer.” Bow watched a car roll by, but it was not theirs. “I just...don’t know what to do next. Do we tell her? Do we not?”

“Hmm.” Glimmer rubbed her chin, like a mini-Bow. He was touched at the sight. “We aren’t 100% sure just yet.”

“Right.”

A wicked smile grew on Glimmer’s face, “We could let her see for herself?”

Bow gasped. “Future booking?”

“God, it’s fucking good being the owner!” she put her hands on her hips. “I’m booking Miss Catra for next weekend and Adora’s. Gonna. Be. There.”

Bow paused, misgivings creeping into his thoughts, "Babe, I don't know...if it is her, Adora might not take it well. And I don't think she'll like that we tricked her into it."

Glimmer waved her heels around, they clicked in the air. “Nah, nah, for one, we don’t even know if it is her. So if it’s not, no harm, no foul. And if it is...c'mon, don't you want to know if it's her?"

"Of course I do!" Bow said. "But I don't want to hurt Adora!"

"But we can be hurting Adora more if we don't reunite her with her ex!" Glimmer gestured to the Club behind them, "I don't know about you, but that music sounds like she's probably not over it. Adora's probably not over it either! Maybe it ended badly, but who knows! They might be soulmates, Bow. SOULMATES. This could be their last chance!"

They mulled it over. 

“Holy fuck, they’re exes?” Glimmer barked. "I thought Adora said they were just friends?"

“Well, the songs do sound like it was a romantic type thing.” Bow slapped his hands to his mouth. “Oh my god, are all those songs about Adora?!”

"This is extremely lesbian!"

"'Francis Forever?' 'Washing Machine Heart'?" Bow squealed, "Those are about her? Imagine someone writing songs about you!"

Glimmer joined in his squealing and the two danced around on the pavement, giddy with the realization.

After they calmed down some, she let out a big sigh. 

“This is gonna be really good or really bad.”

Chapter Text

Scorpia pulled the lasagna out of the oven with a sigh. “You’re gorgeous. You’re a gorgeous little thing. Look at you.” 

With a clang, she eased it on the stove top. The cheese was browning and would be extra-crispy like Catra liked it. Scorpia nodded, satisfied.

Three beeps announced the completion of the garlic bread, the wonderful aroma had long since filled the apartment. 

She checked the kitchen clock, an old Felix the Cat wall clock that swung it’s tail lazily with each second. 

“7!” Scorpia took off her oven mitts. “Catra! It’s ready!”

A noise came from her door.

That didn’t sound like a ‘I’m rushing right over to enjoy some delicious lasagna’ type of sound. Scorpia tossed her mitts on the counter.

“Oh well. It’s gotta cool anyway,” Scorpia fixed the knife on Catra’s placemat as she passed it.

The hours before a concert were always hard for Catra, but Scorpia knew it was nothing some good ol’ fashioned friendly support and pasta cake couldn’t help.

Pasta cake. Scorpia stopped in her tracks. Lasagna IS like a pasta cake...huh.

Catra’s door was on the left side of the apartment, the door was down a small hallway, and it had a ‘BEWARE OF GUARD CAT’ sign proudly hanging on its dark brown face. 

Sure enough there they were. 

“Melog,” Scorpia bent to speak to the large dark cat lounging in the crack in front of the door. 

They might be the weirdest cat in existence; Catra found them in her room one day when she left the window open, and after she finished screaming at what appeared to be a small jungle cat sleeping on her bed, she figured she found herself a free pet. 

Scorpia was still pretty sure they were half-bobcat or something. Melog was huge, their coat a reddish, speckled brown, with startlingly intelligent blue eyes, and preferred hunting rats to Meow Mix. 

Or the occasional bird, as that pile of feathers in their bathroom that one time would suggest. 

Melog took a liking to Catra almost instantly and the two seemed to bond. Scorpia caught her talking to them often, when she thought she was alone, like they were a third roommate. 

It’s a cat to cat connection, Scorpia would say (behind her back of course). 

Melog opened one eye. They were listening. 

“I’m here to tell Catra dinner is ready, can I enter?”

Melog seemed to like that answer, got up, shook and padded away, pressing themselves to her leg as they passed. 

“And don’t you touch that lasagna!” Scorpia called out after them and knocked on the door. “Wildcat! Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

She opened the door slowly. 

Catra was in the large armchair in the corner, the one left in the room when they moved into the apartment, she didn’t look over when her friend came in, instead was gazing out the green-rimmed windows that took up the far wall of her room, the streetlights casting large yellow squares onto her bed, on the guitar that was laying on top of rumpled thin blankets. 

“You okay?” Scorpia asked. 

Quickly, she took stock of the room. No bottles. The jar of weed was in its place, at the top of her dresser. Catra looked calm enough, dwarfed by the huge headrest of the worn green armchair. 

“Huh?” Catra seemed to finally notice Scorpia was inside. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just spacing out. Nice apron.”

Scorpia waited.

Catra’s eyes took it’s time to make it to hers.

She slouched further in the chair, “Okay, fine, stop looking at me like that. I’m having a weird feeling.”

“Weird how?” 

“Something’s up tonight,” Catra loosely gestured out the window. “Do you ever get that feeling? And no, it’s not just me being nervous, I killed it at Bright Moon two weeks ago easy-peasy, but like, I just can’t shake this weird feeling.”

“Hmm, that's a thinker. Maybe Mercury is in Gatorade!”

“Retrograde. It’s not.” Catra stretched her legs out. “Perfuma would have told us. But maybe it's a planet or something. Something in my chart, I don’t know.” She scoffed, scratching at her knee. “Yo, when did I start sounding like this? Maybe it’s my anxiety again.”

“Or maybe you haven’t eaten since noon and it’s 7pm!” Scorpia threw a thumb behind her. “And we gotta eat this thing before Melog does.”

Catra snorted. “They hate people food. But they might be sitting on it anyway.” 

She stood up, stretching with a groan. 

The pair made their way back to the counter. 

Scorpia wouldn’t say it out loud, because Catra looked so happy eating lasagna, but she was also feeling something weird: not definitively bad in any way, but simply anticipatory. 

Something.

Maybe it was the expired string cheese they both ate. Or maybe it really did have to do with the moon or the planet Venus or some other celestial giant whirling away in the space above. She’d have to ask her girlfriend later. 

One way or the other, something was gonna happen.

. . . 

Something was happening alright, and she was gonna miss it.

Adora hustled her way through the front entrance, only stopping to nod at the bouncers who recognized her, and let her duck under the velvet rope, to the groans of the line still outside the door. 

Stumbling as her heel caught on the end of her wide-leg jumpsuit, she straightened up in the lobby, welcomed by the familiar sound of the waterfall at its center and the gleam of the slick black tiles. 

Beyond the thick double doors, she could hear the sound of people rustling, low tones of quieted conversation and footfalls. 

It must have started already! Adora balked, quickly rushing in. 

Glimmer and Bow wanted a third opinion on the new performer they re-booked for the Saturday night slot. The show two weeks ago seemed to have been a hit enough to warrant a repeat, but Glimmer insisted that as the third member of the Best Friend Squad and part-time security manager, her opinion was ‘important in determining future bookings’. 

Adora couldn’t help but feel honored, but, honestly, she would have rather spent the evening at their apartment like she spends most Saturday nights: watching cartoons in fuzzy socks, shoulder-to-shoulder with Bow and Glimmer, with Swift Wind sleeping across their laps. 

But hey, this works too. 

Chilled air hit her immediately as she snuck through the door. Glimmer would love to know that the special AC was definitely worth the hefty bill.

The place was dim, Adora quickened her pace toward the VIP boxes, weaving and ‘excuse me’-ing people that were teetering trying to watch the stage, apologizing to those she knocked into on accident.

Darn my big shoulders, Adora chastised herself, they felt incredibly bare in the sleeveless white jumpsuit she fished out. She thought she looked like those inflatable noodle men in the front of car dealerships but Glimmer assured her that flowy jumpsuits were very in style. 

Whatever, at least it had pockets. 

The attendants let her into the VIP area, and she flew up the stairs, her heels making sharp heavy smacks against the rubber. 

Another attendant held the curtain open for her. “A drink, miss?”

“Yeah, uhh-” She blanked.“-whichever is the sweetest?”

“...Understood.” 

“Thank you so much,” Adora plopped down on the couch.

She stretched out, a touch out of breath. The VIP boxes were staggered on the walls of the club, high and close enough to see the performers onstage perfectly and to watch the crowd pool beneath their feet. Each box featured a huge glass table was in the middle, with two sectional couches facing the railing that securely fenced the very important visitors in. 

How long is this show anyway? Adora knew the concert was underway, she saw the band members moving on stage, the microphone still lit, waiting, the chatter of idling instruments droned in the speakers. 

She must have come in between songs. 

It struck her that she didn’t even know the name of the act, her friends neglected to mention it and in her hurry to make it in, she missed the posters. 

Still, Adora slung her arms over the top of the couch, it was weird wasn’t it? Her friends were really insistent that she see this show. 

Sure, maybe it was just really good, but it rose a tiny red flag. Not big enough to cause much alarm though. Adora's long bangs tickled her cheek, she moved them back behind her ear. 

Man, sometimes I miss my ponytail.

“Miss?” An attendant had walked in, placing a bright pink drink in front of her. 

“Oh! Thanks.” She quickly taking a sip.

Yep. Tooth-achingly sweet. Nailed it. And it had an umbrella. 

“Enjoy the show.”

She flashed a smile as he left and shot the groupchat a quick text that she made it. Bow responded with three emoji hearts and Glimmer sent a thumbs up.  

Adora continued drinking, eyes idly wandering up the carved rock moulding on the walls, the busy movement of people at the bar, at her fellow co-workers that she spotted in the rabble. One of them was carrying some drunk out the door. Tough.

A piece of loneliness settled in her, finally now a bit more confused as to why she came alone. 

But it made sense, Glimmer and Bow were both readjusting under the weight of new responsibilities, so free time became more restricted. And she knew they would take advantage of being alone together. 

Besides, it was just a concert.

Three dull taps echoed from the speakers. The singer was back. 

“Hello! Been a while, huh?”

Uh. Adora frowned, lips still pressed to the glass. 

“So, this one is called ‘Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart’. Yeah, a mouthful, I know. But I think you'll like it!”

Her eyes, somewhere in the ceiling lights, fell to the stage, slow, because it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be-

“I promise,” ended the voice. 

Adora stood on weak legs, drink abandoned.

No words, no thoughts. No feeling.

She couldn’t even be sure she was still a human being standing there, flesh and bone; in that instant where she saw her, Adora could have been nothing but static, full-throated feedback that reeled to try to process anything that was coming in through her eyes. 

Nothing was going in, nothing was being seen but her her her.

Adora wanted to think of the name, god, but even saying it in the back of her brain would be what brought the crash, the delicate whiteout currently freezing her would be gone and she might start yelling. 

But it was her. 

Adora was moving, faintly aware there was a guitar and a keyboard, calmly repeating six notes, hot and high, Adora could feel them coming at her, peeling off of her, like waves over rocks, over and over, circular, confused. 

It was her. 

Adora’s hands found the railing, fingers hesitantly coiling around it. Even from a distance, it felt forbidden to stare this much, to run down and up her body like she had never seen another person before, just to find something to tell her she was wrong. 

But you never forget the way someone stands, the way they hold their arms, the way they took a step, the way their body was formed; object recognition was a terrible human feature and Adora couldn’t fool evolution.

Yes, seven years did its best work changing that body, that face, that voice. 

But it was still her.

Catra.

Like she heard her name called, Catra lifted her head and sang: 

There's nobody better than you

It took me a while till I knew

But you knew from the start it was us, didn't you?

It just took me a while till I knew

Her knees actually wobbled as Catra started singing, the voice came out somewhere behind her and she could feel each breath, each pause, each note of that sweet, clear sound, she could hear it ringing in the walls. 

Adora was scared to blink, even when her eyes begged her to, because blinking felt like a waste of time, because it was her.  

Thoughts were returning, quickly storming her skull with the gall of a hundred unformed questions. Since when did she get so good at singing? Since when did she start writing music? Since when did she live here?

Since when, her head yelped, since when?  

A tambourine now jangled behind low beats of the drum:

Now I lay as I study a blank wall

Would you spare me your voice if I call?

'Cause you waited and watered my heart till it grew

You just grew a little smarter too

Adora realized she was trembling, her palms sweating against the railing. 

There, stretched between the box and the stage lay years and years of history. 

Here, the closest she had been to Catra in almost a decade, breathing the same air, moving in the same space.

How does someone look the same and completely different?

Look at her standing. Look at her smiling.

Everything Adora could hold up to that person on stage, everything that she kept in her mind filed under Catra, simply did not fit anymore, not what she was witnessing. This person oozed confidence, stood tall at the center of the stage, even from here she looked so- 

Oh.

Adora sucked in a breath, it caught on the dry of her throat, like the first bite of a cry or a laugh.

Catra had changed! 

She could have smiled if she wasn’t so upset, at the errant thought that Catra would find that funny. 

The guitar kept its circular, ceaseless pattern, Adora felt like it was pulling her into a trance, maybe it was.

Catra started moving, fingers repeating their refrain: she was grinning, open mouthed.

So I don't blame you if you want to

Bury me in your memory, I'm not the girl I ought to be,

But maybe when you tell your friends, 

You can tell them what you saw in me, 

and not how I turned out to be

Wow.

Unraveling aside, what a melody. Catra wasn’t just on stage for the hell of it, she was good; her sound undeniably precious and undeniably hers, her voice had become haunting and steady, the guitar on her body looked as natural as if she was born with it on.

As her mind staggered in trying to understand, one thought hounded her:

Who was the ‘you’ in the songs? 

That fist sized muscle, now laying in her stomach, started going again, something chemical spiking in her blood now, at the mere hint of the idea that it could possibly be about me?  

That train of thought came to a humbling, screeching halt.

No.

It had been seven years. It was high school. They were kids. Catra wanted nothing to do with her.

That’s what the ghosting implied. 

And they never were...anything else, anyway. 

Yes, a familiar old wound to run her tongue over, like the hole of a lost tooth, yes, they were never anything. 

Yet-

She wished she could read the words she was singing, maybe selfishly wanted to see if she could find a trace of herself in it, but they were gone as soon as they were sung, with the next kick of the drum and claps.

Catra’s hair fell over her eyes, from here, she could glimpse blue and yellow irises out from hooded lids: 

There's some kind of burning inside me

It's kept me from falling apart

And I'm sure that you've seen what it's done to my heart

But it's kept me from falling apart

Burning? Falling apart? It struck her in the sternum: Catra was hurting, has been, still is hurting enough to sing it now.

Worry hardened Adora’s face. Did she hurt alone? She thought things were supposed to get better with time.

She wanted to jump, wave her arms, scream, make it known she was listening, she was there, she could hear her, surely Catra could see her too. 

I'm right here! I came back!

It seized Adora like the lucid seconds of a dream. She wanted to fly down, stop the music, stop the noise.

But the noise was alive, roaring out from below, with Catra at the helm, her eyes never ventured near her, her mouth gone behind the mic again:

Now here I lay, as I wonder about you

Would you just tell me what I'm meant to do?

'Cause I've waited and watered my heart till it grew

You can see how it's blossomed for you.

It was beautiful.

In the tangle of her thoughts, she faintly remembered the Catra who first said she would make music one day. Adora thought it would sound different, the kind that would have made sense with the tastes of that lanky, coarse, wild-eyed girl that she used to know.

But this was strong in a different way. 

Loud in a different way.

And fucking sad. 

That pricked at Adora’s skin, a forgotten itch. Sadness apparently still followed that girl where she went, still a stubborn fixture in her life. Adora felt her own sadness rise up in her throat, dismayed at another example that the world was still relentlessly unfair. 

But the music betrayed no sign of succumbing to its sadness, instead it sounded like dance around a fire, arms in the air. Relentless.

That was good, at least. 

Catra let a rasp kiss the bottom of each note: 

Cause there's nobody better than you.

Escaping Adora’s notice, the song was done.

Cheering filled the air below her.

Adora finally blinked, fat tears reliving her burning, racing to the bottom of her face. Her legs folded, softly hitting the seat by the railing. 

Seven years. 

Adora watched her wave, that wiry smile still brought out the roundness that clung to her face after all this time. She started messing with the box beside her feet, saying something to the musicians behind her.

Adora could see her mouth moving, she still talked out of the corners of her lips, still saying something gruff most likely. Adora found herself trying to hear it, whatever it was. 

But there was too much noise, too much distance. 

Slowly the club began to disappear. 

Catra introduced this synth based pop song, she could hear the crowd below begin to respond to the high energy music. Adora kept trying to hold on to each word, it was feeding the current shitstorm between her ears, but she was never one for lyrics. 

She pressed the flat of her fingers into her eyes, straining at the force of remembering. 

These songs couldn’t be about me, right?

Adora was never the best at remembering.

Someone once told her that people forget as a way of coping, and funnily enough, Adora never forgot that. 

But it wasn’t forgetting, Adora could feel her heart creeping into her ears, drowning out the music further, it wasn’t. 

She knew she could find each moment again if she wanted it. For fuck’s sake it happened when she didn’t want it; sometimes at dinner, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, sometimes it flickered right before she took a shot, sometimes right after, sometimes when she saw sunlight out of a car window, sometimes when she smelled coconut oil, when she smiled, sometimes when she laughed, and most of the times when she cried. 

Those moments were kicked out, locked up.

Therapists say that’s not the best. 

Adora was still unsure. 

Her fingers moved to meet over the bridge of her nose, the hot shaky breaths trapped in her palms. She knew there was music still blasting, but the words she couldn’t grasp, simply syllables and sound. 

The last time she saw Catra, she could remember every second. 

Telling her about California was always going to be difficult, but Adora never thought it would end that way, maybe she was too naive.

Catra scrambled up from the grass where they sat, roughly gathering her things. Adora tried to reach for her, the hand was thrown aside.

Adora’s favorite eyes, seething. 

Don’t fucking come back, Catra had spit, her last words. 

Adora shut her eyes again. 

Texts went unanswered, her calls were blocked, knocks on the door of that terrible old house went ignored, even after Weaver made her leave, she came back to knock again. 

May, June, July, August.  

Pebbles at her window, nothing. Visits to her job at the mall, she must have changed schedules. Never saw her in passing. 

Adora would sit in their old spots, alone, waiting. 

Even the last knock, the one she almost didn’t do, with her car stalled and stuffed to its last centimeter for the trip ahead. 

Nobody opened the door. 

And in the wavering vision of that memory, reality crept in, a voice singing:

I know that I ended it, but

Why won't you chase after me?

Adora paused, now kneading her fingers into her temples. She stole a glance at the stage. Still singing, but something had changed. 

Her face, something in the eyes: 

You know me better than I do,

Adora put hers up to the bars, trying to see it better. 

She was far away. Adora knew she wasn’t on the stage anymore, Catra had left somewhere in her head too. It was sweet to know they both weren’t in their bodies. Were they both rewatching old moments? The same ones?

This wasn’t supposed to be their reality, Adora would have gladly given anything to-  

So why didn't you stop me?

Adora finally grasped the words sung behind her, and maybe in delirium, she saw Catra speaking to her, like that tilt of the head was intentional, eyes into hers like they did that last day:

Why didn’t you stop me? 

And paint it over.

With the squealy grind of the strings, the room started to shrink, quickened with each zip of the synths, suddenly thoughts started piling up and she couldn’t feel individual heartbeats anymore, god, is she fucking talking about me?

Adora pushed the table out of the way, careening toward the curtain, past the attendant, a bathroom was somewhere here, wasn’t it? 

Eyes forced down, she pushed through doors into a thankfully empty single-person bathroom. The music was still seeping in through the vents or maybe the crack under the door, inescapable. Adora locked the door, scrambling to find the sink edges to hold onto. 

Cold water. She pressed her hands to her forehead, face still down. Looking in the mirror felt like too much, she hated seeing herself cry, hated seeing that ugly splotchy redness. 

Crying in a club bathroom and sober , Adora sniffed, this sucks. 

For a moment, nothing had gone wrong. The steps of cleaning her face, letting water drip onto her top, the sniffling, the click of her heels on the tiles as she shifted her weight, this was all normal and easy. She was in there long enough that the music had ended, and she prayed it was the last song.

She leaned on the sink. 

But she would have to leave the bathroom. The world had dragged Catra back into her life, the reason for it yet unknown. 

Yes, she could never have to see her again, but somehow, she knew that wasn’t going to be the case.

She lived around here evidently.

She would play again at Glimmer’s club.

Bow and Glimmer even mentioned knowing her personally.

Somewhere, that thought set off alarm bells, but nothing in her was up for the task of connecting the dots.

Adora smushed a wet paper towel into her eyes, yes, she was a wary believer of the universe.

And somehow, someway, this was no chance reunion. 

They would find each other later, outside of this concert, it was some kind of perverse certainty. 

And she couldn’t lie, that little thing beating now softly in her ribs trilled at the idea of it, maybe she wanted to find her again, against what the roar of their past was determined to say; on Adora's end, she knew something stronger than friendship simmered under her girlhood skin, extended out toward Catra like a thin red line, but those feelings have been mud for years. 

Unreturned and undesired, so they had to be forgotten. 

Adora exhaled, heavy, from her chest. 

But it was a weed, the thought did not die. 

Who is she singing about? Why did it matter? 

Adora tried, didn’t she? A couple dates in college, one boy (and yikes, that was not it) and a handful of girls (now that’s more like it), girls she doesn’t talk to anymore because she never felt anything more than surface level interest, nothing, never touched anybody even, never been touched. 

So of course, Catra tried too, didn’t she? She must have found a girl, a boy. 

No, Adora snorted, no boys.

She shook herself out of these thoughts, upset that she jumped to comparing her romantic relationships to Catra’s because that didn’t make sense, right, it wasn’t like they were exes. 

Then friendships. Yes, she had found new friends, wonderful big-hearted additions to her small circle of loved ones. Catra must have done the same, after all, she was smiling at the musicians behind her, maybe they were friends.

The two could be strangers, with how much they knew about each other now.  

So the songs could be about anyone, Adora nailed the concept into her mind. 

Yet-

Does it smell like a school gymnasium in here?

With quiet chord murmurs of a piano commanding attention, Catra had returned, a distant echo:

It's funny how they're all the same

It's funny how you always remember.

Adora met her own eyes in the mirror, the blue vivid against the irritated white, in the low light of the bathroom, quiet enough to hear the drips of water from the faucet:

And we've both done it all a hundred times before

It's funny how I still forgot

Catra was singing, against a marching piano, her voice, a touch above a whisper yet hard, loud enough that she could hear it in the bathroom as perfect as if she was right by her mouth:

It would be a hundred times easier

If we were young again

But as it is

And it is

Young again. 

Water droplets moved its way down her face. The piano lay the chords down gently, like they could weigh less than the air.

Adora couldn't move, she was sure the crowd was also held in place, hushed and waiting. Listening. 

She forced herself toward the sound:

We're just two slow dancers, last ones out

We're two slow dancers, last ones out

And it was slow the way the memory crept out, against her will.

Adora must have just turned 17, Catra still not there yet.

They had no dates, each ragging on each other with names of boys they thought the other had a crush on, but truly didn’t question their unwillingness to actually get any of those boys. So they went together. 

They took the bus to the mall after school, Adora holding onto saved allowance, Catra holding onto minimum wage earnings, both pawing through the dress racks with varied levels of eagerness; she knew Catra’s heart was lingering on the few suits that hung nearby, but something unsaid was petrified in suggesting it.

Adora remembered secretly burning with something when Catra came out of the dressing room, the brat striking a pose; man, she wore the shit out of that dress and in the true spirit of rebellion, she wore it short above smooth dark thighs, excited to get reprimanded by the teachers the moment she set foot in there.

Adora forced herself to stop looking and weakly nodded, off to try her own dress on. 

Their dresses matched, that made sense right?

Adora’s heart beat weird when Catra was on the porch, the night of prom, that also made sense right?

Catra had a fistful of that fuzzy soft lambs-ear that grew near the hiking trails, that plant Adora always pointed out as her favorite, she looked almost sick when Adora asked if they were for her.

They were. Catra barked something about only losers didn’t get flowers at prom. You’re not a loser, she said without looking at her, even though you try.

Adora leaned her head on the wall:

It would be a hundred times easier

If we were young again

But as it is

And it is

Scared. That must have been the expression, shiny eyes and hot faces, neither of them could even turn the moment into a joke so they simply gawked at each other, lit by that aged porch light. 

The strange spell was broken when Catra tripped down Adora’s porch steps. 

They walked in the dark, side by side, the school wasn’t far at all and she remembers every step. Catra kept making trouble, about the stupid heels, the silly dress, the stupid ass prom committee picking a theme of knights and princesses, all at a light headed Adora, who watched her walk backwards in the tepid evening of May. 

You look like a princess, Catra had blurted out and looked away when it didn’t come out like an insult. 

That makes you my knight then, Adora kept smiling, one she couldn’t control. 

Arm in arm, they walked into the gym. 

How did it make sense that no one said anything?

They danced, first to the beats of the youth and the stupid songs that were on the radio, sweaty and uncomfortable but still beautiful in the awkward teenaged way.

No one found a way to sneak alcohol in, but Adora didn’t care; she already felt drunk because of the way everything was shining. 

Catra especially, she couldn’t stop smiling, the big kind with her eyes almost vanishing under its joy, Adora had to smile back, and it made sense. 

And when the songs slowed, and they danced, first because Catra thought it would be funny to make fun of the couples. That’s why they were laughing, the dancing awkward, the steps too big. Catra stuck her tongue out at those who came close. 

But Adora let her hand fall into hers, and felt a slight squeeze back. Their other hand fell somewhere on the waist, a distance apart but the warmth of Catra’s body was starting to press against hers.

Two slow dancers, eyes too struck with internal whatever to meet, as if eye contact would force cold reality back. 

They were so close. It was the first time Adora really felt her new height, being able to clumsily guide Catra around and Catra letting her.

This is what protecting someone feels like, the thought swelled in her, I could do this forever. 

It wasn’t long, but they had it.

Catra’s head lowered to touch the tip of her shoulder, and when the lights dimmed for a moment, under the tender glinting of the disco ball, Adora didn’t hesitate to let her cheek rest on the soft dark crown of her knight’s head. 

To think that we could stay the same

To think that we could stay the same

To think that we could stay the same

Adora hit the bottom of the stairs, barely avoiding twisting an ankle in her haste. She pushed into strange bodies, barely managing a ‘sorry’ as she desperately tried to find the exit with blurry eyes, past the music, past the singing; but she knew must be at eye level now and if she looked behind her, maybe they would see each other, past the heads of the crowd, do you think she-

Enough. Her heart begged her to stop.  

So not one glance backward was spared and the singer kept at it, as the double doors swung closed:

Two slow dancers, last ones out. 

Chapter Text

“See! See! Now, that we can classify as angst!” 

“Entrapta!” Catra ripped her headphones off. “Five fucking full takes!” 

“Good songs require genuine emotion! I need to feel the anger! I wanted to hear the growl!” Entrapta’s voice screeched through the speaker in the tiny soundbooth. “So I pushed your buttons a bit. Problem solved!” 

“Good songs also need good vocal cords and you’ve been beating them up all day in here!” Catra said, angrily stirring her warm honey-lemon tea. 

“Sorry! But you wrote this song, surely, you must have known it would be a strain to sing over and over?”

Catra took a deep breath in through the nose, “Yes. True. But I wrote this when I was 18! I didn’t think I’d be doing music, much less recording ‘My Body’s Made Of Crushed Little Stars’.”

“Ah! Yes, I can really hear the desperation of a troubled youth in the words.”

”Perfect,” Catra sipped the tea, “I put a little hint of childhood trauma in each song.”

“We can tell! And good news!"Entrapta chirped from the speakers, "Judging the schedule you laid out, we’ve recorded all the vocals today! No more singing! The session was a success!”

“Go team,” Catra said and switched off the microphone, hanging the headphones on the stand. 

She picked up her mug and maneuvered out of the cramped sound booth, forcing the door open with a loud creak. 

Entrapta rolled over to her, computer chair wheels clacking, thumbs already flying all over her tablet. “This leaves percussion, bass, and rhythm guitar. Oh! And piano. But I’ll get Hordy to do it for you and his sound booth is waaaay bigger.”

Scorpia’s words echoed in her mind: ‘Don’t say anything about her creepy weird cousin.’

Which was easier said than done, the dude looked like a zombie. 

Instead, she ambled over to her guitar case, shaking out her legs. “Good. I’ll congregate with the throuple, see if they wanna have a triple date in the soundbooth soon. I don’t need to bring my guitar again, do I?”

“Hmm, you might.” Entrapta swung a leg over the arm of the chair. “Just the electric, though. I suspect something went wrong when we did ‘I Don’t Smoke’, but in the interest of time, we had to move on. A thingie is acting weird.” 

“A thingie?” 

“It has a complicated name but apparently, people like when I say thingie instead,” Entrapta said, pushing up her sunglasses. 

Catra snorted, gathering up the sheets of paper to slide into her tan backpack. “I’m leaving my electric here for next time then, cool?”

“Affirmative!”

Catra blew on the tea, quickly trying to cool it. 

Exhaustion had settled into the bottom of her muscles and finally, the week that felt it would never end had ended. No more singing to do, live or otherwise, until her show at the Crimson Waste in a few weeks, no work until Monday, her feet protested at each step, and a fat blunt awaited her rolling at home. 

Catra absolutely needed to skedaddle, as Scorpia would say. 

Wait, wait. Friends make small talk.

She creakily turned to Entrapta who was muttering to herself, focused on the tablet. Her desk fan wiggled as it turned. 

“So,” Catra said, “What are you doing tonight?” 

“Tinkering with these!” Entrapta tapped the monitor behind her, where Catra’s recent tracks were ready for editing. “Mixing. Making the midis. Playing Civ6 with Hordak. Mixing with Hordak. Making food with Hordak. Eating food. Living. Breathing. Making a small bomb. Finishing Darla. Updating Emily. That’s the agenda!” 

“Small bomb?” Catra laughed, because it had to be a joke (please God, it was a joke, right?). 

“Don’t even worry! Just for fun, very small, very scientific!” she pushed off the table in order to spin in circles, her pigtails dragging on the floor. “And what about you?”

“Gonna roll, get the munchies, and listen to music until I fall asleep.” Catra shouldered the guitar case, chugging the tea. “Scorpia’s got one of her huge beefy friends over from that new weightlifting club she’s in, so I’ll probably have to socialize or something, ew.”

Entrapta cracked her neck. “I wouldn’t be too quick to despair. Perhaps her friend will be attractive! A member of a weightlifting club is most likely to meet your criteria.” 

“My criteria-“

”-Big and strong ladies.” Entrapta grinned. 

Catra squinted. 

Entrapta’s smile did not fade as her chair spun in circles. 

Catra rolled her eyes. “Well, I won’t pretend like I won’t consider it. If she’s cute. And single.” 

She opened her phone with a flick of her thumb, checking the text that she sent Scorpia a while ago. 

(Catra): ur friend wouldn’t care if I smoked weed on the balcony? 

(Scorpia 😗): She says go ahead! 

(Scorpia 😗): Can she have another of your beers though? :*

Catra pushed air out her nose, quickly typing back:

(Catra): another?? sheesh who is this bitch

(Catra): fineeee leave me like two though 

(Scorpia 😗): okie dokie!

She let it fall into her jacket pocket. “Well, I gotta catch that last train. Have a good night, nerd, keep me posted.” 

Entrapta gave her a salute. “Safe travels!”

“You too!” Catra waved, then hustled toward the door at the back, careful to not hit her guitar case on anything.

She made it out on the sidewalk before stopping cold.

“You too?! She's not even going anywhere, you idiot.” Catra grumbled, needing to head home faster than ever. 

. . .

Adora stood up, stretching her arms. “You mind if I use the bathroom?”

“It’s down the hall there. The door to the left.” Scorpia pointed behind Adora.

She excused herself, carefully hopping over the arm of the couch, and stopped as she reached the hallway. 

“Beware of guard cat?” Adora had found the sign, pointing at it. “That's amazing! Where is the guard cat? Where can I find it!”

“Melog! What a scamp. They should be hiding somewhere.” 

“They?”

“Melog’s pronouns are they/them.” Perfuma offered, crunching a vegetable in her chopsticks.

“Oh! Well darn, I wanna see them.” Adora pouted, before seemingly remembering the three beers she just finished drinking and rushed away into the bathroom.

“Wow, she can really put away some beers!” Scorpia reached over to grab the two empty ones from Adora’s spot on the coffee table.

Perfuma picked up the one that was on the floor, gingerly, “She sure can.”

She rose to gather the empty Chinese food takeout boxes and dirty plates that were laid out on the coffee table. Scorpia jumped to help, moving the trash into the kitchen.

As she was tossing them away into the bin beneath the sink, the tick of the clock reminded her that it was almost midnight. 

“You don’t think it’s weird that Melog disappeared like that?” Perfuma whispered, collecting the leftovers in a container. 

“Nah, that guy always vanishes, I swear, they know how to turn invisible! Catra doesn’t believe me, but darn it, I’ll prove it one day.” Scorpia pushed the trash down. 

“Yes, yes, but I’ve never seen them take a look at somebody and bolt away.” Perfuma tapped the fork on the edge of the container, trying to get food off. “It’s like … they sensed something.”

”Something?”

”Something about Adora.”

“Oh. Oh god, you don’t think Adora has bad vibes, do you? But she’s so cool!” Scorpia wrung her hands. 

“No, no!” Perfuma stroked her arm. “Trust me, I sensed her extremely good vibes when she got into the car. You and her have very similar vibrations. You’re both astrological sister signs after all, which reminds me! Did you find out her time of birth?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Nuts.” Perfuma fiddled with the beads on her wrist. “But anyway, Melog wouldn’t hide like that if she had bad vibes. They would just sit there and glare, like they did to Hordak.”

“True. That guy has massive bad vibes.”

“I know, yuck. But this feels like they’re avoiding her,” Perfuma pursed her lips, that cute furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “But actually, that would make sense! Catra and Melog do have a heightened emotional connection.”

“Cat-to-cat connection!” Scorpia said. “Uh, but what’s this got to do with Catra?”

Perfuma tilted her head.“Didn’t Bow tell you?”

“Uh.” Scorpia closed the garbage can lid.“No?”

“What?! He didn’t tell you that they think-“

The door to the bathroom opened.

Perfuma quickly snapped the Tupperware containers closed. Scorpia almost kicked over the garbage can in panic, but regained her composure without a hitch.

As Adora walked by, Scorpia popped open the fridge door, and reached in for the beer on the door’s shelf. 

“Adora! Hah! Still want one more?” 

“Yes, please.” Adora yawned, easing into a seat at the small counter. “Your roommate is really sweet to let me drink all her beer.” 

“Oh yeah, she can be a real gem when she wants to be.” Scorpia said. "She's a complex cat." 

”Yeah?“ Adora’s eyes sparkled. “What’s her name? Is she-”

”-OOPSIES!” Perfuma fumbled while stacking the Tupperware containers. “Silly me, these are a lot more slippery than I thought!”

”Oh, you guys need a hand?” Adora offered. 

“Don’t worry, we’ve got it.” Perfuma smiled, turning to put the containers in the fridge. “Thank you for sharing a meal with us!”

“Yeah, no problem! I’m glad I finally took Scorpia up on that invite. I’m really a homebody at heart, I guess.” Adora pressed into the counter, weight into her palms. “But I had fun! So thanks!”

“Never thought I’d get you out of the weight room, buddy!” Scorpia deftly opened the bottle with their Garfield-themed bottle opener and slid it to Adora. “You’re always the last to leave!”

“I like giving it my all.” Adora took the beer that was handed to her. “Even if I super regret it after.”

“No pain, no grain!" Scorpia said, "Or something like that. Huh. Sounds better when Huntara says it.”

Adora picked at the wet label on the beer. “Yeah. But I love working that hard anyway. Really empties my head, you know?” 

Perfuma nodded briskly to that. “Exercise is good for sorting out emotions.”

“Yep.”

“Especially after a stressful week!” 

“Yep.” 

“Or an event, where a lot of complex, troubling emotions have been unexpectedly brought to the surface!”

“Uh, yep?” Adora nodded, a bit confused. 

“Gotta love those endorphins, huh? Right on!” Scorpia chimed in quickly, dumping the plates in the sink. “Boy oh boy, time really flies when you’re having fun. Whenever you’re ready I’ll drive you home, Adora. And don’t forget your leftovers!” 

“Actually.” Adora rapped her fingernails on the glass bottle.“Uh, about that…can I ask a favor? My roommates are…having a ‘special night in’ and the last time I heard that through the walls, I just about died. So if it’s not too much of a bother, I was wondering if I could crash on your couch tonight?” 

She ended it with a big smile. 

Perfuma mentioned, before Scorpia got a chance to meet her, that Adora is a golden retriever, but a person.

And she was not wrong.

Scorpia felt the girlfriend in question kick her leg repeatedly without Adora seeing, but she had no time to detangle what that meant.

“Uh. Yeah! Yes. I mean, well, actually I should ask my roommate but I’m pretty sure she will be cool with it.” 

Scorpia dried her hands and whipped her phone out, trying to ignore Perfuma making a face. 

(Scorpia): Can she sleep on the couch also? hehe

(wildcat!): what why?? that bitch pass tf out from drinking all my beer?

(wildcat!): sorry. 

(wildcat!): okay it was funny?? no?? 

Scorpia almost smiled.

(Scorpia): A little! 

(wildcat!): whatever yeah she can sleepover she better not eat my leftover pupusas or I kill you and her and I’m not sorry 

(wildcat!): okay not kill but maim and I’ll be a little sorry 

(Scorpia): Yay :) 

Scorpia waved her phone in the air. “Settled! Lemme get some blankets out.” 

. . .

Catra lifted her leg up and pushed against the door, finally giving into a dark living room, lit only with the eyes of Felix the Cat and the outside hallway bulb.

Catra pushed the door shut with her butt, tossing her keys on the repurposed ash try by the door. She kicked her boots off with expert efficiency and sighed as the cold wood floor met her aching feet. 

She pushed them against the other shoes at the door and trudged her way past the couch. 

Catra eyed the bulk of the body covered by their dark blankets, feet peeking out.

Scorpia’s friend.

She realized she never even asked for her name. 

Whatever. Catra’s guitar started falling off her shoulder so she quickly waddled to her room, closing the door a bit more quietly. 

Safe. The guitar was gently propped up against the wall in the ‘music corner’ of her room, as she subconsciously dubbed it, where piles of music theory books, music composition books, blank sheet music lay well-thumbed and waiting. But they would have to wait even longer. 

She tossed her backpack over there. It would all wait. 

***

Catra moved her heavy ass laptop to her bed, wiping crumbs off of the small desk’s surface and pushing back the rest of the shit, the CD’s, the headphone cords, the hair ties, empty samples of skin care products from the mall, Cliff bar wrappers and empty Red Bull cans.

Satisfied, she got comfortable further, ripping off her socks, undoing her belt, peeling off her jacket until she stood in just her underwear and soft black ribbed tank. She scratched the back of her leg. 

The old desk chair scraped against the floor as she took her seat, just to jump out of it when she forgot to get her supplies. They sat high above on the nearby beat up dresser. 

Weed had been a long time friend; Catra’s first real job after her stint as a mall kiosk lady paired her up with the genuine, bonafied potheads you would expect to work at Staples, that slowly took her under their wing and into their hotboxes. 

Catra harbored what others thought was an out-of-character healthy fear of drugs, she knew this when she shakily held the joint between her thumb and her index and they snickered at her; but it wasn’t out-of-character at all, substance abuse had meaning to her, she had grown up around those it haunted, seen its effects firsthand, and she bore the scars well.

But God knows, 20 year-old Catra wanted badly to believe the idea that it could make her relax, ease her heart, and when THC worked, it was the first time she went to sleep the entire night without a dream.

From then on, the relationship was airtight: it took her to bed each night and made her laugh.

Who needs a girlfriend? Catra rolled her eyes, as she opened her grinder. I do, the fuck. 

How it never triggered her anxiety like it did for those who, like her, used it for its soothing effects, was beyond her. She’s owed a couple blessings, she supposed, so she never questioned it.

It evolved from habit to indulgence. Once the health of her throat became increasingly more important for her music career, the less often she smoked. 

Rolling joints, spliffs, and blunts were the type of steady methodical craftsmanship that she couldn’t help but practice and perfect. Even if her hands shook at times and the occasional mishap of dropping it on the floor, nothing was more satisfying than smoking something well-rolled after a long day. 

Catra opened her jar and inhaled the richness of its odor.

Yep. There it is.

Her continued appreciation of Scorpia’s girlfriend grew even stronger once Perfuma put her on to the best local strains, stuff that tasted sweet when you puffed it and took you out in a minute.

It was almost embarrassing how quick it knocked her on her ass that fateful night months ago, she couldn’t remember much but she woke up facedown on the kitchen counter, so chances were high that it was a fun time. Thankfully, Perfuma doesn’t believe in teasing people or else she’d never hear the end of it. 

Plus, Perfuma could be caught with it and Catra could not. It was safer this way.

Catra pulled the dark brown blunt wraps out of the package and turned on the desk lamp.

Cautiously, she thought that things were looking up. 

A knock at her door. 

Catra’s hand had just gotten into the jar. “Uh. Who is it?”

“Your bestest friend in the world. Tall handsome lady.” Scorpia was speaking directly into the crack between the door and the frame. “It’s me. Scorpia.”

“Yes, I gathered.” Catra tilted the jar so that the nuggets would fall closer to her outstretched fingers. “And?”

“Can I come in?”

Catra nodded, then remembered Scorpia couldn’t see her. “Yeah.” 

Her bestest friend in the world and tall handsome lady opened the door enough to push her head through. Green eye masks were sitting on her face, a surefire sign that Perfuma was also sleeping over. 

“Hey wildcat!” She eyed the spread on her desk, politely pointing at it. “Ah! I see the goods.” 

“It’s that kinda night, Scorp.” Catra cupped the nuggets into her hand, admiring them. “Check it out. She’s sparkling.”

“She is!” Scorpia cooed. 

“That's how you know it’s gonna be strong enough to take me to God. In a good way.” Catra placed them on the teeth of the grinder, feeling its stickiness on her fingers. 

“Is it a…India? Indigo?” 

“Indica dominant hybrid with 2:1 CBD.” Catra hummed, hearing the delightful crunch as she pushed the grinder shut and started to twist. 

“Ah yes, yes. 2:1. Delicious.” 

Catra kept twisting, turning to look fully at Scorpia. Her friend was blinking a bit too much, her hands playing with the strings on her pajama shirt. 

She leaned back, still twisting the grinder slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Scorpia said quickly. 

Catra poked her tongue between her teeth.

And she said I shouldn’t play poker, yeesh.

She pulled her legs up under her. “What, you guys want some? You know you can just ask.” 

“Oh no, no, that’s not it. Besides, you know smoking gives me those weird dreams. The one where I’m a scorpion lady.” Scorpia shuddered. “And you’re a cat lady. We have tails, you have ears. I have pincers.” 

Catra cackled, “Oh yeah, I forgot. Hah!”

“It is kinda funny, isn’t it? Hah! Ahah!” Scorpia rubbed the back of her neck. “Um. Hah. Can I ask a weird, out of the blue question?” 

Catra tapped the grinder against the desk’s edge, so that the weed would settle. Putting that aside, she ripped the filter out of the package the wraps came in, quickly rolling it.
Her eyes flicked up to Scorpia, still waiting by the door. 

Catra held the rolled filter between her lips. “How weird is this question? Is it personal? Is it going to make me sad?”

“Well, it might kill the vibe just a bit.” 

“Then do you have to?” Catra unfurled the wrap with her left and unscrewing the grinder with her right thumb. “Don’t I look so happy right now?”

“You do have a cute little gleam in your eye, oh gosh.” Scorpia turned to leave but turned back, as if held there. “But… Perfuma won’t let me go to sleep if I don’t ask. Please?” 

Perfuma issuing ultimatums? Huh. 

Catra tapped out the weed onto the wrap, careful not to misplace a crumb. She took the filter out of her mouth, feeling it roll between her fingers. 

“Hmph.” She placed the filter at the end and started to roll the blunt into shape. “Fine. What is it?”

“Okay. Um. So.” Scorpia drew herself up to her full height, clearing her throat. “You know, the girl you don’t talk about? The one in your songs?”

Her heart missed a beat. Fuck. Catra kept rolling, holding it carefully in two hands that were starting to tremble. The blunt was thick and perfectly shaped, but her mind was stunned by the question. 

Scorpia was usually perfect at respecting the silence about that particular subject, so it irked her that she would bring it up now, of all times.

But DT had pushed her to talk about it more with her friends, in order to desensitize her to the memories.

She exhaled. 

“Yeah. What about her?” 

“What…is her name?” 

“What?!” Catra sputtered, almost dropping the blunt. “W-Why?”

“Well, you… you see, um. Actually. Perfuma…” Scorpia burst out- “had a vision! About, uh, her.” 

“A vision.”

“Yes. Uh huh.” 

Catra looked at her friend, up and down. She ran her tongue against the flap of the blunt wrap, saliva gluing it shut, to the top and down again.

“You sure you two aren’t smoking anything?” Catra finally said. “You can tell me, I’ll keep a secret.”

“No! I know, it sounds wild, but I swear it’s true! Well, maybe vision is the wrong word, it was more like this… dream about a name. And we wanna know if it’s true!” Scorpia nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes. That’s it. We wanted to see if she’s really clairvoyant.” 

The whole thing reeked, but Catra was supposed to be giving people the benefit of the doubt now, so she let it slide.

She tapped the completed blunt on the face of the table, pinching the end so nothing spilled out.

A fair bit of weed was still left in the grinder, and it was looking like maybe she’d need another blunt after this conversation. 

Scorpia mistook her silence and began apologizing. “Or if it’s too much, then never mind, it’s okay, I’ll just-“

“-No, no.” Catra set her masterpiece down, putting her elbows on her crossed legs below her. “Fear of the name, like, makes the fear of the thing worse or something DT said. I’ll tell you."

"It’s Adora,” Catra muttered, it caught on her throat and she tried again, “Adora. That was her name. Well? Is your gf psychic or what?”

She jolted back when she saw Scorpia gone. 

“Scorpia? Hey! Hello?” 

Scorpia waved her off from the end of the hallway. “Huh? No, no, nah she’s not psychic. She said her name was Aimee or something, hah! So funny! Anyway, thanks for telling me! Goodnight! Bye! Got to go!” 

And so she went. 

Catra frowned. Okay. 

Benefit of the doubt aside, that was fucking weird.

She shrugged, standing to head for the balcony, lighter in one hand. 

Melog’s furry head pressed against her calf. 

“Hey bud.” Catra purred back. “You gotta stay in here, okay? You can’t smoke this with me.” 

They sat, blue eyes piercing into her. They opened their mouth and meowed, or at least tried to, their meows came out broken and growly. 

“Huh?” Catra said. “What’s wrong? Why are you meowing? You want me to let you out into the house?”

Before she could move toward her door, they vanished. She looked around. Huh. 

Maybe they can actually turn invisible. Catra mused, throwing one more look around before unlatching the sliding doors and stepping outside into the chilled air of midnight. 

It pimpled her skin, and she loved that feeling, loved how light the night skies of summer looked even if it was just light pollution. She perched herself on the edge of the worlds smallest balcony. All that fit was a scramble of succulents and a worn out seat pad to sit on.

She shifted her weight to her arm and let her feet dangle off the edge. Scorpia hated seeing her so close to the edge but she was off being weird with her girlfriend and Catra couldn’t stop sitting on ledges if she wanted to, it was a part of her. She’d never fall anyway, (except when she did). 

Surveying the emptiness of the neighboring building, the cars beneath it and the city noises to her left, she drew in air. 

What a night.

Catra placed the blunt in between her lips, and lit it, the lighter took a second to strike but eventually it did, sweet smoke filling her mouth. It stayed there until she pushed it out, watching the grey ribbons float into nothingness. 

In a few, she would be too high to sit on the ledge but until then, she closed her eyes and melted into dawning bliss. 

Chapter Text

Adora was pretty sure she was dreaming. 

Because it sounded just like she remembered. 

She floated in and out of sleep, with each sound, she jolted closer to the shores of awareness. 

Well, sound wasn’t the right word, Adora’s eyes twitched, it was more like music. 

Rather, a specific song. 

Lazily, the memory surfaced and in her limbo, Adora saw it on the back of her eyelids. 

It had to be sometime in the fall. Although, she wasn’t sure. Seasons in Whispering Woods only existed as deviations on their musty, crushing summers; fall and winter was a simply a colder summer that brought occasional warm rain and grey skies, and spring was just a summer with pollen. 

No, no, it was definitely fall, in October. Adora remembered the decorations. The army of small pumpkins Mara had hidden around the house, clumps on the staircase, in the kitchen, and even in the shower.

Another memory sprung up. Catra dared her to taste one of the little pumpkins and because Adora backs down from nothing, she did. It tasted fucking terrible. Later that day, Mara howled with laughter when she revealed, to a bug-eyed Adora, that she had bitten a piece off one of the fake pumpkins she bought. 

The memory made Adora’s lips twitch up. She exhaled.

Man, she missed her mom. 

Details trickled in, soon painting a cleaner picture of the moment, as the music continued flirting with her thinning consciousness.

This was all because Razz had fallen and broken her foot when she was foraging in the woods again. Mara was still alive in the memory, no diagnosis in sight, so Adora and Catra had to be about seven. Seven was the year when Catra was still the taller of the two, her hair grew like a mane around her little face, and the most important thing to them both was playing ‘Warrior Cats’ in the woods and eating Go-Gurts. 

A ghost of a smile appeared again on Adora, half-sunken in dreamland still. That version Catra was adorable. 

Mara worked late on the weekdays, so Razz was left to watch the two munchkins, glum at the rain that had forced them out of the backyards and the neighboring woods and into the living room. At least Spongebob was on. 

The problem was that old Razz was too trusting and loved taking naps, which proved to be a dangerous combination. 

4 pm rolled around and that was prime time for a Razz nap and the kids knew it. Apparently comforted by Adora’s puppy dog eyes and Catra's repeated sweet assurances that they would be fine, Razz left them alone, electric wheelchair left behind.

And as soon as they heard the snoring, they leapt up, pushing the couch out of the way in order to make a big space in the room’s center. 

They had been eyeing the chair, the mighty Liberty Power Chair, since Razz got it and this was their chance.

Adora wanted to drive, so she eagerly jumped up on the seat, with Catra crouching on the armrest, ogling at the controls. Learning how to make it jerk forward and back made them erupt in giggles, with Catra hissing at her (through her own laughter) to stay quiet.

Slowly, Adora took them on a steady tour around the living room, careful not to hit anything or make a noise. This was the closest they felt to piloting a mecha, so Catra supplied the robot noises. 

When Adora made an especially sharp turn and Catra almost fell off the chair, the epiphany came to them. 

Soon, the afternoon consisted of their version of a mechanical bull: having the chair do donuts at its highest speed, taking turns being the one holding on for dear life on the arm or being the one controlling the beast, all this set to music.

As if the whirring of the engine and screaming of the children wasn’t enough, Catra would hobble over the huge record player Razz had; with this they were extremely gentle, although Adora knew that Catra was so enamored with the machine and its thin vinyls that it would not be a problem. 

Kids get a very potent strain of earworm; for whatever reason, the song they would repeat over and over and over while they had their rodeo was ‘Hello Stranger’ by Barbara Lewis.

Maybe it was the striped colors on the vinyl cover or the old melody, but they played the song ragged. Adora liked bellowing the background harmonies in as deep a voice as she could muster and Catra liked trying for the high notes best as they spun and spun, the walls and the ceiling whirling. 

And when they both had enough of running over each other’s toes or being bucked off the chair, they collapsed on the floor, dizzy and weak.

They couldn't stop laughing, caution thrown to the wind with the overwhelming flood of endorphins. They definitely wouldn’t be laughing later when Mara walked into a living room full of new scuff marks and gave them the scolding of a lifetime for treating the very expensive wheelchair like a toy. 

But until then, they were giddy.

Adora could still feel the old carpet against her back, the smell of her house, of Catra's hair, the sound of rain still tapping against their windows.

Soon, their laughter eased into quiet and they fell into a strange silence that occasioned to visit them from time to time. These moments, Adora remembered vividly. The confusion in wanting to simply be with someone, that she actually really enjoyed just looking at Catra. Yet the confusion couldn't stop it, only further pull her deeper into its indescribable feeling.

And the way that Catra stared back, maybe she felt the same way.

The Catra of then was better at speaking first and she said something about not understanding the song. 

Why not? Adora blinked over wide blue eyes. 

If they love each other, Catra said, then why would they be strangers?  

And Adora could swear she was hearing the music now, the trills of harmonizing to background harmonies and notes, a softer airier voice. 

The cluttering of utensils and the suction-like smack of a fridge door crept louder, enough to flutter Adora’s eyes, the first sign that Adora was not as asleep as she thought she was.

That thought began to sharpen her vision, sleep leaving with each blink and with the clinking of whoever was in the kitchen. 

Whoever it was, they had an amazing voice. Adora pushed it away, and tried again for sleep, curling closer to the sofa. 

There it went again, quiet enough to almost miss, but undoubtedly there:

It seems so good to see you back again

How long has it been? 

Ooh, seems like a mighty long time

People sang differently when they thought nobody was listening. They’d stop halfway through a phrase, repeat it, trail off, pretend to be the guitar, or dissolve into talk-singing. The voice floating in from somewhere past her feet was similar: it would interrupt itself with shushed curses, probably from dropping a fork, and would exaggerate vibratos longer than needed. But the voice also couldn’t help but sound pretty, low and long like the hums of a bass. 

It sounded familiar even, Adora finally let her eyes open halfway, pushing the blanket out of her vision with a clumsy sleepy hand. 

Oh-uh-oh

I'm so glad you're here again

Oh-uh-oh

Dull yellow light was turning the ceiling grey. The voice must be in the kitchen, she could hear the cabinets open, the opening and reopening of containers. Something cluttered on the glass plate of the microwave, three beeps as the time was input and a buzz as it started going.

Was it Perfuma? Adora tried to hear past the steady beating of her heart, for more clues as to who was in the kitchen. Couldn’t be Scorpia, her voice was much stronger, the steps weren’t as heavy either. She could hear the way the person was light on their feet, purposeful but quick with their movements, like a dance. 

That was also strangely familiar.

Adora’s eyes opened fully, trying to see the figure, but the way Adora fell asleep made it impossible to view the kitchen fully without flipping over.

Should I flip over?  She lifted her head slowly, unpeeling her cheek from the cushion. A click interrupted the buzzing of the microwave, the door creaking open.

“Ah! Hot! Fuck!” The voice yelped, followed by a sucking noise, maybe nursing a burnt finger. 

Oh, Adora was awake now. 

That voice was not Perfuma. It was not Scorpia. The world was shrinking around Adora, now stifling under the blanket, but she had to bring it over her face again slowly. Could the universe actually be this cruel?

She should have asked Scorpia for the name of her damn roommate. 

Because it had to be her. It was Catra all the way through, she could hear the same crackly drawl of their youth hardened by the years.

Things began to make terrible sense; in hindsight, Catra was written all over the apartment.

The fridge magnet collection was undoubtedly her, the messy pile of shoes by the door, the blanket currently wrapped around Adora was similar to one of those 'cobijas' that Catra used to have at her house (but this one had a tiger on it instead of the Virgin Mary). Even the toothbrush in the bathroom was her, her, her. 

Oh no. Catra was moving closer, still humming the song. Why is she coming closer? Adora smushed her face deeper into the crack of the couch. Go away, go away, go away.  

She could hear the creak of the floor as she made her way into the living room, chewing whatever was on her plate as she moved. 

To pace in front of the couch. 

Adora thought maybe if she stopped breathing or moving she could morph into the couch. 

From what she could hear, Catra continued eating, blowing on the food and mumbling something under her breath. Was she dancing? A little bit? The floorboards squeaked like she was. 

Adora could catch the scent of weed on her clothing as she lumbered back and forth in front of the coffee table. Maybe she is so high she won’t notice?  She tried to flatten herself, too scared to move from her awkward half twist, face up position. It was too dark to see her through the blanket, she had no idea what Catra was doing.

What would happen if she found her? It was dark, but not that dark. Adora hadn’t changed enough to pretend to be anybody but herself, with longer hair maybe and a new long feathered scar on her jawbone from a wayward soccer cleat to the face in college. 

Otherwise, it was just her. There was no escaping that, no escaping this couch. Even if Catra left right now, she would have to see her at breakfast or even after, for fuck’s sake, she’s Scorpia’s roommate! She was now orbiting her social circles, she lived close enough to roam around her, or be invited to the next lunch out with Scorpia or with Glimmer or with Bow- 

Adora couldn’t hear a thing beyond the thundering of her heart, the poor thing kicking fervently against her chest at the thought of finally meeting again, and her mind hurriedly racing to trying to find something to say if the blanket did get ripped off her, if they finally met again. 

Not focusing enough on the sudden weight lowering itself to her face. 

Panic overtook her; but she didn’t have to worry about the brief fear she would be smothered by ass (ass? ass!) because the weight flew off her as soon as Adora started wriggling. 

“SHIT.”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Adora scrambled to push herself up, blanket still draped across half  her face. 

“Shit! Sorry! Scorpia’s friend! Fuck, I totally forgot you were here. Were you sleeping? Fuck, you were sleeping! Go back to sleep, go back to sleep.” 

Light that filtered through the thick living room curtains, light that from the dutifully ticking clock hanging in the kitchen made Catra nothing more than a blue, barely lit shadow of herself but it was enough to run heat through Adora like an arc of lightning. 

Proximity, finally.

Seeing her like this, her eyes hooded by smoking, concerned, half-naked and still holding a thick stack of pupusas in one hand made the waking haze of the last two weeks real, real and at eye-level.

She was no longer a mirage on a stage, or an event Adora could repress with time. What could have been a really weird footnote of her adult life, was starting to look like an entire new chapter.

It's amazing how things develop so quickly.

Catra was meant to stay a warped, fading ghost, a precautionary tale of the dangers of young love, yet she is neither and both; instead she was back, she was right here, tangible and real. 

Finally.

But didn’t ‘finally’ mean some relief? Adora’s stomach was still flipping itself into knots, so it sure didn’t feel like relief. 

“It’s okay, it’s-um-dark. Don’t worry about it.” Adora tried to speak as quickly as possible, so her voice couldn’t be recognized. 

“Ah fuck.” 

“Huh?”

“I think I spilled my fucking cortido on-what is this thing-your hoodie, I think?”

Catra must have been high, she kept trying to put her plate down but missed the table by a mile.

“That’s okay! It’ll wash out. It always has-.” Adora shut her mouth quickly. 

DUMMY.

Now was not the time to remember Catra and her big spoonfuls of that sour cabbage and vinegar slaw that always dripped into Adora’s clothes through the styrofoam container they'd come in. Pupusas were Catra's comfort food in high school.

But if Catra heard that slip, she made no mention of it. She was currently groping around the floor for the spill.

“Ugh, I can’t see shit. Hold on.” Her arm reached for the lamp next to the couch. 

“Wait!” Adora reached for it too.

But it was a second too late. 

The thing is, Adora believed she was ready for this moment.

When Catra looked at her, she knew she was wrong. 

Nothing dared to move, not even outside the window, not a dust particle in the air, nothing.

The blanket had fallen, and with it, seven years of distance quickly shrunk.

Adora could see her lost friend clearly, for the first time not at a distance, but a fingertip away.

Wow.

Maturity was very becoming of her, the roundness of her limbs and face had shifted, her eyes more defined, her jaw was sharper, that mane carefully arranged past her shoulders, each curl defined and well-loved.

In all her differences, Adora sought the pieces she remembered, the pieces that were left over from their time together on Catra’s body, maybe as further proof that it was her or as some familiar sight. And there they were, the scars on her arms, the mole on her chest, the deep grooves on her lips, the color of her eyes, the burn on her ear. 

Most of all, her energy had changed, and Adora felt that immediately.

Catra had always had a gravity about her, a fierce pressure she put out onto others, and that's what made her so polarizing of a person, as this energy often felt like a heat from a fire if she liked you and if she didn't. 

Yet that fire had also matured, toned into something much more powerful. Assurance, Adora thought to call it. Confidence. 

And yes, yes, of course she has gotten more hot. How was that even possible? Was it the thigh tattoo?  

But Catra still hadn't moved, did not make any indication that she was seeing her at all. Those eyes she knew were seeing right through Adora, beyond her.

Man, how many times had she wished she knew what Catra was thinking?

Even as her heart threatened to blast its way out of her, Adora stared back, trying to find something in there, even if it was rage, because then at least it was something she could recognize. 

Adora, perhaps better prepared to see the ghost of ex-friends past than Catra was, tried to speak first. 

“Hey.” 

Her voice sounded hollow, it crumbled when it came out, dissipating further when there was no response.

Nothing on her face. 

Adora didn't think her body could handle another minute of the silence, but she couldn't even be sure it was a minute, if not just an eternal second, like they stopped the hands of the clock when their eyes met. 

Say something, Adora pleaded, say something, god, yell at me or something. Adora would have accepted a slap if it would unfreeze them both, if it would get the ball rolling, if it would be their last physical contact. 

It would be up to her.

Catra slowly straightened up.

Adora could see the vein in Catra’s neck pulsing faster, her chest rising and falling with controlled effort.

Fear sparked in her, because it suddenly felt very familiar.  

Once again, Catra was looking down at Adora.

Once again with something in the way she stared at her. 

And once again, the blue and yellow-like hazel eyes darkened, a dark line between her eyebrows. Adora knew that look, and fear forced her mouth open.

“Catra-“

“-No.” Catra shut her eyes. “No. No. No.” 

She snatched her food from the table and left, the door slamming a few seconds later. 

Tick, tick.

Tick.

Adora could hear the clock again. A car alarm went off somewhere, yes, the world had shook itself awake, time was moving once again. 

And once again, she was alone.

Numbly, she sat up, feet on the floor. White hoodie, crumpled and forgotten, was indeed stained with the spill. 

Adora slipped her shoes on. 

She would smell like vinegar on the way home. 

Scorpia and Perfuma looked at each other. Well, Scorpia could only guess that her girlfriend was looking at her behind the sleeping mask. 

“Well. That didn’t sound good,” Scorpia said.

“Catra slammed the door.” Perfuma murmured, sleepy but still committed to the conversation. “She’s letting anger take control again. Oh dear.” 

“I couldn’t hear what they said.” Scorpia squeezed the blanket that she pulled up to her chin. “But it didn’t sound good. Oh man, why did I make up that you’re clairvoyant? That didn’t even make sense! I should have told her that Adora was outside! What is wrong with me?”

“Baby, you panicked. It happens.” Perfuma stretched a hand in the dark toward her. “But you will probably have to apologize later.”

“Gah, I know. I know," Scorpia said, taking her hand. “Man, this is gonna be so bad."

"I know."

"Like...oh my god!"

"I know!"

"What do I do?”

“Continue to be the good friend you are.” Perfuma said, thumb rubbing Scorpia’s. “Catra will need lots of help with this aftermath. Understanding. Patience.” 

Scorpia nodded. Patience and understanding were her middle and last name. She had seen Catra through a handful of episodes and dark moments, enough to know what to expect. Space, compassion, a listening ear.

Yet this was Adora, the girl in her songs.

Heavy stuff.

Scorpia’s hope was that their friendship had strengthened enough for Catra to get through this healthily and relatively intact, but she just didn’t know.

“But what are the odds, huh? I never thought I’d get to actually meet The Girl In Her Songs. And it's ADORA of all people! Wow.” Scorpia paused. “What the hell happened between them?” 

“We might find out soon.” Perfuma sighed. “It’s really all so cosmic...two lost souls finally reunited through fate. And like Pandora’s Box, it can't be undone and it can’t be avoided.”

“That's so poetic.” 

Perfuma lifted her eye mask up. “Wait, did you hear the front door close?” 

“Huh?” Scorpia sat up quickly. To her right, she saw her phone screen light up.

She leaned over to read it on her lock screen: 

(Adora 👱🏻♀️): hey something came up so I’m just gonna Uber home. thanks again! also you might wanna lock your front door I didn’t know how to. sorry! 

Scorpia sat up. “She left.” 

Perfuma remained on her back, hands now clasped across her stomach. “Hmm. I get a feeling like this might matter to Adora just as much as it does to Catra.” 

Scorpia typed a quick reply and then swung her legs over the bed. 

She sat there for a moment.

When Scorpia went to bed, everything was the same. Tomorrow was just another day, she was going to get her car washed and Catra would most likely sleep in. But that had all changed, now who knew what tomorrow would look like for her best friend. What would the rest of the week look like? The year? What would happen?

She just didn't know. 

Chapter Text

Echoes of better advice, healthy courses of actions were blown back and forgotten for the time being; tonight was going to be a fucking blur. 

It literally had to be. 

That was the point, wasn’t it? Ignore Scorpia. Ignore calls and text. Not eat. Sneaking out of the apartment, leaving her room for the first time in days, to whichever bar she could find first. 

She’s not supposed to be blowing this much money on drinks, the harsh, cheap ones, the ones that make her stomach hiss and burn, she’s not supposed to be this rude to the bartender, their patience wearing thin which each gruff, prickly, asshole response Catra snarled at them. 

Not supposed to be that guy camped on the corner of the bar, a black hole of energy that people didn’t sit next to, didn’t look at, scooted away from.

Everything she was doing, she had vowed to never do again. 

But settling into old habits felt so good, god damn it. 

Empty glass. Full glass. Empty again. Money on the counter, hand at a door. Onto the next bar.

She was static, a buzzing and writhing set of nerves that hadn’t stopped swarming since that moment. Nothing mattered, she remembered yelling at some point in the street. She was doing a lot of that tonight, it grated against her ears to yell, growl.

 It hurt.

She must have paid the tabs because nobody threw her out, not that she could really remember. 

The outside world had darkened and was whirling, finally, it was comforting: nothing to see, nobody to worry about. 

This must be why they all did it, Catra finally thought she understood the drinkers, nothing mattered when the world was this light, this inconsequential. 

“I will retire to the salton sea…” Catra mumbled, random strings of words that she couldn’t get out of her head since she started drinking, a strange melody she began to piece together. “At the age of 23…”

You drink enough and nothing matters, Catra stumbled through the streets, each step heavy and flatfooted. 

“For I’m starting to learn- burp- that I’ll never be freeeee,” Catra sang louder now, clapping like an idiot in a 1-2-3 rhythm.

Where these words and this music came from she had no idea, she wasn’t even sure it was hers, but whatever it was, she couldn’t stop, even for the people on the sidewalk.

The people that were starting to look when she started laughing. 

Because it was just so goddamn funny, no?

It was hilarious! Catra had to stop to hold onto the wall so she could laugh some more, roaring laughter. 

Adora came back! Yay!

Isn’t that what you wanted? 

Catra tried to focus her eyes, but everything wiggled, a city mirage. 

God damn, it was funny.

Even more funny, is that she never felt more close to Weaver than right now. 

Catra shook her head. Don’t open that can of worms.

That lovey bit of trauma already had it’s time in her system, seven long years of handling it enough so she could focus on other trauma now, okay, so we are not thinking about that right now.

But c’mon, she couldn’t help but feel it.

Drunk and angry. That’s inheritance.

Who needs money! 

“Fuck you and your money!” Catra sang, another nonsense thought, words to the blurry song forming in her mind. “I’m tired of your money.”  

Memories stirred up, she could hear Weaver, see her sitting by the window in her cracking leather chair, the trail of a cigarette spreading grey tendrils into the air. Sunflower seeds on the floor.

It made her tremble still, like it did back then.

Idiot child, she droned, what did you expect?

The old cigarette burn on Catra’s arm, the perfect puckered circle, tingled. 

What did she expect?

Catra kept stomping forward, head down and pulling her somewhere by momentum. 

It was her fault. It felt like it. Singing those songs, putting her soul and energy into the music, she was calling out to Adora.

Catra nodded, stepping out into a crosswalk against the honking.

That’s what it was. Calling out. 

Maybe in the threads of it, it wasn’t supposed to be, but it was; Catra sent a fishing line for Adora with each melody, each note, each show, for nothing if just as a testament of what used to be. 

Sometimes, when she was almost asleep at night, the gap between them appeared like she was standing on a cliff's edge, and Catra sent her name across, like a tether, a lifeline. 

Pointless. Stupid. Not healthy. 

But she threw it anyway across the void. 

Nights, the few ones that she allowed herself thoughts of Adora, she wondered if she could have another chance somehow, if she was different, if she wasn’t so plagued by trauma, shame, anger, loneliness; if she didn’t miss her so much, if, if, if. 

Now she’d do it correctly. 

“I could!” Catra said out loud, at the startled group of teens walking by. 

Repair it with what she had learned about herself, about how relationships worked, how to love and be loved. Sure, it’d be rough, but couldn’t it work? It could!

That’s what she justified to herself, because Adora quit being a real person each night that passed between them, instead became a stencil of a lesson learned or a chance not taken.

But this wasn’t a second chance.

Was it? 

Catra slipped, grabbing the railing, suddenly in front of her, hard.

The world again tilted, she coughed against the railing. 

Squeezing her eyes shut. 

There it was again. 

The song in her head, the nonsense words. She was an artist despite it all, music was her language, she could hear a drumroll, crashing cymbals, whining distorted strings and a shrieking guitar solo skating above the noise.

Chords gnashing out, yes, right from the belly.

Yes! She could hear it!

“And I sit on the curb!” Catra yelled, definitely not sitting on a curb. “‘Cause it’s the prettiest night! Ha ha!” 

Drunkenness brought her to the river, lost at the back end of town, past the important streets. 

Dark, dirty water dutifully churned away below, bordered by grass and crooked walkways on either side and fenced in by tall, graffitied concrete walls connected by a bridge further down to her left. 

There was not a soul. 

“No one else in sight,” she mouthed.

Catra, in her stupor, realized she had never been here before. 

Undeterred, she climbed over the railing and landed solidly on the steps that led down toward the trees, almost shattering her knees on impact but that was a problem for sober Catra.

If she wasn’t so depressed, she might have enjoyed the view.

It seemed drastically out of place for the city, like it was copied and pasted out of a countryside somewhere. It almost looked like-

Catra closed her eyes. No.

No reminiscing.

Do not think about the summer when they were kids and they found the puny reservoir of water hidden in the trails just past the city, where they one time built a raft, when they used to buy food at the gas station and bring it up there and lay a blanket out and Adora would bring her iPod and-

Hot.

Catra wriggled herself out of her jacket, desperate suddenly for more of the night air on her burning skin. It crumpled around her wrists, she let it drag on the floor.

Unwise, this was her favorite jacket, but the thought died. 

What kind of trees are these? Catra stared up, up at the under of long, wispy branches that reached far and over the walkway, covering it with shadow. 

Catra dragged her heels, letting herself go wherever gravity or movement wanted her body to go. 

Toward the thick darkness of under the bridge. 

She shouldn’t be here, but she spotted a concrete landing that jutted out into the water, and she shouldn’t be doing a lot of what she was doing. 

Cattails grew tall by the water, they waved at her softly in the air. 

She trudged toward them, stepping off the pavement into the muddy grass of the riverbank to touch them. 

“See the dark it moves.” Catra was still singing, now more like whispering, feeling the fuzz with her fingertips. 

White light from the lanterns on the bridge painted the tips of the rushing water, in the nighttime it looked so wide, yawning and ceaseless.

“With each breath of the breeze...” Catra pulled her arm out of the jacket and hung it on her shoulder, admiring the squelch of the mud under her boots, the squashed stalks of weeds. 

Second chance. 

The thought reverberated through the fog. Was it? 

Catra shook herself, no, the whole reason to be drunk was to not think. Sing, maybe. Yell. Scream. But not to think. 

That’s why she was here now, fumbling through brush and mud, she was running from her thoughts. Or just plain running away.

Again.

Dread enveloped her, her legs picking up speed as her head started spinning again, again, again. 

WHAM.

Pain erupted on her hands as she scraped them on the concrete landing. 

Her head rushed, blood pounding in her ears. She grimaced, her stinging palms ribboned with blood, dirt and rock stuck into it. Her wrists protested. She tried staring at it, but her head felt more woozy at the sight. 

“Hah,” Catra dropped her arms, clambering up the small steps onto the landing, half covered in pitch darkness.

She stood at its edge, wavering. The water looked deep as it ran past. 

Catra couldn’t think of more words to sing, but the music in her head didn’t end, now a holy mess.

She had lost the melody, her ears now full of stampeding drums and screaming amps, stormy and empty. She wished she had a guitar. She knew the chords she needed. Play it until your fingers bled. Play some more. 

Catra stared, unblinking. Maybe she hadn’t had enough to drink because she could feel each second pass her like it was an eternity.

Shame. Again. 

Hot tears started to mar her vision; she saw Adora and ran out of that room because of shame.

She knew Adora was looking for that girl who ran away from her that last summer and Catra knew, the fucking second she turned her back to run, she knew Adora had found her. 

Maybe Catra was also looking, looking in those blue eyes for the girl who walked away that summer, and wow, they did not change at all. 

Adora, it seemed, did not change at all, no amount of sinewy muscles could really mask the innocence Adora wielded like a shield. 

Adora was about to say something, wasn’t she? Somehow, that familiar concern drew those dark brows together, those pink lips split open. 

Worried about me.

Catra laughed, but it got lost somewhere in the sobs. After what she had done to her, pushing her away and disappearing, Adora was worrying about her anyway.

Tale as old as time.

Her fists balled up and she ignored the stinging, old ghosts in her memory howling about being abandoned, being betrayed and forgotten. But she already did the work of knowing that those were projections: the teeth of her insecurities and fears poking out. 

In the end, they were both runners, both abandoned. 

But she was the one who felt disposed of, cast out, despised, not wanted-

“Alright. Okay.”

Suddenly, it was like she was on stage.

“So she left!” Catra squared herself up to the river. “Yes! It was fucked up. Then I fucked it up more. She fucked it up too. We both fucked it up. I understand that now. I did my healing! Okay! But you wanna hear it, then here, motherfucking universe! I miss her!”

It echoed with the rushing water, she could feel her throat burning with the screech.

She had never done this before, rarely did she admit she missed her still, rarer still screaming into the wind but she couldn’t stop.

It came out guttural, a scream she couldn’t recreate in the booth if she wanted to. 

“I fucking miss her so bad! I miss her so much. But that’s okay! It’s over! So why bring her back? Why now? Why! Why!” 

Catra screamed, kicked and screamed until her jaw ached and then she choked, sinking into her knees. 

The song was over. Silence. 

And she wept, stuttered with the effort of breathing, pressing red bloody hands into her face because her eyes began to ache.

Everything was still spilling and spinning, descending like pure pressure into her skull, desperately she scrabbled for the edge of the platform and emptied her stomach into the river. 

Ugh. 

Coughing, throat burning with the bile, chest hurting from the ordeal, Catra collapsed onto her back, hitting her head hard. 

She could barely see out of her puffy eyes. 

She felt empty, wrung out. Disgusting. 

Screaming felt nice, though, she thought. A nice way to end the song.

Consciousness was beginning to wane, soon she would be-

Something fuzzy touched her leg.

“FUCK!”

Two blue eyes stared back at her. 

“M-Melog?” Catra sat up, squinting. “What the fuck?” 

Melog emerged from the shadows, to sit in the space between her legs. 

They stared at her. 

Catra lifted her hand to press her fingers into the top of their head. They leaned into it, purrs rumbling. 

“Melog.” Catra couldn’t resist a sniffle. “I hope you weren’t here to see all that. That was not cute.”

They stared, tail flicking. 

“Man. Man. What do I do?” Catra whispered, rubbing the short hairs on the top of his nose. “What do I do now?”

Melog’s tail settled over their paws. 

Catra let her hand drop.

Fuck, she could really feel the ache in them now, and a deep throbbing in the bones. 

Catra rubbed her eyes. 

“I don’t wanna run from this.” The words came out before she could even know what she was saying. “I’m tired. I’m sick of it.” 

She rubbed at her eyes again. 

Melog yawned. 

“Should we talk? What would I even say? What would she say? Do I even want to talk?” 

Melog’s ear twitched. 

“Scorpia would know.” Catra decided, and then snorted. “And Perfuma too. They’d know what to say.”

Those two. Her stomach felt worse at the thought of them worrying about her. She hadn’t talked to anybody since that night, locking herself in her room. Knocks went unanswered. She didn’t eat. She smelled bad. She didn’t do anything but sleep, restless, anxious, depressed sleep. How familiar.

But lonely. 

Catra was tired of being lonely. 

She reached up again to scratch at Melog’s ear. “I gotta go back. And say sorry or something. Then go to therapy. And then-“ she swallowed, “-think about what I feel for Adora.” 

Crickets, maybe scared into silence by her little performance, began to chirp. She felt breeze on her face, with it the damp smell of mud. Cars rumbled somewhere above her. 

Catra took a heavy breath.

Then scooped Melog up, they climbed onto her shoulders like they usually did.

Catra gingerly pulled her phone out of her boot (why was it there?), ignored the new cracks in the screen to start writing down lyrics. Whatever the fuck she was singing wouldn’t be a half bad song. 

Melog was still purring. 

It’d be a long drunk walk home but definitely not a lonely one.

Chapter Text

“Puta madre!” Catra flinched, jerking her hand away. 

“Come on! Only one more left. You got this.”

She groaned, her head thumping on the table. “It hurrrts.”

“Okay, I know you’re still drunk but be gentle with your head, alright? Ready?”

“No.”

Scorpia plucked out the last of the gravel in Catra’s hands.

Catra gave a muffled noise. 

“All done! All that’s left is to sanitize it.” 

“Hoooooray.” Catra moved her head so that her cheek was on the table instead. Melog slept in a ball by her leg. 

“Thanks.” She added after a minute. 

Scorpia only hummed, looking for the antiseptic in the old first aid kit she had. 

Catra chewed on her bottom lip; they haven’t talked much since she returned home bloody, drunk, and carrying Melog, but Scorpia flew to attend to her hands, washing blood off her face, her chest.

Scorpia led her to the shower, waited by the door. Catra peeled off the stained, ripped clothes, washed herself in silence. 
Her friend had left folded comfortable clothes on the sink for her to change into.

In a big sweater and boxer shorts, she sat her battered body by the table and let Scorpia tend to her. 

Catra felt undeserving of all this, but that was something she was working on. 

“I was by the river. Under the bridge.” Catra quietly said, “I fell and scraped my hands.”

Her friend nodded again, uncapping the bottle of peroxide and pressing a cotton pad to its open mouth. 

The silence was almost too much.

She knew her friend must be upset, annoyed, or worse, worried. But she wouldn’t say a thing. 

Catra could venture a guess at why; she was supposed to be the one to get the ball rolling.

Okay. Here goes. 

“Scorpia.” 

Scorpia looked up. Catra swallowed and tried not to incite pity. 

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run out like that or ignored you. I...lost control. I suck.” 

“You don’t suck,” Scorpia’s eyes instantly softened, “And I know. It’s been a…really upsetting past couple of days. I get it. And I just want you to know I’m here. For whatever. Whenever.”

“I know.” 

“And I’m sorry too.” Scorpia sighed, sitting back on her heels. “Perfuma didn’t have a psychic dream. Bow told her that he thought maybe you were the girl Adora doesn’t talk about. And I wanted to be sure. Can you forgive me?”

Ah, so it was a lie. That explains a lot . 

Catra shrugged, no energy left to be mad. 

“It’s fine. Don’t even worry. Wait.” Catra stopped. “Adora doesn’t talk about me?”

”I...That’s what it sounded like to me.”

She wanted to feel insulted but Catra didn’t talk about her either, so. Fair’s fair.

“But how does Boo know this shit?”

“Bow?” Scorpia said. “And I don’t really know. I think they’re friends. Maybe she was at your concert at Bright Moon and said something about it? You know, come to think of it, she works there sometimes.” 

“Fuck.” Catra clamped her eyes shut.

The music.

She almost forgot she was a whole musician, in a whole band, with a whole EP she was trying to put on a website that any idiot on the internet, like Adora, could see.

An EP full of songs about her. Them.

And if not the website, Adora could be at a concert. Adora could hear her singing about her in person.

Adora already might have.

Which ones did she already hear? Oh god.

A wild desire to delete all her songs and cancel all her bookings ran through her but slowly, she let it fizzle out in her blood. 

The music was about Adora. True.

But it wasn’t, not entirely.

It was hers. It was the most Catra thing she could own. Her pain was hers. Not Adora’s.

Catra needed it, even if the thought of Adora interacting with the music made her want to empty her stomach again. 

She knew she couldn't quit now. 

Scorpia looked small. “I’m still sorry, though. I could have done better!”

“Don’t even say that.” 

“Forgive me?”

”Fine. Sure.”

”Besties again?” Scorpia batted her eyelashes. 

“Besties 4 ever,” Catra recited.

“Yay!”

Scorpia pressed the pad to Catra’s palm, the clean burning of sanitation catching her by surprise. 

Catra yelped, but couldn’t help coughing out some laughs, soon joined by Scorpia. 

Through the motions, the besties fell into a quiet.

Scorpia worked on cleaning the rest of the wounds, and finished with giving her an ice pack for the bump on her head.

Catra hissed at each remedy, but otherwise remained in a lump on the floor, pressing a temple to the table again so the ice pack didn’t fall.

She didn’t even want to think about the state of her hair.   

In the pain, she fixed her eyes to Melog, still asleep. Cutie. 

Everything was still too bright and swirly but the scream sesh at the river had sobered her enough to think clearly, even if it was painful.

And it was.

She was too tired to feel shame, which was in its own way wonderful, and she was too ragged and exhausted to be anything but here, in the present now. 

Scorpia peeled apart the package for the bandage, took Catra’s hands softly in hers and carefully pressed it into her still-throbbing cuts. 

The gentle but firm handling of her injuries almost lulled her to sleep but Catra forced herself to stay awake. The conversation was not over. 

With the last bandage applied, Scorpia nudged a full glass of water into Catra’s line of vision. 

“Drink.”

She sat up, very careful not to upset the banadages and pressed the ice pack to the back of her head.

Alcohol and puking dried her up, so she gulped the water quickly. 

Finished, she slumped with her back against the couch and sank into it.

What time was it? Catra looked at their wall clock.

2 am. 

That made sense. Scorpia was still in pajamas, hands now flecked with blood: she had jumped right out of bed to help. 

Catra could only dream to be that nice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Scorpia finally said the words Catra was waiting for.  

“Like about tonight or the...whole thing?”

“Either. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“I can talk about the whole thing.” Catra quickly said, surprising them both. “But not all of it. I don’t… know how to start. There’s just so much. Can I just tell you what I’m feeling right now?”

“Of course!”

Catra threw her arms above her on the couch. She thought. 

“You know…when you get good at playing an instrument, like, you can play pretty much anything easily? Shit that used to trip you up, you can do it?”

“I get that.”

“It’s like that,” Catra continued, words coming out quickly, as fast as she could think them. “I feel like I can handle pretty much everything now, and that’s new and really good! Like with all the shit I’ve learned about myself from the therapy, the meditation, the music-“

“-the roommate-”

“-Yeah her too I guess.” Catra tried to act annoyed, but they both knew the tone of her exaggerated hostility. “But Adora-“

Man, she still struggled to even say the name.

“Adora is a piece I can’t play. The audience I can’t play in front of. It’s like I can’t make myself work like I should. You know what I mean?”

Catra’s leg started jiggling, “Like I’ve changed! I’m older. I’m better. I feel okay for the first time in my whole fucking life. But, seeing her again, I felt like I was 18 again. Like I hadn’t changed at all.” 

Tears blurred the edges of her vision and she angrily wiped them.

“I understand.” Scorpia said. “She’s like an old wound.”

“Exactly!”

”Like...she’s a reminder of your past self, so you react like you used to and not like you should...or something.”

“Yeah. Or something.” Catra pressed the flat of her fingers on her eyes, trying to stop the ache. 

“But listen. She can’t undo all the work you’ve done. You’re still the new and improved Catra.” Scorpia capped the bottle, she could hear it turning. “You’re still who you are right now. Even if your past comes back and if you slip. Because progress isn’t a what?”

“Straight line. Yeahhh I know.” Catra mumbled. “But I feel like I can’t handle it. I see her and everything comes back. I lose my head.”

She coughed, wincing at the pain in her chest from some forgotten bruise she must have gotten.

“Well, at least you don’t have to see her again. But I know that-” 

”No!” Catra jolted, a response she couldn’t help.

Scorpia raised her eyebrows. 

Catra tried again.

“T-That’s not what I mean either. I know I could never see her again if I really wanted to. Go on doing what I’m doing now. But that’s not gonna work. And... I don’t want it to.” 

“Well, what do you want?” 

The million dollar question.

Catra could look at the ceiling through the lines in her fingers. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you want to be friends with her?”

“Maybe?”

“More than friends?”

Catra’s gaze fell to meet Scorpia’s. 

Scorpia held her hands up. “I mean, I’m just asking! I know you had some feelings before.” 

Some feelings. Putting it lightly.

“I did. I did.” Catra’s hands dragged down her face, until the knuckles covered her lips.“That’s why I don’t think we can ever be friends like we used to be.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, man. I think I still feel something for her.”

Catra breathed it out; it didn’t escape her that this was the first time she said this to somebody not in the psychiatric field, the first time she didn’t disguise it in a song. 

So she whispered it into her fingers.

“We were so close, Scorp. You have no idea.”

“You grew up together, right?”

”Yeah. But. It’s not just that. Fuck, I just can’t describe it. That feeling. Like being two sides of the same coin. You know man, you hear my songs. Like...like. Fuck.”

Oh god, she couldn’t explain it. Not now at least. Too tired, too drunk. 

But when she had nobody, she had Adora. When Adora had nobody, she had Catra.

Would she even be here without her? Would either of them be?

It was an unwieldy, inescapable fact of life: Adora had her fingerprints all over Catra. 

“I see.”

”Yeah.”

”You cared about her,” Scorpia said plainly, “but she didn’t reciprocate in the way you wanted. Or needed. More than friends.” 

Catra tried to ignore her eyes prickling again with tears. It was annoying how simple the entire conflict of her childhood sounded when spoken aloud. 

But yeah, that was about it. 

“I mean fuck, I didn’t even know what I wanted fully back then, not until the end. It used to make me...so pissed. How much I wanted to be around her all the time. How much I cared about her. You know?” 

Catra scoffed, “Add that to various other traumas ...and I didn’t know how to deal.”

Catra felt her heart racing at those memories.

For as long as she could remember, Adora’s love was so god damn warm, and that concept was viscerally unfamiliar to Catra, so it startled her. The warmth felt like fire, its depth suffocating.

But she liked it. How could you hate being wanted?  

But it scared her. So she ran from it. 

It was a tortuous back and forth. Another thing Catra couldn’t do right, couldn’t do like normal people.

All she knew was that Adora made her feel.

And Catra didn’t know what to do with it, all she knew was she wanted. She wanted something.

The more she failed to figure it out, the more she raged, and the more she stayed stuck in it, like a finger trap. 

Her body burned now remembering how it only added to the endless frustration that was her lifeblood.

She took a few breaths to calm herself.

Scorpia waited.

“If I could. If I could patch it up, I want that same closeness or nothing.” Catra said quietly, searching Scorpia’s face for reproach. “Is that bad? Unhealthy?”

“Let’s not try to reason this out right away.” Scorpia crossed her legs, scooching closer. “Just feel first. Get it all out.” 

“Okay.” Catra’s mouth went dry. “Okay, what’s that thing you’re always telling me to do? Uh, be honest?”

“Yes.”

“Do I have to be honest with her?” Catra thought she might throw up again, so she sat upright. “Fuck.” 

Scorpia tapped her chin. “Well. You said you want that closeness or nothing. But you don’t want nothing? You want her around?”

“Yes.” Catra’s heart started its jack-hammering again. 

It felt wrong to say the truth, that while Adora’s return was devastating in every single way, it also couldn’t help but invite back pangs of excitement.

Catra had done a lot of work with her past. A lot of her past was bad, period.

But.

Adora was the best parts of her past despite how it ended; in each memory, her mark was there. 

Hearts have long memories, how could it not jump at the sight of her face?

But those matters of the heart were supposed to be well buried behind thick walls of cynicism and fear.

Not well buried enough, though. 

Because if she could, she would have tackled Adora to the couch. Shame be damned. 

And it shouldn’t have felt like that. Right? Seven years later? After all that time? Fuck. 

Scorpia cleared her throat. 

“So...to be clear. You want her in your life.”

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to be just friends. You want a relationship.”

“...”

“Bestie, are you going to throw up again? You look sick.”

Catra waved her off. “No, no. It’s okay. But fuck! Should I even think like this? Like this is crazy! Adora...could be straight for all I know! And-”

“Oh buddy. Buddy. No.”

“What, you know?! For sure?” 

Scorpia nodded.

Well, somehow Catra wasn’t surprised.

But hold on.
Did this mean that even back then-

Scorpia interrupted her thoughts, ”So you wanna be more than friends, even if it’s not perfect? If it’s tough? If it’s different?”

“Of course,” Catra blurted. “I just wanna try.” 

They sat in it. Catra didn’t make eye contact. 

Despite her trepidation, she couldn’t help but believe it.

Recent confirmations of sexualities definitely made it feel more possible. 

They might not be perfect, but why couldn’t it work? Catra was in the right place. Adora probably was too. Apparently, they were both gay. She was doing the fucking labor, so wasn’t this the time to enjoy its fruits? 

Scorpia carefully broke the silence, “Well, then you and her have to actually start talking.”

“How?” Catra groaned, her arms flopping against the sofa cushions. “She probably thinks I hate her.”

“I doubt it.” Scorpia yawned, stretching her neck to the right. “You just need to talk. One on one, a nice little heart-to-heart. Ask what you want to know about. Apologize. Figure it out as you go.”

Scorpia tilted to one side then the other. “Maybe you’re actually over the feelings. Maybe you’re not. But you won’t know until you talk.” 

Catra nodded weakly, the tension that had taken over since she saw Adora on this very couch was lessening some, with each word. 

That’s what was promised with being vulnerable, wasn’t it? Terrible and difficult, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel better after. 

It’s like throwing up. 

Apologizing to Adora. Retch. Be honest about why they stopped talking. Blegh.

She knew she had to. If there was anything in her that wanted Adora, she had to fucking try. 

But communication was gross.

So she thought about it both ways, something her therapist told her to do. 

Communication also meant Adora apologizing to her. Wait. Adora being honest to her, talking about what she feels. Hmm. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“But I have to say sorry for so much!” Catra’s shoulders drooped. “So much bullshit I put her through. It’s… it’s hard not to feel so ashamed. Fuck.”

“It’s okay. You’re working on it. Apologizing isn’t easy.” Scorpia agreed. “But you’re so much better at it already! You know the shame goes away! At some point.” 

Catra nodded, still, shame continued to pick at her insides. 

But admitting to making mistakes has been her recent passion project, and it has felt better. Maybe it would work?

An old fear suddenly swooped in. 

“But what if she doesn’t want me in her life? After all this? What then? I’ll look like a damn loser. I’d be back at square one, a sad fucking freak yearning over somebody who doesn’t give a shit.”

“Stop that.” Scorpia’s voice was serious. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that. You’re just scared about your feelings and that’s okay.”

Catra could feel her temper starting to get away from her, and she took ragged, deep breaths like she learned to do, to try to calm it again.

“I’m sorry. It’s okay. You’re right, I guess. I’m fucking scared.”

Catra tipped over slowly with a whine, landing on her side, cheek against the floorboards. She lost her ice pack on the couch. 

Melog could not be awoken, but the warmth by her leg was welcoming. 

“And that makes sense. But. Hear me out.” Scorpia moved to grab her but paused. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

Scorpia slowly lifted Catra so that she was sitting upright again.

She’d die before she would admit it, but the way Scorpia could pick her up and move her around like she weighed three pounds was very comforting. 

Scorpia held her shoulders, eyes sparkling. “What if Adora changed too?”

Catra rolled her eyes.“Well, duh.”

“But do you get that that means she’s not the Adora you’re keeping in your head? The 18 year old Adora? Think about it. You’re only going off what you think you know! You changed. She changed.”

Scorpia shook her softly. “It’s all different, wildcat. I know you just want to protect yourself from being hurt. But try to let yourself believe in a positive outcome. Because it’s possible. Yeah?”

Muddy waters of her inner thought processes calmed with the introduction of a new, sort of obvious possibility.

Scorpia was right?

Catra didn’t put any thought into how much Adora could have changed.

And now there was this strangled possibility that Adora-

Adora what? That she wanted her too, even back then? Was this shit just a tragic misunderstanding? Were they both just too closeted, too unready to push past the platonic? 

And was Adora ready now, like Catra was?

Hope took root quickly in her head, it made her heart beat fast enough to almost make her believe it. 

But trusty self-preservation won out, so for now, that would remain a plausibility and nothing more.

“Talk to her first,” Catra said. “I gotta talk to her first. But how? What do I say? What if I just start getting mad again or say something fucked up? What if I scare her off?” 

“You won’t. Write it out, maybe?” Scorpia picked something out of Catra’s hair. “Ask your therapist! They should have better tips. But I’ll try to help anyway I can.” She gave Catra a little squeeze. “I think I’m pretty helpful.”

“Bullshit. You’re the most helpful. And you know it,” Catra wiped her eyes again with the back of her knuckle. “I know I’m still sorta drunk and all, but seriously. Thank you. And…” She steadied herself. “If you’d like to hug me now would be the-“

Scorpia wasted no moment in scooping her up and squeezing. 

“-time.” Catra gasped. “Okay. I might throw up again, you know that right?”

The muscles currently flexed around her body relaxed but remained holding her, rocking back and forth softly.

“I’m so proud of you, Catra! You’re gonna make it through this. And you’re not alone! No matter what happens! You got me, Perfuma, even Lonnie and the rest of your music buddies are rooting for you!” 

“And Melog.” Catra brought her arms around Scorpia slowly, like her friend might not notice.

“Three cheers for Melog!” 

Melog slept through their praise. 

They embraced for a little while longer, until Catra started coughing again and Scorpia ran to get her more water and a cough drop. 

Refreshed with the water, she popped the cough drop in, sucking on the taste of honey and lemon.

All the shit she gave Entrapta for straining her voice, just to turn around and scream herself hoarse. 

Scorpia had gotten up to put the first aid kit back in its place. 

“Oh hey!” She turned back. “You know what! The weightlifting club we’re in is having a party soon. You can always talk to her there!”

“A party?” Catra narrowed her eyes. “For a heart-to-heart? I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Yeah, never mind. But you should come anyway! Those parties are really good. I know you like tall, muscular women and the club is literally full of them.” Scorpia winked as she turned the corner into her room. “Yours truly included.” 

“I’ll think about it.” Catra chose quickly to ignore the fact that even Scorpia knew her type in women and thanked God that her melanin stopped the blush from being fully visible.

“I’ll need some time to feel better. Do some reflecting. And go to therapy.” 

DT better free up some slots.

Chapter Text

Adora zipped up her bag. Cleats, ball, towel, water bottle. Wallet in her pocket.

With a quick movement, she gathered her hair up and snapped it into a ponytail. 

“Adora. We need to talk.” 

Glimmer’s voice cut in from behind Adora. 

Shoot.

Adora turned around, shouldering the bag. “Uh, right now? I’m going out to the field right now, I can catch you later.”

“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that. And before that too.” Glimmer stood in the doorway of her room. 

Her arms were crossed in front of her. 

Adora tried looking away to a spot beyond her friend, but Bow was behind Glimmer, mouth drawn in a line. 

Shoot. 

“C'mon guys,” Adora offered,”You know working out is my thing. I’m sporty! That’s me.” 

“Working out from 7 am to 10pm?” Glimmer pressed. “Avoiding us? Waking up early and returning home late so we don’t see you? Is that your thing too?”

“You don’t even come out to watch TV with us anymore. Or breakfast, or like any meals anymore.” Bow added quietly. “You don’t even say good morning. Swift Wind misses you.”

On cue, the huge white dog poked his head through Bow’s legs, panting. Blissfully unaware as usual.

“I-I’m not avoiding you guys!” Adora sputtered, heat rising to her face. “It’s just-I’m very busy lately. I’ve been at work too-“

“-Adora, don’t. Don’t lie.” Glimmer exhaled. “Huntara told me you haven’t been working at her gym this week. You haven’t been working at the club either. You can’t be working out for that long. What the fuck is going on?”

Adora bristled, “Hey, you don’t need to check up on me.”

“Yes we do! You’ve been acting so off like this whole week!” Bow stepped around Glimmer and stood himself in between them. “We’re concerned about you. Something is obviously wrong. Please. Please tell us.” 

“Nothing is wrong.” Adora lied. “I am fine.”

Glimmer laughed. It was cold. “We’ve been friends for while, Adora. We know you’re lying.” 

Adora let her bag drop to the ground. 

Silence settled in between the three people, tense and electric. 

She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think. 

Didn’t they get that? 

Unfamiliar frustration simmered in her guts, hot. Nothing was working.

Adora stared at the floor, squaring her jaw. “Okay. Honesty. Let’s try that. Why did you send me to see that concert at Bright Moon?”

Whatever power the two in front of her thought they had, was sucked out of the room in an instant.

Glimmer and Bow shared a quick glance. Swift Wind remained adorable.

Gotcha.

Bow spoke first. “That. Well. We... wanted to be sure it was her.”

Adora didn’t respond.

Glimmer tried. “Yeah, okay, that was a bad move, in hindsight. Is...that the reason? Why you’re like this?”

“That’s when it started.” Adora’s voice was dry, a throat that did not want to crack. “Next time just say, ‘hey, what’s the name of your ex-best friend?’ and we wouldn’t be here. Okay?”

“I’m sorry.” Glimmer was stepping forward, “We’re both sorry. It was shitty. And I can take full responsibility for that. But...that concert was  almost a month ago, Adora. Something else must have happened since then.” 

Suddenly, Adora felt weak. 

She wasn’t sure why. Maybe working out until almost dropping dead from over-used muscles for the past week was a bad idea.

Or the mindless walking, long strides from one end of the town to the other, then back again. Take a right and start again. Street after street. Until the sun set, and then some. 

Maybe it was all a bad idea too, she slowly lowered herself on the bed, but that’s what she did. 

Exhaustion was lovely. Nothing can exist beside it, it gets swallowed up. 

That’s why she chose to run home that night, miles and miles in the dark city, pounding the pavement like she was being chased out. There was no room to think, only worrying about breathing, slipping and falling. 

Like she could rattle the thoughts so hard, they disappear. 

And so far, it was working. Too tired to dream, too tired to worry, almost too tired to cry. No thoughts. 

“Adora.” Bow’s voice was soft. “We can back off, but just tell us you are going to actually work this out on your own, instead of what you’ve been doing.”

“I have been working this out on my own.” Adora was hollow. “No?”

“You’ve been working out like crazy.” Glimmer added, all the heat gone from her approach. “You used to do this in college, remember? And you know it doesn’t really work.” 

Adora couldn’t look up from the floor. 

“If you don’t want to talk to us right now, then that’s okay.” Bow said. “We fumbled your trust. But, Adora, please. Talk to somebody . Please. You’ll work yourself to death.”

“I know.” She repeated. “I know.” 

Adora tore her meniscus, last time she got this bad. Another time she fainted in the gym. She’s already thrown up once this week.

Her eyes closed. What could she even say, really? 

Would they like to hear how Catra took one look at her and bolted? 

No, no, no. 

Those were the only words she had for Adora, after almost a decade.

A confirmation of her greatest fear, that disgust could last longer than love. 

She was just now realizing that the words sounded like a warning. Stay back. No. 

God, Catra couldn’t even stand being in the same room as her for five minutes.  

Maybe the universe just wanted Adora to see Catra slam a door in her face one more time, like she forgot what it felt like. 

Betrayed at last by her body, Adora slumped over, head in her hands. 

“She hates me.”

Tears were fighting their way to the surface as she looked up at her friends, sniffling. “Did you know she’s friends with Scorpia?” 

They both looked away, wincing. 

“Wow.” Adora started a dry laugh, tears spilling. “Wow.” 

“Okay,” Bow sputtered, “but to be fair, I didn’t even know you knew Scorpia!”

“What he said!” Glimmer added, “But yikes, this looks bad.”

“Scorpia’s in my weightlifting club, guys.” Adora rubbed at her eyes. “Did you two liars know she was roommates with Catra too?”

They both gasped, comically in sync. 

“Yiiiikes.” Bow bit his knuckle. 

“Well, good. I might never have spoken to you guys again if you let me walk into- what was literally-an ambush!” Adora cupped her mouth at the last word for emphasis. 

“That’s right!” Bow snapped his fingers. “You had dinner with Scorpia at her apartment that Friday! We were, uh-“

“-busy.” Glimmer cut in, red on her cheeks. “But I promise, that was just a fucked up coincidence!”

“I’ll say.” Adora let her hand fall to her shoes and started pulling at the string, untying them. “I slept on their couch because you two were ‘busy’. So I’m sleeping there, for I don’t know how long, when Catra walks into the kitchen, she’s high, and starts reheating a pupusa.” 

“A pupusa!” Glimmer groaned. “Fuck, that sounds good right now.”

“What kind? De queso or-“

“Bow, how is Adora supposed to-“

“Chicharrón.” Adora answered instantly. “I could smell it.”

Adora didn't want to mention that she knew those were her favorite. 

Bow motioned for Adora to keep going. 

“I’m laying there, flipping out because I know it’s her.” Adora sniffs. “She started walking towards me and I thought she was going to her room. But, I guess, she wants to sit in the living room? And doesn’t notice I’m laying on the couch, so she goes to sit. On me.”

Bow tried his best to keep a straight face but Glimmer did not. 

“Glimmer, no! It is not funny.” Bow said. 

“It’s a little funny, honestly.” Adora pulled her shoe off. “Right on my head too. I thought I was gonna suffocate under there.”

Glimmer was rubbing her cheeks, trying to stop smiling, “So she sat on your face. It happens. What next?”

Adora felt around for the other shoe, ignoring that.

“Well, I guess she felt me moving under her, so she jumps up and starts apologizing. Which is...different? Maybe it was the weed or something, I don’t know. But anyway, in the whole mess, she spills cortido on my hoodie.” 

Adora threw a hand toward her closet where it was crumpled up somewhere. 

“She wants to help clean it, which again, is weird. So she turns on the lights.”

“Oh man.” Bow said. “And realized it was you.”

“Yep.” Adora tossed her shoes to the left. 

“What did she say?” Glimmer said, hushed. 

“She…” Adora swallowed, “said, ‘no’ like, three times and then walked out. Then I came home. That was it.” 

She ventured a glance at her two friends, who were seemingly having a conversation through the dart of their eyes. 

Envy nipped at her, like it sometimes did watching Bow and Glimmer. 

They could communicate so seamlessly, days full of moments without words. And while there may be three of them there, the two were linked deeper. A pair. 

And she missed that kind of thing. 

Bow spoke, in his warmest voice, “And you sure she hates you?”

“Uh. Duh. She left.” Adora said. “So, not a great sign.”

“But it’s the first time she’s seen you in years.” Glimmer added. “She was probably shocked as shit.”

Eh, Adora knew what she saw. 

Years may have passed but you can’t mistake a face like that, soured and darkened. 

Catra didn’t seem the type to forget, but neither was she the type to miss a chance to cuss people out. So that was weird.

But Adora decided that that was a bad sign.

It was like Catra couldn’t leave quick enough, repulsed out of the room.  Adora wasn’t even worth the breath it would take to yell at her. 

What was she expecting though? 

Something in her believed that years would loosen the knot of teenage spite, or perhaps she thought maybe Catra would simply find something more important to dislike. 

“You don’t know her like I do.” Adora said. 

Eyes to the floor still, being seen crying felt like an invitation for pity and she wasn’t sure if that would help. 

“I mean, do you even know her like you used to?” Glimmer said. “It’s been years.” 

“Maybe she changed!” Bow agreed, inching closer. “You even said she did things that were different and weird for her. Maybe that’s why.”

Adora turned away, now choosing to look at her desk leg, her bottom lip caught in between her thumb and her index.

By nature, Adora was a creature ruled by reason.  So even under the blanket of her feelings, when she was confronted by a fact, she could do nothing but chew on it. 

So yeah. It could be true.

Maybe the years had shifted Catra into somebody that was willing to listen, somebody with a desire to repair. At face value that seemed possible.

But man, she couldn’t conceptualize a different Catra. One without anger? Without bitterness? One that could forgive?

It seemed unlikely, somehow. 

A Catra willing to listen or to talk to her after what happened, seemed even more unlikely. 

She didn’t want Adora around anymore, she made that perfectly clear. 

Could that change?

Adora felt like she was asking for the sun to stop burning. 

“Why did you guys stop talking?” Glimmer said, somewhere to the right of her. 

That was the question. 

She tried not to think about it, but she tries to not do a lot of things. Adora knew the answer had many parts, some she could be certain of, others she could only assume. 

High school was ending. 

Catra applied to a few colleges, got into them easily, but never intended to go; she wanted to watch the faces of those racist ass classmates, the ones who once joked she couldn’t spell her own name, as she waved the acceptance letters around.

Adora’s old phone probably still had a video of Catra reducing the valedictorian to tears. 

“You got into Brown?!” the boy had shrieked. 

“What, like it’s hard?” Catra picked her teeth with the letter. 

Man, Adora almost peed herself watching that. 

She remembered naively thinking maybe Weaver would finally say something akin to praise, but the stormy look on Catra’s face when a teacher said ‘how proud your mom must be’ suggested otherwise. 

On the other hand, Adora had applied to a handful but only got into one, THE dream school had offered her a scholarship, but she didn’t hear back when she told them she needed more money. 

And getting money from a university seemed like getting water from a stone, so for the time being, she had nowhere to go. 

Catra was honest-to-god thrilled. That was the only time Adora really heard her make plans, concrete, realistic ones. 

They would sit in the grass, in their spot, with sloppy Chinese food from the mall, and Catra would beam with possibilities, like, literally radiate. 

It was like each day she had a new idea: we can live here, we can work there, we can see this city, go to that one, we can get a cat, you can get a dog I guess, we can buy a car, we can save up and get an even better apartment, we can have a garden, we can see the world somehow, we could get away finally, finally, finally. 

We, we, we. 

Adora would, for once, be the wary one. The world was big, and she hadn’t been past the last trees in the Whispering Woods.

But Catra didn't share in the fear. We’ll be together, she reasoned, like she was explaining how to breathe. It would work. 

Catra infected her and Adora grew to love the idea, the way it made Catra chatter on for hours, made her forget to be mad, to be sad, forget where they were and sit as close as possible, poking her hand and eventually letting them clasp together. 

Somewhere in there, she even heard mumbled plans for ‘talking to somebody about my fucked up life’. 

And Adora quickly agreed to do the same.

She even dreamed about it. A world of just them, old and comfortable. Nothing to run from or hide behind. 

A garden. A dog. 

Somewhere in there, Adora could see them sharing a bed like they used to, warm and soft. 

Their future life felt on the horizon, finally. 

And Catra, somebody who once confided in her that she never thought about living past 13, was ready to lead her there, gladly. 

But it was not to be. 

The university had accepted her request for more money, an untimely miracle. 

All the effort and the money Razz and her Mara fed into her schooling to get her out of that dingy little stain on the map, finally worked. Had Mara lived, she would have loved to see it. 

The admission packet arrived, and while there would be a tiny celebration at her home, it wouldn’t reach her heart. 

Adora could only stare at the ceiling that night. Why did she want to cry? 

Two futures. One, the future her family built for her, absolutely out of Catra’s reach, the other would be hand in hand.

And she had to choose. 

Bow and Glimmer were quiet. Adora didn’t realize she had said it all out loud, but it was too late. 

“So. I...had to go. And she didn’t take it well.” Adora finished, voice barely beyond a murmur. 

A soft hand pressed against her back, tentatively. She moved into it, that was enough to invite a larger, firmer hand on her shoulder. 

A wet nose pushed into her leg. 

Here we go.  

Adora tried her best, but with one strangled gasp she let it go. 

Bow and Glimmer could teach a master class in comforting. Or maybe Adora was easy to impress, either way, wrapped up in two sets of arms eased the tears and the sobs out of her. 

Bow, perfect Bow, shuddered too with sympathy tears. 

Adora felt bad for running snot on his shoulders but she was already feeling bad to begin with, so she just squeezed him harder, hoping that conveyed the sorry.

Swift Wind moved to sit with his back in between her legs, resting his snout on her knee. Warm. 

Glimmer anchored her down around the waist, still rubbing circles into her back. 

The three held her there. 

“Can I say something?” Glimmer broke the silence

“Yeah.”

“That fucking sucks.”

And the three laughed through the labored breathing of crying. 

“You really cared about her.” Bow asked, but it wasn’t a question really. 

Adora nodded, face still in his shoulder. 

“Did you love her? More than a friend?” Glimmer said. 

A sob died somewhere in her throat. Adora nodded without hesitation, kept nodding, pressing her face harder into his shoulder.

Of course she loved her. 

Contrary to popular belief, it was hard not to love Catra. 

The way Adora knew her, every part of her, it was as easy as sunshine. 

Where people saw a lost cause, Adora refused to; she could only see how much the world was determined to hurt her and how much Catra was determined to never be hurt again.

And the world tried its fucking best. 

If it wasn’t Weaver’s abuse, it was bullies. If it wasn’t bullies, it was being low-income. If it wasn’t being poor, it was her skin color, too dark and too proud. If it wasn’t that, it was the insecurities. The fear.

Everything and more cut into Catra. 

At times, Adora knew she absorbed too much of that pain for her, took the sting from her episodes with a strong chin, sometimes literally. They both had the scars to testify. 

Therapy said that wasn’t the best. True. She had learned that lesson.

But if she didn’t try to help, who would?

If she didn’t stay, who would? 

Years would pass until she could really understand that there was love at the bottom of it all.

When they fought, when they’d beat each other up, when she got pushed away, when they got on each other’s nerves, they knew they'd be waiting together at the bus stop the next morning anyway. 

That’s why it was always so difficult. 

And she had to choose. 

“I know it was a lifetime ago.” Adora drew back, eyes falling to the wet stains on Bow’s shirt but she couldn’t stop talking. “But, oh my god, my god, I think about it all the time. I miss her. I know she’s not perfect. I wasn’t either.” 

Adora’s breath hitched with the stuttering of the after-sobs.

“Like I know we weren’t the best for each other. I know I let her do a lot to me I shouldn’t have.” 

Bow handed her a tissue, she didn’t know where he got it from but she took it. 

Her friends held her through the noises she still had to release, the tears, the shaking. 

“She just didn’t like me in that way. Fuck.” Adora mumbled. “Ugh.”

The two winced audibly. They knew the idea well enough. What’s more queer than the sting of unrequited love? 

“Brutal,” Bow said. 

Adora blew her nose, a loud honk. 

Glimmer sat closer, once Adora lulled into soft sniffles. “Can I ask something?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure she didn’t like you back? In that way?”

“Huh?”

“You went to the concert. Didn’t you listen to the songs?”

“Yeah. So?” Adora blew her nose more. 

“What do you think the songs are about? Do they sound like someone who’s not still thinking about you? Like deeply?” Glimmer said. “C’mon, Adora.”

Adora tried to look at her friend, but her eyes were swollen. “Uh, those songs aren’t about me, Glimmer. It’s probably about some ex.”

Bow offered her another tissue, now she could see the small travel sized package he got them from.

He must carry these around. 

“Honestly, Adora? You really really really don’t think it could maybe be about you? That maybe there’s more to the story than what you think know?” 

“Well-I…” Adora short circuited, it showed in the scrunch of her eyebrows. “Well, I mean I-” 

“You’re telling us you didn’t feel anything hit close to home in the songs?” Glimmer poked her. “Nothing?”

“Nothing that felt personal?” Bow said each word carefully, like it was a puzzle. “Like weirdly relatable to what happened?”

“I-“

“Or sounded like it could have been what she was thinking when this stuff happened?” Glimmer added. 

“Or sounded like it was directly speaking to you-“

“Okay!” Adora cut them short. “Okay! Maybe. Maybe. I did… feel like some things lined up. But it’s impossible. It’s nuts.”

They both looked at her, blankly, even Swift Wind. 

“It is!” Adora thumped her fist on her knee, weakly. “It could be about anyone, but probably not me!”

“Exactly. So it could be about you!” 

“Bow!” She shook her head. “No! No way. It’s about an ex! Those songs are about love, about uh-”

“-Broken connections. Losing someone. Missing somebody. Heartbreak, intimacy. Pain! Yearning, deep and real.” Bow brought a fist to his chest. 

“Wow…you’re a whole stan, babe.” Glimmer said. 

“It’s good music, Glimmer! I can’t help it!” Bow flushed. “I listen to her stuff on her Bandee all the time!” Bow looked back and forth. “I-Is that weird to say considering the whole ex thing?” 

“No, you’re right. it’s great music. She’s great.” Adora threw her tissues at the wastebasket in the corner, making it in. 

Pride warmed her heart. Catra was good. She heard how the people cheered for her, she swore she heard someone playing it on the bus. 

Adora pushed the flush of pride away. “She has a Bandee?” 

“Yup! And it’s pretty popular.” Bow practically vibrated in his seat. “She’s releasing an EP soon, or so says her page. It’ll probably just be stuff from the concerts but who knows!” 

Catra was a recording musical artist. With fans. Adora could cry again, only this time out this strange, muffled pride. This must make Catra really happy. 

Most people liked getting recognition. But Catra loved recognition. 

That twerp used to geek out over getting on the cover of their high school’s promotional brochure.

“Like I know I’m totally there for the diversity points”, Catra had said to her, “but look at me! Front and center! And I’m cuuuuuute.”

(She was, she was).

“Wait! I started fangirling for a reason.” Bow snapped. “Oh yeah!  Think about it. The songs can be interpreted many ways. It’s about love! Friend love? Romantic? I could see it both ways.”

Adora huffed, chewing at the edge of her fingernail, feeling sandwiched between two eager faces.

All these facts were really putting a damper on her current cycle of despair.

It’s true. It’s all very true. 

“Okay. But we still can’t be sure it’s about me.”

“And we cant be sure it’s not. ” Glimmer clapped. “So it’s still a huge possibility! Admit it!”

The two eager faces were growing more eager the more Adora marinated further in the concept. 

The songs did pull at something in her, specific memories. 

Sure, a lot of music did that to her, but Bow and Glimmer had a point: it did fit. 

And there was no way to know for sure.

Adora wanted to admit it, let her friends squeal with excitement, but it weighed colossally. 

Admitting it would mean that Catra didn’t loathe her entirely, maybe, Catra held something for her beyond what Adora recognized, even if just a broken-off root of what once was. 

And maybe whatever they had, or whatever they wanted to have, it mattered to Catra too.

The admission would be the first domino to fall in a train of wishful, dangerous thinking. 

Shoot.  

Adora massaged the muscle in her jaw, it had a tendency to be stiff in these moments.

“You could always listen to her songs.” Glimmer nudged her with her shoulder. “See for yourself.”

“I don’t know.” Adora said, scratching the top of Swift Wind’s head. “When you’re looking for something, you’re gonna find it. M-Maybe it’s just my personal bias! I could just be projecting.” 

“Okay, Miss Capricorn,” Glimmer snorted.

“Well, she has a point! But both possibilities exist, though.” Bow said. “Try believing in both outcomes because from where we’re sitting, it’s equally as possible.” 

Adora let her head tilt back, letting her eyes train on the crease between the wall and the ceiling.

With a tug, she let her hair free from its tie. The long bangs resumed their position in the corner of her vision. 

“Even if, and it’s a BIG if, it is about me.” Adora heaved a sigh. “The songs could also sound like someone who’s gotten over it, moving on, done with it. So it wouldn’t matter anyway.” 

“That really only matters if you’re trying to rekindle the flame.” Glimmer leaned in further. “Are you?”

Rekindle the flame was a nice way to see it. 

She remembers the little Adora that would have set herself on fire to keep Catra warm.

But maybe that was the problem: this Adora didn’t want to be on fire anymore. 

Somehow, maybe when she was born, she learned that love was the closest thing to martyrdom someone could get to without dying. 

Giving was love. The more you loved the more you gave. 

But that’s dangerous. 

She gave so wholly, at some point, she ran out of herself, out of the things to give and the things to carry for others. 

There was always a cause bigger than her, needier than her, more deserving than her, larger than her own desires, needs, and limits. 

Until she eventually collapsed under the weight. 

The uphill battle of learning boundaries and an identity beyond service for others felt at times like trying to force a tree back into an acorn. 

But new things took root. 

The two currently coaxing her to reflect and to heal, along with some therapists and a dog, forced her to be selfish. 

That’s why this fire would be different.

The thought stuck to her; she could give so much to Catra now, in a way they both deserved, a sustainable and rewarding way. 

Nobody would be a punching bag, nobody would be a human fist. Nobody the saint nor the sinner. 

Just two people. No pain from the past, nothing to hold against each other. Understand and adjust. 

They could grow together, a pair again against the world. 

She could let herself choose Catra and be chosen in return. 

Adora took herself out of the poetic reverie. Reunion would be rocky, painful and long, with no guarantee of resolution. 

Catra might despise her. She might want nothing more to do with her. She might have healed in her own way, without the need for this resolution and Adora would have to respect that. 

So she cut herself off, as Adora didn't want these indulgent thoughts to grow into seedlings only to choke them later. 

Mindfulness. What would putting herself first look like in this situation?

“I could rekindle. I want to.” Adora said, wiping the clamminess off her palms. “But we would have to really have a talk. She’s got a…lot to explain, like I do. There’s just, um, a lot to hash out. Even if we are just trying for a friendship or an understanding. And if,” she swallowed, “it can be something more, I wouldn’t mind. If it’s right.” 

“Which one do you want?” Glimmer said. “A friendship, an understanding, or something more?”

Adora flopped onto her back, the mattress creaking. “Ughhh. I think…like in my dreams, I think I want something more. But I can live with something less, I think. I think? Ughhh. Being a lesbian is hard.” 

She stretched her arms out above her head. “Like! We don’t even know if Catra has or had any feelings for me like I had for her! I don’t even know if she’s actually gay!” 

Glimmer rolled her eyes. 

“What?”

Glimmer and Bow simply stared at her. 

“Adora, she’s a whole lesbian,” Bow said. 

Adora almost sat back up, but her core muscles were spent. “You guys think so too?”

Glimmer squinted at her, “Have you seen her? You think that’s a straight girl!? The sexy frontman of her own band who wears boots and a leather jacket?”

She wasn’t sure what made her redden faster, the sexy comment by Glimmer or the fact that she was getting more and more uncomfortable with the reality of her new situation. 

Catra was probably gay. Even back then? So was that why they always held hands when-

“What are you gonna do?” Glimmer cut into her thoughts. 

Adora laced her fingers together and pressed the back of her hands to her forehead. 

What would she do? 

Talking was the first step. Preferably a private meeting, somewhere they both felt comfortable. 

Would inviting her to her apartment be too much? What if it gave off the wrong idea? Adora burned. 

Or the right one? 

I mean, have you seen her? Glimmer had said. 

“Don’t you have like a Big Lesbians United party or something coming up next week?” Glimmer offered. “Find her there.”

“I don’t think party is the right vibe.” Bow said.

Adora kicked her leg at Bow. “Agreed. I don’t even know if I’m going to that. I guess I could ask Scorpia for her number or something.”

Bow stuck his phone into the air so Adora would see it. “Oh, I have her number.”

“Me too.” Glimmer said.

“Or we could go get ramen.” Adora sat up quickly. 

“Or we could go get ramen.” Bow stood up, offering the girls his hands. Swift Wind’s tail started wagging. 

Adora regretted taking off her shoes. 

Chapter Text

Catra felt like a tool. 

Honestly, it was her fault for letting Scorpia find out she’s amazing at baking. 

It didn’t quite fit the whole “scary badass” vibe she exuded and Catra got sick of people giving her that face every time she told them that, actually, I made those, yes actually, so she reserved her talents for a lucky few.

But Scorpia promised to bring something for this  party, and sheepishly asked if Catra would bake it for her instead. 

After all, Scorpia was a complete angel, so Catra didn’t feel like saying no.

“You’re gonna have fun!” Scorpia punched in the code at the back gate, “Woo!”

“Woo. Are you sure it’s not gonna be weird? Since I’m not in your gay weightlifting club?” 

“No way! They’re gonna love you.”

Catra grumbled, following behind. 

They stepped into a small walkway, thick bushes completely sheltering them from the streetlights and funneling them toward the sound of people and loud music bumping from speakers. 

And as she walked into the light of the backyard lanterns, the night gained a new dimension. 

Catra almost dropped the tray she was holding. 

Oh my god, she prayed her eyes weren’t visibly bugging out of her head. 

A sea of lesbians. 

She didn’t know there were even these many in the entire city, much less in one place at a time and much less this many women of color. 

Catra’s eyes gleamed. 

I have had very, very good dreams that looked like this.

Oblivious to her friend's sudden perkiness, Scorpia led her through the backyard, past the pool, the fire pit, the lawn chairs and introduced her to people gathered into loose circles. 

Social butterfly that her roommate was, everybody welcomed Catra warmly by association with nods, waves, and heavy pats on the back that almost sent her flying. 

Huntara, the owner of the gym, the house and definitely the huge ass motorcycle in the back, took her tray and exchanged it for a frosty beer.

As she ambled around, Catra secretly eyed the bulky lines of hard muscles shifting under smooth skin, under half-opened short sleeve button ups and thin shirts, the brawny swell of thigh muscles under baggy shorts and denim. The heft of their bodies, ever solid and firm. 

It was a bonafide meat factory. 

Catra took a gulp of beer. 

Everybody here could definitely use her for bicep curls, and the thought burned the bottom of her stomach and she hadn’t even taken a shot yet. 

Oh man, if this is a dream do not fucking wake up, Catra giddily gripped her beer bottle a little tighter. 

Like always, it was a matter of time before Catra moved toward the music. 

It took little to convince the butch lesbian with the thick septum piercing at the turntables to add some songs to the queue; ah, the things you can achieve in this world with a big smile and a low cut tank top. 

God, I love being pretty, she thought as she waved goodbye to the DJ. 

After fulfilling her musical duty by requesting Megan Thee Stallion, Flo Milli, Doja Cat, and other choice songs from her rap/hip hop playlist, she scurried to rejoin Scorpia. 

Partygoers seemed to enjoy the change of pace and Catra enjoyed seeing girls start dancing. 

Maybe a little too much. 

Had she not spent the past two weeks in a reflective, sober, therapeutic bubble, then the outcome of this party might have been very different, Catra thought, watching girls dance on each other in the slow changing lights of the dark patio. 

Besides, she had her stint in hookup culture already. 

But had this party happened, two years ago...

Catra let that thought trail off, not without a flash of heat in her stomach again. 

But this whole thing was different. 

First off, people knew her. 

In the first hour where she tagged behind Scorpia like a shadow, some people tapped her shoulder and asked if she was that Catra; panic must flashed in her eyes because they assured her they meant if she was the Catra who performed at Bright Moon or at the Fright Zone or even the small coffee shops around Thaymor.

Yes, she shook their hands, she was. 

And it was good to see her music find its intended audience. Lesbians. 

Soon, Catra could feel eyes on her as she milled around. 

Some people even expressed their excitement for the upcoming Crimson Waste show, the one Catra completely almost forgot about. 

She reminded herself to call another rehearsal pronto. Her EP had gotten pushed back, but that concert definitely couldn’t be cancelled, the advance paid for her extra therapy sessions. 

Another girl suggested putting on one of her songs over the speakers but Catra shot that down fast. 

Is this what being popular feels like? 

Catra thought it was kinda fun. Surprisingly, she was having fun. 

And she wasn’t the only one having a good time. 

Some of those eyes that lingered on her, maintained steady eye contact when Catra looked back at them, those eyes flicked up and down, they wanted very specific things. 

Whenever she was left alone, somebody would find a way to sidle up next to Catra and ask for her name, offer to get her another drink, ask for her sign, ask if she was dating Scorpia (nope, but she thought about it once) or offer compliments.

They would try their best to mute the desire in their approaches, but they always had their tells; one girl would tell her to measure her hand against hers, another would sit close to her, some would find a way to place a hand right on the small of her back or on the edge of her knee. 

Catra was not supposed to be having this much fun, especially at a party where she silently expected Adora to pop up in the corner like a dangerous houseplant, but it’s not her fault flirting was a game and she liked to play. 

Perfuma said it was because she was a Scorpio, and hey, Catra wouldn’t disagree with the stars. 

Catra liked flirting, and being flirted with even more, even if just to eventually disarm their attempts. 

She reflected their energy, asking for their name, what brought them to the party, aww thank you, yes I do know I’m very pretty, yes, I am that Catra. 

They liked that she was coarse and funny. They liked that she would tease them. She liked that they let her. 

Ultimately, when the game winded down and they made their interest clear, Catra would politely decline and they would bow out.

But, well, to those she liked just a bit more-

She knew how drawn they were to her mouth, so she took languid sips from the beer bottle, sometimes a little pink poking out. 

Her racerback tank was cut short so she always took a chance to stretch, letting it ride up. 

And she knew they loved her eyes, so she made sure to hold eye contact just a second too long. Peer at them. 

It wasn’t hard to pretend she was more attracted than she actually was: they were hot, man. 

Yet, the night would wear on, soon her appetite for entertaining beautiful strangers wore out and she sought the darker, emptier corners of the spacious backyard to nurse a seltzer, after assuring Scorpia she would be fine on her own. 

In her wandering, she discovered something interesting. 

At the back of Huntara’s yard, there was a bit of creative landscaping, hidden by foliage, all the way at the end of the grass. 

A downward path split into levels, steps winding down in a zig-zag that ended in an outlook at the bottom, lit by lanterns and had two large chairs suspended in a swing she could glimpse from the top. 

Huge succulents and cacti grew around them, with other large desert plants in the coarse dirt. Nature chirped and croaked beyond the skinny crooked trees that announced the end of Huntara’s property and the beginning of the nature preserve that bordered the city. This neighborhood was built into the mountain, so the light of the city and the dark of the scraggly hillside was lurking just behind them. 

Early summer still brought cold night air but Catra couldn’t feel it. 

Stars were barely poking through the light pollution of the city, but she could still spot them in the dark above, lounging behind the gray clouds still hanging there. 

Catra perched on top of one of the small rock walls that served to guide people in their descent. 

The party still pulsed behind her, some of the guests found their way to the bottom and turned back. It was secluded enough that she thought some might sneak away for some “extra festive activities” but no; either it was too secluded or nobody was feeling especially exhibitionist at this party. 

Soon the trail would go quiet, with crickets and other bugs joining in a loud chorus. 

Nobody seemed to notice Catra sprawled out on the rock wall,  seltzer can balanced on the top of her forehead. 

Where was Adora?

The light buzz of the beers and the flirting tried its best to take her mind off it, but reality won out. 

How could it not? She spent hours mentally preparing what she would say if she saw her at the party. Journaling what she could say and what she couldn’t. Practicing in the mirror. To her therapist. Practicing to Melog. Groggily practicing it with Perfuma during their last 7 am meditation session. Going over it with Scorpia in the car. 

But the object of her thoughts hadn’t even shown up. 

Which was supposed to be a relief. Catra let her leg hang off the edge. But it wasn’t. 

There were many tall, broad shouldered blondes in attendance, but not hers.

Hers. Catra rolled her eyes, yeah right. 

The only thing that was hers, was the corkscrew feeling left in her guts. 

She couldn’t wait forever. 

It was something that had to be dealt with sooner rather than later; it sat in her system like lead, like too much alcohol, and similarly, it had to get out of her one way or another. 

Could she have missed her? Maybe when she was talking to that last girl? 

She felt weird, as a thought came to mind. 

What would Adora think if she saw the flirting? 

Catra couldn’t place the feeling that idea stirred up. Guilt was in there somewhere, she didn’t know why, but imagining the shoe on the other foot-watching Adora flirt with some girls at a party- turned her stomach, so she softly understood. 

Her leg hanging off the edge started swinging. 

Scorpia seemed certain that Adora wasn’t trying to avoid her, so she took it on good faith that Adora wouldn’t hide from her if she was here. 

So she wasn’t here. End of story. 

Catra drummed her fingers on her stomach. 

Flirting with Adora would have been more fun, though. 

Scratch that, it is fun. 

It had been a while since she thought about these memories. When they hit 15, when Catra really knew what attraction felt like, she felt a compulsion to push Adora’s limits. To her, it felt like a new game to play. 

It would range from very pointed compliments, observations, dirty suggestive comments just to see what Adora’s reaction would be or how far she could go with it. 

Often, it would be a blank expression, or annoyance, or embarrassment at how loud Catra said it. 

Sometimes it would be blushing.

Catra especially liked hanging her arm around her neck, pressing her cheek right next to Adora’s until she shoved her off. Blushing. Catra never pointed it out, she didn’t know why. 

But games are played with two people. And it became clear Adora was a player. 

She would wait, catch Catra off guard, then throw her body weight on top of her and then go limp. 

In the struggle to get the big idiot off her, Adora would always  end up entirely too close to Catra’s face and then grin, that huge side-ways one that informed her that she knew exactly what she was doing. 

Sometimes, she would point out Catra’s rare moments of concern or empathy as a sign that ‘you like me or something?’ and Catra would push her dumb face away, hers burning. 

Why did we do that? Catra squeezed her eyes shut with second hand embarrassment from the memories. 

In hindsight, there was nothing subtle about it. Adora must have thought it really was a game, but the Catra of today was less sure.  

Flirting now would be different though. 

But Catra refused to really visualize what it would look like to be in a darkened rum bar downtown; to have Adora sitting close to her on barstools, knees close and lazily arranged together like interlocking links, drinks forgotten on the bar, Adora watching Catra’s lips, Catra watching hers. 

Catra would touch that new scar on Adora’s face, a ghost of a touch, asking her how she got it. Adora’s smile would be soft as she explained, probably making some remark that made them both laugh, maybe Catra would watch her laugh and how it crinkled around her eyes still and maybe she would be the first to lean in-

Crunch. 

Catra opened her blue eye. 

Someone was walking beneath her. She could hear their scuff of their shoes on the large slabs of sandstone steps.

Catra closed her eyes again, falling back into the guilty pleasure fantasy of Adora at the bar, where they were two drinks in and the band had started to play,  when she heard the voice muttering- 

“...why even come! God damn it.” 

Uh oh. 

Catra snatched the can off her forehead and propped up on her elbow, trying to spot the person below. 

Their head disappeared behind the other stone wall, but there was no mistaking it. 

“At least this time I’m not wasted. That was like, so embarrassing. It’s not my fault! They just kept giving me shots!”

Catra sat up quickly. 

It was Adora. She’s here.

Her heart quickly increased its tempo. What to do? 

She looked behind her, hearing someone announce the start of a drinking game and got many cheers back. 

She rolled her eyes. Athletes. 

Luckily, this meant solitude, she turned back to see a blazing head of blonde hair marching down the steps, solitude at least for a moment, long enough for a little chat.

Catra downed her drink. This was what she came for, wasn’t it? The moment had arrived. 

Now or never. Now or never. 

She lowered herself into the steps below, wincing at the pressure digging into still-healing palms and landing on sore legs. 

Catra made herself small, creeping behind Adora, careful to stay out of view as the blonde meandered on, kicking at the pebbles on the floor, blurting out a sentence and then going silent. 

Now or never. Now or never. 

How familiar was this?

Catra couldn’t count the amount of times she’d sneak up behind Adora when they were young, always ready to scare her. Though, she had to stop when Adora, startled, swung and almost broke her nose. She fought back a snort at the memory. 

Catra slowly padded forward, hand feeling along the wall, heart pounding a heavy rhythm. She felt hot, disjointed like a bad chord.

Now or never, now or never.

If the suffocating feeling she got in her chest moments before a concert could be multiplied by ten, that’s how Catra felt at this moment; stuck in the terrifying, endless seconds before a song begins on stage, and it’s silent, and you must break the silence with purpose. 

Purpose, each movement had to be done with purpose. 

Wind moved the leaves on the floor, a skipping scattered sound. 

Thoughts rumbled in her head, begging to be attended to, but Catra drowned them out, forcing herself steady. 

Adrenaline chimed in, and soon her trembling settled, and she rounded the last corner. 

Pause. She peeked around. 

Adora had her back to Catra. 

She was admiring the lanterns up on the small fresco painted on the wall. The swing creaked in the breeze, the small outlook was fenced in a half circle of the roughly cut rock wall. 

Adora was idly moving in circles, Catra could now see the paper plate in her hand, stacked with-

My fucking pastries. 

Catra could have slammed her head into the wall. 

Now it came to mind: high school was when she first tried making those pastries from the Cuban bakery she was so obsessed with and Adora gladly helped buy the supplies over and over again just so she could eat the first one, even if it burned her tongue. That was their ritual. 

Catra’s eyes almost rolled out of her head. I shoulda made cookies. 

Adora meandered closer to the edge, the lanterns only could light up a small distance of the rolling, spotted mountainside. Wind tossed her hair around.

Her back was turned, even when alone she stood tall, as tall as she could go, a gray shirt tucked in her carpenter pants like she always wore it.

I could stare at your back all day.

(That phrase stuck, she would have to write it down for later.) 

Now or never. 

Catra shook off panic, mind blank. 

Now or never. 

She rose to standing. Into the light now. 

Adora didn't hear her coming. Shadows dipped across the back of her shirt, Catra wondered if underneath, Adora still had those long pink scars she gave her. 

The cold, or something else, covered Catra’s skin with goosebumps.

Instinctually, she knew exactly what to say. 

“Hey Adora.” 

Adora turned around. 

And just like that, all of Catra’s practice completely abandoned her. 

Silence. 

Suddenly, Catra felt like they had become children; shy as they tried not to be obvious in taking in each other, but eyes were hungry as they flitted around each other’s grown up selves, like they were viewing the other through a glass pane in an exhibit or a warped screen, trying to understand. 

She looks the same. 

She didn’t, but she did.

Despite herself, Catra felt a rush of comfort flood her body at the sight of Adora’s face, the quirk of her nose, the eyes. 

Oh, Catra thought, I’ve missed you. 

It was like spotting her at an airport, finding her in the crowd by the door . A sense of arrival, you made it back home. Her knees felt weak. And it has been a long journey indeed. 

But Adora made no move to embrace her, welcome her back. The airport idea vanished, on the heels of reality. The familiarity that filled Catra with a warmth she hadn’t felt in years, was tainted by the apprehension coloring her features, a look of stiff formality that Catra had never been on the other side of. 

Adora was different, there was that scar, the added inches of muscle and height, the fine lines of age, but the change that hit Catra the hardest was that Adora didn’t look happy to see her. 

That face, familiar and distant, didn’t betray any anger or annoyance, in fact, she seemed barely even startled, even though Catra ambushed her once again from the shadows. It was blank, the eyes guarded. 

But if you paid attention, and Catra always did, her body told a different story; Adora had her shoulders squared, arms stiff at her sides, one hand balled into a fist.

Bracing herself. 

This was the stick in Catra’s gears, the weariness from Adora was anticipated, but what it felt like was another story. Catra felt like a plug had been pulled, and all sense was swirling down the hole. 

Behind her mask of aloofness that kicked in during times of stress, Catra desperately scrambled to think of a response. And all that practice!  

It had to be something that communicated that she came in peace. First words were important, they set the mood for the conversation, the tone of her approach, it was crucial, it-

“You’re eating those.” Catra blurted. 

Nailed it.

And not at all what Adora was expecting, by the look on her face. 

“Oh.” Adora looked at her plate, “You made these.”

It was not a question. She had remembered.

Catra shoved her hands inside her pockets. “I did.”

“They’re really good.” 

“…Thanks.” Catra found a way to force it out, it almost died on her lips. 

Expressing thanks isn't hard, why is it now? Catra could feel cold sweat starting to gather on the back of her neck, a check engine light of stress. 

Breathe, c’mon. 

Overwhelmed, she looked somewhere to the right of Adora instead, at a lone succulent growing by the floor. 

“...Yep.” Adora said. 

Tunnel vision was threatening to set in. 

Just behind her teeth was the old urge to rebuff and distance herself, something in her was yelping at the bushfire. This was not good. This was nothing she knew how to do.

Facing the music. Her body responded with a tremor. 

Old instinct wanted her to run, and right now. 

But music echoed from somewhere, an old Rihanna song, weak and muffled but enough that Catra could ground herself in reality. 

As mystical and fantastic as this reconnection could be, Catra had to bring them both down into the earth, to dirt level, before her mind fled; she had to feel less like she was encountering a specter in the night and more like she was talking to another human being. 

History or not, Adora was just another person. 

The person in question was getting more uncomfortable with the silence and the staring, 

Adora was still too polite to just leave, wriggling in her spot, eyes searching.

Talk. Talk.

“Okay.” Catra pushed it out like a cough. She took her fists out of her pockets. “I...wanna talk. With you.” 

Adora said nothing. 

“Okay?” Catra ended, scanning Adora’s face intently. 

Nailed it.

You could always tell Adora by the shoulders, that much hadn’t changed. Once Catra saw them start to lower, she felt the clammy grip of anxiety around her lungs relax. 

Adora nodded. “We can talk.”

“But not, like, about all of it.” Catra quickly said.

“No, yeah yeah. Makes sense.”

“Not here.”

“No, nope.”

“I don’t want people hearing this shit.”

“Yeah, exactly. This is private stuff.”

“It’s embarrassing.” Catra said. 

“It’s heavy.” 

They nodded, one looking this way, another that way. 

Silence. 

“Speaking of embarrassing,” Catra tapped the heel of her boot into the floor, “On Friday. Um. I’m… sorry. About your hoodie. And then also sorry for running out. It was just a lot for me, so. Sorry.”

Catra could actually hear Adora deflate, sure that her friend could count on one hand (and Catra could too) the times she apologized to Adora and meant it. 

Those blue eyes were getting their sparkle back now, she could hear the ‘awww’ Adora must be dying to say-

“It’s not a big deal!” Catra barked. “I say sorry now! It’s a thing!”

Nailed it. 

Adora was pushing a half-eaten pastry around on the plate. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly? I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me ever again after that.”

“Yeah.” Catra let her fist uncurl. 

“So.” Adora took a chomp from the pastry. “This is going great already, I think!” 

Was it fucked up to laugh? 

Catra walked into this like Adora would toss her off the outlook as soon as she saw her, but there she was, continuing to eat, already getting more comfortable. 

Wow. 

“I think so too,” Catra said, feeling brave. “I haven’t fucked up yet?”

“Nope. Have I?” 

“Nah.” 

“And they say communication is hard.” Adora said through a mouthful of pastry. “Maybe we’re just that good.”

“Well, I better be good. I didn’t do all that therapy just for funsies.” 

Catra felt her heart stop at that misstep. 

Mentioning therapy felt dangerous, more dangerous than the safe, self-effacing banter currently going on. It was real, begging for deeper questions she wasn’t ready to answer. 

But Adora laughed.

Just one loud ring that startled Catra, because she thought she’d never hear it again. 

Wow.

“You too?”

Ya think?

Adora read her face perfectly. 

“And it helped?”

She could hear the layers behind that question. 

Now it was confirmed; they were both feeling for each other, groping in the dark, trying to gauge each other at a distance. 

Adora asked if it helped. She was asking if she felt better, was better. 

“Yes.” Catra was careful with her words. “Turns out, I had a lot to talk about.”

She threw a line back. 

Now, Adora would have to decipher what she meant; Look at me. I am aware of myself. I can admit that. 

“That’s great.” Adora held the plate with both hands, her posture softened already so much, those big baby blues shining in the lantern light. 

“Did...it help you?” Catra said.

“Yes. A lot.”

“That’s really good.” Catra mumbled, unsure where to put her hands so she settled for crossing her arms, stuffing them close to her body. 

Every word felt like it had the potential to bring the whole world crashing down around her ears. 

There was a desperate need to discern what to hold on for later and what to blurt out, but I can’t even believe we’re fucking talking right now, so it was impossible to figure out.

Catra, as much as the past wanted her to stay silent, wanted to say so much, admit to so much, apologize for so much, but how to start?

How to do it without letting it go out of control? Catra felt controlled now, but she was riding on a bucking horse here, one bump away from launching into orbit. 

But man, it was so easy. 

Adora, earthy, pure-hearted thing, slid right into Catra’s airy, abrasive ways, clicking together just so easily still, even in the small gangly first interactions, it was so easy. 

But it felt so-

“Weird. This is really weird, right?” Adora was the one who said it. 

“Yes!” Catra let out a breath. “Okay! This is really fucking weird!” 

Adora wiped her forehead in a grand gesture. “Oh god. So it’s not just me.”

“It’s not!”

“This is bananas.”

“Extremely bananas” Catra leaned on the wall. 

“Like...” Adora tried to mirror Catra, but her rock wall was much smaller so instead she sat awkwardly. “It’s... you!” 

“It’s me?” Catra parroted. “It’s you!”

“You grew up!” Adora pointed an accusing finger. 

“You did too!” Catra pointed back.

Adora pointed to her eyebrow. “I see you got the piercing.”

Catra smiled, the motion came easier than she thought it would, “Yeah. I see you lost the ponytail. Fucking finally.” 

Adora shook her head, dog-like, the long blonde strands flopping with the motion. “For a while now. I like it.”

“It makes you look older. You look old.” Catra repeated, this time it was more of a realization. 

“We got old.” Adora chewed thoughtfully. 

She pointed a pinky to Catra. “You changed your hair too.”

Catra fought the sudden urge to daintily play with a strand of hair and instead, stuck her tongue out. “Nah, I’m just actually taking care of it now. Deep conditioning. Oils. Special brushes. YouTube tutorials. Shit like that.”

Adora smiled. 

Wow, another one! Catra’s breath stuck in her throat. 

“Well I think it’s awesome,” Adora licked crumbs from the side of her lips. “Plus, it looks great on stage.” 

Catra, too focused on the peek of tongue flicking out of Adora’s mouth, nodded along. 

But when Adora’s words finally registered, she could hear a record scratch. 

Oh right. 

Her music.  

Stomach lurching, Catra turned away, suddenly enamored with the cactus plant behind the wall. 

“You went? Where? Bright Moon?” 

“Yeah.” Adora‘s voice was softer. 

“…And?”

“And it was so cool! It was…just wow. Your voice got better.” 

God. Evidently, Adora remembered the singing, or rather, the yowling Catra used to do whenever music particularly moved her as a kid. 

Adora never teased her too hard about her voice, especially because music had always been sacred to Catra, and Adora knew that. 

And Catra wanted more than to just listen to it, she wanted to bend it to her will, play it out of her, so she sang all the time, ached after instruments she couldn’t have. 

And Adora knew that. 

Her first guitar was a gift from Adora, after all. 

“I know. I’m pretty good.” Catra looked up, at an even further away cactus, forcing herself to breathe, breaaathe.

“You’re like...a musician musician.” 

Was that…pride?

 Adora was proud? Of her?

Catra cleared her throat loudly to mask the sudden strangled sound that came out of it. “Yup. That’s me. Miss Musician.”

A lull. 

Catra felt like she should turn around, but there was no knowing what expression was on Adora’s face. The shadows from the trees darkening her face, offered her a respite, however brief. 

“You wrote all those songs?”

Oof. Catra’s face scrunched up, like she had been pricked by a needle.

 Is this it? Would this start to go south? 

Guilt, panic, fear flooded her. If there was one person who could see right through her songs, it would be Adora. 

Catra could lie, but couldn’t. She was tired of lying to Adora. 

If she asked who the songs were about, she’d have to be honest. 

She steeled herself, took a breath. 

“I did. I wrote them all.”

“That’s amazing.” Adora said earnestly, “I didn’t know you could write songs.”

At the warmth in her tone, Catra deflated, relieved. Okay. It seemed okay.

“Yeah, well. Thank you,” Catra said, this time it came out easy. 

“Wow. It’s just…wow, man,” Adora said, “You actually did it.” 

Something about the insertion of “actually” almost earned a sharp retort. 

But Catra chose to interpret it as Adora’s commenting on Catra succeeding against all odds, instead of Adora expressing complete shock that Catra could actually amount to something. 

Not projecting. Not projecting. 

“I did, huh.” Catra turned toward her, not enough that she was facing her, but enough that Catra could now see Adora. 

The blonde was sitting on the rock wall, fiddling with the edges of the now empty paper plate. 

A breeze wound its way through the outlook, tossing up the few leaves on the ground. 

No new steps coming down the path. 

Above, the party surged on. Below, it was just them.

Quiet settled over them, somehow it never felt long or unsettling, just a pause. Processing.

“That’s great.” Adora started. “I-Well, I mean, not that you need me to tell you that but like, it’s great. I’m glad it all worked out.”

Broad statement. Catra wondered what she was referring to. 

For the first time, she realized Adora looked nervous. 

Why?

Catra mentally ran through a list of things still hanging between them. 

First, she needed Adora to know she didn’t hate her. She was willing to talk. To be civil and grown up. To figure shit out. 

Mature enough to address the elephant in the room.

Catra let her crossed arms relax, until she was holding her wrists in front of her. “Yeah. Well. Seven years is a long time, Adora.”

Silence, again. 

Catra looked past Adora, looked out into the hills, like she was seeing anything but darkness. 

Adora knew her too well, even now, and it scared Catra to be seen clearly again, peered into right to the bones. So she refused to look at her. 

“It is,” Adora said, sounding tired. 

“Too long.” Catra swallowed, like she could push her heart back out of her throat. “And yknow. I don’t...like it. And I don’t want more. Years. Between us. I mean.”

How she managed without cracking was really beyond her. 

Did Adora understand what she was saying? She couldn’t be sure. But it was out now. 

All she heard was wind, distant music. Blood in her ears.

“Me either.” 

Catra’s knees almost gave out.

Oh thank god.

“Cool,” Catra turned to her more fully, “Nice. So. We gotta talk about it. Like about what happened.” 

Adora was folding the paper plate, eyes on the floor between her shoes. 

“Do we gotta?” Adora whined, but Catra caught the mirth on the edge of her eyes. 

“I really would love not to, like really. Like really.” Catra said. “But apparently things don’t go away when you ignore them.”

“Whaaaat?” Adora made that voice that almost made Catra start smiling again, despite the conversation. 

“And this is-“

“-This is coming from me, yeah.” 

Adora chuckled, one of those breathy short ones. 

“Are you sure we can’t just talk about nothing forever?”

“We could try.” Catra rolled up to her tiptoes and back to her heels. “But I’ll run out of funny things to say.”

“I’d laugh anyway.”

“That makes you an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

Catra’s phone buzzed in her pants pocket, something to take her mind off the current blonde beaming at her and the rush of blood to Catra’s face. 

One quick look confirmed it was Scorpia letting her know that she was ready to leave whenever Catra was. 

Woops. 

Catra forgot to even mention she had found Adora so she took this as a perfect cosmic sign to wrap it up, leave before it got too difficult to not say something drastic. 

And she would definitely need to reassess what came next. 

“Okay. I’m gonna go.” Catra announced. 

Adora shot up. “Huh?”

“Relax. Not for forever.”

Adora didn’t even try to hide her relief. 

Catra shakily opened up her contacts and held her phone out toward Adora. “We still gotta talk about it. So. Let’s.”

During this conversation, they both kept a healthy distance away. 

But in holding the phone out, Adora broke the distance between them with a large step and gently took the phone by the opposite end. 

Catra let go quickly, eyes on the floor, hot with the realization that she now had to lift her head more upwards to look at Adora’s face. 

Adora’s fingers made quick taps on her phone and it was held back out to her. 

Catra stuffed it in her pocket without looking. 

“How do we- or, like,- when or where do we do this?” Adora said. 

“We’ll figure it out. We can meet at my apartment, maybe.” Catra couldn’t resist a jab. “Since you already know where it is.” 

“That works.” Adora put her hands behind her back sheepishly. “Sorry again, for that whole thing.”

“It’s okay.” Catra could get used to being apologized to. 

“I probably killed your high.”

“Absolutely murdered it.” 

“But the pupusas looked good!”

“They were very yummy.” 

Catra was moving for the path, opened her mouth for some kind of goodbye-

“Catra, I don’t blame you.” 

Hmm. 

Yep. She still never got over how it sounded when Adora called her name.

Adora rambled on, red on her face. “I mean like, uh, for bolting! On Friday. So...don’t worry about that. I probably would have jumped out the window if I were you.”

“You know, I thought about it.” Catra started moving again for the path, quicker, because everything felt like it was closing in.

She looked back, eyes finding Adora’s.  “But you can’t run from everything, I guess.”

“I guess.” Adora started waving, then put her arm down, but then brought it back up. “Then, uh, see you later?” 

You’re so awkward. Catra didn’t realize she had started grinning. 

“Bet.” She called out as she darted back into the shadows. “Your ass better be ready to cry!”

“I’m always ready to cry!”

Chapter Text

Shhhhh.

The last cymbal rattled and died out in the air, with the trailing zing of the last keyboard chord. 

A beat of silence, and then the musicians began to stir, stretching and shaking off the focus. 

Catra cleared her throat, bent past the mic to pick up the water bottle on the chair. 

“Okay. I’ll bite,” Lonnie said, leaning back on her stool.

“Ooh, let me buy you dinner first.”

Lonnie was unmoved. “So why’s it called ‘Me and My Husband’?” 

“It’s the chorus. Don’t start hating, I'm not that creative.”

“But…you’re gay.”

Catra heaved a sigh and turned around, leaning on the mic stand, “Well. This song was actually my way of coming out as straight. I’m sorry Lonnie, I know you wanted to fuck me so bad.” 

“Wow, you are so funny,” Lonnie deadpanned, “Seriously though, what's up with that?”

“Kyle!”

Kyle popped out behind the curtain:

“The song explores the desire to rely on someone and to feel a sense of belonging, through an imagined performance of being in a heterosexual relationship. And because of Catra’s lesbianism, it becomes ironic and further emphasizes the need for literally anything to rely upon, even the thing she rejected in accepting her identity.” 

“Thank you, Kyle.”

“Also, the he/him pronoun and ‘husband’ doesn’t necessarily connote a heterosexual relationship—but either way, the meaning stands.” 

“Thank you, Kyle,” Catra said again, into the mic. 

“Aw, don’t mention-WOAH!” 

There was a sound of crashing— the poor fool must have fallen off the stage, again.

Yawning, Lonnie stretched her arms into the sky. “Okay, sure. Sorta contrived. You think people will get that?” 

“Eh. Who knows, who cares,” Catra took off her guitar, putting it on the stand beside her on stage. “But dry those tears, baby. I’m still, in fact, completely gay.” 

“I’m sobbing and shaking with joy,” the drummer said, “Someone get me a tissue.”

Catra blew her a kiss. It was swatted away. 

Man, she was spending a lot of time with these jokers recently. 

Turns out, music production was serious business. Working at the studio on her days off was grueling work; it took heavy brain power and patience to guide the music in the direction she imagined, brainstorming with each member, doing a million takes, scrapping it, and trying something new, all while Entrapta would chime in with another great, but time consuming idea.

All this and Catra had to deal with new offers for small concert gigs. And go to her day job. 

But finally, it was done. The band had managed to record the songs Catra had planned for. Entrapta finished the mixing. 

Tomorrow, her very first EP will be released into the world.

“Okay! Quick thoughts. Lonnie,” Catra pointed at her with the sheet music, “Nice fill at the beginning, that rocks. Rogelio, again, thank you for the changes, writing bass parts is still not my strong suit.” 

Rogelio gave a thumbs up, scribbling on his music. 

“And ‘Trapta?”

“Woohoo!” Entrapta called, behind a rustle of the dark curtain. 

“I’m fucking loving the squiggly synth. You were right with the trumpets too, draw it out just like that.” 

“Stank you very much!” 

Catra squinted at that, and then shook her head. 

“Anyway gays, nice job. Let’s do ‘Blue Light’ one more time and then we’re outta here.”

The band reassembled itself slowly: Lonnie, grumbling, rifled through her bag for different sticks, Rogelio bent to mess with his amp, Kyle running to hand Catra her electric guitar. 

Papers were shuffled against the metal music stands. Errant sounds hummed from the speakers.

Beyond their activity, their beloved bar slumbered; the grit of the nighttime clientele had vanished in the daytime, left now harmless and docile. A gleaming bar counter, mopped floors, the smell of Lysol, and steady beams of the early afternoon coming soft through the small window in the front door painted a picture of peace, if just until nightfall. 

Catra bent her head through the guitar strap, adjusting it. Her shoulder ached against the weight of yet another guitar, but she rolled it, pushing the tired feeling back for one more song. 

As she was well aware, the world stops for nobody. 

It was the only reason she hadn’t met up with Adora yet. 

Accommodating each other into their unruly schedules was proving to be a disappointing tennis match; one prior commitment parried another. Texts back and forth, one would offer a date, the other would apologize because:

Catra had a concert that day or a rehearsal or a recording session, sorry! 

Adora was practicing with her soccer rec league team at this time, then at the weightlifting gym the other, sorry. 

Adora was working on these days, Catra worked on those days.

Adora was helping Bow with a project for his Master’s that night. The other night Catra was helping Scorpia help Perfuma by babysitting her niece, Frosta (even though the teen was icy cold toward her). 

One Friday almost worked, but then Adora remembered she promised to take Glimmer to get a deep tissue massage and Catra feared what would happen to them both if that overworked club manager didn’t get her self-care. 

Finally, after enough rescheduling to make a lesser lesbian quit the whole thing altogether, they set aside a Saturday a month in advance to have it out. 

And that would be this next weekend. 

“We ready?” Catra’s voice rang through the empty Fright Zone. 

Three choruses of affirming noise sounded off behind her, Entrapta poking a series of notes on her keyboard off stage as a response. 

“Okay, here we go, I’m Catra and I’m here to make you think about being sad and stuff blah blah blah, hit it Lonnie!”

Three jaunty quick strums rolled out of her guitar and Catra took a breath, top lip grazing the microphone: 

Somebody kiiiss me-

More than a month had passed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the party.

Stuck on how it felt as she walked away from Adora, trembling, tension released. 

Booked it up the steps the second she was sure Adora couldn’t see her. The frenetic hunting for Scorpia amongst the once familiar crowd, now just nameless, boring faces. 

It took her the whole car ride home to get each piece of the interaction out, with Catra pausing for outbursts of screeching and slapping the dashboard with every ‘ And THEN Adora said-’. 

And they made it home, sat in the parking garage, Catra’s seat reclined all the way back as she fought to catch her breath, wheezy laughs still being coughed out. 

‘How are you feeling?’ Scorpia had asked. 

Catra smiled as she sang:

I'm going crazy—

Catra didn’t know what to do with herself. 

The emotional come down felt like old fashioned cynicism, it sat in the stomach like caffeine, a disquieting, unruly energy; maybe she had been dreaming for too long, the morning should have kicked in by now. 

Could this work out? Could Adora want her back in her life? The way it felt so easy and nice, was that real?  

It felt like she was going off-script, glitching through a video game level, seeing something she wasn’t meant to see. 

‘Sounds like a serious case of doubt to me, wildcat’, Scorpia had said, as she carried Catra out of the car (at Catra’s request because she was too busy thinking to walk). 

Yeah, probably. 

Ah, she liked the way this note swelled in her throat:

I'm walking 'round the house naked—

Never in her short life, had Catra stood so conscious at a crossroads, feeling its power at her feet. 

This was a second chance.

They had smiled at each other, joked, talked without something horrible happening. Adora was willing to hear her out, readily agreeing to see her again. 

This was happening. 

What had haunted her entire life, could begin to heal if she did this right. 

Catra would not let this chance get away. 

With the help of her therapist, Scorpia, Perfuma, and a couple joints, she began to plan.

They would meet in her apartment. Catra will lead her to the couch and Catra will stand in front of her because she will be too nervous to sit. 

Then, she will apologize. First, for disappearing for seven years. Second, for being shitty overall. Third, for hurting her. Then, she’ll offer Adora a chance to talk. Then Adora will say what she has to say and Catra will not yell or deflect, simply listen. 

And they would begin to understand each other, begin to heal the hurt. 

And then the sky will open up, angels will descend and bless their reunion.

Silver in the night—

Okay, a bit idealized. But hope had found its way to Catra. 

The darker visions of what could happen, the sadder, bleaker outcomes came to mind, but they didn’t cloud her thoughts as much as they used to.  

In the bar, the echoes kicked in. Catra sang the soft vocalizations, doo-ooo, as the sounds her band created grew more and more layered, complex. 

Their short encounter at the party made one thing clear: Adora pulled at her, even now.

But Catra knew the order of operations. 

If they made it out of their heart-to-heart, souls bared and bones laid to rest, then she’d figure out what to do about those feelings she still harbored. The letter B comes after A.

Ah, but her heart knew nothing of order. 

It made her warm thinking about Adora, it wedged Adora’s face into her dreams. 

Her heart craved that intimacy of the past, wanting to rush back into everything with a full head of steam. It egged her to throw all this maturity and careful bullshit away and make up for lost time, be it quick and messy, but now. 

Despite the best efforts of her heart, Catra wouldn’t lose this chance, not again. 

Oh, she’d have to tell Entrapta she loved the reverb on her voice right now, vast and rolling, yes, this is exactly what she wanted; the song was to be an idling daydream, reverberating and growing unstable in the spaces between the ripples, growing vacuous, growing louder:

Out there I'm a sharp knife

Are you that blue light?

It had to feel exactly how she felt after the party, when she wrote this song. The seven year long spell had been broken. Mind and thumbs possessed by an inability to sleep, the words and the concept couldn’t wait until morning so they flooded her Notes app. 

Are you that blue light?

Even though she lay there in the dark, like she had her whole life, instead of that haunting vision of an old terrible memory stuck on a loop, a new one stood in its place. 

Adora on one side, her on another. Adora against a dark mountain, eyes bright. 

Are you that blue light?

And in this new vision, Adora smiled, held her hand out for her.

Are you that blue light? 

And despite herself, despite the visceral fear it brought, Catra fell asleep with the feeling of Adora’s hand in hers. 

Are you that blue-okay, wait-

“-wait, WAIT! Hold on!” Catra waved her hands, signaling to stop the music behind her with a screech, unfinished beats, wrong notes. 

Her phone in her shorts had not stopped vibrating since the song started. 

“Phone call, phone call, sorry.” Catra said into the mic. 

“WACK. I’m getting water.” Lonnie disappeared with a swish of the curtain. Rogelio shrugged, plucking a lazy walking bassline. 

Catra wrenched the buzzing phone out of her pocket, grumbling. 

She almost dropped it. 

Adora! the screen displayed in big white font. 

“T-Ten minute break!” Catra pulled her guitar off quickly, pushing it on Kyle, who had appeared at her side. 

“Five bucks it’s her girlfriend.” Lonnie said, from distant offstage. 

Catra jumped off the stage, moving fast. Terrible scenarios instantly tried to root themselves in.

Why was Adora calling? Why so many times? 

They talked, true, but their text conversations held an air of sanitized formality in the exchanges, enough to convey friendliness, but not enough to overstep any prickly boundaries still hovering in place between them. 

So why this? 

The buzzing phone clamped in her hands, Catra weaved by the empty tables, the flipped up chairs, and pushed her shoulder through the heavy front doors. 

Afternoon light blinded her, but she blinked it away. 

Looking down, her cracked screen still read Adora! in white letters. 

Hesitant for a moment.

But her desire to speak to Adora, and her curiosity, was too strong. 

Catra swiped right.

“Uh, yeah?” she said, voice shaky. 

“Hey! Um, it’s me. Adora.”

”…Yes, I know that. What’s up?” Catra looked around, heart racing at the sound of her voice, “Is this about next week? Because we-”

“-Oh, no! It’s not. Does it have to be?” Adora suddenly sounded worried, “Am I only supposed to call you if it’s about the thing next week? Shoot, I didn’t know there was like, rules—“

“—No, no, there’s… no rules.” Catra grimaced, god, this is awkward.

“Oh okay! Cool! Is it…Are you busy? Is this a bad time?” 

“It’s a good time.” 

“Because I’ll go! If it’s too weird for you, or if you don’t wanna talk right now, like-“

Catra couldn’t place why Adora was talking in circles and it was starting to grate on her nerves, against her best intentions.

“No, it's-"

“-Like I get it, I probably should have just texted, I know it might be-“

“Adora!” 

Fuck, she didn’t mean to shout. 

She took a breath and tried again. “…Sorry. Dude, you called for a reason, right? Just tell me what it is.” 

Catra strained to decipher anything in the crackly empty silence of the call. Anything beyond the adrenaline pumping blood in her ears. 

So far, every interaction with Adora was breaking new ground between them: she’d never apologized for yelling, never used this tone with Adora before, this calm and direct. 

It’s weird not being mean to her, Catra realized. She wasn't sure what to do about that.

“Okay. Okay.” Adora’s voice was hushed, “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Trouble?

Catra‘s heart threatened to beat out her chest, “Like what?”

“So like, in your opinion, how much weed edible is too much?”

This was not off to a good start. 

Catra paused. “That…depends. Do you… take edibles often? What’s your usual dosage?”

“Uh, not often. Like rarely.” She could hear music in the background of the call. “So I think usually I do ten millimeters. Milligrams. MGs, as they say.”

“Do you get really high with 10 or just a little bit?” 

“Pretty damn high.” 

Off ten measly milligrams? Sheesh, Catra wanted to scoff, but reserved her unhelpful judgment.

“Okay then, what did you take now?”

“Oh, yknow.”

“Adora.”

“Like I don’t know. 150 mgs, 200 mgs give or take.” 

“WHAT?!” Catra’s yelp startled two women that were walking by. 

Weakly chuckling, she waved at them apologetically. 

“I’m gonna die!” Adora wailed.

“Um.” Catra looked around, hand on her forehead. Tact was not her forte. “No. You won’t die. You’ll just be really fucking high. How the fuck did—Where are your friends?”

Catra grit her teeth, holding down the flash of irritation she felt. Concern appeared, a protective instinct seeping out.

Someone’s supposed to be taking care of Adora! If it’s not her, then her new, useless friends!

Okay, okay, calm down, Catra blew a deep breath out her mouth and leaned against the wall, fighting to relax. 

“My friends? Well Glimmer and Bow, they’re out of town at this conference for Bow’s Master’s program,” Adora replied.

Catra could hear voices and the slam of doors through the phone. 

“Any other friends? Where are you? Can anybody at all help you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t-” Adora sounded distant and there was the sound of bangs. “Sorry, occupied! Occupied!”

Catra bit her lip hard. “Are you in a bathroom stall?” 

You can’t laugh! You can’t!

“Yes! Do not laugh.”

“I’m not.” She was grinning, though, “Okay, where are you? Why the fuck did you eat so many edibles?”

Adora must have been close to the mic because she could hear each breath, crackly in the speakers, “Bow and Glimmer got invited to this high tea party thrown for different clubs’ management staff or something, but since they’re not here, I had to go in their place.”

“Okay.”

“So there I am, right, and they’re going around with tea and little desserts and sandwiches and, me, I can’t resist a little sandwich!”

“Uh huh.”

“And I’m pounding down the stuff they kept offering. They just kept bringing them on. What was I supposed to do, not eat them?”

Catra massaged her jaw, “Right.” 

It was unreal how normal this felt, listening to Adora go on and on. In another life, perhaps this would have been just another Wednesday.

Adora continued, “Well, I thought a high tea was like, a fancier tea party at like noon. Like high noon, like cowboys.”

“Isn’t it?”

“HIGH tea party, Catra. Emphasis on the HIGH.”

“Ohhh,” Catra swallowed. 

“Yes!” Adora hissed, “All the caterers are weed dispensaries. All the food was infused with THC! Maybe even the tea! And I ate like a billion fucking- HEY! OCCUPIED! I’M IN HERE, OKAY?”

She could hear someone yell a response but Adora ignored it.

"How did no-one tell you? What the fuck?" Catra said. 

"Thinking about it, there were a lot of weed leaf motifs everywhere, but I thought..." Adora groaned, "Man, I don't know what I thought! I made a mistake! Ahh!"

She's losing it, Catra's mouth dried, it had been a long time since she comforted anybody, and an even longer time since she comforted Adora. 

Catra closed her eyes, "It's okay, you're gonna be fine." 

Was she talking to herself or to Adora? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t wanna stay here, Catra.”

“Here in the bathroom? Or-”

“Here at this party! HEY!” Adora was talking to whoever was banging on the stall door, Catra could almost hear the other voice. “Yeah? Yeah?! Well, wait a second, okay?!”

“Adora, focus. Please.”

“They’re just, uh, starting to kick in.” Adora’s ragged breath was loud in her ear. “And things are starting to get difficult.”

Catra tapped the phone to her forehead, cursing under her breath. 

She had a sinking feeling what this meant. It felt inevitable, like the path of fire, caught on a trail. 

Catra held the phone back to her ear. “Okay. Where is this tea party at?”

“It’s in the lobby of the Elberon. It’s not far from where you live, that’s why I called you first—YEAH? GO PEE YOUR PANTS, LADY.” 

Ouch. Catra felt a mighty sting at only being called because of geographical proximity, but she had to move past it. 

Catra wet her lips. Somehow, the fact that it was Adora didn’t make her second guess. 

The strange limbo they were in, things left unsaid but not unfelt, didn’t matter in the moment; Adora had called for her. 

She needed help. When was the last time she actually asked for help?

Catra steeled herself, with a deep breath. 

“Okay. Adora, do...you want me to come get you?”

“Yes.” Adora’s response was without hesitation. “Please.”

Please, she said, in that voice. 

The sting from before lessened. 

Catra thought quickly, “Okay, um, do you know Balhee Park? With the ponds?”

“Uh. Yeah? Why?”

“You caught me at rehearsal,” Catra said, “So it makes more sense to meet at that park. It’s halfway between us. If I walk all the way over to you, it will definitely kick in and I don’t think you want that to happen at the party.”

“Right, right,” Adora readily replied. “But what if I don’t make it?”

“You’ll make it.” Catra looked around the street, plotting how she’d get there. “It’s better to be in nature when you’re that high, anyway. You’ll calm down, we can get you something to eat around there, easy peasy.” She paused. “You can make it, right?”

“Uh, yes. Yes.”

“You still know how to walk?”

“For now, yeah.” The audio cut out. “-okay?”

“What?” 

“Please hurry!” Adora said louder.

Catra opened the door to the Fright Zone,“I will, I will. Share your location with me as you go.” 

“Aye aye, captain.”

For a moment, brief and fleeting, nostalgia poked at her. Catra couldn’t fight the smile on her lips.  

Everything with Adora now was strange and different, like fitting into old clothes.

But like old clothes, it was also warm surprise when it still felt like nothing changed. 

“Be safe, idiot,” Catra said, and hung up. 

Music is a form of meditation. That’s what Perfuma told her once, when they first met. 

Catra, at the time practicing on turning toward people with kindness, asked her what she meant. 

And Catra soon grew to understand the idea. 

When the weather was warm and breezy, and the summer season often brought these days, Catra took her guitar to the park and found a spot to pluck away.

In circumstances less trying, this would be a perfect day for that.

Catra adjusted the weight of her acoustic on her back, walking along the sidewalk. Joggers trotted by, taking a left.

She checked her phone. 

The blue dot that was Adora, was still making her way over from the hotel lobby. 

“Why is she walking so fucking slow?” Catra whispered. 

Catra steadied herself, heart and mind arguing still if this was a good idea or not. 

As soon as the call ended, she had wrapped up rehearsal, waved at Lonnie—who was yelling at her to not forget about the album release party at Rogelio’s place tomorrow night—and booked it to the bus. 

She looked around for a bench to wait by. 

There were a couple benches that she liked, but today her favorite was open, the one built into the tree by the world’s nastiest little pond. She loved playing guitar here. 

It was a hidden, forgotten puddle in the park, no cute ducks for kids to scream at, no big koi fish to point at. Just some lonely turtles and bugs. 

Catra didn’t mind either way. She would play whatever to whoever was there, letting her mind loose to wander as she played scales—parts of songs she knew, sometimes repeated in cycles, good rhythms. 

Chords would follow chords that sounded right, sometimes it was a strum, other times a gentle picking. 

Chords would turn into songs that she was working on sometimes, but Catra aimed for this moment to be a vacuum of thoughtless music, not practice. 

Whatever came to mind she would play. Eyes closed, head tilted back, she would play. 

Should she?

Why not? Adora wasn’t here yet.

With ease, she pulled her instrument out, settling into the bench. 

Eyes fluttering closed, a deep sigh out. 

Maybe this could clear her mind, soothe it as Adora neared and brought her troubles with her.

It’ll be okay. I’ll make it through this. Adora is just a person.

She was going to try her best to believe that.

Catra opened her eyes, watching the leaves of the tree above move and heave with the wind.

Her fingers moved on their own, the gentle melody joined the brush of the wind, the soft zip of her skin moving on the strings, the distant sound of people walking behind her, the-

Ugh. This chord didn’t sound right. 

She tried again. 

No. Still not right. 

“Hi.” 

Catra whipped around. 

Adora stood on the grass, heels in hand yet still unsteady, wavering in place. 

Her red dress, a sleek number with a high collar, billowed lightly in the park breeze. 

Seeing Adora’s face again squeezed her heart, momentarily leaving her breathless. 

Would it ever not be this way? Catra wasn’t sure. 

Sincere relief shone from Adora’s face, the barefaced intensity of it stilled Catra.

Tousled golden hair, pieces stuck to her face, the summer wind tossed it around. The deliberate but soft lines of her eye makeup- 

— really accentuated the irritated redness, visible around blue irises. The effects of the edible gave her a dark, heavy lidded look. 

Suddenly, Catra thought of a memory, of a joint passed amongst her band after a concert a few months back. 

Blowing out a cloud, Lonnie had remarked to Catra, ‘You know what’s sexy?’

‘Me?’ Catra had joked.

‘I’m being serious.’

‘Me too. But sure, what’s sexy?’

‘Smoking with your girl,’ Lonnie nodded knowingly, a slow grin easing onto her face, ‘Just something about it, man. Don’t you think they look extra beautiful when they’re high? It’s all in the eyes. Or maybe in the way she feels.’

And Catra really understood her now, staring at Adora.

What she’d give to be high along with her, sitting near her, staring at her through the tendrils of smoke. Passing a joint, careful fingers reaching out to grasp its end, wet from the lips it left.

Everything would feel so light and warm, and if they happen to touch, the feeling of skin contact would be…

Fuck, Catra thought helplessly, stop being a gay pothead for one second and say something. 

“Adora?” She lowered her guitar, “Are you okay? Did you walk all this way without shoes on? You didn’t, right? Right?”

“Too many questions.” Adora took a step toward her, haltingly. The heels fell to the grass. 

Catra started to get up, scouring Adora’s face. 

The distant, groggy look on Adora and the fact that she seemed to be trying to remember how to walk was concerning her. Could she keep her balance?

“Are you-“

“-Could you not? Like,” Adora gestured at herself, “There’s too much staring at me. I can feel your eyes. Put them away.”

Heat flooded Catra’s face, quickly sitting back down and turning again to the pond. 

She’s just being high, Catra repeated to herself. I am acting normal…right?

“Okay, I’m not looking at you. Are you good?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…what are you feeling?”

Catra got no response, but could hear Adora slowly settle into the grass. It was probably too late to tell her it was wet. 

“Oh, it’s wet!” Adora exclaimed. 

“Yeah, do you-“

“-whatever. I’m just gonna lie down for a sec.”

“Okay.” Catra nodded curtly, still not looking at her. 

Sunlight dotted the murky green water of the scummy pond. It used to feel serene here, now the silence was increasingly uncomfortable.

I don’t know what to do.

Catra drummed her fingers on the body of her guitar, still on her lap. It felt like Adora didn’t want attention or help. Should she talk? Keep her awake? Oh fuck me. 

I don’t know what to do.

“Do you feel nauseous at all?” Catra tried, grimacing at how small she sounded. 

“No, just…heavy. And floaty. I don’t wanna move.”

“You don’t have to, it’s okay.”

I don’t know what to do. 

Catra rubbed her neck. A few hours ago, she knew exactly what was coming next with her and Adora. Perfectly laid plans. 

What was the saying? Man makes plans, God laughs? 

“Play something.”

“What?” Catra jumped, pulled out of her thoughts. 

“Guitar.” Adora mumbled, barely audible over the noise of the city park. “You were playing and that’s how I knew it was you. Had to be you. Keep playing. I wanna hear.” 

Her throat tightened. Catra hadn’t played privately for Adora in years…

The last time she did, they were both 17. She couldn’t recall what song it was, didn’t want to. 

She could say no. Like she could have said no to all of this. 

But that felt more dishonest than anything. Music was her language, and she always, always loved talking to Adora. 

Shaky, Catra put her left hand on the frets. One breath in, out.

And began to play. 

Knowing Adora was surely too high to notice bad notes and clunky rhythms, Catra closed her eyes again and let the meditative quality of music take over, try its best to drown out her whirling mind.

She didn’t know what she was playing, a woodsy folk song she once learned, but it never mattered with Adora. 

Adora would listen to her cut the strings off a guitar, it never mattered. She was her best audience, even when she barely knew three chords.

And now she was here again. 

Once again, so close. 

Catra wasn’t sure if she should look over at the quiet lump on the floor, so she didn’t. 

And soon, she forgot what she was doing there, losing herself to the rustling of leaves, the heat of the sun. 

Music was always her language. And so she talked in the silence. 

“You can stare at me now. If you want.”

“I don’t stare at you.” Catra grumbled, venturing a glance over to Adora.

She was on her back, limbs out like a starfish, a few feet to her left. 

Catra thought she’d be sleeping, but Adora’s eyes were open, glassy and pink, fully captivated with the tossing of branches overhead and the clouds beyond. 

There was a blade of grass on her cheek. 

Recalling Adora’s comment about staring, Catra looked back at the pond, hand still curled into a chord, picking at it idly. 

“It’s been you. You play here sometimes. Right?”

Catra stopped playing. “How do you-“

“-I jog here.” 

“No fucking way.”

“Yeah.” Finally, a smile from Adora, a small, drowsy one. “It’s a small world after all.”

A small, silly world. Catra thought about the possibilities, of her soul-searching guitar playing happening feet away from Adora. How long has she been so close to her? She chose not to dwell on it. 



“Catra?”

”Yeah?”

“Are you hungry?” Adora lifted her head, “Because I’m so hungry.”

We’ve entered the munchies phase. 

Finally. 

Catra maneuvered backwards out the front door, two big drinks in her hands and the styrofoam boxes with the food, hanging from her wrist in a black bag. 

El Farolito, a staple Mexican joint, was where Adora had decided they would satisfy the munchies. Though, it was also the very first place Adora spotted. 

Catra thought Adora was doing great, considering she had taken such a huge dose. But it was a different story when the pair entered civilization.

The edibles had taken Adora to another milestone: forgetting the subtleties of acting normal. How to not stare, how to stand, how to walk, where to put your arms, and how to hold a conversation without absolutely forgetting what you were talking about. 

It didn’t help that they ran into a street preacher on the corner. His shouting about the dangers of hell spooked poor stoned Adora, and Catra quickly herded her forward.

She found that Adora required a lot of reassurance that everything was okay, like coaxing a nervous dog. It was new to her. Being comforting was not in her bag, least of all being comforting and a little distant.
Catra hovered behind her, still unable to cross a personal space boundary. 

At last, they had made it to the place. Knowing she was too high to be in a restaurant, Catra parked Adora at the empty outside patio, told her to watch her guitar, and she went inside for the food. 

Catra couldn’t quite see Adora from within the restaurant, the tables were just out of view. And she didn’t want to call her and alarm her accidentally. Or would not calling her be more anxiety-inducing? She didn’t know. 

Adora’s fine, she reasoned, I’m the one nervous as hell. 

They were free-falling now, outside of what Catra had carefully planned.

Could they chat like this? So easy, so natural, without confronting the elephant in the room?

If so, for how much longer? And was that healthy? 

Fear pricked at her, that this was a massive mistake. They were supposed to talk about it, not have fun! This was all out of order.

Catra shut it out of her mind for now, walking around the bushes and into the patio.

Adora stood, on the other side of the table, where Catra’s guitar lay, case open. 

Catra walked quickly at the sight, heart beating hard. 

“Hey! Whatcha doing?” Catra called out, hoping the panic was not audible in her voice.

Adora stepped back, stumbling, “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I-I probably shouldn’t have opened it.”

“It’s okay,” Catra set the food down, careful breaths in and out.

She didn’t want to snap at Adora, though she felt annoyance swell inside her. Annoyance, alongside panic. 

Had Adora noticed? 

“It’s just…I wanted to see it. I didn’t do anything to it! But I just…” Adora trailed off, looking back down, into the case. 

Catra followed her eyes. 

Adora, soft like it would shock her when she touched it, pressed a fingertip to the white pickguard.

She saw her trace the shape of the pickguard, the pattern around the sound hole, down to the jagged clean lines that divided darker wood. 

Catra didn’t move. 

Adora’s eyes, steadily becoming more bloodshot, came back up, burning into hers. 

“You…still have this?” Adora finally broke the silence.

She had noticed. 

“Yeah,” Catra breathed, taking in Adora’s profile, the childhood rosiness still lived on the tip of her nose and the pout in her lips; gold sunlight of the afternoon lit those eyelashes into white, the slow way they fluttered as she stared back to the guitar. 

Adora’s nail caught on the line on the body, where the new wood began. “What’s this?”

Catra tried to still her heart, at the memory. 

“I…broke it a while ago. So I had it fixed with new parts.”

‘Broke it’ was an understatement. 

Sometime in the summer when Adora left, in an especially bad episode, Catra smashed the bottom of the guitar into the ground. It felt good to break it, it might have even looked cool.

It was one of her last gifts from Adora, and she immediately regretted it because she didn’t have another guitar. 

Fixing it was a hefty cost and if she wasn’t already pretending Adora didn’t exist, all those extra hours at her job she had to pick up would have made it hard to see anybody anyway. 

“It looks nice.” Adora nodded, sagely. “Red against white. I thought this would be a new one, since you’re a big star and all.”

Catra rolled her eyes, “Big star. Sure. Well, the guitar still worked. So… I kept it.”

“I see.” 

“Yeah.” 

There was a tone shift that caused Catra to tense up. 

“Hmmm,” Adora waltzed, big stupid steps around the table. “Or maybe... you’re a little more sentimental than you’d like to admit.” 

There it was, that look Adora got when she was weaseling her way into getting Catra to admit she has feelings.

Which was way more embarrassing in the past, but Catra still couldn’t help getting grumbly. 

“Sentimental? Really?”

“I don’t know. Just a thought.” Adora shrugged, wobbling a bit. 

“How about we stop thinking-,” Catra closed her case, “-and we start eating?” 

The burritos here aren’t too bad.

Catra tapped the hot sauce out of the cup and onto where her next bite would be, right where the carnitas met the rice, beans, cheese, cilantro, onions, and peppers in a beautiful union.

Adora was having a more difficult time. 

“How long have we been here?” Adora whispered, the quesadilla in her hands flopping a bit. “Because I feel like I’ve been here for 10 years.” 

Catra peeled back the aluminum wrapped around her burrito. She could see Adora rip up her quesadilla, dipping it in guacamole and eating it in strips. She still does that?  

“You’re very high.” Catra took her bite. “Time goes very slow when you’re very high. It’s been like 30 minutes tops.” 

Adora seemed satisfied with that answer, so she kept eating, each bite was taken at a careful, reverent pace. 

In the lull of conversation and action, the reality of the moment was setting in. Catra couldn’t get over it. All of it. 

The dress Adora was wearing. The way her shoulders jut out as she leaned on the table. The laughing. The talking. Everything. 

Catra continued her way through the burrito clutched in one fist. Steadily, the fear of making a misstep was pooling into apprehension.

Sure, it was funny as much as it was worrisome—it was usually this way when babysitting high people.

However, Catra never truly enjoyed babysitting Adora like this. Throughout their meal, she couldn’t shake an old feeling of discomfort. 

Adora under the influence, Adora not in her right mind, on its surface was exciting in the past; she said more, did more, forgot about personal space and Catra could gain a brief, forbidden view into the peephole, a view into an unguarded, uninhibited Adora. 

It was adorable.

High Adora talked to herself, rambled, laughed until she snorted. She was hilarious, in a way that Catra forgot Adora could be—goofy and loose. Incredibly silly and endearing. And most of all, High Adora liked to stare at things. Lots of staring.

Even now, Catra felt her eyes watching her bites. She tried to not notice. 

But ultimately, Catra knew this was voyeuristic— an imitation of trust not deliberately given. 

It was an icky, adolescent way to learn things about someone, to feel close without the rigamarole of vulnerability. 

Catra knew they could laugh and quip all they wanted, but there was still a wall between them, a relationship still in flux, a score still unsettled.

Catra wanted this feeling but for real. Because they were in a good place, finally and truly. 

This was not how she wanted to do this. The resolve solidified within her: true closeness and intimacy would triumph over a cheap fix. 

But Adora was too high to be alone. 

She said these words exactly, when Catra stood up to start the process of cleaning up to leave and Adora stretched a hand, square and long fingered, red at the knuckles and around the nails—she laid it flat on the table and shot Catra with a pleading look that made its way through her to the bottom of her feet. 

Please. 

Adora’s apartment was too far. Catra’s wasn’t. 

Those blue eyes clung to lucidity enough to understand that, to understand what she was asking—but the panic in her eyes communicated that it was not asked lightly. 

But Catra was again spellbound by the simple fact that Adora asked for help, that she admitted she was uncomfortable; her past self would have rather Catra bully the truth out of her, and still would have refused to be taken care of. 

And past versions of herself were fine with that. 

Was it always like that? 

Catra never thought about how long Adora had been that way. 

But the way Adora was looking at her, maybe this wouldn’t be the last time she asked for help.

And the way Catra’s heart jumped, this wouldn’t be the last time she said yes.

“Rumbly.”

Melog had claimed Adora’s stomach as their territory, a testament to how motionless Adora had been laying on the couch. 

The dress she had worn, now stained with salsa and grass stains, was swapped for Catra’s oversized Megan thee Stallion shirt and boxer shorts. 

Adora, cooing at her cat and dressed in Catra’s clothes, was quite a sight. 

And that’s why Catra was sitting stiffly on the chair by the counter. It was the only other thing to sit on in the living room besides the occupied couch. 

This is so fucking weird. 

And she knew it was all coming from her, Adora was too busy being higher than the goddamn ceiling to really make things awkward or even notice. That just made it worse, it was all so self-imposed.

The reality of the job she had volunteered herself for was getting bleaker by the minute. Naively, she thought they would neatly part ways before it got too difficult, before they had to cross any lines. 

She really didn’t know what to do now, what to say. 

Adora wasn’t supposed to be in here until next week! They weren’t supposed to be together this long!

Kick her out then! But Catra would sooner cut off her hand than send Adora away. The levity between them, even coated in her awkwardness and hesitation, still felt oh so good, so familiar. 



It made Catra want the real thing all the quicker. Sticking to the plan was becoming an exercise in restraint, and Catra was holding the reigns in a death grip.

Couldn’t it be next week already? Couldn’t they just hash it out right now ughhhhh—

Fuck, god damn it, I hate maturity, I hate plans.

Perfuma’s words, something something you can’t plan for everything, came to mind. 

“Hey... you have more Girl Scout cookies?” 

“You ate all my Thin Mints.” Catra picked up the empty green box for emphasis. “All that's left are Do-si-dos.”

“Alright!”

“But they’re Scorpia’s, so you’re fucked.”

“Awwww.” Adora’s raised celebratory fist fell to hang off the edge of the couch. Catra could actually see the gears struggling to turn in her head. 

“Ok. What if-“

“-No, you’re not gonna text her and ask if you can eat them. She’s probably dead asleep by now.” 

And Scorpia hadn’t answered her phone all day anyway. And now, it was late enough that she was surely asleep.

How fast the time passed. When they first arrived, Adora dove onto the couch and promptly fell asleep. 

After a few minutes of standing around not knowing what to do with herself, Catra shut herself in her room.

To calm down and restore some normalcy, she rolled herself a joint to smoke on the balcony. It worked enough. She answered some emails, checked in with Entrapta about the finishing touches on the album. Lonnie blew up her phone with reminders to bring the weed for tomorrow’s party. 

But by the time Adora had woken up hours later, Catra’s useful high had diminished. 

And now here they were.

Adora grumbled at her lack of cookies, covering her face with her hands. 

“And you should be asleep too,” Catra said, “Honestly, I don’t know how the fuck you’re not still sleeping.” 

“I’m just not sleepy anymore.” Adora said, arms over her face, hands holding onto her elbows. “All I can do is...see things in my head. Like little visions of things happening, like flickers. Does that happen normally?”

“Not used to the concept of thinking, are you?” 

“Hey!” 

“Am I wrong?”

“Brat.”

“Idiot.” 

It warmed Catra that Adora could still remember their pet names for each other. 

“How did you meet Scorpia anyway?” Adora was rubbing her own elbows, seemingly transfixed by the sensation. 

“At the Fright Zone. Like a year or two ago.”

“Fright Zone. Woah, very edgy.” 

Catra snorted. 

“Is that like you guys’ place? Your lair?” 

“It’s like my home court, yeah.”

“Sports reference.” Adora shot her with a finger gun. “Go sports.”

Catra folded her legs under her, so she could sit criss-cross, cramped somewhat by the small chair but she made it work, as usual. 

Laughter was growing over in Adora’s corner, small, broken giggles. 

Her heart ached at how cute that laugh still sounded, but it was soured by the fact that it was probably another drug-induced laugh attack, like the one Adora had coming up the stairs, when she called her ‘Cat-bruh’ and couldn’t let it go. 

“Gl-gl-...Hoo boy.” Adora was clutching at her face, like it could stop the laughing. Melog was fighting to stay on top of her now bouncing stomach.

“Hey, I wanna laugh too.” Catra spun in her chair.

“Glimmer was right.” Adora wheezed, laughs still finding their way through her hand. “You-you really don’t know how to sit in chairs properly.” 

Catra let her head loll over as she spun. “Well yeah. I’m gay. It’s part of the job.” 

The giggles trailed off. “Uh, I didn’t know that.”

“What, never saw me sit in a chair before?”

“No, no, the gay part.” Adora pointed a solemn finger. “You? You’re gay?”

Oh. 

Catra stuck her leg out so the chair stopped spinning. 

For fuck’s sake.

Just like that, one secret was aired out, delicately, like shaking out a dusty rug.

It was like a sudden spotlight had fixed upon her.

Adora knew now, knew exactly what she was.

What did she think? Did something become clear within her memories, now seeing something that wasn’t quite there before?

The possible scrutiny made her heart pound, fuck, she had forgotten what it felt like to come out to someone—that shrinking feeling in your guts. 

Catra swallowed, opened her mouth to say something, anything. Humor would be a good deflection, but any sarcastic remark would only make it worse. 

Pointing out how obvious it was, would only inch them closer to Catra’s other secret, not a conversation she was NOT at all ready for. 

Just act casual.

“Yes. I am. Surprise.” Catra said, with half-hearted jazz hands, disguising the tremor of her hands. 

Adora nodded, then stopped. “Oh. Wait. Me too. I’m also gay. Surprise!” 

Two things happened at once. 

One was a knee-jerk reaction of acceptance. Yeah, of course, you’re gay. 

The second hit her squarely in the chest. 

Oh—fuck my life—she’s actually gay. 

Another chess piece in their game had moved forward. 

Of course she was gay. Scorpia told her. But the reality didn’t sink in until Adora said the words. 

Sweet plausible deniability, the same that shielded Catra from having to think too hard about her strange one-sided unrequited feelings for Adora, had officially run its course.

Catra’s stomach lurched forward, because after all, if Adora was gay, and if Catra was too, the game had changed. They were speaking the same language, they were of the same species. 

And she was gay. 

Catra forced herself back into the moment, to the silence still awaiting her response. 

She chose her next words carefully, but with practiced nonchalance. 

“Cool. When’d you realize?”

“Uh…well. College,” Adora mumbled the word, avoiding eye contact. 

The air tensed.

The bubble they were in thinned. 

College. 

Irritation flared up, a flash of bitterness, college, Catra felt it on the top of her tongue, of course, how utterly predictable. 

Suddenly, paranoid thoughts tumbled one after the other, now all she wanted to know one thing: who was it that showed her? 

Which girl opened her eyes, showed her what she was, what she really wanted? 

What did that girl do?

What did she look like?

What did she say? 

How was she better than Catra?

What could she have done that Catra hadn’t tried already? 

At that, heady, lewd thoughts came to mind—blurs of bodies, sweat, and pink tongues and friction and blue eyes and—

—and suddenly she couldn’t even look in Adora’s direction, a mangled burst of jealousy refused to relent, why not me, why not me—

Breathe.

Breathe. 

Catra suddenly couldn’t stand sitting anymore, so she got out of the chair, her legs begging to be stretched. 

Away from Adora, she bent at the waist, palms to the ground. Nothing to see but the wall behind her, nothing to feel but the pull of her hamstrings.

Two beats there to calm her temper, the rush in her blood. 

“…And you?” Adora asked, soft. 

“Eighth grade,” Catra’s eyes were closed as she stretched, pushing out the memory that came running at the mention. 

She wouldn’t tell her it happened when she watched ‘But I’m A Cheerleader’ on her broken iPod Touch, when her mom finally fell asleep, drunk in her chair. 

Catra didn’t want to remember how something clicked in her in a devastating, visceral way; she remembered staring at that little screen, being 13 years old, cold, in the dark, stunned by the dawning notion that everything she wanted from Adora was not normal, not what everybody else was feeling. 

Thinking about her every day, feeling like she’d die for Adora if she was asked, wanting to hold hands until they fell asleep, needing to be with her, take care of her, be all she needs—that was not normal. 

Worsened, by the realization that she had always been this way. 

That is me. Catra remembered wanting to cry and laugh all at once. That’s me! 

But repression was an old vice, so she pushed it down, somewhere below her knees and let it fester like the other million things she locked inside, hoping it would subside. 

Wondering if there was a way to change. Forcing herself to try. 

But it was resilient. It came out in all the little touches, little looks, little feelings, slowly seeping out until she couldn’t pretend anymore. 

This was who she was. Gay, hopelessly. 

Whatever she was going to say was chased out by a sudden giggle from the couch. 

“Ah,” Adora was petting Melog, slowly like they would break at the touch. “That’s why.”

Catra rose out of her stretch immediately, heart pounding, “Huh?”

“That’s why you watched ‘Jennifer’s Body’ sooo many times.”

“SHUT UP!” Catra gasped.

“You were all ‘Adora, let’s see her kill those dudes again, pleaaaase, it’s a good movie’.” She said, in her best rendition of Catra’s voice, that same croaky voice she always used. 

“And like ‘Isn’t it so weird how they kissed?’ Man, we watched that scene a million times!” Adora continued snickering. 

Catra’s eye twitched.

“Melog, attack.” 

“Oh my god wait, you were even Jennifer for Halloween! And I was Needy, remember?” Adora said gleefully. 

“Melog, kill. Destroy.” Catra commanded, but Melog was enjoying Adora’s scratches behind the ear too much to listen. 

That was a fun Halloween, though. One of their last ones that they still could go trick-or-treating. 

Adora did look cute in those little fake glasses and with her hair curled. 

“And you had little fangs.” Adora’s teeth clicked together as she mimed biting, “And blood all over. Everyone thought you were from ‘Twilight’.”

“Yeah, and you looked like a big nerd. And you ate so much Fun Dip you puked,” Catra moved closer to the couch, eyes fixed on the coffee table and the coasters, “Cried in my lap like a baby because your tummy hurt.”

“Booo,” Adora gave a thumbs down. “Stop remembering things.”

But those memories were hard to put to bed. 

Even as the THC was seemingly having its last hurrahs in her system, sleep finally starting to pull Adora away; even with the elephant in the room they were barely stepping around— they gave into that familiar feeling. 

Nostalgia.

Stories were passed back and forth, shared like food. The early years felt safest.

They both had things to do tomorrow, but somehow she still ended up laying on the floor well into the night, beside the couch and Adora, who had flipped over to her stomach when Melog moved to sleep on the top of the couch. 

Adora was the one to feed her those ‘highlight’ moments as she called them, old moments Catra remembered and ones that she almost lost, all equally precious and vivid.

Adora remembered how Catra was always on the Honor Roll, just to make their racist principal personally give her an award every year. 

Catra remembered when Adora kicked a ball into a tree and hit a beehive that started swarming the playground and sent them all home for days. 

Or when Catra would act as a distraction for Adora to steal food from the teacher’s lounge.

Or when Catra got stuck on the roof and the fire department came to get her down. 

Or when Adora got so intense playing four-square, she smacked the ball right into the cranium of their teacher walking by and the week of detention she got after. 

Or how Catra snuck out of school daily to buy Arizona Tea and Hot Cheetos at the nearby store and nobody ever noticed. 

Names of obscure classmates came back, forgotten details within memories, even the ones that Adora tried to reverse, when actually no, it was you who threw up on that kid, not me. 

Adora had too infectious a laugh or Catra was just especially susceptible- either way- the night crept on, stories after stories, with crinkled, drowsy smiles. 

“Catra.” Adora’s words muffled by the couch her mouth was smushed up against. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe in that thing? That whole every seven years, our cells in our bodies renew, so we’re like completely different people thing?” 

“Sure.” Catra yawned. “Seems right.”

“Do you remember the time we first held hands?” 

Adora’s hand, fingertips grazing the floor as her arm hung there.

Catra couldn’t stop staring at it.

“I …don’t. It must have been a long ass time ago.”

“I remember. We were five.” Adora mumbled, half-asleep, but with no sign of stopping, “You were scared of the thorns on the bushes at school so I took your hand, and we walked through them together. That was the first time.” 

Catra didn’t have words to offer, no muscle to move. 

The hand that hung there was extended toward her, palm up, right by Catra’s shoulder. 

“So...technically, my hands haven’t met your hands yet, like ever. And I think that’s not cool. So. Let’s reintroduce them.” 

Adora wiggled her fingers, like she was playing a piano scale. 

Catra couldn’t read Adora’s face, somewhere above her now, but the hand remained there, waiting. 

She didn’t have time to think about what taking it would mean before she lifted her arm off the floor and slowly, like it would sting her, reached over and slid her hand into Adora’s. 

Like the very first time, her hand was soft. 

Catra went in as if it was a handshake, palm against palm, thumb against thumb and fingers curving over the sides. 

It lay there, still. 

She closed her eyes because it ran chills through her—this familiar weight in her hand was the most important thing to her at one point. 

Indeed, how many times had they held hands?

How many times did she feel in between each finger, rubbed the skin on each knuckle, traced the lines on her palm with her own? 

Adora was moving, fingers twitching down to touch the top of her hand, Catra let herself feel the shy stuttering movement of Adora exploring her hand, she was too scared to move hers, her heart going too hard to trust herself to stop.

Adora was the one to move her wrist, sliding her fingers underneath Catra’s, and like instinct—Catra spread her fingers open. 

Adora was the one to curl her fingers in, interlocking their hands.

Catra couldn’t stop staring. 

“Hello, Catra.” Adora said.

“Hey, Adora.” Catra wondered if Adora couldn’t breathe either.  

Exhaustion must have set in, because Adora’s arm slowly went slack, but the hand did not release its grip. Catra shifted to her side so that their interlocked hands could rest on the floor comfortably. 

Catra couldn’t stop staring. It felt like looking at a picture of two hands, intertwined, no conscious way to know it was her own. Was this real? 

Adora’s breathing had slowed, Catra could hear each exhale coming deeper and longer. 

She had fallen asleep again.

But not before Adora said, half-smothered by the couch. “I missed this.” 

Catra wondered if she heard her say it back

The lamp was turned off. 

Adora, in her slumber, released Catra’s hand. Catra had long since gotten up, throwing a blanket over Adora’s snoring body. 

Full circle, once again. 

Catra checked the door, it was locked. Stove turned off. Melog had water in their bowl, and they padded up to tangle in Catra’s leg. She rubbed their head. 

Catra tip-toed to the hallway, to her door—not without another glance at Adora. The blue of the summer night, through their windows, lit the planes of her face. 



Catra felt a sense of deja vu. She was always a nightowl, even when they were kids. Adora would try her best to keep up, but she’d be the first to sleep. 

And in those moments, like now, Catra would drink her fill of Adora.

Catra always felt like the nighttime was hers—it was always the time she felt the most free, the most calm.

It was where she learned to love being alone, the only time she could stomach it. No one cared where she was, no one watched what she did. 

No one would see how much she doted after Adora. How much she’d stare, unflinching, like if she looked away Adora might vanish. 

And when Adora was curled up at her side, or on her couch, or on the floor—that was when Catra felt most protective.

It was like when the sun was up, Adora watched over her. But when the moon rose, it was Catra’s turn. And nothing would wake Adora, nothing would bother her. 

Catra reached over, and tucked Adora’s foot under the blanket. 

The nighttime. In its limbo, she let her  affection peek through. 

The smallest smile emerged on Catra’s face, brief. She gave the wall a little tap, one last look at Adora and headed to her room. 

Quickly, because it was coming. The words had formed in her mind, as she took in the quiet of the nighttime scene, the soft snores of her future, asleep on the couch. As her feelings solidified under nightlights and old memories, the words came to mind—a song.

Catra hummed, carefully taking her guitar out of its case. She grabbed her notebook and pencil from her desk, and ran straight to her balcony. 

Shutting the door behind her. 

Sitting on the small pillow, she held the guitar on her legs. 

Scratching, scribbling down the words floating in her at a frenzy. The feeling swept her up, and if she didn’t hurry, it might leave.

Satisfied with the short lines, she sat back and took up her instrument. 

She cleared her throat. 

“You’re…coming back,” Catra sang under her breath.

(This chord, yes, this one worked.)

Catra strummed again, quiet, but steady, oh—this would be great with a long, droning organ note. And we could put some drums, somber beats marching along it.

Scribbling again, adding more notes and chords, she readied for another go, her voice low, almost drowned out by the city noise.

You're…coming back.

“And it’s the end of the world,” Catra sang it, with a chuckle curling the last word.

Because this was the end, wasn’t it?

This was an end. Their past, their story, a part of it was ending. She felt it in her hands, like how you felt the end of a book.

And it was scary, like an ending. Catra didn’t know a world without shame and anger. Didn’t know a world with forgiveness. But—

We’re starting over.

Hand in hand. She swore the feeling hadn’t left her palm, that old warmth. Yes, they were starting again and—

“And…” Catra’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I love you darling.”

Does she?

They were the words she wrote down. She didn’t even think when she wrote them, they just fit well lyrically and...

Does she?

Catra’s hand paused, before another strum. Beyond her, the roar of cars.

She might. 

God, she might. 

Catra laughed to herself, in disbelief maybe or in bleary acceptance. Ah, this was not in the plan. But maybe it was the reason for the plan. 

Taking up her pencil again, she wrote a few more lines.

A phrase she thought of, simple and basic, but she couldn’t keep it away from the song. She’d repeat as a mantra, as a wish, oh, maybe even as a prayer. 

I want you.