Rowaelin Valentine's Day OneShot

Princes, Princesses and Poker Faces

When Dorian showed up at her apartment unannounced at 6AM on a Saturday, Aelin was about a hair's breadth away from murdering him. Thank God he had brought her bagels, which wasn't a terrible alternative for sticking her knife in. She was currently slathering on a thick layer of chocolate hazelnut spread whilst Dorian was rounding up some of Fleetfoot's toys. 

Aelin and Dorian had known each other for ages. They had been roommates when they had first moved to New York for college and had adopted the golden retriever from their landlord. Since Dorian had graduated and no longer lived with her, they shared custody of Fleetfoot. 

"Get changed. You can eat on the way to the park," Dorian said. 

"I am changed," she said a little indignantly. She was wearing a pair of ratty old sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, with her hair piled haphazardly into a top knot. 

"You are not going looking like that."

"Watch me," she deadpanned. "Chill, it's not like I'm going on a manhunt."

"No, but I am!" Dorian marched to her closet in exasperation and began to sort through her clothes. "Where are all you clothes?" he demanded. 

"I need to do laundry," Aelin said, mouth full of chocolatey bagel goodness, "Think of how glamorous you'll look when I'm next to you though. Fenrys won't be able to resist."

Dorian pursed his lips in consideration. "Good point." He leashed Fleetfoot and held the door open for them. "Let's go. I don't want to miss him." 

~~~

Thirty minutes later, Aelin was standing by herself in the middle of Prospect Park, waiting for Fleetfoot to return with her favourite bright blue frisbee. Dorian had already stalked out his current boy toy, Fenrys, and was presently chatting him up. Aelin had to give it to Dorian, the man had game. Wearing branded running shorts and a sporty, form fitting polo, Dorian was looking rather princely. Aelin had no idea what Dorian was telling Fenrys but by the twinkle in the man's eye, Aelin knew that Dorian wasn't holding back. Fenrys was no slouch either. Running shorts. Shirtless. You get the idea. Aelin couldn't blame Dorian for the blush that had crept into his cheeks.

Fleetfoot returned then, drool pouring out of her mouth. Relatable.

"Where's that frisbee, girl?" Aelin crooned. "I didn't throw it too far did I?"

"Is this yours?" a voice asked from behind. 

Aelin turned around to find Rowan standing behind her, slobbery frisbee pinched between his fingers, held at arms length away from him as if it were a bio-bomb. It probably was. His face was pinched tight in disgust, creating little forehead wrinkles that Aelin wanted to lick off his face. Fleetfoot, it seemed, had the same idea. Her dog pounced on him in a tackle that would have knocked a lesser man to the ground. She pawed at Rowan's torso as he gingerly scratched her head. 

"This seems a little early for you," he said to Aelin. 

Aelin suddenly wished she had done her laundry sometime that week. She became hyperaware of the lint balls on her pants and the fact that her t-shirt looked like she had stolen it off of a rotting corpse. 

"It is. Blame Dorian."

Rowan turned toward the direction she was pointing at.

"Fenrys?" he said, a little disbelievingly. 

"You know him?" she asked.

"Yeah. He trains at the same MMA gym as Aedion and I," he replied. "Small world."

"Do me a favour and do not mention that to Dorian. I do not want him dragging me to that sweaty shit hole you guys love to inhabit." 

"Still got that dirty mouth on you, I see."