Splashing in the river

Part 1

Hey.

Bilbo put the phone down on the kitchen counter and stared at it – utterly puzzled – for a long moment; was he supposed to reply to this kind of vacuous message or was he to wait for the follow-up?

Interrupting and sounding too eager was certainly unfortunate but holding back an expected reply was downright rude and so, Bilbo found himself writhing in the limbo of dubious social conventions.

When the three dancing dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, he all but sighed with relief, bending over the device impatiently to see what further information Thorin would provide.

A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the recollection of just how strange and wonderful life could sometimes be; he had been idly playing with the mere thought of switching things up in his life and law practice when change – monumental and irreversible – had swallowed him like an avalanche before spitting him out in a very different spot from whence he could truly appreciate the shift in perspective that had crept in.

Indeed, just as he had almost made up his mind, an old friend by the name of Gandalf had shoved a case his way that had just been too juicy to reject and that was how he had first met Thorin and his ragtag band of misfits. Suffice it to say that – due to his brilliance and sometimes slightly unorthodox way of thinking – Bilbo had ultimately won their home and possessions back and had thought that he was very well-seen indeed amongst the strange men he had grown to cherish so.

The enthusiasm of victory had slowly been replaced by a quiet, nagging feeling of dread though; now that the case was over, he was afraid that they'd just move on with their life and forget all about the prim and proper lawyer they had no use for anymore.

Want to come down to the river with us?

Thorin didn't often bother with emoticons to lend more depth to his tone and make his intentions clearer, much to the dismay of one Bilbo B. who was twiddling his thumbs nervously; it went against his professional ethic to have a crush on a client but – as Thorin was his customer no more – he wondered if he should maybe cut himself some slack where the tall, dark, handsome brute he had spent days and nights with during their reconquest of Erebor Inc. was concerned.

It was statistically never a good sign when Bilbo started to question and wonder though, for it generally meant that some tremendous upheaval was lurking just around the corner and – already – he could sense the thrumming anticipation running through his veins like bouts of thunder and lightning.

Sure. When and where?

If his thumb missed a few letters on the first try, it was surely due to his discomfort in this ambiguous social situation and not at all linked to the idea of seeing the revered CEO of the newly reclaimed Erebor Inc. shirtless; Bilbo had never been and would never be the kind of man to debase himself or others in such a callous, reprehensible way. No way!

And – just to prove this point, made in private and only known to his own self – he spent the time left to him before he had to leave with assiduous preparations. He dug out his best casual linen suit and ironed it diligently, he chose an airy cotton shirt – which unfortunately turned out to be too see-through to be worn without a pristine undershirt – after comparing several to the now impeccable suit, and he even threw together a nice, light picnic.

There were aspects and facets to Bilbo that Thorin had no idea of yet and he was eager to let him glimpse just how good of a baker he was for example; the fact that he knew himself to look really dapper in the chosen outfit of the day was – according to his own assessment of the situation – of minor importance though.