Chapter Text
Six-thirty in the morning is an absolutely atrocious time to be awake, let alone out and about.
And yet there are plenty of people walking and driving to work at this hour and the sounds of the engines and chatter are enough to give Bilbo a headache. It’s too blasted early but he hadn’t gone to bed until three and woke at five, his nerves not letting him enjoy any peace and quiet.
He’d been up late writing his novel and cursing the inspiration that tended to only find him in the evenings and the wee small hours of the morning. But he could not stop typing and by the time he had finished, he had an entire three chapters finished, which were now waiting for editing. It is all very exciting and Bilbo is eager to get back home and continue later in the afternoon.
If he survives that long.
Six-thirty in the morning is offensive, he thinks, as he walks down the sidewalk toward the bus stop. He has a class to teach at eight - which is, and he has brought this up to Gandalf many times, still too blasted early - and he was getting antsy simply sitting at home waiting for the time to pass. So now he’s on his way to the university to see if he can catch up on any work while he’s there.
And if he’s texting Drogo a fairly long rant about six-thirty in the morning, well, he thinks that’s entirely fair. Drogo is an early riser but he might not respond for a few hours yet what with taking care of the baby.
Bilbo’s nose is in his phone as he steps up to the bus stop. He is vaguely aware that the benches are full of people on their way to work and stands a little off to the side as he pounds the exclamation point repeatedly on his phone.
He can only hope the ruffians in class won’t give him too much trouble.
If he survives that long, considering the solid mass that suddenly rams into him.
“Shit!”
“Blast it!”
Bilbo yelps as many things happen at once; he drops his phone, something very liquidy splashes into his face and over his sweater vest and his glasses fall down his nose.
He flails for his glasses and manages to catch them before they are a victim of the concrete like his phone. The bus stop has gone eerily silent and Bilbo slowly lifts his gaze to the very tall person that has smacked right into him. He looks stunned and Bilbo and him simply gaze at each other in their respective shocked silences.
“I’m… so, so sorry,” the man eventually says and Bilbo notices he is holding a cup of what was once iced coffee, which is steadily dripping off of his hand and on to his fancy shoes.
Bilbo shakily wipes off his glasses on his sweater and puts them back on his nose before fetching his handkerchief from his pocket. He begins to wipe off his cheeks and chin and tries to process many things. The fact that he has been soaked in iced coffee and that this man somehow didn’t see him standing there and that this man is one of the most attractive men he has ever seen.
“It’s… alright,” Bilbo says slowly and is highly aware of everyone looking at him. It’s not alright, really, but it is too early and he is too tired to get properly peeved. “Though I do wonder how you didn’t notice me standing here.”
“I… I…” the man trails off before he lifts his phone in his other hand. “Distracted walking.”
Bilbo snorts a little and nods as he looks down at his ruined sweater and then picks up his phone, which is thankfully not cracked. If only to not have to stare into the forget-me-not eyes this handsome stranger has. “If only there was an officer nearby to issue you a ticket. I do believe you deserve one.”
The man sighs in what seems like relief. “I definitely do. I’m sorry, I should have been paying attention. It’s a shame…” he trails off again.
Bilbo looks up and sees that the man is staring down at his sweater vest with a strange expression. He clears his throat a little. “Certainly a shame. You should never waste good coffee.”
The man looks at Bilbo and smiles crookedly. “Or a nice sweater.”
“Oh,” Bilbo says as his cheeks grow warm. “It’ll wash out. And I have a spare at work, thankfully, so I won’t be needing to go back home.”
“Good,” the man sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Can I make it up to you somehow?” He checks his watch. “I have to be at work in twenty but maybe I can buy you a coffee?”
Bilbo knows it’s merely an offer because the man feels badly but he coughs nervously anyway.
Tall, dark and handsome. He’s got black hair that’s slicked back, some grey around his temples and a very finely trimmed, neat beard. He’s wearing a suit that looks as if it cost as much as Bilbo’s bimonthly check from work. There’s something kind about his eyes but something stern about his brow as well. Overall, it’s too blasted early in the morning for Bilbo’s brain to process anything, especially not an offer of coffee.
“Oh, no, but thank you. The university has a cafe I get my coffee at. Just promising to keep your nose out of your phone will be enough for me.”
He’s aware of how hypocritical that is but he doesn’t mention that.
The man chuckles. “I promise I will,” he says as his eyes crinkle at the corners. “If not coffee… maybe I can buy you dinner?”
Bilbo’s blushing now, damn it all. “You don’t have to give me any money,” he says slowly.
“I meant to take you to dinner,” the man says with a small smile. “Not give you a twenty and skirt my responsibility in making it up to you.”
“You don’t have to make it up to me,” Bilbo says a bit breathlessly. “It was an accident.”
“But I’d like to take you to dinner. Very much so.”
Bilbo clears his throat as he notices the man’s ears turning a bit red. Perhaps his offer of dinner isn’t entirely because of the coffee and it’s too blasted early for Bilbo to think of anything eloquent or witty to say in reply.
“Well then I suppose you better,” he blurts. “I’d quite like that. My choosing, of course.”
The man grins. “Of course. What do you have in mind?”
“The Ledbury, naturally.”
The man is gaping at him now, his eyebrows raised.
Bilbo laughs. “I’m joking!” he says and grins. “But I do know a wonderful little tea shop not far from here.”
“That sounds good,” the man says with a smirk and a sigh of relief. “I’m Thorin Durin.” He offers his hand.
Bilbo takes it and gives it a good shake. “Bilbo Baggins. I might not have wanted to meet this way…”
“But I’m glad we did,” Thorin smiles. “Let me give you my number.”
So Thorin does. And if, when Thorin gets on his bus with a wave and goodbye, Bilbo notices a few of the riders nearby him smiling with a mischievous glint in their eye, well, he simply hurries on to his own bus and ignores them.
There are many texts throughout the day and Bilbo’s students ask him why he’s grinning at his phone numerous times and he tells them to mind their business and finish their essays before he fails them all.
And if, at his lunch break, he is smiling at his phone and barely picking at his sandwich and Gandalf walks by with a mutter of, “The start of something wonderful, hmm?” well, Bilbo only smiles all the wider.