"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make out souls blossom."

-Marole Proust

August is bloody hot. And it's supposed to be summer, it's supposed to be so hot out that is makes your chest tighten, and it's supposed to mean that you flit from air-conditioned building to air-conditioned building for relief from the sticky air, and Sam knows all of this, having worked outside helping with his father's small landscaping business since he was a child, but it doesn't make him any less sweltering.

But August will be August. No use complaining about something he has absolutely no control over. And there was a nice breeze out today, so walking to his classes wouldn't be completely dreadful. Plus that meant a more comfortable afternoon for gardening, provided the weather stay this way. The middle of summer could be a lot warmer, really, so today wasn't as miserable as he first thought, if he really though about it.

Samwise Gamgee - hobbit, freshman, Agriculture major, second Flanker on the college rugby team - had just ducked into the nearest coffee shop to escape the sun's brutal-but-not-too-brutal-if-you're-being-optimistic-about-it rays. As always, it was extremely crowded.

The Prancing Pony on Bree Street was, for the most part, the main coffee joint and wifi hotspot on campus. It wasn't too spacious, the front being too narrow for a line to form, but comfortably open when the place was mostly empty. There were shelves the held bags coffee, recipe books, tins of tea, and a few mugs with designs ranging from abstract pictures to ones shaped exactly like hobbit holes. There was a display case the took over most of the middle and held an array of sweets, breads, and cakes, all of which looked delicious to the young hobbit, none of which he had time to stand in the line for. The back of the shop opened up to over look part of the campus where some on the dormitories resided, a few of the science and engineering buildings peppered in between them. Tables and chairs where set near the windows, so tall to the hobbit that seemed to climb the walls and stretch far beyond. There were polished wooden stairs leaning against the back wall that curved up to - presumably - a second floor.

Sam had barely been around campus, let alone in Prancing for more than a few moments. It was only his third week of classes, and he'd only just memorized the route to all of his buildings he needed to be in. And right now, he needed to be across the campus. It wasn't too far for another, taller race, but for a hobbit? Sam had to be out of bed, and ready a good hour or so before he had to leave. It was just to be on the safe side, and he was usually early, could stand to wait around in the air conditioning for more than a two minute interval, really, but he was always a little nervous that the one day he waited around longer than scheduled would be the day he would get to class in the middle of a lecture.

Of course, this is exactly what happens, but later, he wouldn't mind it so much.

Sam was standing by the door, adjusting his bag and preparing to head back outside. He took a step forward, and an elbow jostled him back.

"Uh, excuse me I just - " he started, looking up into the persons eyes. The stranger was a dwarf, unfamiliar face and voice, but the other grunted at him and turned away. "Er, sorry. Could I just - "

"Back of the line, hobbit! You're going to have to wait like everyone else here!" the stranger grumbled.

Sam tried again. "Actually, I'm just trying to get to the exit, if you take my meaning. If you could just - "

"Back. Of. The line." That was, it seemed, the final word. The dwarf didn't seem to want to budge, and the others around him were getting a bit frustrated as well, mumbling things like, "Yeah" and "Just wait your turn kid". Sam sighed. He knew very well that there was a time and place to assert yourself, puff out your chest, and show somebody that your mean business. But, if he was being totally honest, he wasn't going to do that now, whether the situation called for it or not.

So he stood in a nervous, frustrated silence at the back of the ridiculous long and slowly moving line. Every so often he would move his body a bit forward to see if the line was getting any closer to the door, puff out a defeated sigh, and settle back into the line.

After the fourth or fifth time he'd done this, a voice pipped up from in front of him. "It's usually like this in the morning. A bit ridiculous isn't it?"

Sam's head snapped up, and his eyes met brilliant blue. It took a moment for Sam to notice the other standing in front of him was another hobbit. He was slightly taller than him, but only slightly, in a way that he'd have to look up if he was really close to him but could easily meet his eyes about half a foot back. His skin was paler than Sam's - this didn't really count, of course, since Sam's skin tone was a creamed coffee color thanks to his outdoor work - and it was a stark contrast to the curly mop of deep brown on his head. He was leaner than most hobbits. Sure he had the standard pudginess of a hobbit around his middle, but only slightly there, and it was covered so well with his clothing his body almost looked elf-like. Almost. He was clad in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts, plain and simple, and slightly...endearing - no, well, yes, but no.

Yes, because you'd have to be blind not to see that. The other was, for lack of a better, more suited to the era word, incredibly handsome.

No, because this was Frodo Baggins.

He and his father, Hamfast Gamgee, worked in the garden of Frodo and his uncle, Bilbo Baggins, for most of the summer. It was a lovely little garden to tend to, and he enjoyed Bilbo very much. But he'd often catch glimpses of his nephew through the window, or heading out for some unknown destination. The most communication Sam had had with Frodo himself had been arbitrary. Tentative smiles cast his way - always kindly, enthusiastically returned by Frodo - or, once, a wave as he was leaving the house quickly.

But he'd never spoken to him. Well, he amended, I mean, nothing more than a, 'Morning, Mister Frodo.'

He really, really, wished the dwarf had let him leave now. He didn't want to be late, but he didn't want to be stuck next to this hobbit, of all the hobbits. The one who made him shyer that usual, the one who, when he first saw them had boldly blurted the words, "Who is that?" He felt his face heat up and for the first time today, it was not because of the weather outside.

He didn't need a coffee or tea, did not need to stand in this line, and he certainly didn't need to strike up conversation with the Baggins boy. He was going to be late.

He opened his mouth to either say "Excuse me," or "Pardon," but instead when his lips parted, his mind betray him and out came the words, the name. It tumbled from his lips in a sort of exclamation.

"Mister Frodo?"

Frodo had been waiting in line for at least fifteen minutes. They were still getting things ready back behind the counter, darting here and there, and getting to customers when they could. It was a slow process, but Frodo was, he thought, pretty patient.

The hobbit behind him however, seemed a bit too antsy. And familiar.

He knew as soon as the other murmured his name.

The Gamgees had come to work on he and his uncle's garden this summer. Hamfast and Bilbo talked often while they work, but Frodo had preferred to watch the son. With tanned skin, blond-red curls, a blinding smile, and a body that looked partly-pudge-mosly-muscle, he was easily the sweetest and most gorgeous hobbit he'd laid eyes upon.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he'd say he'd developed a puppy crush on Sam just from looking at him, seeing his smiles, hearing the soft murmur of good morning. He was always ready to respond to Sam with enthusiasm. After the summer came to a close, Frodo had been a bit sad to see them go. It wasn't like anything in the movies; Frodo rushing out to pour his feelings to Sam, who would hesitantly admit he felt the same, sharing his embrace. No, and the thought almost made him laugh right then and there. It was a more of a wave-goodbye-ish scenario, in which Frodo waved and Sam blushed then tried to cover it with a sweet parting smile.

Samwise Gamgee, a freshman at his college. He counted his lucky stars.

"Sam, right?"

The other hobbit's face flamed up. "Ah-er. Wow. I - I mean-! Uhm, I didn't think you'd actually remember me."

Frodo chuckled. "Of course I remember you. What brings you here?" He had meant "what brings you to The Prancing Pony," but before he could tend to that detail, Sam had answered.

"Agriculture, actually. Gardening and whatnot. A-also, er, I guess the sports scholarship too, b-but mostly the program here. It's quite incr-"

Frodo didn't mean to laugh; he truly didn't, it was rude and could be taken completely wrong, but he just couldn't help it. But the other was getting so flustered and blushing so much, and he was so nervous to say anything at all. It was strangely adorable.

Sam's words had tapered off to small mumbling of "uhm" and "sorry". Frodo immediately ceased his laughter, coughing and trying to give same an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Sam." The other continued to blush and stare at his toes. "Really. I had meant what are you doing here, in the shop. I wasn't laugh at you, I promise."

Sam smiled a bit, a cute half smile that made Frodo's stomach flop and his mouth go dry. "I was, er, well I was trying to leave the building. Only stopped by to cool off and then head back out toward class." He sighed and scrunched him nose up a bit in a look of distaste. "But the dwarf up there thought I was cutting and told me to wait in line."

Frodo winced sympathetically, and glanced at the dwarf by the door. There was a part of him - a small part, he tried to reason, just small enough to be seen, but really doesn't have to be acknowledged - that was thankful the dark haired dwarf had scared Sam into staying in line.

"Are you going to be late?" Frodo asked anyway. Honestly, he hoped the other hobbit was not going to be late, but just as well, wouldn't mind if the other missed a few minutes of class for a few moments of idle chitchat.

Sam, much to his dismay, nodded furiously. "Normally, I wouldn't be this paranoid. I'm usually punctual to every occasion, truly I am. But this campus is so," he paused to shift his back pack and move up in line (at least it was moving now), "big! You've been here longer than I have, though, Mister Frodo, but it must be hard to walk a campus this big. Being a hobbit, I mean." His cheeks were tinted an embarrassed pink.

Frodo chuckled. "Frodo. Just Frodo, Sam."

"Er, right, sorry."

Frodo flashed him a toothy grin. "My first year here was..." he paused, searching for the right word. "...challenging? Hm. Can't seem to figure out the correct word for it... Anyway, it was hard, incredibly hard for my first few weeks, finding classes, never mind getting to them on time. But you'll get used to it."

"Thank goodness for that," Sam said, a bit breathlessly. He looked utterly relived at the news.

They moved up a few steps in line, staying in comfortable silence. By the time Frodo had reached the counter, however, it had turned into a stale, awkward sort of silence; the kind where both members of the conversation are bursting with all sorts of words, from inane jabber to the most sophisticated of colloquies but neither say a word.

Frodo had looked behind him several times, watching Sam's nervous stance and wide eyes with interest. But whenever he'd opened his mouth to say something to him, he'd stop himself, clamp his lips shut, and turn to stare straight ahead.

This wasn't like him at all. Frodo had always been able to find his words. Always. That was why he'd went with becoming an English major (with a double minor in Middle Earth History and Elvish, which were his second choices anyway, if he was honest). No matter the exchange of words - argument, friendly banter, oral exam - he'd been able to conjure his words with ease. But now, for some reason, they weren't coming at all. It worked like a wine bottle of sorts. His voice and words the drink, and Sam, innocent and barely aquatinted Sam, seemed to be the bloody cork.

"Frodo?"

Frodo's head snapped up to meet the crystal clear eyes of Rosie Cotton. Her hair fell out of her pony tail in thin ringlets, framing her round face, and her smile was brighter than sunshine, peppy as usual. A hobbit like himself, Rosie was a sophomore and also studying in his field. They'd met only a year ago, in the library studying for the same final in their lecture class.

"Morning Rosie," Frodo greeted, giving her a half smile.

"Same as usual, I take it?" she asked, already settling her eyes on the register.

Frodo only nodded. His eyes were on Sam, who was now staring at the watch on his wrist with wide eyes and a pinched brow. He was late, Frodo decided.

"Frodo? Are you paying any attention?"

"Yes, I am, sorry, Rosie. I - "

"He's cute," Rosie whispered, if you could call it a whisper. It was much too loud and, honestly, Frodo wasn't quite sure it didn't reach Sam's own ears. "I haven't seen him in here before."

"He hasn't been in here before," Frodo explained in a hurried murmur. "He's a freshman, I think."

"What's his name, do you know?"

How warm was this shop kept? Seventy degrees? Sixty? It didn't feel at all cool in here at the moment. "Gamgee. Sam Gamgee."

Rosie wiggled her eyebrows at him, and the room temperature felt like it had rises yet another few degrees. "You know him then, hm?"

"Barely, Rosie, could I just make the purchase and go? Some people are going to be late." The words themselves were harsh, but delivered in an even, friendly tone.

"He's cute," she repeated, perhaps for emphasis, perhaps to tease Frodo. Either way, it finally made his own cheeks heat up. She rang up his drink, and he handed her the money, before turing on Sam.

"Well, I guess this is were we part."

His words seemed to startle Sam because he jumped a bit at the sound of Frodo's voice. "I'm sorry?"

Frodo smiled a little. "I just have to wait on my order, but then I have to go."

"Oh." Did he imagine it, or was there a note in the other's voice that sounded sad and slightly disappointed? "Well, I suppose we couldn't have stood in line forever, right?" He gave Frodo a small, shy smile.

It was the smile that did it, he would decide later. That smile that lit up his eyes, and showed his dimples. That smile that closed up Frodo's throat and made his mouth dry. Stopped his words like a dam holding back the floodgates. Filled his stomach with the slightest of butterflies and ran delicate fingers of pleasure up and down his spine.

Oh, damn.

"I suppose I'll see you around though, mister Frodo?" Sam was saying, but Frodo only smiled and nodded, hurrying to the the other side of the café without so much as a second glance. (Later, he'd amend for that, apologize, but that is, you understand, later.)

Rosie was waiting with his cup of coffee and a grin that was as sweet as it was taunting. He took the styrofoam cup in hand and she giggled. He was about to turn and leave when, finally his brain began to work.

He turned on Rosie, a goofy smile plastered on his face. He definitely wanted to talk to Sam again, but as he had said earlier the campus was big. Running into Sam again would be like finding a needle in an urban campus themed haystack. No, what he needed was a bold move, something that would leave an impression on Sam and, possibly, allow him the chance to see him again.

"Rosie, could you do me a huge favor?"

Frodo had left with a smile and a wave. For some reason, Sam had suddenly felt empty as he waited for his own cup of coffee.

Maybe the babbling about seeing him again had done it? After all, strayer didn't normally say that to each other. Granted, they weren't really strangers, but did that same rules apply? He wasn't sure. Did you keep something like, "Hope to see you again!" inside your head no matter...no matter how much you meant it?

I've gone and mucked that up, now, haven't I. Brilliant, Sam.

And, to top it off, he was late. Later than late, by the time he'd get there, the lecture would have been summing up the final points, coming to a close. Had he accidentally skipped class, only to embarrass himself in a different place.

"Large black, milk no sugar, for Sam?" A cheery female voice called above the coffee shop din. Sulkily, Sam accepted the cup.

"You have a nice day!" The blond barista told him. "And make sure to keep that cup! Lord know's what would happen if you tossed it!" And with that cryptic piece of information, she went back to work. Sam took a sip of his drink, confused...

...and nearly spat out his drink in shock.

On the cup was a ten digit number, and under it, the words scrawled in quickly-done handwriting:

Text me.

A/N: So! This is a request and a present for my dear friend Emma ( on tumblr as acidicgumdrops). She really ships these two, and I thought I should write her a fanfiction. I, on the other hand, know next to nothing about this world (hence AU) and know next to nothing about the characters (so I go by her preference and such.) This will be multi-chaptered and should be finished (if I time this right, and do it often) by the new year.

I own NOTHING!

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