Second chances in soccer were rare—you missed the shot, the play was over. Life wasn't supposed to work that way. But Catra hoped, desperately, that this time was different.

She hadn't realized how badly she'd screwed up until that stupid bonding game. It had made her see exactly what she'd destroyed. And life seemed determined to rub it in her face at every turn. Even soccer, the one place she used to thrive, had turned on her. She was good enough to get a scholarship but apparently not good enough to get through practice without messing up.

Now, she sat on the bench, sweat dripping down her face. The early morning practices had grown on her recently—not because she loved the grind, but because it was better than staring at the ceiling and spiraling into her thoughts. Running until her legs burned was the only thing that kept her sane.

But this morning hit differently. Adora had definitely been avoiding her. Before, they'd bump into each other by accident—shared passing moments filled with unspoken tension. Not today. Today, Adora made sure to steer clear.

Last night, Catra thought they'd made progress. Apparently not.

She couldn't blame Adora, though. Catra knew she'd been horrible, and that realization was eating her alive, consuming every inch of her. Silence only made it worse, her crushing thoughts rolling in like thunder and clouding her mind until she could hardly breathe.

Her gaze drifted toward Adora. She was killing it today—well, she always was. Probably the best on the team. But today, she looked extra focused, her movements sharp and determined. If only Catra could be like that.

"Catra!" Coach's voice cut through her thoughts.

Catra winced. That didn't sound good. She set her water bottle down and jogged toward Coach on the sidelines. The late September breeze felt cool against her heated skin.

"What's up, Coach?" Catra asked, trying to sound casual, even though her stomach was already knotting up.

"What's up? What's up is your performance, which is more like down," Coach said sharply. Her eyes were hard, arms crossed in that no-nonsense way. Catra could feel the team's gaze burning into her back. She bit the inside of her cheek and shifted on her feet.

"What happened to the girl I gave a scholarship to? The girl who handed half a team's ass to them in the first half—by herself?"

What happened? A mountain of mental trauma and court cases—but Catra kept her mouth shut. She was sure Coach had heard the gossip about the trial, about her mother being sent to prison for child abuse and neglect.

"I keep people on this team who make a difference. And the only difference right now is between the girl with wild hair who brought her team to soccer finals and the one who can barely keep the ball in a straight line."

The words stung. Heat crawled up Catra's neck, a toxic mix of shame and frustration. She knew the entire team was listening—knew that Adora was listening.

"I'll be better," she promised through gritted teeth. "I'm just...off my game right now. But I can fix it."

Coach's expression softened just slightly. "You better. Our first game is next week. If you don't prove you belong on this team, you won't be part of it. Got it?"

Catra nodded, her fists clenched at her sides.

Coach sighed. "You've got potential, kid. It's time you used it."

Catra nodded. Coach let her go—jogging back to the bench. She could feel the stares and the whispers. She frankly didn't care anymore. Coach was right—she sucked. She was off her game. She pulled her eyes back up to Adora. Who wasn't even looking at her.

She needed to talk to her. Get some of this guilt off so she could finally play and maybe not suck.

____

The locker room was quiet except for the faint dripping from a loose faucet and the occasional creak of a locker door. Catra ran a towel through her damp hair, the steam from her shower still clinging to her skin. The hot water hadn't done much to ease the knot in her chest, but at least she felt less like a total wreck.

She shoved her towel into her gym bag and slammed her locker door shut, the clang echoing through the empty space. Just as she turned to grab her shoes, a familiar figure caught her eye. Adora.

She stood at the far row, her golden hair messy from practice and her expression focused as she tossed a few things into her duffel bag. Even in the most mundane moments, Adora had this effortless glow, like she belonged on top of the world—and probably the scoreboard too.

Catra hesitated, heart racing. She had told herself she needed to talk to Adora, but now that she was actually here, the words tangled in her throat. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she just made it worse?

No. She had to try. She couldn't keep carrying this guilt around—it was crushing her game and every other part of her life.

Steeling herself, she took a breath and walked toward Adora.

"Hey," Catra said, her voice rougher than she intended.

Adora glanced up, surprise flickering across her face. "Oh. Hey."

There was a long, awkward beat where neither of them spoke, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between them. Catra clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking.

"I... uh..." She swallowed. "Can we talk?"

Adora looked hesitantly, looking at the door then back at Catra.

"It won't be long," Catra said, noticing Adora's urgency to leave. Catra shifted on her feet, eventually Adora sighed. "Yeah..sure"

Catra took a deep breath, shifting through the tunnels of her thoughts. She had dealt with more awkward conversations with her own mother—this should be easy. Hypothetically.

"I just—" Deep breath Catra. You got this.

"I wanted to—I'm sorry. For everything." she managed to get out, her eyes flicking to the floor. Her palms were sweaty but she kept going.

"Everything I did—everything I said. It wasn't right—more then wasn't right, it was fucking shitty. I'm not going to try and dish out some stupid excuse about why I did it, because none of it can justify what I did to you"

Her eyes flicked back up, her breath hitching when she saw Adora's face. It was rare Catra ever apologized to anyone, last year she wouldn't even dream of saying sorry—let alone a genuine one.

Adora's face read like she knew that fact, and this completely caught her off guard. She just stood there, her face in surprise. The silence lingering after the confession. Catra shifted uncomfortably, her mind starting to panic about if she said something wrong.

Maybe she should just ditch the whole thing and run—no. She had to do this. Even if it turned out to be a garbage fire.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Catra's chest tightened with every second Adora stayed quiet. She fought the urge to fidget, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from rambling. Apologies weren't supposed to be this hard, were they?

Adora finally blinked, her expression softening from surprise into something Catra couldn't quite read—something cautious but not outright hostile. That had to be a good sign, right?

"You really mean that?" Adora asked quietly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yeah," Catra nodded, her throat dry. "I do." She exhaled sharply. "Look, I get it if you don't forgive me. I'm not expecting some kumbaya moment here. I just... I needed to say it."

Adora's brows furrowed as if she was waging an internal war with herself. Catra held her breath, preparing for the worst—a brush-off, or maybe even the cold shoulder she'd been getting since the start of the season.

Instead, Adora let out a soft sigh, her shoulders easing. "That... means something, Catra. I'm not gonna lie—what happened still hurts."

Catra's stomach twisted. She nodded, swallowing down the guilt. "Yeah. I know."

"But..." Adora hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "It takes guts to say what you just did."

Catra blinked, surprised by the admission. "So... that's not a 'get lost' then?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light even as hope flickered in her chest.

Adora's lips quirked into a faint smile. "It's not a 'get lost.' It's a 'maybe we can figure this out... eventually.'"

It wasn't an instant fix—it wasn't forgiveness wrapped up in a neat little bow. But it was a start. And for Catra, that was enough.

"I'll take it," Catra said with a crooked smile, relief washing over her.

Adora shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. "I gotta go, but... thanks for saying it."

"Yeah. See you around."

As Adora walked toward the door, Catra let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The knot in her chest loosened just a little. She leaned her head against the locker. It was progress at least.

She grabbed her bag, throwing it on her shoulder and making her way out of the locker room.

____

The diner was quieter than usual, with only the soft hum of a jukebox playing an old pop song in the background. The smell of greasy hash browns and coffee lingered in the air, clinging to the cracked leather booths. Catra stirred her soda with a straw, the ice clinking against the glass as she stared at the condensation pooling on the table.

She wasn't great at talking about her feelings—scratch that, she sucked at it. But Scorpia had this way of getting under her defenses, like an unstoppable freight train of warmth and patience. And right now, she was the only one Catra had until her next therapy appointment.

Across from her, Scorpia grinned as she dipped a fry into a glob of ketchup. "So, what's up, buddy? You seem... uh, kinda extra broody today. More than usual, I mean."

Catra huffed, slouching deeper into the booth. "Thanks for the observation," she muttered.

Next to Scorpia, Entrapta was busy tinkering with some weird gadget she'd pulled from her bag, blissfully unaware—or just unconcerned—with the emotional atmosphere of the table.

Scorpia's smile softened. "Hey, you know you can talk to me, right? No judgment."

Catra's jaw clenched. She stared down at her soda, watching the ice cubes spin in chaotic little circles. Talking was supposed to help, wasn't it? That's what her therapist kept telling her. But getting the words out felt like pulling teeth.

"I just... it's nothing, okay?" Catra said, her voice rougher than she'd intended.

Scorpia didn't flinch. She never did. "Come on, Catra. You know I'm not gonna buy that."

Catra sighed, dragging a hand through her damp hair. "Fine. Everything's just... a mess right now. Soccer, Adora, my whole brain, honestly. And I don't know how to fix any of it." The admission tasted bitter on her tongue.

Scorpia nodded, her expression gentle. "That's a lot to carry by yourself."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of my thing, isn't it?" Catra said dryly.

Scorpia's brows furrowed. "Doesn't have to be."

Catra bit the inside of her cheek, the weight of her own words sinking in. Talking still sucked, but maybe Scorpia was right—maybe she didn't have to do it alone. Even if it was just here in this run-down diner with Scorpia's unfailing optimism and Entrapta's oblivious tinkering.

"I don't know. I talked to Adora today—just to apologize. I don't know what I was hoping for, just her accepting it was enough—but honestly I'd rather her just scream in my face and tell me I'm shitty—but instead she was—I don't know, nice about it?" catra said, fidgeting with her hands.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Catra signed, "Don't get me wrong, I'm super grateful she even accepted it—I just—" her words lingered off. She thought talking to Adora would make her feel better. But she felt worse.

Scorpia tilted her head, her brows knitting together. "But you feel worse?"

Catra exhaled sharply, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the sticky table. "Yeah. It's stupid, I know. I wanted her to be mad. I deserve her to be mad." Her voice cracked, and she clenched her jaw to steady it. "Instead, she was calm, understanding even. And that just... makes me feel like even more of a piece of shit."

Scorpia frowned, setting her fry down like the conversation had suddenly become more important than food—a rare occurrence. "Hey, that's not stupid. I get it. Sometimes forgiveness feels harder to handle than being yelled at."

Entrapta, who had been silently fiddling with her gadget, finally looked up. "Human emotions are weird," she said absentmindedly before going back to her work.

Catra huffed a laugh despite herself. "Yeah, no kidding."

Scorpia leaned forward, her voice soft but firm. "Listen, Adora accepting your apology doesn't erase what happened, but it means she's open to moving forward. That's huge. And it sounds like she sees the person you're trying to be now—not just the mistakes you made."

Catra's throat tightened. "What if I screw up again?"

Scorpia's expression softened even more. "Then you own it, just like you did today. That's what makes you different now—you care enough to try."

Catra stared down at her hands, the weight in her chest loosening ever so slightly.

"You know what I think?" Scorpia asked. Catra looked up, raising her eyebrow.

"I think you want her to hate you. To make you feel better."

Catras' brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"If she hates you, then you'll feel better because you feel you got what you deserved. Something to be mad at. But now—you only have yourself to be mad at."

Catra blinked, her stomach twisting at Scorpia's words. "That's... not true," she said defensively, though even she didn't believe it. Her voice was thin, fragile. "I don't want her to hate me."

Scorpia shrugged, her expression kind but knowing. "Maybe not consciously. But think about it—if she yelled at you or told you to screw off, it would validate all those nasty thoughts you're already telling yourself, right? You'd have something external to blame."

Catra's throat felt tight. She hated how Scorpia could cut through her defenses without even trying. It was annoying—and kind of comforting at the same time.

"And now," Scorpia continued gently, "you're stuck with just you. No yelling, no drama. Just you and the part of your brain that won't let you off the hook."

Catra let out a bitter laugh. "Great. Love that for me."

Scorpia smiled softly. "Hey, it's a good thing, though. It means you're not the same person you were. You're actually holding yourself accountable."

"Yeah, well, it sucks," Catra muttered, slumping back in the booth.

"Growth usually does," Scorpia said with a chuckle. "But it beats the alternative."

Entrapta looked up briefly from her gadget. "Is this a biological evolution thing or more of a metaphorical one?"

Catra snorted despite herself. "Definitely metaphorical."

"Cool." Entrapta nodded and returned to her work.

Catra sat in silence for a moment, Scorpia's words settling into the cracks she hadn't realized were there. Maybe Scorpia was right. Maybe part of her wanted Adora to be angry because it was easier than facing herself. But the fact that Adora hadn't lashed out didn't make her apology meaningless—it just made the next steps her responsibility. And as much as she hated it, maybe that was the point.

Catra sighed and leaned back, popping a fry into her mouth. She tilted her head at Scorpia, "You know, your really like—emotionally mature"

Scorpia smiled, "You think?"

Catra chuckled and nodded. Scorpia looked like she just got a toy on Christmas, her eyes sparkling at the compliment. A silence rang over them, the music from the jukebox and Entrapta's tinkering filling the gaps. Scorpia spoke up again.

"You know, you never talk about your family."

Catra tensed, feeling her tail wrap around herself defensively, "Uh..don't I?"

"Nope. Scorpia's right. Whenever we talk about family you avert your gaze 78% of the conversation" Entrapta added, not looking up.

Catra's ears flicked in annoyance. "That is such a weirdly specific number."

Entrapta shrugged. "Numbers don't lie."

Scorpia gave a soft laugh. "She's got a point. And, look, you don't have to tell us anything you don't want to—but, y'know, we're here."

Catra fidgeted with the edge of her napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. Her heart raced at the thought of talking about her mother, about the trial, the years of being screamed at and feeling worthless. She always thought she'd buried it deep enough that it couldn't claw its way back up.

"I just don't like talking about it," Catra said finally, her voice quieter than she intended.

Scorpia's expression softened. "I get that. But bottling stuff up? Trust me, it doesn't help."

"I guess you're the expert now, huh?" Catra smirked weakly, trying to deflect.

"Hey, emotional maturity, remember?" Scorpia grinned.

Catra sighed. Maybe Scorpia was right—again. But she didn't know how to explain something so messy without making herself feel exposed and weak. "My mom... She wasn't great, okay? Let's leave it at that."

Entrapta blinked, her gadget buzzing softly. "Great as in, not supportive or great as in 'please pass the childhood trauma bingo card'?"

Catra choked on a laugh. "Definitely the latter."

Scorpia nodded and for some reason, Catra felt this weird urge to keep talking. She had only ever felt that with—she shook her head. Maybe it would be nice...talking about it to someone who's job wasn't to make sure they coped.

"She—she wasn't bad in the beginning. Ya know. I guess I can't blame her for not wanting a kid, she was sixteen when she had me. I guess I thought she tried her best. But the older I got—the worse she got"

The words got caught in Catra's throat. She felt a lump form. Scorpia put her hand on Catra's hand. Telling her that she didn't have to keep going. But Catra wanted to—she wanted to talk about it.

Catra took a shaky breath, her voice low but steady. "She got mean. Like, really mean. If something went wrong, it was always my fault. And if I did something right? It didn't matter." Her gaze dropped to the table, where her claws scraped against the wood. "I think she hated that I reminded her of all the stuff she gave up."

She left out the part about the drunk nights and bruises. She didn't feel like balling in the middle of a diner.

Scorpia's grip on Catra's hand was firm but gentle, like a silent promise: I'm here, you're safe.

"One time, I got into this advanced soccer program, and I thought—maybe she'd be proud, you know? But instead, she got mad 'cause it meant more practices and less time to help around the house." Catra laughed bitterly. "I was, like, eleven. What the hell was I supposed to do? Balance the checkbook?"

Scorpia's brow furrowed, her warmth never wavering. "That sounds... really hard."

"It was. But I guess I just got used to it. You don't realize how screwed up it is until someone points it out." Catra swallowed hard, the memories clawing at her insides. "By the time I was in high school, I stopped trying. She wasn't gonna change, and I didn't wanna keep getting disappointed."

Entrapta finally looked up from her gadget, her eyes wide. "That's awful. Statistically speaking, parental support is a major factor in childhood success."

"Thanks for the stats, Entrapta," Catra said with a weak smile.

"I mean it," Entrapta said earnestly. "You're really impressive considering the odds."

Catra blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. "Uh... thanks, I guess?"

"You are impressive," Scorpia added. "And it's okay to let yourself feel that, you know? That you're more than