Echoes

"You died in my arms once." She says it matter-of-factly as she whisks the eggs and Catra almost chokes on her orange juice.

"...I did, huh?" She asks nonchalantly, her heart ready to sink and combust all at once.

"...In a dream." Adora eventually adds after pouring some egg in the pan. Catra's heart relaxes a bit, but she still feels it thump thump thump.

Their breakfast sizzles as it cooks, Adora's gaze focused in a way that leaves Catra tense.

"We were fighting. He 'chipped you." Catra's hand shoots to the back of her neck, ghost pains burning up her spine as if to say he did he did

"I didn't know what to do." Her chest feels like it's being squeezed, like someone trying to get every last bit of juice from a lemon slice.

"And then he-" Adora cuts herself off, absently touches the unused spatula to her mouth.

She wants her to stop, but is too afraid to breathe. So she says nothing, nails digging into her neck as her mind tries to stay in the current.

"You fell, so I jumped after you." It's there Adora's voice cracks. It's slight, but it's there. "And then I held you as you died."

Catra feels like she's dying now in that small kitchen. "Cozy," they had happily described it. It feels anything but then. She can't breathe. It's like the air is suddenly thick, clogging her throat, her nose. It's such a bright green and it's everywhere. It burns, like fire blossoming across her skin. It's filling her up, pushing her out of herself and the fire is inside her now too and it's going to burn her up until there's nothing left and she's screaming- they're watching they're talking all as one- all beings must suffer to become pure- cast out the shadows, cast out the shadows cast out the shadows-

"Catra!" And she's back. Adora's holding her arms against the wet tile of the kitchen, sitting firmly on her waist. She's crying. Catra's throat feels raw. The smoke alarm is going off. Something smells burnt.

She feels a sting in her arm and realizes she must be bleeding.

"The- smoke-" Catra manages and realizes she's crying too. But Adora doesn't let go and doesn't move. She's laying in spilt orange juice. It has a sharp smell to it against the burnt eggs.

"They're not dreams, are they?" It's said as a statement and Catra feels Adora's grip loosen. She doesn't move to sit up. Adora places her forehead down to rest against Catra's chest. The weight is comforting. Grounding.

She's here. They're here. Sitting in sticky orange juice, fire alarm screeching.

"...No." It's hoarse and quiet, but Adora hears it, grips Catra's sleeves tighter and sobs into her, just once.

Their roommates are the ones to douse the pan and open the windows, panicking at the sudden chaos that woke them. They try to ask what happened, are they hurt, what are they doing. Adora just asks for gauze and tape, even though she is the one to fetch them.

Catra sits at the table as Adora cleans her elbow, wraps it with such care. They clean the kitchen in silence.

She lets Adora lead her to the bathroom, lets Adora strip her before they both ease into the hot bath water. She even lets Adora wash her hair before they find themselves holding each other. Clinging as if they were adrift at sea instead of bathwater.