Chapter Text
Catra wasn’t sure how she was supposed to adapt to living in Bright Moon. She didn’t even know why she’d agreed to stay.
After an arduous battle between the Rebellion and the Horde, Catra had found herself bleeding out in the middle of a She-Ra inflicted crater, left to die in the dust while her allies fled like the cowards they were. Catra should have known better than to trust her crew; Lonnie—that bitch —had never respected her as a semi-human being when they were children, let alone as commander of their unit. Catra knew she’d abandon ship as soon as the opportunity came to pass; she just never expected for it to hurt so much. So Catra had lain there, blinking blearily and waiting for the grim reaper (who looked laughably like Shadow Weaver in her imagination) to take her away already, when a pinkish figure made way into her line of sight, shimmering and gesticulating wildly. It gave her a migraine.
Finally, She-Ra had stepped by the edge of the crater, overlooking her prone form, and shrunk back down into the Adora that Catra had loved since childhood. For once, the Horde jacket she’d received from Shadow Weaver all those years ago was gone, replaced by a bulky denim jacket that somehow made her blend in perfectly with the rest of the princesses. Typical. If she’d had the energy, Catra might’ve managed a scowl. Still, when Adora had slid down to kneel beside her and clasp her hand, Catra had tightened her grip on unfamiliar new calluses before the world had faded to black.
She’d woken up to a dark-skinned boy in a crop top handing her a warm drink—( this’ll alleviate the pain while Adora talks to you) —and when he’d left, she’d cried silently, allowing the tears to slip down her cheeks because this room was too bright and the air was too warm and the beds were too plush and she wanted to go home, damn it . She had cried some more after that thought; the Horde wasn’t home but neither was here. The only home she’d ever had was in Adora’s smile, and even that didn’t last.
Adora waltzed in after the tears had dried, wearing that stupid denim jacket, and had sat beside her.
(“Do you want to join the Rebellion?”
“No. Never.”
“I miss you.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“…”
“…”
“Once you’re all healed up, you can go wherever you want. So long as you don’t attack. You can go back to the Horde.”
“…”
“Catra?”
“No. Please.”
“Then stay.”
Their eyes met.
“I guess I will.”)
Why were the walls so fucking pink ?
Catra hated this fucking palace; she didn’t understand how Adora could ever get accustomed to it. They grew up orphans, bound together not by blood or something stupid like love but by shared suffering. Their rooms were cold and damp, smelly and moldy. Their beds were lumpy and hard, and, unless they were sneaking out together, they never saw the light of day. It was so lonely, but they were never alone. Always crammed together like sardines in a can; that was just the way life was. It was all either of them had ever known. How could Adora forget that?
Bright Moon’s palace was nothing like that. Sunlight streamed through the opulent windows constantly, and at night it was no better. It truly lived up to its name—Bright Moon. The moon might as well have been a second fucking sun. The air always smelled faintly of warm cookies, sickeningly sweet in a way that made nausea crawl up Catra’s throat. And it was always so perfectly temperate ; there was always a breeze right when the sun seemed to beat down on Catra’s back, or a ray of warmth when Catra was ever feeling even slightly chilly. The beds were large and covered in pillows, soft to the touch. When Catra had tried to curl up at the foot of her own bed, she’d sunken into the fluffy mattress like nine-year-old Kyle’s shit at the bottom of the training pool.
And she was so bored . The only relative entertainment she ever received was Adora visiting her every day for dinner and stilted smalltalk, or when Crop Top Kid—Bow?—came in to make small figurines of various people Catra could recognize from battle.
This room was starting to feel like a cushy prison cell. It made her sick. At least the Horde never tried to deceive her.
( It deceived Adora , whispered something, its voice tinny and soft compared to the incessant roar of Catra’s usual thoughts, in the back of her mind. And you’d do anything for Adora, wouldn’t you? )
Today, Crop Top Kid sat himself beside her on the floor beside the bed, pulling out a piece of wood and a blade, deftly shaving the sides down to form a vaguely person-shaped blob.
“Can I leave?”
Crop Top Kid glanced up at her in mild surprise, before frowning softly, “You can. It’s just not encouraged. By me or Adora, that is.”
“Why?” Catra hated the whiny inflection to her voice. She’d used that tone with Shadow Weaver when she was younger. It never ended well. She stiffened, prepared for a verbal attack, but Crop Top Kid only hummed thoughtfully, a little sympathy leaking from his tone.
“Adora is fighting very hard to keep you here.”
Catra snorted, “I’m sure.”
Crop Top Kid gave her a long look, “We had to fight to keep her here, too. But she’s She-Ra. We needed her. You…” He trailed off.
“You guys just don’t know what to do with me,” Catra finished curtly. “I know.”
Crop Top Kid shrugged, “I won’t feed you any platitudes. This is war. It’s…complicated.”
“I guess so.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“This bed is too soft,” Catra intoned. “I don’t like sleeping alone.”
Crop Top Kid gave her a half smile, “That’s how Adora felt. We had to get her a new bed and everything. She couldn’t sleep without me and Glimmer for a good couple months.”
Catra bit her lip, eyes tracing the grooves in the ceiling, still as a stone and pretending every insight into Adora’s new life didn’t hurt .
“You could sleep with her?” Crop Top Kid suggested. “Once you’re all healed up? If that’s okay with you?”
Catra nodded only because she didn’t know how else to answer.
The first night was the last night.
The light was dim, the air was warm, and space around them was so expansive and luxurious Catra feared it wasn’t even real at all. Adora had wordlessly stripped down into loose pajamas—an act of vulnerability she would have never committed in the Horde—and settled in comfortably in between the sheets. She’d eyed Catra imploringly, and reluctantly the cat-girl settled down at the foot of her bed.
“Thank you,” whispered Adora.
Catra scowled.
“For what?” she said gruffly.
“For trying,” said Adora. “I know this is hard for you. So thank you.”
Catra wanted to cry.
“I’m not trying,” she forced out. “This isn’t me trying . You lost the privilege of me trying when you decided to fucking abandon me.”
“I—”
“Me trying was when I was doing my damndest to keep us together throughout all the years of the Horde. Me trying was suffering through Shadow Weaver’s bullshit so you wouldn’t have to. Me trying was when you became commander and I supported you, trusting you to have my back like I’ve always had yours.” Catra could feel herself becoming hysterical.
“Me trying was when I asked you to come back when you decided you were too good for us, because noble and righteous Adora is always going to come out on top!” Tears began to well up in her eyes. “And me? I’m just always gonna be the dirt under your boot. I’m always going to be the one left behind .”
“Catra—”
“ I loved you ,” she gasped. “I loved you and you left me and I did everything for us and you left me and I loved you and I loved you and—”
Adora threw her arms around Catra, pulling her close to her chest and rubbing soothing circles along her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry,” she repeated like a mantra.
“I loved you, I loved you, I loved you, I—”
“I can’t be around you.”
Adora nodded, face carefully blank. “Okay.”