"Adora! You're late." Coach's voice cut through the hum of conversations on the field. Adora adjusted the strap of her bag and jogged toward the team, feeling the weight of eyes on her. One pair in particular. Adora didn't look in her direction.

It was the second practice since classes started. Adora didn't know if she'd ever get used to having to wake up so early. Water drops stuck to the grass, the sun barely peeking over the field. The campus dead in the early morning besides the few students who had the unfortunate reality of morning classes.

Adora tied her cleats, stretching with the rest of the team. Her gaze flickered despite herself, drawn to the girl standing alone at the back. Catra. She still couldn't get over the haircut—gone was the wild mane that had always defined her. Adora loved that hair

Adora let out a sigh. Dragging her eyes back to her surrounding teammates. She had played with most of them in high school, some were older kids but Adora still had good ideas on most of them.

The stretches stopped, and laps began—five every practice. Routine. Adora liked routine. Her legs burned by the second lap, but Catra was already ahead, leading the pack. Of course, she was the fastest. She always had been.

Adora still didn't understand what happened. Catra had played every game until senior year—and then, nothing. No explanation, no goodbye. The Horde players stayed tight-lipped, no matter how many times Adora asked. It gnawed at her until... there she was. Back on the field, just like that.

Adora's thoughts tangled as she pushed through the laps. The steady thud of feet on damp grass filled the space where conversations would usually be, but no one dared to chat this early in the morning. Adora kept her breathing steady, eyes forward—mostly. Her gaze kept pulling toward Catra, who maintained a casual, almost effortless pace ahead of everyone else. Adora tried not to notice, but Catra's presence demanded attention, like a sharp breath on a cold morning.

Her return had been abrupt and unexplained. No texts, no announcements—just there, standing at practice like she'd never disappeared. Adora still wasn't sure what to make of it. Relief tangled with frustration in her chest, forming a stubborn knot that wouldn't budge. She had questions, and Catra didn't seem eager to offer any answers.

By the fourth lap, sweat clung to Adora's back, and her calves screamed. She gritted her teeth, pushing through it, trying to let the routine dull her thoughts. But Catra lingered at the edges of her mind like a splinter she couldn't shake.

When the laps ended, the team gathered around Coach, breathing heavy and flushed from the run. Catra stood on the outskirts, hands on her hips, her chest barely rising. Adora wiped her forehead, her pulse thudding in her ears.

"Alright," Coach barked. "Pair up for passing drills. Let's go!"

Adora hesitated, scanning the cluster of teammates. Most of them already gravitated toward their usual partners. Her stomach knotted when she realized there was only one person without a pair.

Catra.

For a split second, Adora considered pretending not to notice. Maybe Coach would step in. Maybe someone would conveniently show up late. But luck wasn't on her side today.

Catra's gaze flicked to Adora, unreadable but sharp. The hair at the back of Adora's neck prickled. Her feet moved before she could think better of it.

"Uh, guess it's you and me," Adora said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace.

Catra's eyes narrowed. "Lucky me," she said, voice flat.

Adora's throat tightened. This was going to be a long practice.

Adora swallowed the lump in her throat as they made their way to the far end of the field. The air was thick with the awkwardness hanging between them. The easy rhythm they used to have on the field was gone, replaced by this strange, stilted tension.

Catra rolled the ball between her feet, her expression tight. But something was off—her movements were jerky, not the sharp, confident style Adora remembered. She missed her touch on the ball, sending it wobbling to the side.

Adora blinked, surprised. Catra never fumbled.

"Still Captain Perfect, huh?" Catra asked, her voice strained, but the jab lacked its usual bite.

"Just trying to keep up," Adora replied carefully, though confusion tugged at her.

When Catra kicked the ball, it came off awkwardly, rolling weakly toward Adora's cleat. Adora stopped it without effort, sending it back with a clean pass.

"You okay?" she asked cautiously.

Catra's jaw clenched. "Fine."

The ball ricocheted awkwardly off Catra's shin on the next pass, bouncing too far to the left. Catra cursed under her breath, chasing it down. Adora hesitated, watching her.

This wasn't like Catra. She was always smooth on the field, light on her feet and in total control. But now, it was like she was fighting herself.

"You sure you're fine?" Adora tried again, her voice softer.

"I said I'm fine," Catra snapped, but her face was flushed, not from exertion but embarrassment.

Adora bit her lip, unsure whether to push or back off. Catra was a storm when she got frustrated—always had been. And it looked like the storm was brewing now.

The coach's whistle cut through the awkward exchange. "Alright, switch up! New drill!"

Catra yanked her sweat-soaked bangs back, clearly irritated. She muttered something Adora couldn't catch and jogged off toward the group without looking back.

Adora exhaled, her chest tight with worry. Catra didn't just fumble. Not on the field. Something was wrong—she just didn't know what.

Adora shook the feeling off, heading to regroup with the team.

"Speed Dribbles! Let's go ladies!" the coach called sharply.

The girls got into a line, each player running down the field with the ball, the goal to maintain control. As she waited her eyes fell to Catra. She looked ticked, Adora knew that expression anywhere. But just as quick as it came her face fell back to normal, like the storm had passed. Which confused Adora—Catra never calmed unless it was after she hit something.

Adora shook it off. She needed to focus on her own work, making sure she didn't mess up. The drill was easy. Adora was good, keeping control of the ball the whole way down, even when her legs burned and sweat built on her forehead.

Catra on the other hand—did not. Her work was sloppy, she managed to get down the field but was slower than normal. Her once bold and timed rhythm was gone, replaced with something different. Uncalculated and unsure.

The ball rolled to Adora's feet for her next turn, and she took off down the field. Her steps were quick and confident, the ball staying firmly under her control. Years of training kicked in—her movements automatic.

But her focus wavered. Her gaze kept darting back to Catra, now at the far end of the line. She was muttering under her breath, her face taut with frustration. Adora knew that look too well—Catra was on the edge of snapping.

Adora's foot slipped over the ball, nearly tripping herself. A clumsy mistake. She heard a few snickers from the line. Heat crept up her neck as she quickly righted herself, pushing the ball forward to finish the drill.

"Focus, Adora!" Coach's voice rang across the field.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered under her breath, biting back her embarrassment.

As Adora jogged back to the line, her legs burning, she caught Catra's next attempt. Her form was all wrong—her touches too heavy, the ball veering off course. Catra chased it down, her movements wild and desperate.

The coach blew the whistle sharply. "Catra, come on! Where's your control?"

"I got it," Catra snapped, though her voice faltered. She forced the ball back into line but didn't look at anyone, her jaw clenched tight.

The team fell into an awkward silence. Even the girls who usually chatted during drills were quiet.

Adora's chest tightened. Catra never let a bad day show—she either nailed the drill or laughed it off. But this? This wasn't Catra.

Adora's instinct was to say something, to tell her to shake it off or ask what was wrong. But the weight of their past held her back. Would Catra even listen to her now?

As the whistle blew to start the next round, Adora stayed rooted in place, torn between keeping her distance and breaking the silence.

By the time break came, Adora was sweating like crazy. She took a seat on the bench, chugging her water. Her legs ached and burned but somehow she didn't notice—her eyes falling on Catra.

She was sitting by herself, drinking her own water. She looked ticked off, like she was five seconds away from punching something. She wanted to go over and ask her what was wrong. Make her feel better—but all the words from the past year held her back.

All the things Catra did—all the things she said. Plus Adora didn't know if her words were even welcomed. Over the past years they never were.

A couple whispers and mutters came from her team, all directed towards Catra—Adora knew they bothered the cat girl. They always did.

Adora leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, unwilling to make a move.

The whispers from her teammates grew louder. They were subtle, but enough to reach Adora's ears. Comments about Catra's form on the field, about how she was "slacking" or how "she used to be so good," words that just stung the air. Catra's back stiffened even further, her gaze firmly on the ground.

Adora's chest tightened. She hated it when her teammates acted like that. It reminded her of the way they used to talk about Catra behind her back, before everything fell apart. But now? She couldn't defend Catra. Not without her own awkwardness, her own guilt getting in the way.

Another teammate, a forward named Mermista, shot Catra a sideways glance before turning to Adora with a raised eyebrow. "Think she's going to get it together, or are we stuck with a lazy player?" she whispered with a smirk.

Adora's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond. She couldn't.

Her eyes were back on Catra, who hadn't moved an inch, looking like she was trying to disappear into herself.

If only it were that simple.

"Okay ladies!" The coach called, the sharp voice calling everyone back to huddle. "Scimage time!" she announced, earning some smirks and grins from the players.

Adora and Catra got placed on the same team, Adora was almost thankful—she didn't know if she could handle playing against her rightnow.

The game started, the rushing adrenaline building in her chest. For a second she was reminded how much she loved soccer—loved the aching in her legs, the feeling of the ball flying.

The whistle blew, and the game was on. Adora felt the familiar rush of excitement take over, her body moving almost instinctively, the ball at her feet like it belonged there. The field stretched out before her, a world of possibilities opening up with every step.

Her mind tried to focus, but a small part of her kept drifting toward Catra. They were on opposite sides of the field now, but the tension between them was palpable. Adora could feel her presence even from across the pitch—the energy was different now. It wasn't the usual rhythm they shared, the silent understanding. Instead, it felt like two strangers passing in the wind.

Catra moved like a shadow. Her footwork was still sharp, but it was... off. Her speed was still there, but there was something frantic about her, something that didn't belong.

Adora tried not to stare, but it was hard to ignore the way Catra's eyes flickered around the field, the way her passes were a little too heavy or too short, her body tensing every time someone came near. It was like watching a player who didn't quite fit in her own skin.

"Adora, come on!" Mermista shouted as she passed the ball. Adora snapped back into focus, dribbling past a defender with ease. She could hear the breath in her chest, the adrenaline pushing her faster. The game was all that mattered now. For a moment, everything else faded.

But when the ball came near Catra, things changed. Adora saw her, almost too late, lunging for the ball. They collided—Catra's shoulder meeting Adora's in a move that would've felt like old times if only the air didn't feel so strained between them.

Catra growled softly under her breath, eyes darting to the ground as she regained her balance, not meeting Adora's gaze.

"Careful!" Adora called out before she could stop herself, her voice softer than she intended.

Catra didn't respond. She just sprinted off in the opposite direction, her body tense, her focus locked on the ball.

Adora hesitated, her heart thumping in her chest. She tried to push the awkwardness out of her mind and refocus. The game was still in motion. The ball was back at her feet. It was all that mattered now. But the weight of that unspoken tension—between them, between what they used to have and what they had now—hung in the air, pulling at her.

The final whistle blew, and the game was over. Their team had won, but it didn't feel like much of a victory. Adora stood at the edge of the field, catching her breath, her chest still tight from the awkwardness and the ghost of what could've been.

Catra didn't even look in her direction as the teams broke apart, and that stung more than Adora cared to admit. She turned her back to her, trying to shake off the feeling of a game won but something lost.

The coach clapped her hands together, calling everyone in for a quick huddle. But Adora didn't have the energy to smile or celebrate. Instead, she kept her gaze low, her mind still caught on the distance between her and Catra.

Would it always be like this? Would the field always be filled with this strange tension?

Finally practice ended, Adora didn't even get a chance to blink before Catra had her stuff and ran off. Not even bothering to change.

Adora sighed. Ignoring the intense feeling to go after her. To see what was wrong, just to talk to her—stop. That wasn't her responsibility. Not anymore. Though something in the back of her mind disagreed.

She made her way to the locker room, changing quickly. She just wanted to go home and collapse on her bed.

She closed her locker, pulling out her phone. Her finger hovered over Catra's name. Just one text. Just to see how she was—how she was doing. She stopped herself. Shoving her phone in her pocket.

Maybe it was better this way—for both of them.

Take Me on The Field