"Let this be my last confession." Bilbo murmured against his skin, murmuring like it was a big secret, not shared between anyone else, although everyone knew.

And no one dared to condemn him from that.

No one couldn't, not anymore.

"I love you."

He inhaled the smell of smoke and iron.

"With all of my heart."

He let his finger linger above the skin of his cheek and eyelids, still closed, still in deep sleep.

"I always though would I be strong enough to carry your heart and then you hurt me. I wasn't enough to you when there was a Mountain's Heart to touch and cherish."

He shook his head, leaned back and watched his loved one sleeping, not knowing.

"Your fingers around my neck. I can still feel them."

Unwillingly he shivered by the memory and he closed his eyes.

"You dragged me to the edge of that blasted wall and I still cannot go there. I still see nightmares of those moments. I dream that you dropped me. Isn't that proof enough. Death people cannot dream."

He sighed and turned away, sitting on edge of the bed, not looking Thorin. He couldn't.

"I couldn't believe it, not even after that. Gandalf said that I was in shock. I can't remember anything else but you, looking me with hatred."

A pause.

"I deserved it, didn't I?"

Again he turned to see the sleeping dwarf.

"Who is the betrayer Thorin? You or me? We both?"

He giggled nervously.

"You know. I have too much time to left to think about these things. It's not good for me. I cannot touch you. You can't hear me. It's driving me mad. Mad Baggins they would call me at home. The one who creeps in shadows and doesn't make a sound. Light in his foot. A burglar. "

He giggled again and stood up.

"I don't know meaning of this, the reason why I'm here."

He walked on the small narrow window what was more like a rail on the wall, but couldn't felt the coldness of winter. There was no hunger or cold or even warmness anymore. But he could see the light of morning sun and it made his skin yearn the air of summer and the feeling of grass under his fingers.

"I should be dead."

#

He felt wrong when he woke up. His hand reached the empty place beside him and he frowned. It was months now after Bilbo had died, but every morning he had felt it, though that he felt it, his presence.

It was nonsense.

He was just grieving after his love who he had betrayed so many ways.

But he couldn't but feel it, and right now, it felt wrong.

"Bilbo?"

The word echoed silently around the room and like always, there was no answer.

Through the day he felt it, the empty space beside of him, like he was missing something very important.

"Something wrong lad?" Balin asked and Thorin hesitated.

What could he say.

It was absurd.

Bilbo was dead.

He was just longing after him.

"Thorin?"

He snapped out of his though when Balin laid his hand on his shoulder.

"What is bothering you?"