Chapter 4

12 December 2007

"I think you should just knit him socks," Bofur signs as his brother places a pint in front of him.

He and Bilbo are sitting at a table in the back of Bombur's restaurant. The curly-haired man texted him a couple of days ago, asking to meet him for lunch sometime this week. Bofur had hoped Bilbo had something exciting to tell him, like a wedding announcement or a pregnancy, but it turned out to be Christmas presents. Not really something Bofur is an expert at.

Bilbo patiently waits till Bombur has safely deposited the tea tray on the table before glaring at his friend.

Bofur shrugs, completely unfazed by all this fuss about Christmas presents and gulps down some of his beer. He is, to the surprise of nobody, wearing his ancient hat, the ear flaps sticking out to the sides, probably due to the crust of filth that covers the entire thing, with two braided pigtails peeking out underneath. How he manages to look like a homeless person that hasn't showered in three months without actually being a homeless person, and why he would want to look like that, is a mystery still to be solved.

"I like the socks. Your Thorin will like them too," Bofur goes on. "They are warm and comfy. I wear them every day." He starts howling with laughter at Bilbo's expression of utter disgust, scrunched-up nose and everything.

"I don't know if he even likes knitted socks," Bilbo admits finally, slumping down in his chair as if in shame. His friend can only roll his eyes at the pessimism.

"If your Thorin is anything like the man you described to me, he'll love whatever you give him. Socks, empty milk cartons, dirty underwear-"

Bilbo interrupts him. "Why would I give him dirty underwear?"

Before Bofur can come up with a response, Bombur shows up with their food. He hands out soup and sandwiches before he plops himself down in the chair next to his brother. "Bofur is right," he signs. "Thorin will be happy no matter what you give him. Don't spend all your time coming up with the perfect present." As an afterthought he adds, "Maybe not dirty underwear though."

Bilbo drops his head in defeat and absently stirs his soup with a spoon. He only has twelve days left to come up with something. So far nobody had been able to help him. And Thorin has not dropped any hints about what he wants either.

A chunk of bread hits him square in the face and he lifts his gaze to glare at Bofur. Glaring is a frequent activity when Bilbo is in the presence of his best friend.

"Cheer up," the man with the hat tells him. "I should be the one pouting here. You never gave any thought to my Christmas presents, even when we were together."

Bilbo huffs. "Because you were actually happy with getting dirty underwear for Christmas. You didn't have any when we met and then you kept stealing mine."

Yes, Bilbo and Bofur had been a couple for a little over a year when they were still at university. In the end, they decided that their friendship was stronger than their romantic love for each other and they went back to being just roommates and best friends.

"And I still wear them today," Bofur announces proudly. Bilbo can only groan while Bombur rolls his eyes. He often wonders how sweet, respectable Bilbo managed to live with his brother for over three years without giving into the temptation of killing Bofur with his bare hands.

"Can we please stop talking about underwear?" Bilbo asks as he eyes Bofur's pint with great interest. Maybe he should have gotten one for himself. He would not be the first person to be driven into alcoholism after hanging out with Bofur. "I need serious advice."

"You've come to the wrong person then," Bombur replies merrily. "Have you ever seen Bofur give serious advice to people?" Bilbo slumps down in his chair. He has to agree with that. His best friend is all happy-go-lucky with his constant smile and inappropriate songs, not someone you could rely on for serious business.

"Well, what does your Thorin like?" Bofur asks in an attempt to prove his brother wrong. Or maybe he just likes to wind Bilbo up. "Besides having sex with you."

He earns himself a knock over the head for that. "What?" he exclaims and turns to his brother. "Sex with Bilbo is amazing. I can't blame Thorin for liking it." Bombur smacks him again.

The curly-haired man across from them sinks even further down in his chair and watches the two brothers bicker. He resigns himself to his fate and briefly considers drowning himself in his soup.

So far nobody has been able to give him a useful clue for the perfect Christmas present. Sex, ties, socks and underwear. Not very promising.