Urchieeee
Bilbo Baggins cannot help but see signs in his nephew. Those watercolor eyes were diamonds amidst a sea of rubble; those dark, cascading curls like tangling vines up an oak of Mirkwood. He tried- he REALLY did- to forget Thorin Oakenshield. Forget his undying, utterly death-defying love for the dwarf; forget his silver clasps, his furred cloak, that stupid, burly laugh. But thanks to poor, sweet Frodo and a whole treasure trove of bad luck, the one thing that most resembled his long lost love was now living with him. In a hole in the ground.