#donahue o'donovan

[isabelasfriendfiction]

The Card

A recounting of an in-game scene in which Donahue expresses his affection(?) for Finch in the only way he knows how: cryptically and awkwardly. For better or worse, Finch isn't much better at communicating. Donahue is @brick-brooke's character!

{ao3 link}

Finch sat at one of the tables in the Wishing Well’s loft area, tinkering with various metal bits and pieces with unclear purpose to most who would walk by. At one point, a shadow cast over her work announced the arrival of a visitor. Finch looked up to see Donahue standing there, making no attempt at a greeting.

“Oh, hey,” Finch said, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” was all Donahue said. After a small hesitation, he handed her a folded piece of paper, clearly torn out of a notebook judging by its soft edge. The front was blank.

Finch cast Donahue a quizzical look.

Clearing his throat, Donahue said, “It’s a card. You don’t have to keep it.”

“I can see that,” Finch said slowly. “Why...?”

“Do you know what a card is?” His gaze was expectant; he wanted her to open it.

Finch rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know what a card is, jackass. It’s just you usually... you don’t...” Finch trailed off, realizing how stupid it sounded to try explaining how greeting cards worked. “Fine.” She opened the card and tried to ignore its author watching her intently as she read it.

Finch, Sorry for getting the last blow on your brother. I know you probably wanted it. But I guess we’re even over Lillian now.

Finch cracked a bemused smile, glancing back up at Donahue. “Didn’t want to just say those words out loud to me, huh?”

“Not really,” Donahue said, impassive as ever.

Weirdo, but whatever. “Well, no apology needed. I’m not mad at you over this.” She wagged the card. “Zal’gaelin is dead and that’s what counts.”

“Sometimes closure is nice to get on stuff like that. Last words and all.” Donahue shifted on his feet. “Is there... anything you wanted to say to him?”

Finch blinked, considering the question. “No. He terrorized me my whole childhood. Not much to say there other than ‘fuck you,’ which I’ve already done plenty. And then he would’ve just said ‘fuck you’ back.”

“Are you going to reach out to your other brother or sister?”

He’s chatty today, Finch thought. So many questions, and while Donahue’s face became less stiff with each one, he was still difficult to read. Finch kept her wondering to herself and replied, “My other brother as in Lorel’onas? Absolutely not, he’s an asshole. Why would I do that?”

“Well, with you being heir to the throne now—” Finch gritted her teeth at the reminder. “—I thought you might want to check if your other siblings changed their minds about abdicating. Or if they wanted to help.”

That elicited a derisive snort from Finch. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Lorel’onas wants nothing to do with me.” She paused, then sighed. “But you’re right, maybe I should contact my sister. It’s just... weird.”

“She tried talking to you about a year ago, right?”

“At the Horowitz party, yeah. I was fresh out of the palace and too paranoid to believe she was on my side. Like, she never contributed to the rest of my family being shitty, but also...”

“She never stopped it,” Donahue supplied, nodding. “You’ve changed a lot in the past year. Maybe she has too.”

Finch raised an eyebrow. “She’s an elf, I kind of doubt that. But... I guess I have.” She couldn’t articulate how, but Finch knew she wasn’t the same jumpy, terrified fugitive that had run away. Part of her wanted to ask Donahue how he thought she’d changed, but she couldn’t bring herself to, perhaps afraid of the answer.

The lull in conversation allowed the fact that Donahue had just been standing next to Finch the whole time to sink in. Finch shifted in her seat, sitting up somewhat straighter. “You know, you can like, sit down,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across the table.

“No.” Donahue’s response was immediate, and with it his face reverted right back to its normal stoniness. “I have stuff I need to do.”

“Oh. All right.” What should have been a snarky, Okay, fuck you too, came out a pathetic concession instead thanks to an unexpectedly profound sense of disappointment. She nearly hissed at herself, hoping Donahue hadn’t noticed.

If he did, he didn’t say anything. Without so much as a goodbye, he walked away.

“Bye...” Finch muttered, shaking her head and turning to continue her previous task.

Absent-mindedly, Finch turned the card in her hands over, ready to set it down, but was met by something on the back of it: a sketch of a formal suit, with enough details to show embroidery along the trim and for the thought that it looked nice to cross Finch’s mind. The “card” had likely been torn out of the journal Donahue coveted so much, and one of Donahue’s hobbies was fashion. It didn’t surprise her that he might sketch outfits before taking the ideas to the tailor.

And then Finch noticed the mostly-erased remnants of the suit’s occupant; a smudge where the head should be was not quite obscured enough to hide the unique pair of twisting horns. Finch’s horns.

She stared. What the fuck?

Plenty of images had been drawn—painted, even—of her in the palace. But those were all portraits of Princess Ven’thanyrias’elae, the perfect pure-blooded high elven royal child the emperor pretended he had. Nobody had ever, to her knowledge, drawn Finch before, let alone on their own whim. Not that she necessarily wanted people to, but the sight of this simple, half-erased sketch was causing a host of strange sensations in her guts, like her organs were twisting themselves into knots—

As if the paper would burn her if she held onto it any longer, Finch shoved it into a pocket. Weird internal shit was best left for later, once she could be alone in her room, not here where anyone could walk by at any moment. This is a problem for future Finch, she told herself as she turned to the welcome distraction of trinkets laid out on the table to fiddle with.

***

Past Finch is a bitch, future Finch thought. Being alone with her thoughts later didn’t exactly help the gut-churning issue. At least she could prevent anyone from encountering her in the sanctum that was her room. The door had at least five different locks on it of various types; a practical collection for both study and keeping even the nosiest of friends out. Not even Kanai would be getting in here without Finch’s express permission.

Finch lay nestled in the veritable fortress of plush blankets and pillows that made up her bed, located in a makeshift loft six feet off the ground in one corner of the room. She felt anything but cozy, however; the card was once more in her hands and she had resumed boring holes into it with her stare. Cricket trilled softly as he played some sort of game with himself, darting between pillows.

A tangled mess of thoughts, questions and assumed answers, bombarded Finch’s brain: So he envisioned the outfit with her in mind? (Yes, of course he did, he drew you in it.) Did he mean for her to see this? (He wouldn’t be careless enough to accidentally leave something like this there.) But why erase her from it? (Because he’s embarrassed?) And why not just show her directly? (Also because he’s embarrassed.) Why the hell would he be embarrassed? (He gets embarrassed if you look at him wrong. It’s part of why he’s fun.) If he did intend for her to see it, why tell her to throw it away? (I don’t know.) And what was he hoping for her to do in response to seeing it? (I don’t know.) Why was she thinking so damn hard about this? (I don’t know!)

At this point Finch’s face burned; her intense thoughts might as well have been overheating her head. But she couldn’t stop them.

Cricket slithered between Finch’s arms to rest his head on her chin, a wave of concern emanating from him. That helped break the loop her thoughts were stuck in. Finch took a deep breath and smiled at Cricket, giving him a pat on the head for his trouble.

Moving on, then. The way she saw it, Finch had a few options for handling this:

Ignore it. Toss the card and pretend she hadn’t seen the drawing. Eliminate the chance of a supremely weird conversation altogether.

Talk to Donahue about it. Given he hadn’t acknowledged it himself during their conversation, this seemed like a guaranteed ticket to an awkward conversation.

Respond in kind with a card of her own. Turn it into a game. But this relied on Donahue having intended for Finch to see it.

Despite the first option being the easiest by far, Finch felt reluctant to choose it. The mystery was too intriguing; the potential interaction too enticing; the gesture too nice to simply throw away.

Option 2 might get answers fast, but held a high risk of mortification for both parties. Finch could envision Donahue clamming up entirely at being confronted with evidence of his kindness. Or, if that didn’t happen, he could potentially hold the fact that she’d kept the card over her. Finch would rather die than allow that to pass.

That left option 3. Finch loved a good game, especially with Donahue, so the idea was slowly growing on her. A considerable hurdle remained, however: if she didn’t get confirmation that Donahue wanted her to respond, the same issues as option 2 remained.

If any of the rest of SPF had known she was still awake, Finch had no doubt they’d tell her to sleep. With how agitated her thoughts were, though, that wasn’t an option for the time being. Finch sat up. “Come on, Cricket. We need to brainstorm.”

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Just Talk to Him

Just confess your feelings you didn't even know you had a few hours ago to one of your closest friends who is already taken! You'll feel so good about it! AKA Opal finds out Finch has a crush on Donahue and gets a little too excited about fostering communication in the party. Donahue belongs to @brick-brooke.

{ao3 link}

Finch poked miserably at her dinner, not taking her eyes off the plate before her. Opal had made one of her favorite foods, kebabs, and normally Finch would have been excited and even grateful. Tonight, however, she felt the exact opposite, precisely because she knew why Opal had cooked this particular dish.

Zeus proved to be the saving grace of the evening, talking away like nothing was amiss. But Finch felt fairly certain every other person at the table had picked up on the misery radiating off of her, given the lack of dialogue happening on their parts. And if Finch’s demeanor wasn’t hint enough of something strange going on, Opal’s blatant, eager staring at her would surely tip them off.

Finch refused to meet her gaze. A brittle, distressing concoction of dread, confusion, and anger had settled in Finch’s chest, and it was certain to burst if she faced Opal. Finch did care about her friends enough to not want to cause a totally unpleasant scene at a meal.

Dessert came. Donahue’s favorite. Finch’s teeth clenched. She couldn’t believe Opal was trying to make her do this.

Just a few hours ago, Finch had approached Opal and trusted her with helping sort out her thoughts and feelings, something she’d never done before. But she had come to regret doing so. As soon as Opal settled on the label of “romantic” for how Finch felt about Donahue, she jumped to insisting that Finch confess to him. That night. And didn’t let Finch get a word in edgewise before rushing off to prepare this special dinner.

What am I even supposed to say? “Hey. I’m having weird feelings about you. Deal with it?” The very idea made Finch sick to her stomach. She wasn’t even sure if she believed Opal’s conclusion!

The plates disappearing from Finch’s view brought her back to reality. Opal was clearing the table, pep in her step as she took dishes back to the kitchen. Norn offered to help. Zeus said something about tak and went upstairs with Kanai, of all people. Finch mentally kicked herself, wishing she had joined so she could have an excuse to leave.

Norn leaving with the last of the dishes left just Finch and Donahue in the dining area. Finch slowly, carefully lifted her head to look at him and found his gaze already on her, his expression comprised mostly of confusion but also a notable amount of concern.

The tiny part of Finch that still trusted Opal, that didn’t want to disappoint her, tried to entertain the idea of humoring her. Right away, the alarm bells of her imagination, envisioning every possible way it could go horribly, drowned that out.

Yet Finch still found herself frozen in place, gaze locked with Donahue’s.

Only a second or two had passed before he asked, “Are you okay?”

He’s so nice. Wait. Shit. No. Finch’s heart leapt into her throat, beating wildly—Dammit, stop betraying me, body!—as if it were trying to physically escape, or suffocate her, or both. Seconds felt like hours as she stared into those pretty—No! Fuck!—blue eyes.

Gods fucking damn it, Opal was right.

With the realization a cold, hard stone of despair dropped into Finch’s stomach. And then a very real urge to puke overtook her, and she bolted, not caring how loud her feet slammed against the floorboards as she ascended the stairs.

Once in her room, Finch scaled the ladder to her bed in record time and dove into the blankets, determined to hide away from the world. Practically gasping for breath, she tried to calm herself down, though her mind couldn’t be stopped from grappling with this new truth.

She liked Donahue, and she hated it.

A weight settled between Finch’s shoulder blades; Cricket chirped quietly and shoved his snout by her cheek. Finch rolled over and the little dragon deftly maneuvered to avoid being squashed, settling on her chest and resting his head by her collar bone. Finch petted him gently, sending telepathic gratitude his way. Heartfelt words never came naturally to Finch. The ability to exchange raw emotions, with all nuance intact, directly with another was a relief.

*THUNK THUNK*

Finch tensed at the knock on the door. She nearly yelled a “fuck off” before recognizing that the sound was far too forceful to be Opal. “Who is it?”

“Norn,” came the muffled response.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Finch clambered down from her bed and undid all but one of the locks on the door, the last of which only allowed her to open it a crack.

The triton’s golden eyes pierced right through Finch. It was always difficult for her to keep still under Norn’s intensity no matter the situation, but she managed to put up a fragile impassive facade as she waited for Norn to speak.

“You should talk to him.”

If Norn had said literally anything else, perhaps Finch could have had a chance at maintaining her straight face. As it was, her mouth instantly twisted into a scowl. “So Opal told you everything,” she said flatly, stating rather than asking.

“Yes.” Norn’s brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. “And even aside from Opal’s opinion, I think you need to hash this all out with Donahue.”

“I don’t know why everyone seems to think that,” Finch said through gritted teeth.

“Because you’ll feel better.”

There that phrase was again. Opal had said the same thing. How the hell would ruining her friendship with Donahue make her feel better? “No, I really don’t think I will!” Finch struggled to keep her voice from going up an octave.

Norn tapped a foot. “How about getting this off your chest so you’re not distracted in a fight? Or so the manipulative demon we’re about to hunt doesn’t take advantage of you?”

Finch scoffed. I’m not a fucking idiot. In fact, a fight sounded like the perfect way to refocus and stop fixating on this mess. A plethora of offended retorts came to Finch’s mind, but she held her tongue, settling for a quiet but firm, “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Norn clearly wanted to push that angle further, but as their eyes searched Finch’s stubborn face, she could practically see the gears turning in their head. Wisely, they decided to drop it in favor of a different approach: “You trusted Opal enough to talk to her about your feelings. Why don’t you trust her advice?”

Unable to answer right away, Finch made a face as though she had eaten something unpleasant, recalling the sequence of the conversation that led to Opal’s bizarre conclusion. There were plenty of answers to Norn’s question, but Norn almost certainly wouldn’t accept any of them without a long-winded explanation of the entire event, which Finch was not inclined to do there at the doorway. So, naturally, she responded with an even more unsatisfactory answer: “Reasons. I just don’t, okay?”

“Come on.” Frustration leaked into Norn’s voice. “Listen, it’s not just your ass on the line in battle. It’s all of us. I know you don’t want any of us killed.”

Finch’s chest tightened at the insinuation Norn was making. If this kept on, she might burst into flames, which wouldn’t be fun for anyone. “I already said. That. Won’t. Happen.”

“But if you just talk—”

“I can’t— I’m not ready!” Finch snapped, her voice wavering dangerously. She desperately wanted to slam the door in Norn’s face, but they were Finch’s friend, despite everything, and she knew that they at least thought they were helping. This charitable line of thinking formed the single thread keeping that impulse at bay.

Luckily, those words seemed to get through to Norn. They pursed their lips, then sighed. “Fine. I won’t force you if you’re not ready. But promise me you’ll talk to him eventually.”

“Eventually. Sure.” Anything to get Norn to leave her the fuck alone right now.

“Good,” Norn said. The word had barely left their mouth before a hefty clunk punctuated it, courtesy of Finch yanking the door shut. The rudeness surely offended Norn, but hesitation on Finch’s part might have allowed them to continue speaking. All Finch knew was that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—talk about this anymore.

Alone at last, Finch leaned back and sank to the ground. A sob escaped her mouth. Fucking embarrassing, she chided herself, but found herself powerless to stop the tears.

Cricket wasted no time on gliding over to curl around Finch’s neck, his warm body rumbling in an attempt at comfort. She wanted to convey her thanks, but her volatile state of mind made it difficult.

Why is everyone pushing this so hard? Why should I have to confess to someone I know doesn’t reciprocate? Why does this hurt so damn much?

Anger, Finch could handle. Sadness proved much more difficult. Especially when mixed with confusion, hopelessness, and humiliation. Usually, Finch’s brain would simply convert it all into anger, but it wasn’t working this time for some reason. She found it in herself to be immensely irritated at Opal, certainly, but what Finch contended with went far beyond just the events of the evening.

Who was Finch supposed to be angry at for her own stupid feelings? Not Opal. Not Norn. Not even Donahue. As much as Finch wished she could find a way to pin it on him, she knew that would be unfair. She didn’t want to be angry at Donahue. On account of the stupid fucking feelings. The whole thing was appallingly mortifying. Of course, that only left herself to blame.

And she hadn’t even touched the ticking time bomb of how she felt about Kanai and Fix.

Finch buried her face into the crook of her arms resting on her knees in a feeble attempt to muffle the sounds she was making, praying no one passed by outside and heard her. She gave up on trying to suppress the crying, letting all her wretched emotions out.

It felt like hours before Finch ran out of tears, but it must have only been twenty minutes or so. When she lifted her head, her breath still hitching with each inhale, Cricket slid down from her neck to the pocket of space between her legs and chest, licking at the salty residue on her face and eliciting some involuntary ticklish laughs from her.

“Cricket, stop,” Finch breathlessly protested. Cricket obliged Finch’s request, but instead took to pressing his head against her forehead and broadcasting a pleading, restless sentiment. “Okay, fine, we’ll go see what Zeus and Kanai are up to. Once my eyes stop being so puffy.”

Remarkably and unexpectedly, Finch did feel a bit better after having cried. The endless deluge of distressing thoughts didn’t seem to be overwhelming her anymore, at least, having retreated to the back of her mind. Her feelings were her problem, and she would make sure nobody else had to handle them for her. Hopefully nothing like this would ever happen again.

[isabelasfriendfiction]

Trial of Lies

Finch and her party had to overcome the trials of the Five Sisters, a group of evil goddesses, to reach an augur that held vital information for the whole group. During the first trial, Finch and Donahue find their trust put to the test. Donahue is @brick-brooke's character.

{ao3 link}

The silence in the shadowy cave weighed like a suffocating blanket over Finch and Donahue. They both stared, horrified, at the bridge they had watched their friends cross... and then witnessed each of them plummet into the abyss below.

Finch rubbed her temples and began to pace in a small circle. “It’s just an illusion, they didn’t make any sound,” she muttered, repeating the phrase a few times to assure herself. Logically, that made the most sense, considering they were performing the trials of literally evil gods.

To add to that argument, Opal seemed to have had some revelation before she crossed, stating confidently that this was the room representing lies, not darkness as the group had originally guessed. She told them to close their eyes and trust they’d make it to the other side. Then she’d appeared to fall like the rest.

After that it was only Ham, Finch, and Donahue left. Ham had volunteered to go with them all at once, but the idea of putting that much weight on the bridge made Finch hesitate too long. Donahue had also declined. Ham had a particular look of concern he often gave Finch that always made her want to shrink and hide somewhere, and it was that expression he gave the both of them before going on his own and also “falling.”

It briefly occurred to Finch that perhaps Ham had been asking for moral support for himself as well as offering it for them, and she felt a little twinge of guilt, but the present situation quickly overshadowed it.

Even knowing what they did, it was hard to shake the image of their friends falling to their deaths, especially without proof that they were actually on the other very empty-looking side. It also didn’t help that the bridge was the textbook definition of “rickety,” with frayed rope and rotting wooden slats, of which they had seen several break under their friends’ feet.

Donahue shifted his attention towards Finch, his arms crossed. “Well, you wanna go first?”

Finch shot him a pointed look. “How about you?”

He offered no reply. Both of them grimaced. Again, logically, there wasn’t much reason for them to be hesitating. The entrance to the trials had sealed shut behind them, so the remaining person couldn’t leave even if they wanted to. Also, deep down inside, Finch knew that if all their companions had truly died... her reaction wouldn’t be so mild. The trial itself must have been messing with their minds, taking advantage of their pre-existing paranoia. And boy, did the both of them have plenty to spare.

“Fuck it, should we just go together?” The frustrated words left Finch’s mouth of their own accord. Her cheeks burned a bit as the suggestion sunk in–not only was it embarrassing, but blatantly hypocritical–but she didn’t take it back.

Donahue blinked and took a moment to think. Right as Finch started to formulate arguments as to why it would be better to go at the same time, he settled on a decision. “Fuck it,” he agreed, then swiftly hooked his arm around Finch’s and dragged her forward.

The contents of Finch’s mind instantly became a jumbled mess at the unexpected physical contact, and it was all she could do to match Donahue’s pace without stumbling and grab the rope railing with her free hand. As her feet hit the bridge, Finch recalled Opal’s words and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Finch intoned under her breath for the duration of the crossing. If Donahue said anything, Finch couldn’t hear it over the chaotic thoughts fighting for dominance in her mind.

Don’t think about the chasm. I can’t believe Donahue agreed to that idea. Don’t think about how easy it would be to trip right now. Also can’t believe he grabbed me like that.

Suddenly Finch became hyper-aware of Donahue’s presence pressing at her side.

Don’t think about that either, that’s weird. But I guess it’s also... She couldn’t find a word for it. But it wasn’t bad, whatever it was. This realization mildly surprised Finch herself, given her rather severe aversion to people touching her.

Then Finch’s awareness retreated back to herself as she felt memories of other people, people who were gone now and likely never coming back, clamoring to the surface of her mind. Finch almost wanted to scream. What is wrong with me?! She didn’t understand where these unprompted... things were coming from. Back at home, where there were reminders of Fix everywhere and she could wallow? Sure. But now of all times?

Desperately, Finch shoved the bittersweet recollections back into the depths, where they would hopefully drown. Think of anything but them.

As if to oblige her request, a different memory came to the forefront: a time before Finch was confident in her relationship with the other members of SPF, during a trip to Leandra’s shop. Donahue had swooped in and bought a potion she’d been clearly eyeing and Finch had been convinced he’d done it out of spite, buying it for the sake of keeping it from her. Like something one of her brothers would do. But after they left, he’d stopped and given it to her, which utterly floored Finch. First, she couldn’t fathom why he’d spent his own money when she’d had much more to spare. Second, and more importantly, no one had ever simply given her a gift without an ulterior motive.

Okay, fine, but why that right now? Finch’s chest tightened in an odd way, and she couldn’t be sure whether to blame her fear or her current train of thought.

Why is Donahue so... nice?

Finch didn’t have time to ponder the question as her feet finally hit solid ground and the sound of their friends’ voices filled her ears. Blissfully, the whirlwind of thoughts faded into the background. They were still happening, but now Finch could focus on other things.

Letting out a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding, Finch opened her eyes right as Opal rushed forward and nearly lifted both her and Donahue off the ground.

“I knew you could do it!” the dragonborn joyfully cried, her smile wide. Finch stiffened, as she always did when hugged, and she felt Donahue do the same beside her. But the relief that swelled within her allowed Finch to hesitantly reach up and pat Opal’s arm—far more reciprocation than she’d ever done for previous Opal hugs.

“Glad you’re not dead,” Finch said weakly. Opal chuckled and said something in response, but Finch wasn’t listening. Instead, she glanced at Donahue in her periphery.

Normally the two of them would have shared a silent look of wryness or exasperation in a situation like this. As soon as his blue gaze met hers, however, Finch’s eyes darted away, and she had no idea why.

Opal let them go and the group began discussing the plan of approach for the next chamber. Finch busied herself with brushing off and adjusting her outfit, internally waving off the way her heart was pounding as a remnant of the adrenaline rush of the whole ordeal. Everything is fine and normal. Right?

[isabelasfriendfiction]

A Case of the Chills

Not me posting writing for the first time in 4 years?! I'd like to introduce you to some of the characters from my primary D&D campaign over the last few years. Finch is my tiefling arcane trickster rogue, Donahue is @brick-brooke's half-elf hexblade warlock, and Opal is another friend's dragonborn twilight cleric. More info on these characters can always be found on my main blog, @alistairweekend. The AO3 version of this includes art by Opal's player!

{ao3 link}

Finch was actually disappointed when her watch ended and she had to leave the soft warmth of the fire. After decades of living in a temperature-controlled palace and then several months in the tropical city of Kovali, adjusting to the temperate forest the Society for the Preservation of Fill found themselves in was proving a far larger problem than anticipated. Frankly, the situation baffled Finch. It wasn’t as if her clothing lacked, or there weren’t enough blankets, and by all accounts she ran warmer than most. Something about this forest just gave her the chills... literally.

As she exited the campfire’s embrace, Cricket landed on Finch’s shoulder and snuggled into the crook of her neck. “You cold too, buddy?” she murmured, reaching up to scratch the little faerie dragon’s head. Maybe she’d ask everyone in the morning how they were feeling.

She ducked into her tent and, taking care to avoid the two lumps that were Donahue and Opal, swiftly burrowed into the blankets of her spot in the middle. Cold. Of course. She gritted her teeth to try and prevent herself from shivering, holding on to the fact that the blankets should trap her body heat soon.

Minutes passed. And passed. Finch shifted, hoping finding a comfortable position would solve the issue, but she remained conscious. It was still just cold enough to be uncomfortable. Frustration bubbled in her chest.

At one point Finch heard rustling blankets as if in response to her movement. She stilled herself. “Donahue?” she whispered. “You up?”

No response. Finch let out an audible exhale through her nose. Then Cricket’s head poked out of the blankets, and he wriggled out to nimbly flit to the person on Finch’s left, an action rewarded with a grunt.

Finch rolled on to her side to face towards Donahue, who was nothing more than a mound of blankets with a faery dragon on top, nipping at the strands of blue hair sticking out. “So you are awake.”

“Maybe so,” he grumbled. “I’d like to not be, though.”

“Did I wake you up?”

He seemed to think about it. “...Yes.”

“Liar!” Finch hissed, propping herself up on an elbow and using her other arm to smack the blanket lump with her pillow. She immediately regretted the frigid air allowed to touch her skin at doing so, however, and gasped. “Gods, it’s fucking freezing. Are you cold?”

It was barely audible, but Finch made out a sigh from Donahue. “Yeah.” A moment passed, then he shifted to finally reveal his head. Cricket quietly trilled in delight and wasted no time in squeezing under the blankets, poking his head out right underneath Donahue’s chin. Donahue paid no mind and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re cold?”

Finch pouted. “I know. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m starting to think it isn’t natural. It’s why I’m still up.”

Donahue’s demeanor seemed to sharpen into something more serious. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

“Technically, I don’t ‘sleep,’” Finch said, gesturing at her long elven ears.

Donahue scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Two can play at that. Neither do I.” He also waved a hand at his own tapered ears. “You know what I mean.”

Finch poked her tongue out at him but relented. “I was able to rest last night.”

“Ah. Lucky.”

“Oh? When did you last sleep?”

“Mind your own business.”

“Really? You’re gonna ask me and then say it’s none of my business to ask you the same thing, bitch?”

Donahue looked like he wanted to retort again, but his body betrayed him by making yawn, which he tried to stifle. “Ugh, fine. Two days ago.” Now that he said it, Finch did notice the dark circles under his eyes, even in the limited lighting. And he had seemed more tired than usual during the day, which was saying something.

“This is bad.” Finch put a hand to her face. “Especially if the others aren’t sleeping either. Though Opal seems fine...” She glanced to the right at their dragonborn companion, much more sprawled out than either of the blanket cocoons Finch and Donahue had made.

“Well, she’s a white dragonborn,” Donahue reasoned, “So she probably has way more resilience to cold than anyone else...”

“Mmmwha?” Opal suddenly mumbled drowsily, causing both Finch and Donahue to go wide-eyed and tense. Just as Finch was ready to believe she’d gone back to sleep, she spoke again, somewhat slurred: “You guys talkin’?”

“Sorry, Opal,” Donahue said, slightly above a whisper this time. “Go back to sleep. We’ll try to be quieter.”

Opal raised her head and rubbed her eyes, blinking a few times at them. The blonde fur tufts along her head and neck stuck out at wild angles. “You both aren’t sleeping?”

“Too cold,” Finch explained.

“That’s no good.” Opal’s brow furrowed as though thinking hard, though she was clearly still three-quarters asleep. “All right, everybody c’mere.”

Opal leaned forward, and suddenly blankets were being shifted and rearranged to the sounds of Finch and Donahue’s confusion and protest. When she was finished, all three of them were under the same pile of bedding. Finch found herself sandwiched between Opal and Donahue, not quite touching but still much closer than before, and she felt her face heat up. “I-Is this really necessary?”

“Warmer now, right?” Opal sounded entirely too pleased with herself. She stretched her neck out, which was just long enough to position her head right above Donahue’s. Cricket seemed thrilled by the new arrangement, settling in between Finch and Donahue’s shoulders.

Donahue had been incredibly tense, but slowly relaxed, if only a little. “Whatever. If it’ll help us sleep...”

“This is so embarrassing,” Finch groaned. “Nobody learns about this, got it?”

Donahue sighed and nodded, but Finch had more been asking Opal. Judging from the lack of response and steady breathing, however, she had already fallen back asleep. How did she do that so quickly?

Now Finch found herself worried about not sleeping for an entirely different reason. She had never shared a bed with anyone before, and was entirely too aware of both of her companions’ presences. She became acutely aware of the fact that any shifting she did could disturb them. But as the minutes ticked by, Opal was, to Finch’s chagrin, proven correct as the remaining chill faded away and her eyes fluttered shut.