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Bofur greeted him at the door with his usually toothy grin and jovial laugh, dressed in a simple V-necked tee with a pair of dark wash denim jeans. His usually done up hair sat loosely about his broad shoulders and his moustache was combed nicely along the sides of his mouth. He was as handsome as the day they first met and Bilbo couldn’t help the small fluttering in his chest when Bofur immediately pulled him into a soft kiss.
“You made it in one piece,” Bofur laughed, once he’d pulled away. Bilbo bemoaned the loss of touch but was quickly contented when Bofur ran a gentle hand along his cheek. It was exactly what Bilbo needed after the stress that was his six o’clock evening public relations class.
“Ugh, you would not believe how painful that was to sit through,” Bilbo vented, “I think that was the fastest I’ve packed my bag after a class.”
“That is very unlike you,” Bofur grinned, giving Bilbo another small peck on the cheek before leading him into the kitchen where Bombur was copping away a bunch of green onions. “Did Mr. Mithrandir give you a hard time?”
“Oh, no,” Bilbo replied, “More like my classmates were. Can’t even get along long enough to work on our presentations without bickering.”
“Bilbo! How’s it going?” Bombur greeted when they entered the kitchen.
“Things are going well. It’s Friday, so that’s a relief. How about with you?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.” Bombur replied, “Got my hands full with all sorts of drafting classes. But this quarter isn’t quite be as heavy as last.”
“That’s good to hear.” Bilbo smiled, “Oh, I brought stuff for a salad.”
The room smelled heavenly. The poignant aroma of potatoes and carrots sizzling away in garlic infused oil with rosemary on the stove and the tender pork roast just pulled from the oven was enough to make Bilbo’s mouth salivate. There was fresh baked bread and cheese, which he moved over to the table, at Bombur’s instruction, along with a bottle of Blue Mountain Mead. The mixed salad he brought was placed into a beautiful wooden bowl, tossed with his signature caramelized tangerine vinaigrette and placed at the opposite end of the table from the pork roast. The potatoes were the last item needed to be brought over but they needed a little more time in the pan, according to Bombur.
By then Bifur had made his way downstairs, no doubt drawn out by the smell of food. He gave Bilbo an eccentric wave before heading over to his seat at the table. Bilbo took a seat across from Bifur, as Bofur and Bombur brought the last of the food. They cracked open the mead, giving a small cheer accented by the clinking of their glasses before serving out the meal.
“Bilbo, I saw your article in the Ereborian, the one about mushrooms,” Bombur piped up, “I knew you were good with words but I had no idea you were such an exceptional writer.”
Bilbo nodded, wiping his mouth of the pork juice that wanted to escape. “Thank you,” he replied, “I really enjoyed writing that one. It’s kind of a past time of mine.”
“I think you should make it a regular thing,” Bombur said, “That paper really could use more writers like you.”
Bilbo chuckled, “Maybe. Seems like there’s always a large pool of submissions. I was lucky that one got in.”
“Well, considering it caught even Bombur’s eye, I think you’ll turn a few more heads,” Bofur chimed in, giving Bilbo an encouraging squeeze on the thigh.
“I would like to write more.”
“Maybe you could help this bugger with his songwriting,” Bombur brought up, pointing at Bofur, “Poor slob can’t write a verse to save his life.”
“Oi!” Bofur shot back, giving his brother a kick under the table even as a blush spread across his cheeks.
“You write songs?” Bilbo inquired, turning to Bofur with a look of astonishment, “And when were you going to tell me this?”
“He play flutes,” Bifur added, twiddling his fingers in a likewise manner, “And guitar.”
“Yeah, something he’s actually good at,” Bombur added, snickering.
Bilbo chuckled at the obvious embarrassment on Bofur’s face, endearing as it was.
“Well, now you have to play something for me,” Bilbo said in matter-of-fact.
“Maybe later.”
They each managed a second serving before feeling quite content, and making to clean the kitchen and put away the leftover food. Bilbo would also go home with a liberal serving of everything, despite how many times he protested. Once kitchen was immaculate they moved to the living area for a game of Apples-to-Apples, of which Bilbo was winning before they grabbed the rest of the mead from dinner.
“Oh, you got to be joking!” Bofur and Bilbo both exclaimed when Bombur took in yet another green card in a row.
“Bifur you’re gonna have to be beat Bombur for us,” Bilbo said, “You’re only one card behind him.”
“I don’t know, there’s only nine red cards left, ,” Bofur pointed out from where he sat slouched.
“Well luckily it’s Bombur’s turn so there’s a chance.”
“Only if neither of you get it,” Bombur snorted.
“Oh shush, pick your card already!”
Bombur ended up winning with nine cards, Bifur in close second with eight, Bilbo with six and poor Bofur with only four.
“Well that could have been worse.”
“Easy for you to say, you had six cards,” Bofur complained, nudging Bilbo in the side playfully as they helped Bifur organize the decks and put them back in the box.
“You guys want some water?” Bombur called from the kitchen.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” Bilbo replied. It was probably a good idea since they’d been drinking since dinner and if the heavy feeling in the middle of his forehead was anything to go by. Oh the perks of being a lightweight. He’d have to see how he felt later. Hopefully he wouldn't get sick to his stomach.
It didn’t take them long to settle down once Bombur brought the water in. Bifur decided to put on a TV show, some flick that was all the rave right now. Bilbo recognized the name from a few classmates who talked about it constantly. From what he heard it seemed to have too many characters and a lot of drama.
“It take a little to get into,” Bofur explained, swinging his feet up onto the couch to lay long-ways, “But once it gets rolling then it’s alright.”
“Huh,” Was all Bilbo managed, more preoccupied with situating himself comfortably next to Bofur. The couch was just big enough for both of them that Bilbo could curl up comfortably against Bofur’s chest and manage not obscure the view of the TV.
“You love bugs want a blanket?” Bombur teased, dropping one on Bofur’s head anyway before moving over to his preferred chair on the left side of the couch.
“For fuck’s sake!”
Bilbo snickered, sitting up and pulling the blanket to him, tossing it down on his feet since apparently he had ‘feet cold enough to wake the dead’. Though he suspected he wouldn’t have to worry about getting cold because Bofur radiated enough heat to warm a small room. Chances were he’d end up kicking the blanket to the floor.
They watched a couple episodes, Bofur filling Bilbo in on some specific plot points every once in a while despite the fact that Bilbo had no idea what he was talking about and was just nodding out of mild interest. During a short break Bombur went back to the kitchen to make some popcorn, at which Bofur needed to go out for a smoke.
Bilbo followed him out onto the small balcony of the apartment, the cool night air giving him a slight wakeup as it hit his skin. The doorstep lights of the apartments below lit up the cobbled stones of the narrow alley in such a way that one could see each individual brick. Down on the main road, about a block and half away, they could hear cars speeding down the street to make the next light, a sound Bilbo certainly wouldn’t forget no matter how long he planned to live in the city.
“It’s, surprisingly, quite here,” Bilbo commented absentmindedly as he leaned up against the railing. Bofur joined him, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, the smoke curling up into the night.
“Only at night it is,” Bofur said, taking a drag, “Makes it hard to take a nap in the afternoon, but you learn to tune it out.”
“I suppose,” Bilbo mused. A couple of stars twinkled through the hazy dark sky and for a moment Bilbo realized he hadn’t taken any time to watch them like he did at home. Not that you could see them with the light pollution and the high rise building and street lamps on ever corner. Perhaps that was the sacrifice of going to university in the city, so that later he could enjoy them as he’d done for as long as he could remember.
“Do you miss home?”
Bilbo turned back to Bofur, almost forgetting he was there.
“Sometimes. It was difficult in the beginning,” Bilbo thought back to when he’d moved into his apartment. How lonely and oppressive it felt even that there were people all around him. Sleeping in a room he didn’t recognize despite it having his stuff, cooking his own meals without family to share it with, “I think at one point I thought about quitting and going back.”
It sounded absurd in retrospect. That home would pull so strongly on someone they’d give up a future for it.
“Can’t fault anyone for that,” Bofur said quietly.
Bilbo hummed, moving to entwine their fingers and gently rest his head on Bofur’s shoulder. The alcohol must have run its course because the lethargy of the day begun to weigh on his eyelids. It must have been at least around eleven, maybe even midnight.
“You can stay the night, if you like,” Bofur offered, “We can spare you a toothbrush and a towel.”
Bilbo inhaled deeply before standing upright again. He didn’t have any commitments tomorrow that he could think of, and he certainly was in no position to drive back to his apartment.
“I think I’d like that,” he said quietly, “If it’s not too much of a hassle for you guys.”
“Never,” Bofur replied, giving him a peck on the lips.
They made their way back inside, Bofur snubbing his cig out in the ashtray by the door and letting Bombur and Bifur know Bilbo was staying the night, much to both their excitement and something about Bilbo getting to try Bombur’s signature waffles in the morning.
He bid the two a good night, thanking Bombur for the delicious dinner, before following Bofur upstairs where he was familiarized with the guest bedroom and bath. There was a simple queen bed next to a nightstand with a lamp. In the far corner a chair and a small dresser with a few pictures on top.
“My room is just across the way,” Bofur explained, pointing to the door just down the hall, “If you need anything, don’t feel bad about waking me up.”
Bilbo nodded, placing his coat and bag on the chair next to the small dresser on the opposite side of the bed before coming back over to where Bofur was leaning against the doorframe.
“Thank you,” he said softly, letting Bofur take his hands and gently kiss his knuckles. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”
Bofur smiled, slowly releasing his grip, “Yeah..”
Bilbo let out a small sigh, quickly pressing his lips against Bofur’s before the taller man could get away, not wanting to relinquish his warm touch just yet. If he could just have more of this…
“Goodnight Bofur,” he whispered, once they finally pulled away.
“Goodnight Bilbo.”
He let himself stay in the doorway until Bofur disappeared into his own room, before turning to freshen up before bed. He’d have to get used to feeling that flutter in his chest again. Maybe this time it wouldn’t break his heart.