It was that guy again.

Soldier uniform, neatly pressed. Body always upright and tense. He opens the door and enters as if the shop were his domain, then pauses, as if he suddenly found himself in an unfamiliar territory.

Which it shouldn't be, really. The man came to his shop for about a week in a row, if Bilbo is not mistaken. He should know the place from top to bottom, with the amount of staring he does.

Never touched any of the books, however. Never picked up a single book neither glanced at a single page. Bilbo wondered, frowning, if the man knew how to read.

He stayed for two hours, always, never deviating, then turned his back and marched outside without a second glance. Bilbo wasn't even sure the man was aware of his presence.

He asked around a bit and was told the man was not from these parts. Nor was a platoon positioned nearby. Most of the people of his village hadn't seen a soldier before, here in the Shire.

So what was the man doing, staring at titles and walking around in neat square patterns, yet not touching anything?

Well, a part of him mused. He may have been a regular, but he never shopped, so he shouldn't be too worried about scaring the stranger away, right? It may satisfy his curiosity, at the very least.

"Hello," he said.

The man froze. He appeared to be bracing himself before he turned slowly to face the intruder. Bilbo had to remind himself that this was his shop, so he wasn't an intruder; at all.

"Would you like some tea?"

The man remained silent. For a moment, Bilbo wondered if the man simply did not speak English. That would explain a lot, except, perhaps, why he frequented a book shop. Which sold books that were written in English.

"Tea?" the man asked.

Bilbo allowed himself a moment of relief before he realized that the man was, perhaps, repeating the word because he did not know what it meant. He decided to prepare a cup, just in case. Surely the man knew what tea was, even if he did not understand it was being offered to him.

Bilbo smiled and ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that insisted on replaying the word, 'tea?' again and again in the stranger's smooth, baritone voice.

"Well, it is quarter to four, and I'm feeling peckish." He heated the tea kettle and prepared two mugs, then placed two tea bags inside. "Besides, I've got the feeling it's not the books you are after."

Bilbo hummed with the kettle and smiled when he heard the bubbling of the water. He turned to look at the stranger, who loomed from the corner he claimed as his own.

"Why would you think that?" he demanded.

Hmm. He clearly spoke the language. But that did not help to explain his odd behavior.

"Well, you don't look interested in them," Bilbo said casually and poured the water into the mugs. "Milk? Sugar? Lemon?" he looked up to find the man staring at him as if he were a member of a new species, yet to be discovered.

Bilbo shrugged and filled the two mugs with boiling water. The rich aroma and the dark color eased his mind tremendously. He guessed he could forgive the stranger his rudeness. Perhaps he was unused to being offered tea at bookshops.

"You will have to come here if you want any, I'm afraid. I don't like people drinking next to my books." He picked up his mug and sniffed it. Yes, just the right aroma. "I don't mind the company," he added when he noticed the man still stared. Dumbfounded or affronted? He couldn't tell.

Bilbo opened the book he was reading and continued to read, feeling at peace with the world and his strange visitor, still rooted to his spot. He refused to think of him as handsome. No, the last thing Bilbo needed was clean shaven cheekbones and hooded eyes to chase his thoughts at night.

He actually jumped in surprise when the stranger marched toward his desk and sat across from him, his back ramrod straight and his eyes still hooded and wary. And very, very blue.

Bilbo closed his book and waved his hand in the direction of the stranger's mug.

The man did not touch the mug. He glared at him with anger so potent that Bilbo dropped his book.

Bilbo mumbled something as he dived under the desk to pick the book up and when he returned to his seat, cheeks slightly pink, the stranger had finished his tea.

Bilbo frowned; he had not yet touched his tea since both mugs were still steaming. Did the man feel uncomfortable…? Comes to think of it, did he not burn his tongue, just now?

"Would you like another?" he asked politely. "Or perhaps a bit of ice…"

"I've heard people say you are eccentric," the man interrupted.

Bilbo stared.

The stranger appeared to have realized what he had said and his ears, of all things, turned bright red.

He looked so uncomfortable suddenly that Bilbo actually pitied him. Perhaps he did not talk because he was terrible at holding a conversation? He suddenly noted the man was decorated with medals. Strange fellow.

"Eccentric, yes, but it's hard not to be, in these parts. All you need to do is be a little different." He poured the stranger another cup of tea. Did the man look sheepish? Or was he afraid of the tea? Considering his poor manners, Bilbo began to wonder if the man ever saw a cup of tea in his life. "I am gay, however," he said pleasantly.

The stranger stared.

Bilbo demonstrated the proper way of drinking tea by taking a small sip, then lowering the cup. He noted the way the stranger's eyes followed the movement of his hand as he brought the cup back to his lips and took another small sip. Drinking tea properly is of the highest importance in all social events and circumstances. And the man was, after all, decorated. He must have attended quite a few of those.

Bilbo still felt peckish, however.

"Are you-"

"I am not gay!" the man declared.

Bilbo blinked. "I wasn't about to suggest that," he said politely. "I wanted to ask if you are hungry."

He wondered if he should be offended. He could, probably, banish the man from his shop. He was rude, after all. Insulting and odd, and he never purchased a single book, nor appeared to be interested in purchasing any in the future. But then his ears, once again, blazed red and Bilbo found the sight to be comical enough to warrant a forgiveness, of sorts.

"Just a moment, then. And do let your tea cool, this time!"

He got up and left the room, then returned a few minutes later with two steaming plates, straight from the microwave. "If it's not warm enough, let me know," he said pleasantly and began to eat.

After a few moments of tense silence, Bilbo decided to give up on the man as a conversation partner and opened his book again. After a minute or two, he heard the man picking up his utensils.

Bilbo smiled quietly to himself and waited a few more moments before he dared to glance at his companion. When he did dare, however, he frowned and lowered the book.

The man held the utensils so tightly his knuckles turned white. He did not touch the food.

"Is something the matter?" he inquired, lowering his book. "Is the food not to your liking?"

"No," the man said blatantly.

Bilbo's hand twitched. No one disliked his cooking before. "Well, would you like something else…?" he tried to be polite. The stranger was not worth it, clearly, but he still tried.

"No," the man repeated. "I… did not try it yet," he explained. Was he sheepish again? But before Bilbo could say anything, those blue, blue eyes focused on him with new intensity. "Aren't you going to ask me?" he almost sounded desperate.

"Ask you? About what?" Bilbo asked, startled.

The man frowned, as if uncertain as to why he had to clarify his utterly confusing question. Bilbo had almost regretted ever speaking to the man; he did a far better job as a strange, handsome mystery than a rude, odd, still handsome conversation partner. At least the former option allowed his imagination to roam. Reality, so far, was disappointing. The proximity didn't help much, either. Before he spoke to the man, he did not know how blue his eyes were.

"About… about me," the man explained, with his hand against his chest. Then he dropped it and sat as rigidly as before.

"Why?" Bilbo frowned.

The man once again appeared perplexed. "People ask," he said.

His attempts at explanations were as bad as the rest of his conversation skills, apparently.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Bilbo said kindly. He ignored the man's scorching glare. "You are in uniform. Most people would ask about the war." He cut a slice of the chicken. "Decorated, too."

The man, if anything, looked lost. His hand instinctively jumped to clasp the cross. The bronze cross, attached to a crimson ribbon, looked surprisingly plain.

"Yes… the war," the man said slowly. "They ask about that, too."

Bilbo tapped his mouth with his napkin. "You don't have to wear the uniform everywhere you go. I assume you are not on active duty? People won't bother you, that way." He smiled.

The man huffed and looked away.

"Well, eat up! I am not trying to poison you, you know." He smiled and returned to his book. "And I won't ask, so don't worry about it."

The man glared – Bilbo began to wonder if his features were capable of anything else – and did nothing.

After a while (Bilbo hardly noticed, as he was reading) the man got up and picked up the now empty plates. Bilbo did not notice that either until the man cleared his throat.

He jumped and stared at the man in confusion, uncertain for a moment who he was and how he got there and why oh why he was holding two plates and looking at him questionably.

Then it clicked.

"Oh, leave that! Thank you, I will do the dishes, don't worry about it!" he took the plates. "I'm Bilbo, by the way," he added, noticing it was slightly late in the conversation to introduce oneself, but still required.

"I know," the man said. He glanced at his watch and added, "I have to go."

"Of course, I won't keep you." Bilbo, who had been trying to balance the plates so he could shake the man's hand. Then gave up when he noticed none was offered. "If you pass here again, don't bother knocking! Tea is at four, but you are welcome at any time."

He will probably come here again tomorrow, and he never did knock (who knocked when entering a shop, anyways?), but Bilbo felt he had to be proper for the both of them.

He still did not know what the strange fellow wanted, but decided he was harmless enough to offer him another chance.

The man nodded, then clicked one heel to the other, his hand moved up… - and then the man realized he was about to salute and immediately turned and all but fled toward the door.

"Wait! You did not say what your name was!"

The man paused, ears still red. "Thorin," he coughed.

He was gone.

Bilbo was just getting to the good part of the book, but he was paying it no mind. The man, Thorin, who always appeared at three, sharp, and left at five, sharp, was late.

He was almost an hour late.

Of course, not that Bilbo expected much. For all he knew, he might have scared the living daylights out of the man with tea and homemade food. Or the fact that he was gay.

Bilbo preferred not to think about it. He was not a young boy anymore, and he promised himself he was not going to hide it or be ashamed of who he was. The man's reaction was insulting enough. But Bilbo was past the stage where such reactions could offend him. His eyes stung.

He got up angrily. It was almost tea time, and he was determined to enjoy it, and one could not enjoy tea time without tea, after all. This time, he had some loose-leaf tea and a fitting kettle prepared, not because he expected company, but-

The door opened – at four o'clock, sharp – and in entered Thorin, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, neatly pressed. Tie and all.

Bilbo huffed. He refused to acknowledge that - nope, he wasn't even going to think about that.

"You have something for suits, don't you?" he said amiably, then noticed the flowers clutched in Thorin's fist. "Oh… I'm… I'm sorry," he added, flustered. And there he was making fun of the man!

"Sorry?" Thorin asked. He did not move from his spot at the entrance of the shop.

"Yes, well. You didn't have to come, you know, I wouldn't have- I mean-" Bilbo froze, uncertain what he was supposed to say. "My condolences," he offered eventually.

Thorin stared at him blankly. "I am not going to a funeral."

"Oh."

Then Bilbo realized Thorin was still staring at him and the tea was ready, and he turned, face somewhat red, to tend to the tea. "Oh, I see. I am so sorry. I just assumed because of the suit and the bouquet…" he lifted his head and blinked, surprised to find the man had crossed the distance and was now standing in front of him.

He offered him the bouquet with his hand perpendicular to his body, which was perpendicular to the floor. In fact, the man reflected such mathematical perfection it took Bilbo a moment to process the situation.

"Flowers?" he wheezed.

Thorin broke eye contact only so he could scrutinize at the bouquet he was crushing in his fist. "Yes," he confirmed, after a moment of inspection. "My sister said to bring some," he added.

Bilbo would have congratulated his developing conversational skills were he not so utterly lost.

"To a book shop?"

"To a book shop owner."

"To me? What shall I do with them?"

Thorin paused, looking deflated. His hand twitched, then fell to rest against his tailored pants.

"I haven't thought about that," he admitted.

Bilbo swallowed. "Why did you bring them, then?"

"I thought you'd like them," Thorin said. His eyes, which up until now regarded Bilbo unwavering, looked away.

Bilbo blinked. Then cleared his throat. "Well, I do have a vase in here somewhere. Give me a moment." And he fled, feeling his cheeks – oh, they were burning – and took a moment to breathe.

Flowers and a suit. Flowers. Oh boy.

He steadied his breath and returned to the room, carrying an old vase with him, half filled with water, and placed it on his desk. He then reached out to accept the flowers.

Thorin did not move.

Bilbo, still a bit pinkish but no less determined, lifted Thorin's hand gently, held it in his hands, and slowly pried the flowers from Thorin's iron fist.

He winced when he noted the broken stems but nevertheless, after a short moment of cutting the rubber band and those sad, broken stems, he arranged the banquet in the vase. When he was satisfied, he reached again and grabbed Thorin's hand, turning it upward so he could look at his palm.

"Well, you are lucky these weren't roses," he said pleasantly. "Would you like some tea?"

He looked up.

He shouldn't have.

Thorin was looking at him, into him, and his features were graced with a soft, small smile.

"I would," he replied.

Notes:

A dabble in Bagginshield. If you like it, do tell!