Chapter Text
1. First encounter
The first time Bilbo Baggins entered the Arkenstone, it was because of Dís and her stubbornness.
Rain poured outside, greying the skies and bringing in a feeling of cosiness and sweetness to the otherwise busy day. The Arkenstone was filled with patrons in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. Couples, families and friends curled up inside to both warm up and hide from the rain as well as wanting to spend time together. Thorin was at the drink station, making a cappuccino, when the bell sounded across the shop, soon being followed by his sister’s excited voice.
“One moment, Feisty!” Thorin said, motioning over his shoulder and turning to where Mr Jothek and his grandson were waiting at the counter. “Here, Mr Jothek, your cappuccino.”
“Thank you, my boy,” Mr Jothek smiled, patting the top of his grandson’s head before saying: “What do we say, Nali?”
“Thank you , Mr Oakenshield,” The boy said, nodding towards him and lifting his hot chocolate in an overly serious manner. “You are a good lad, Mr Oakenshield.”
“You too, Mr Nali Jothek, you too,” he nodded, face serious and solemn. They nodded once more at each other before the boy turned around and they walked back to where his grandmother was waiting for him. He watched them leave the shop, Ms Jothek glaring at Dís’ head for a moment before her husband arrived and turned her away to the street. Only then, he turned to where Dís and the newcomer were waiting by the cashier, talking with each other.
The newcomer wasn’t much taller than Dís herself, one or two centimetres the most. There was no coat in sight, despite the air being chiller than it had been in months — only a white knit sweater over brown slacks and loafers of a deep brown colour. Silver rings adorned his fingers, some of them were thinner than others, usually together with broader ones or standing alone in the middle phalanx where some stood with tiny, shiny gems adorning the silver and others were plain and simple silver only — There was just one ring that differentiated from the others, a thick golden ring filled with inscriptions rested on his right middle finger wildly standing out from the others.
“Thorin, this is Mr Baggins, our new neighbour! He rented Greybeard’s loft and shop down the street,” Dís said, laying a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and smiling.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Bilbo said, lifting his hand to Thorin. He smiled at him, something small as Thorin took his hand on his.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr Baggins, I’m Thorin Durin, Dís’ brother,” he shook his hand firmly, feeling his eyes strain as he tried to see more details of the man’s face.
“He has this ugly face, but he’s a nice guy, I promise you,” Dís faked a whisper, leaning in against Bilbo’s shoulder and smirking at him. “It’s just because he is old.”
“Fuck you,” Thorin hissed before looking from one side to another. There was no one looking their way, all of them too engrossed with their own conversations to care for what they were doing. “Fuck you so hard, Dís.”
Dís let out a loud gasp, putting a hand on her chest and shutting her eyes forcefully. Besides her, Bilbo snorted, hiding behind his hand as she leaned over the counter dramatically. Thorin's eyes turned to him, moving over his face and trying to take everything in.
He had stopped momentarily, watching as the shop's warm light got into his eyes and the brown hues dissolved into golds and reds. His eyes, so bright and open, held a certain depth in them, the colours mixing together to create an impossible tone. Darker shades woven among the lighter ones the closer they got to his irises, pulling him deeper and deeper and giving him a sense of warmth and safety he hadn’t felt in years.
His eyes reminded Thorin of home.
The spell was broken as Balín passed behind him, elbowing his back and smiling at the stranger. He introduced himself, giving Thorin time to get his heart under control once again. It was beating against his ribcage rapidly, intended on breaking free and presenting itself at Bilbo’s feet despite knowing for less than ten minutes.
“You were staring, boy,” Balin said in his ear as Bofur greeted Bilbo, leaning over the counter to kiss Dís on the cheek. “That's rude.”
“You were glaring at him, boss,” Bofur said, coming around his other side, but Thorin wasn’t listening anymore. The only thing he could think about was how Bilbo’s eyes had pulled him in, reminding him of better days. The only thing he could think about was how, maybe, he was falling just a little bit in love with his new neighbour.
2. Painting the walls
When Dís showed up earlier at his house one day, bright and talking, Thorin knew something was wrong. Dís, for all that he loved and cherished her, was not a morning person nor an evening one. She liked to take her time in the mornings to wake up slowly and see what was wrong with it before she went out and started to complain in a way only she knew how.
Still, Thorin said nothing as she sat at his kitchen desk, a mug of tea in her hands and a plate of biscuits in front of her. Fifteen minutes had passed since she got there, pulling him out of bed on a Sunday --- The only day he could rest, mind you --- and waking him up before eight a.m., for her to keep talking about the weather and the clouds in the sky. Whatever it was that she wanted had something to do with the weather and that always meant getting out of the house.
“What the fuck do you want, Dís?” Thorin sighed, turning his mug on his head and resting his head against the wall behind him. He was tired and all he wanted to do was come back to his bed and comforter and sleep until later without having to worry about anything.
“Can’t I just talk with my big brother?” She said, taking a sip of her tea and smiling too sweetly to him.
“No, at least not this bloody earlier, you can not. What do you want, Dís?” Thorin repeated, eyebrows furrowing and eyes growing harder the longer she took to answer.
“You are no fun at all, Grumpy,” she huffed before rearranging herself on the seat and assuming a more serious expression. “It’s about Mr Baggins, he–”
“No.”
“Thorin!” Her eyebrows shot up as he got up and left her behind, reaching for the cabinet even though everything was already on the table. “C’mon, Thorin, is not like that.”
“I don’t trust you about this,” he growled, turning back to her but still staying far, far away from her.
Ever since that first meeting of him with Bilbo at the Arkenstone weeks ago, Thorin found himself enjoying the other’s company more and more. Maybe it was the way Bilbo laughed when Bofur told a joke between them or the way he scrunched his nose whenever something was of his distaste. Maybe it was the way he was ever so patient with his nephew or the way he never seemed to mind when Filí and Kilí came around to talk with him.
So, yes, Thorin had the tiniest bit of crush on his neighbour, but it didn’t mean anything because it didn’t need to mean anything. It also didn’t mean Dís needed to keep making fun of him because of it. Just because he would stay some minutes every morning outside the coffee shop and wait for the man to appear at the front of his building along with Frodo.
“I already told you it’s not about that, you dunce!” Dís screamed, throwing a curled up napkin at him. “Your love needs help with painting, you goddamn arsehole, and I said you and the boys could help him with it.”
“Why?!” Tea got up on his throat, making him cough loudly while Dís rolled her eyes at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because we are a community here — And you thought me that, you idiot — and the boy needs more friends beside me, Bofur and his nephew,” she explained, shrugging and turning back to the table. “If you and him end up curled up around each other in a passionate affair while covered in paint, well… Not much could be done about it, right?”
“Get out of my house,” Thorin said, reaching for the dish towel and throwing it at her head. “You are insufferable.”
“And you a dunce because I already told you the man finds you beautiful too,” her bun threatened to fall off as she pulled the towel off her head. “Granny didn’t teach you to be such a coward about getting what you want.”
“When did you tell Mr Baggins that we would come around to paint his walls?” Thorin said as he walked back to his chair and ignored her comment. Would Grandmother Munin be very disappointed at him for not making a move at Bilbo already? Yes. Was he going to acknowledge that? Absolutely not.
“Two weeks from now,” her eyes didn’t betray what she thought about his change of subject, but Thorin had been the one to raise her. Dís knew better than anyone when to drop a subject that he didn’t want to talk about anymore. “He’s finishing the shop’s electrics and walls, but commented he hadn’t found a painting company that he liked just yet so I offered yours and the Company’s services.”
“Why?”
“Because y’all have been painting each other’s rooms ever since you learned how.”
And wasn’t that the truth? Thorin lost count of how many times he and the others gathered together to paint each other’s houses. The last one had been the Arkenstone’s wall, the one with the mural, where what would be only a three and half hour painting if Thorin had done it alone became an almost fourteen hours painting because the Company insisted on helping him.
“Alright, alright, Dís,” Thorin finally said after taking a deep breath. “We will help.”
That was how, two weeks later, Thorin found himself wrestling Kilí’s hair in a low ponytail as they waited for Bilbo to open the shop’s door for them. Everyone, including Dís, was there already with various tools laid out at their feet. There was a cooler full of ale, juice and water at Bofur’s feet and one full of food at Bombur’s.
Dwalin was talking quietly with Ori, shielding the smaller from his older brothers as he looked at his sketchbook. Filí was helping Dís assign the tasks to everyone along with Balín while Thorin combed Kilí’s hair back. At least, he would, if the boy stopped pulling his head away from him.
“Ow, Uncle Thorin,” Kilí said, pulling his head once again and turning around to glare at him over his shoulder. His brown hair fell around his neck in waves, fully wild again, and Thorin fought the urge to hit him with the back of the brush. “That hurts.”
“It would hurt less if you actually let me finish,” Thorin said through his teeth. “Do you mind?”
“I think I’ll paint with my hair down, anyway, I won’t let any paint get on it,” he tried, moving away from him as he reached out.
“Absolutely not, Kilí! Or you let your Uncle put your hair up or you don’t help paint, at all!” Dís said, looking up from the map she was creating with Balín for a moment. “Don’t test me, young man.”
“But Mom!”
“No ‘buts’. Just let Thorin do it already!” A snort left Filí’s nose as his brother sat back down in front of Thorin, a pained sound coming out of his throat as his hair was pulled back again. “And don’t you dare laugh at your brother, Filí, or I’ll let Thorin put his hands on you as well.”
“Oh, please no,” he said, turning back to her as his eyes filled with terror. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Mom?”
“Try me,” she said, not even bothering to look up anymore and Thorin rolled his eyes as he finally managed to secure Kilí’s hair at the base of his neck.
“I’m not that bad,” he huffed as he watched his younger nephew run to his brother’s side while massaging the back of his head.
“Believe me, you are,” Frerin said from where he was sitting at the ground with Bifur and Thorin whirled around to show him his middle finger. At the same time, Bilbo opened the door, almost catching Thorin right in the face. “Good morning, Mr Baggins.”
“Oh, good morning, Frerín,” Bilbo said, voice sounding surprised at where the man was sitting. “Oh, hello, Thorin!”
“Hello, Mr Baggins,” Thorin greeted him as he looked around the door, willing the heat unfurling on his back to disappear. “Hope we aren’t intruding.”
“No, no, of course not! Please, come in!” The door opened wider to let them all in and Thorin walked around it, bending down to get some of the brushes and rolls they brought with them. “Do you need any help?” A faint blush covered Bilbo’s cheeks as he turned around, eyes averting his as he tried to look at him.
“Uhm, no, no, everything is under control.”
“C’mon, Grumpy, chop chop,” Frerin said behind him before pushing him past Bilbo and inside the tattoo shop. The last time they all had been there, it had been a bookstore filled with books and magazines, purple armchairs decorating every corner of it. Now it was a blank canvas, waiting to be painted and filled with life again.
As Dís started to say what everyone should do, asking for Bilbo’s opinions at every step, Thorin allowed himself to look at the man. His hair was up in a messy bun, a white cotton shirt clinging to his torso as he watched all of them split over his studio. His head moved from one side to another, trying to keep up with all of them at once. There was silver blurry dangling from his ears, almost reaching his shoulders and moving as he moved his head.
“You are with me, lovebird,” Frerin said, pulling him to the furthest wall possible. His mouth twisted under his beard as he fought a laugh. “This is the plan for this wall. A mural,” he showed him a piece of paper, putting down sandpapers and brushes before looking up at the wall. Thorin analysed the drawing, trying to see how they were going to make it become reality. “That I don't even know where to begin.”
“We start sanding it down,” he folded the paper, putting it in his pocket before bending down once again to get sandpaper and a mask. “You start from there, I’ll start from here and we meet in the middle, deal?”
“Deal,” Frerin nodded, slipping on his own mask before he made his way to the other side of the wall.
Around him, all the others were starting on their assignments, talking with each other as they went. Bofur, Bombur and Bifur were together on the opposite wall of his while Filí and Kilí were together with Dwalin and Balín, each one of them on a window or a door. Bilbo was on the other end of the room, standing beside Dís and watching as they all started to work on his walls without asking for anything in return.
As hours passed as they sanded the walls down, Thorin let himself get lost in the process of sanding down and cleaning the wall, his arms going on in circles over and over as evened every bump and on it. Laughter, screams and jokes were thrown around as time went by, their voices echoing through the large space easily as they worked. Dís had joined her sons, leaving Bilbo to deal with his own devices.
“Grumpy, Grumpy, look,” Frerin said, hitting his arm with his sandpaper and painting it white with powder. “Over there with FIlí and Kilí,” he added when Thorin glared at him, eyes moving from his arm to him. “Look!” Rolling his eyes, he turned around to see Filí kneeling down in front of Bilbo’s nephew, Frodo, and smiling.
“Hello, I’m Filí,” he said, extending a hand to the boy after cleaning it on his jeans.
“Frodo. Are you my Uncle’s friend?” Frodo asked, putting both his hands around Filí’s and shaking it firmly.
“I like to think so,” he smiled, crossing his arms over his knee. “This is Kilí, my younger brother, he’s also a friend of your Uncle.”
“Hi, Frodo,” Kilí smiled, also kneeling beside the boy and waving at him. Both of their faces were white with powder, the only clean area being where the mask had covered their mouths and noses. “Do you want to help us paint this wall? We’ve just finished sanding it down.”
“Can I?” Frodo perked up at the idea, looking at them both with wide and bright blue eyes. “Can I, Uncle Bilbo?” He asked over his shoulder, turning around as Bilbo made his way over with a tray with biscuits, mugs and a smoking teapot.
“Sure, Frodo, but after the tea, alright?” Bilbo said, motioning him to come closer with his head and pointing to a side table covered with a cloth at the side. “Pull that cloth for me, my dear, thank you.” He walked over to the table as Frodo ran in front of him and pulled the cloth off, coughing as dust lifted up.
“Poor boy,” Dwalin said, patting his back lightly and making him cough more before reaching out for the tray. “Here, let me help you.”
“No need, no need, I can put it on the table,” Bilbo said, turning away and putting himself between him and the tray. “Why don’t you all follow Frodo to the bathroom to clean your hands and arms and come back here to eat?”
“There’s no need for that, Mr Baggins, we are going to end up all dirty again, afterwards,” Nori said, lifting his shirt and wiping his forehead on it.
“Nori!” Ori said, hitting his brother’s shoulder with a brush at the same time a round of agreements rose up.
“Yeah, Mr Baggins, we are alright, no need to worry about us,” Filí said, getting up and smiling at him. “We will just eat and come back to work in no time,” he added, eyes disappearing under his smile. In front of him, Bilbo still hadn’t put the tray down, eyebrows furrowing as he looked between all of them. His eyes moved from one to another until they settled in Thorin, uneasiness and pleading clear on them, and Thorin felt his heart miss a beat as he didn’t move on to another person.
“Everyone, bathroom, now!” Thorin’s voice echoed through the room before he even noticed, eyes settling on Kilí as he opened his mouth to speak. “Follow Frodo, clean your hands and arms and come back to eat before we start cleaning and painting the walls,” and, when none of them moved, he said once more. “Now!”
At once, they all turned to Frodo, following him as he walked away from the main room and to where the bathroom was. As they went on, Bilbo sighed in relief and moved to put the tray on top of the table. They nodded at each other as Thorin walked past him, eyes filled with gratitude as he did so.
“Thank you for the help earlier,” he said later, after they all came back and started to eat. Filí and Kilí were standing behind them with Frodo sitting on FIlí’s shoulders as they showed him how to use a brush and how to paint without leaving any visible lines. They had been the ones to first finish eating and had gotten a hold of the boy before anyone could do anything.
“No need to mention it, it was the least I could do after you brought us tea and biscuits,” Thorin said over the mug’s rim and smiled at him. “They are ruthless, but they are nice and easy-going. You just need to learn how to deal with them.”
“Well, you clearly know how to, so, if anything happens I’ll just call you to help me,” Bilbo said, smiling up at him and Thorin felt his heart skip a beat once more.
“Sure, anytime you need,” he said, voice sounding strange to his own ears as the back of his neck heated up. “You can call me for help anytime.”
Bilbo smiled again, nodding once, before bringing his cup against lips, eyes shining with mirth as the heat expanded over Thorin’s cheeks and down his chest. “I’ll make sure to call,” he said over the mug.
3. Of coffees and inks in the morning
After they helped with the painting, Bilbo became a constant in Thorin's life.
Every day, after dropping Frodo at the daycare, Bilbo would come to the Arkenstone and sit for a few minutes at the counter. When there was almost no one in the coffee shop, they would talk about anything. It could be a particularly interesting book Bilbo had been reading, Filí and Kilí’s latest shenanigans at school, Frodo’s new friends and even Dís’ glass projects. Other times, when there were more people than usual — days that were becoming rarer and rarer these last days — Thorin would pack a cup of green tea, some blueberry scones and walk the short way to Bilbo’s tattoo shop.
The first time it happened, it had been Dwalin’s fault. The man messaged him, asking him to bring a cup of black coffee and one of green tea along with some blueberry and chocolate scones to Bilbo’s tattoo shop. To be fair, Thorin should have noticed what his friend was trying to do the moment both Balin and Bofur occupied themselves, despite doing nothing before he started to prepare the beverages, but he didn’t. It was only when he was entering the tattoo shop and Dwalin gestured him to sit down that he noticed what the fucker meant to do.
“Come here, come here. We were just talking about making a pause,” Dwalin said as the shop’s door closed behind Thorin and he didn’t move any closer to where they were. “Weren’t we, Mr Baggins?”
Dwalin was laying on his stomach, shirt off as Bilbo curled over his small back with a tattoo gun going back and forth over it. His hair was full up this time, the same silver hairpin from before holding it together as the man wiped the excess and checked the design. Bilbo only nodded as Thorin got closer, not looking up until he was closer to the table and he had given some more touches to that part of the tattoo.
“Oh, thank you, Thorin,” Bilbo said as he finally looked up and Thorin gave him his green tea and the blueberry scones. “How much do I own you?”
“It’s on the house, don’t worry about it,” Thorin said, feeling the back of his neck heat up as a pleased expression took place in his face. Dwalin was sitting up beside them, a smug smile on his lips as he reached for the other cup and the chocolate scone. The arsehole. “You own me 13,78, on the other hand.”
“What?!” Satisfaction bloomed on Thorin’s chest as he choked on the first bite of his scone, coughing half a lung out as he turned back to Bilbo. “Hey!”
“There’s two more blueberry scones in there, alright? They are for you, don't let this arsehole eat them,” he said, pushing Dwalin’s hand back when it curled around his elbow.
“I won’t, believe me,” Bilbo said, taking the paper bag from his hand and putting it away from Dwalin’s reach. “But I didn’t know you guys also made deliveries. Had I known, I would have asked you to come here sooner.”
“Usually it’s Bofur that does the delivery, but he was busy today and, since it was Dwalin that asked, I came in his place,” he shrugged, looking anywhere but at him. He didn't let himself believe in the implications behind that phrase, ignoring the way that his heart jumped at it.
“DId you know that Thorin always wanted to get a tattoo, but never got the courage to do so?” Dwalin said around another bite of his scone.
“Oh, really? What did you have in mind?” Bilbo turned to him, bringing his cup to his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, appreciating the flavour, and Thorin used the opportunity to shove his middle finger on Dwalin’s face.
“It was long ago, I don't remember anymore what I wanted to do,” he said, eyes moving from Dwalin’s face to his, and smiled again.
“Bullshit, you mentioned that just last week,” Dwalin moved away from him as he turned around to hit him. “You’re a damn liar, Durin.”
“Would you shut up?” He hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him against him.
“Hey, careful with the canvas!” Bilbo called out, reaching out for them as Dwalin leaned away from him and almost dragged his back against the chair.
“Sorry, sorry,” both of them said as they stepped away from each other, Dwalin laughing and Thorin looking at his feet as he sat on a chair nearby. “But he did mention the tattoo last week. HIs younger brother even said you could do it, Bilbo, because you are very talented.”
“Oh, well, I try,” he said, the tips of his ears reddening at the comment. Thorin’s neck was in similar condition despite being for totally different reasons than his.
That talk really had happened last week while Thorin had gone to Dwalin and Frerin’s forge to give them some coffee and pies Bombur had made especially for them. He lingered a bit longer than usual, trying to help Frerin choose a gem for one of his new ring designs when the conversation eventually moved over to Dwalin’s plans for a new tattoo and how he was thinking of asking Bilbo to do it. That was when Frerin said how Thorin used to see he was going to get his whole back tattooed one day and now, years older, he didn’t even mention it anymore.
Before he could even try and defend himself, Dwalin jumped in saying that Bilbo could do his first tattoo and how oddly romantic that would be if Thorin let it happen and everything went to hell after that.
“Isn’t that right, Thorin?” Dwalin said, clapping a heavy hand over his thigh and smiling when Thorin hissed at him.
“Isn’t what right?” He pushed his hand away and turned to Bilbo, who was hiding behind another scone.
“That you would let me tattoo you,” he said, lifting both his eyebrows as colour bloomed on his cheeks. “Would you?”
For a moment, only a few seconds, Thorin said nothing, just looking at the man and the way he seemed to shine inside his studio, at ease and in total control. Powerful in a kind way. Beautiful, his heart supplied and Thorin couldn’t agree more with it.
“Yeah. Yeah, I would,” he said before he could stop himself and Bilbo smiled at him, big and bright and Thorin thought that he could ask for everything he had, the Arkenstone included, and Thorin would give it to him gladly. He would give everything to Bilbo if it meant that he would see that smile again.
And what a dangerous thought that was.
4. New mistakes, new beginnings done
Much like their first encounter, it was raining outside the Arkenstone when Bilbo walked in again, weeks after the trail. His hair was longer, almost reaching the middle of his shoulder and, this time, he was wearing a coat over his sweater and trousers. The silver hairpin Thorin had made for him held half of his hair on a bun, little butterflies dangling from it as he walked.
It only made his heart hurt even more.
After the trial against Smaug — which they had won only because of Bilbo — Thorin didn’t have the courage to talk with him again, not after the fight they had. So, he just stayed far away from him, keeping to himself every time they encountered each other on the street or someone started to talk with him. It was wrong, he knew, but Thorin couldn’t bring himself to act in another way.
So, as Bilbo entered the Arkenstone with Dís closely following behind, tension and pain ran through Thorin’s body, the doorbell’s sound — Usually such a happy sound — sounding grating to his ears. His heart hammered against his ribs, a hurt and sad creature wailing in despair, as Thorin watched Dís close the door, turning to him with a warning in her eyes. He, however, could not see one more thing besides the dread on Bilbo’s eyes as he finally looked over to him.
Logically, he knew that it was his fault, all the hurt and resentment there, and that it all would have been solved if he only had apologised. Dís had told him that time and time again, going on for hours when she could. How Thorin had been an arsehole to someone who only wanted to help, to someone who only helped them.
He knew all of that. He knew, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look out for the man and apologise. The same way he knew that this encounter wasn’t something that happened by chance, but either that Dís had orchestrated to happen. And, yet, he didn’t feel prepared to deal with everything that it meant at that moment. Everything still felt too raw, too real, too new against his skin for him.
His breath caught up on his throat as Dís walked over to the counter, the same hard eyes as his staring back at him with a warning. Don’t fuck this up, they seemed to say quietly, her eyebrows furrowed furiously as she stopped in front of her. Thorin really hoped that his eyes said what he felt, that he never meant to hurt Bilbo the way he had before the trial.
“Hi, Thorin,” Dís said, hands deep in her pockets, and turned to Bilbo. “I want a strawberry cake and a black tea, please, but Bofur can prepare mine. You help Bilbo.”
“Dís—” Bilbo started, but she shook her head, turning to where Bofur was already squatting down to get her cake. “Hi, Thorin,” he said, mouth twisting in a thin line as the woman walked away, both her and Bofur distancing themselves from them as much as they could. “I would like a blueberry pie and a green tea, please.”
“Sure thing,” Thorin said, voice small as he looked over the counters until he saw the blueberry pie.
Awkwardness arose between them as Thorin cut a piece out, turning around to start making his green tea. None of them talked as he got the mug above, one a deep green that Thorin always thought suited Bilbo’s eyes nicely. He could feel Dís and Bofur’s eyes on them, even though they tried to seem like they weren’t looking.
“Thank you,” Bilbo said as Thorin turned back to him. “Listen, Thorin—”
“Bilbo,” he started at the same time and then both stopped, eyeing each other warily. “You go first.”
“No, you go. I want to hear this,” he crossed his arms, weight shifting back as he stared at him. “Go on, Thorin.” His eyebrows furrowed as he waited and Thorin said nothing.
Inside his chest, his heart seemed close to exploding, beating faster than he ever thought possible and, for a single moment, Thorin thought of giving up, of saying nothing at all and leaving things as they were. But then he remembered the dread and the resentment not only on Bilbo’s eyes, but on Dís, Filí, Kilí, everyone's eyes really.
Thorin couldn’t let that happen.
“You are a good friend, Bilbo, and I should have seen this sooner. I was paranoid, to say the least, obsessed with the idea that everyone around me was intended to betray me at some point,” he started, trying to swallow the lump on his throat. “It doesn’t excuse my actions, of course it doesn’t because you were everything but a bad friend to me. You only tried to help and I turned my back to you. I’m sorry for all of that, I really am,” he took a deep breath, hands opening and closing on fists as he tried to stay in control. “Everything I said was wrong and I hope you can forgive me, even though I know you shouldn’t.”
“That’s it?” Bilbo eventually said and, by now, Dís and Bofur — as well as half of the coffee shop — had given up pretending not to be looking at them and were openly staring, waiting for what would happen next. “Are you finished?”
“Yes, that’s it,” he said, feeling his whole face light up as the other hummed and uncrossed his arms, eyes as cold as steel staring deep into his.
“Then here’s my answer. I’m very, very angry at you still, Thorin Durin. You were an absolute arsehole, full of shit, a complete moron and said some of the worst rubbish I’ve ever heard about my person than someone could ever say,” Bilbo started, pointing a finger at him over the counter, and stepped. “The only person worse than you is my cousin’s wife, Lobelia, who’s only saving grace is the fact that I only have to see her once a year, but, even after everything, I don’t wish to see you once every year. So, I’m only going to accept half of your apology because I still am very bloody angry at you, but I want to come over here again to eat Bombur’s scones and it’s not you who’s going to stop me. Am I understood?” His words echoed in the sombre silence that fell over the shop and Thorin saw more than one person nod along with him as Bilbo stepped back.
“Yeah, yeah you are,” he nodded again for good measure, afraid to say more and be screamed at again.
“Now, excuse me, I’ve important business to deal with your sister,” and, with that, Bilbo reached for the pie and tea still on the counter, turning around to follow Dís to one of the furthest tables in there.
Thorin may have fallen a little bit more in love with him that day.
5. Settling in
“You are going to be fine, you big dunce,” Dís said, trailing after him as he walked around his living room, putting his hair up and then down one more time. “I swear to Mahal, you bloody idiot, if you put that hair down one more time I’m going to hit you with a broom and then I’ll want to see you go to your date with a bloody headache and a bump on your head!”
“You know she would do it, Grumpy,” Frerín said nonchalantly from where he was sitting around the coffee table and playing cards with Kilí and Filí. “She did it to me, she will do it to you.”
“I’m her older brother — Put that fucking broom down, Dís,” Thorín said, lifting one hand up at the same time Dís reached for the broom behind the sofa.
“Then, sit the fuck down and let me do your hair again,” she growled, pointing to the sofa with a dark-painted nail and a furious expression. They glared at each other for long minutes, trying to see who would break, who would stay behind, who would give in. Thorin wouldn’t give in, like he had many times before. He didn’t need to sit for another half hour of suffering with her pulling at his hair. “Thorin…”
He was not going to give in.
“Bilbo’s going to be in his best clothes and behaviour,” Frerín said beside him, almost as if he didn’t know what he was saying.
Thorin gave in.
“Ouch!” He said, pulling his head away from Dís when she pulled his hair. “Are you finished? Or are you going to make me go bald first?”
“If you had kept your hair the way I first did it, we wouldn’t be here now!” She hissed, hitting his shoulder with the back of the brush again and tearing another scream of his throat. He was about to respond, turning around to hit her back, when the doorbell sounded through the room.
“I’ll get it!” Kilí screamed, dropping all of his cards and running away before anyone could even move.
“Looks like your date is here, hot shot,” Frerin said while Filí used the opportunity to check on his brother’s card.
“Shit,” he said as Kilí’s excited voice travelled over the stairs, greeting both Bilbo and Frodo as they stepped inside. “How do I look?”
“Like you are about to have a panic attack,” Filí said at the same time Frerin said: “Exactly like when Granny did our hair for Sunday church.”
“I’m fucked.” Despair and dread filled his chest as he slumped against Dís, head falling over his chest.
“Stop it, you two!” She threw her brush at them before moving to kneel down in front of him. “Listen here, Thorin Durin, don’t listen to those two arseholes. You look beautiful and I know that if Bilbo doesn’t see that it is because he isn’t the right man to you—”
“You are not helping as much as you think you are,” he interrupted, looking over her head as he heard Kilí’s voice coming closer and closer.
“I’ve no time for inspirational shit, you dunce, so stop being a bloody chicken, take a deep breath and just take the man of your dreams out on a date so the rest of us can be out of this misery!” She hissed at the same time the door opened behind her. “Good night, Bilbo!”
“Oh, hello, Dís,” Bilbo said, slightly taken back by her sudden greeting and Thorin felt the air leave his lungs as he took him in. “I didn’t know you all would be here today.”
Bilbo was even more beautiful, if that was somehow possible. His hair, which barely reached his shoulder in the beginning of the year, was almost past his shoulders now and today it was fully down. It fell over in waves, curling around his neck and itself. He was holding a coat on one hand, the other one holding Frodo’s little hand and Thorin took a moment to think how the red of it made his eyes seem more mysterious and attractive.
“Hello, Uncle Bilbo,” Filí said from his spot on the ground as Frerín waved at him happily.
“Good to see you, Bilbo.”
“Well, Uncle Thorin was going mad over trying to choose something to wear and—” Kilí stepped around Bilbo, taking Frodo in his arms as he went.
“Kilí!” Thorin hissed, finally breaking out of his stupor and getting up. “They like to come unannounced, but it doesn’t happen that often anymore.”
“Yes, of course, I believe you,” Bilbo said in a way that made him believe that he didn’t believe him at all. “Frodo, are you sure you are okay with staying with Aunt Dís, Filí and Kilí tonight?”
“Yes, I am! Filí said he was going to teach me how to make cookies today!” The boy said, feet kicking the air around Kili’s hips happily. “You go and enjoy your date, Uncle Bilbo.”
“Exactly what the young lad said! You two go and enjoy your date, we are going to be alright over here!” Kilí said as Frerin and Dís turned them around and pushed them out the door. “Nothing to worry about at all!”
“Good night, darlings!” Dís said before closing the door at their back and locking it.
For some seconds, none of them moved, trying to process what had just happened with them. On the other side of the door, they could hear the rest talking animatedly with each other, moving around Thorin’s loft as if it belonged to them. They exchanged a glance, starting to laugh right after.
“Did you just get kicked out of your own house?” Bilbo said between giggles.
“I think so, yes,” Thorin said, laughing even more as he doubled over. “The bastards.”
“I’m fearing for what they will do now,” he said, tears streaming down his face as he shook his head. “Well, at least I think there isn't anything we can do now. Dís locked the door. We can’t come in.”
“We definitely can’t because that idiot didn’t let me get my keys on the way out!” That got another laugh out of Bilbo and Thorin smiled to himself. “That being, shall we?”
“Oh, yes, we shall,” and, with that, they walked down the stairs.
For a while, they only walked around the street, talking with each other and looking at the stalls lined up beside it. There was a carnival happening on the street, tourists coming from all places to look at the art the local artisans made. Rings, statues, tables, chairs and all kinds of things were on display for anyone to see. Dwalin was probably there somewhere, displaying his and Frerin’s creations proudly for anyone to see.
It was a tradition of the town, every two years, to gather all of their artisans and make this little carnival. Music could be heard all the time while you walked around, local bands playing live as people walked around, food stalls appearing in between along with small tables and chairs for those who wanted to sit down. They passed by Bombur’s stall as they walked around, waving to him over a crowd of people who wanted a taste of his famous tartlets.
Eventually, they settled in near a bandstand, sitting down next to it as the band played some of the slowest songs among the others. Some couples were dancing in front of them, resting their heads on each others’ shoulders and talking quietly as the song talked about infinite love and life. Thorin watched as an elderly couple waltzed in front of them, going from left to right, and the taller man laughed at something the smaller said.
That couple was one of the most constant features of the carnival, always together and always laughing at something the other said. Every year, no matter what happened, they could be found at this exact spot, dancing on each others’ arms like nothing else mattered in the world. And maybe it didn’t, maybe all that mattered was that the both of them were there, alive and well enough to dance one more song.
“Do you want to dance?” Thorin asked, turning to Bilbo before he lost courage. “Just one song and then we can sit down again.”
“Yes, I would love to,” Bilbo said, getting up and turning to him as the band started another love song.
He reached out for Thorin, stepping closer to him until he could lay his head down on his chest, one hand curling on his shoulder and the other holding tight to Thorin’s hand. They started slow, trying to find their own rhythm and style before finally settling down in one. It wasn’t anything elaborate, just a small side-to-side dance with the occasional twirl here and there.
“Is this going to be our song?” Bilbo asked as Thorin finally relaxed against him, hand coming to rest at the small of his back.
“What?” He looked down only to meet brown eyes staring intently at him. “What do you mean with ‘our song’?”
“What I mean is,” Bilbo started, a small smile playing on his lips. “Is this the song you finally ask me to date you? Because if it isn’t, I’ll wait until the next one to ask.”
“Date me? Date me as in like you like me back?” Thorin said after a moment, blinking at him as the words finally sunk in. “You like me back?”
“Yeah, Thorin, I do. Have liked you back for a while now,” he said, mirth painting his features.
“Oh. Oh," he said very intelligently and Bilbo snorted, shaking his head fondly. "And do you? Want to date me, I mean?"
"Yeah, Thorin, I do," Bilbo said before pulling him down to kiss him.