Chapter Text
“I guess you didn’t drag me here for the quality of their beer.”
Bard puts down his glass, a slight grimace distorting the features of his face. He sends an inquisitive look to Bilbo. The latter has a very big smile on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes.
“I'm doing you a favour, Bard Bowman, by getting you out of your hole so you can enjoy life a little once in a while.”
Bard rolls his eyes.
“You make it sound like I haven’t gone out in centuries.”
It’s Bilbo’s turn to give an inquisitive look, one hand on the handle of his tankard.
“I’m all ears: when was our last trip together?”
Bard knows that Bilbo is right. He also knows that he doesn’t feel at home in this bar because he hasn’t gone out in centuries, precisely.
“You’re not just a widowed dad completely devoted to his family and his work, you know? You’re allowed to enjoy yourself sometimes.”
“Enjoy myself?”
Bard looks surprised. Bilbo opens two big round eyes, his lips pursed, as if saying: You know very well what I’m talking about, don’t you?
“Do you have condoms, at least?”
“Bilbo!”
“I wouldn’t want to be responsible for—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.”
“But honestly, Bard, how long since you—”
“And this one even less.”
“I am your friend.”
“Sure you are. Nevertheless, you act as if you’re my mother. That’s embarrassing.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t miss it.”
“We’re not going to have this conservation, let alone in such a place.”
“You’re so touchy.”
“When people talk about my sex life in a public place, yes, I am.”
“About your lack of sex life, you mean.”
“Bilbo!”
“Okay, okay, sorry.”
“In this regard, it seems that as far as you’re concerned, everything is going well,” Bard immediately resumes before Bilbo starts again.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Come on. Do you really think you’ve been that discreet looking over my shoulder since we’ve been sitting here?”
“Well, I don’t see—”
“Is it the tall bearded brunette with a grumpy air or the tall blond who smiles but still frowns a lot?” Bard continues with a sly smile, glancing towards the bar behind him.
“The tall bearded one,” Bilbo admits with a slightly goofy smile.
“So?”
“So there’s nothing to say. I don’t think he noticed me.”
“Believe me, you could be even smaller, you would never go unnoticed.”
“Is that a compliment, Bowman?”
“You know that it is.”
“So why didn’t you ever want to go out with me?” Bilbo teases cheerfully, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“Because you’re way too small for my liking nevertheless,” Bard replies promptly, getting up and smiling in turn.
“What a boor.”
“I love you too. What do you want to drink? I refuse to take another sip of whatever they dare to call beer.”
“Whatever you like as long as it is bubbly and colourful.”
“Duly noted. That will give me enough time to study your Adonis.”
“This evening was not meant for me. Basically, I was hoping that you would—”
“And I can’t hear you anymore,” Bard laughs, already walking away towards the counter.
He walks through the crowd, which is excessively dense for his liking, avoiding touching people as much as possible and he shakes his head, thinking about his friend’s words. He knows that Bilbo means well but his matchmaking side is often exasperating. His current life suits him and it doesn’t matter if he is single: who said you have to be in a relationship to be happy? Besides, if he really missed sharing his life with someone, where would he find the time between the club, the children and the house? Bilbo does not always understand that his existence is already a busy one.
“Dry whisky, mineral water and your most colourful and sparkling cocktail, please.”
The bartender Bilbo has a crush on nods wordlessly and prepares Bard’s order. As he watches the man fill the glasses, he wonders what he could possibly do to help Bilbo and gain information about the mysterious stranger who has his friend’s heart racing tonight. Unfortunately, Bilbo is the expert in this area and Bard has no idea how to start the conversation. Moreover, the man is very quiet for a bartender and Bard wonders what his face must look like when he smiles (if he knows how to smile, anyway).
Lost in his thoughts, a glass of whisky in his left hand, a bottle of water propped under his elbow and a pink, blue and yellow cocktail that looks like it came straight out of a cartoon made using LSD in his right hand, Bard makes his way towards the table where Bilbo is waiting. That is when he collides head-on with another customer and spills the cocktail on his outfit.
“Shit,” he curses as he takes a step back and notes the extent of the damage.
The bright coloured liquid is already soaking the fabric of a long dress, where the glass had spilled, and he notes with horror that it has also doused the poor woman’s curly blond hair.
“Pardon me, madam, I’m really sorry,” he stammers, his cheeks flushed, the two glasses in one hand, his free hand looking for a tissue in his pants pocket.
His unfortunate victim turns around and Bard freezes when a deep voice slowly replies:
“Apologies accepted.”
Bard raises his head and realises that his mouth is half-open, like a fish out of water, as he stares at a man dressed and made up like a woman, so strikingly and so unusually beautiful that words to describe him wouldn’t do him justice.
“I'm so sorry,” Bard repeats, unable to think rationally.
“It seems that you are, indeed, because you have already said so,” the stranger replies, a quiet smile on his pink-painted lips.
Bilbo would clearly know what shade of pink it is because he knows the difference between bubble-gum pink, raspberry pink or powder pink but Bard has no idea.
“I wet your dress,” Bard says piteously. He can’t take his eyes off the stranger, captivated by the features of his face.
“I noticed that,” the man replies and Bard can feel the smile in his deep voice, which contrasts so much with his delicate appearance. His eyes meet the stranger’s: they are pure blue, lighter than the ocean.
“Do you wear contact lenses?”
The man’s laughter surprises him – firstly because with a voice like that, his laughter can only be enchanting and secondly because he did not expect this reaction.
“Does this pick-up technique usually work?”
“Beg your pardon?”
The stranger narrows his eyes and seems to study Bard attentively, lips curled in a discreet smile.
As he does not seem ready to speak again, content to observe Bard with an interested air, the latter clears his throat:
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your dress. I stained it.”
“Buy me a drink and this will be history.”
“Yes, sure, of course,” Bard stammers. Instead, he had expected to pay a dry cleaning bill. “Tonight I can’t though, I’m with my friend and—”
An amused glint crosses the stranger’s eyes.
“Not tonight. I’m working. Let’s do that at another time.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
The stranger takes a step towards the counter.
“Éomer, please, a pencil and paper.”
The man named Éomer (the tall blond with frowning eyebrows) nods and hands the stranger what is asked with a smile. Bard watches the stranger as he writes something on the paper, focused on the long, pale, elegant fingers.
“This way, you may find out if I wear contact lenses or if I don’t.”
The stranger slides the paper into the palm of Bard’s free hand, his fingertips lingering longer than necessary on his skin. A discreet smile appears on his perfectly made-up lips.
Without waiting for a response from Bard, the stranger disappears into the crowd and his long blond hair, almost white with the lighting of the bar, soon vanishes behind a door leading to a private room.
A dazed look painted upon his face (or so he thinks), Bard turns around, the paper in one hand, the drinks in the other and he discovers Bilbo staring at him a few meters away and smiling from ear to ear. His friend is half standing on his chair and it seems that, apparently, he did not miss a thing.
Bard heaves a weary sigh, aware that Bilbo will question him as soon as he returns to his seat.
“I’ll be right back. I spilled your drink.”
“It can wait, my dear. I will go; I will get to know the handsome bearded man. Put your ass on this chair and tell me everything.”
“Tell you what?”
Bard obeys nevertheless and sits down.
“Do you think that because I’m small, I can’t see anything? I could feel the tension between you all the way to my chair, Bowman.”
“Why do you always have to exaggerate?”
“He’s gorgeous. Or is he a she?”
“No idea. Anyway, it’s none of my business.”
“A little bird told me it will be soon.”
“I just spilled a drink on his dress and that’s it.”
With a quick movement, Bilbo leans forward and snatches the paper that was still in Bard’s hand.
“Oi!”
“Oh, dear! A phone number, right? Seems that’s definitely not it.”
“You are beyond help. There’s nothing forcing me to call him.”
“Nothing, indeed, but you will do it all the same.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
“Because I saw the way you stared at him— or her. You looked like a dragon in front of a mountain of gold.”
Bard raises an eyebrow.
“Do you have any other crappy pictures in store?”
“Do you prefer the one with the dog in front of a sausage?”
“Remind me why we’re friends, already?”
“Because I pitied you in college, because I was there for you when Delilah died and because your kids adore me.”
Bard rolls his eyes but can’t stop a smile from forming at the corner of his lips. Bilbo has a direct and disarming way of stating the facts as they are and Bard has needed it many times throughout their unexpected friendship.
“Anyway, I was right,” Bilbo continues, placing the paper on the table.
“About what?”
“When I said you were going to get laid.”
“You never said that.”
“Because you never let me finish my sentence!” Bilbo takes offense.
He jumps out of his chair and grabs his wallet from his jacket.
“I can’t wait for you to tell me all the details!”
“Bilbo!” Bard growls but his friend is already walking away, laughing and Bard can only see a small tuft of curly hair which moves energetically while Bilbo calls out to the tall bearded brunette behind the counter.
His gaze then falls on the paper on which a telephone number is written. There is no first name. With a sigh, Bard grabs the paper, folds it and slips it into his pants pocket, wondering why he’s doing this since he doesn’t even consider calling this stranger.
Bilbo would be too happy to say he was right and he would become impossible.
Bard is ready not to give in to temptation for the simple pleasure of not seeing his friend rejoice and draw up the seating plan for his future wedding with the long blond haired stranger. He knows Bilbo well. Too well.