I'd just like to tell everybody who has reviewed must be sent from heaven itself! You guys are all so nice and gentle with me, and all deserve faster and quicker updates! Thanks for faving and being generally amazing. Love you guys!

This chapter might be a little boring, (there's little to no Thorin in it) but I couldn't find a good way to write him in properly. It'll be waaaaay better next chapter. Promise!

Bilbo first noticed the giant headache when he awoke. He groaned softly without opening his eyes, trying not to contribute to the pain. He brought his hands over his face, mostly to keep the light from shining through his eyelids. For a moment he was still, and tried to remember where he was. His bed felt sloppy and unmade, and smelled earthier. He let his hand fall to a very empty space next to him. His eyes shot opened as memories of the previous night flooded in. He remembered drinking quite a bit, going to the bathroom and then an altercation with Burt, Bill and Tom. Thorin stepped in, drove him home and. . .

Bilbo felt something between horror and arousal stir in the pit of his stomach. Cloudy memories of a warm body and soft breathing slowly resurfaced, and it was all Bilbo could do to keep himself from throwing up. He looked to his left and slowly began to realize that he was still in Thorin's bed, though the flyhalf was nowhere to be seen. The room itself was very clean, despite the piles of laundry folded neatly in a basket. Bilbo was almost surprised at seeing the room so immaculate.

Ignoring the ache in his head, Bilbo stood and stumbled to the kitchen, where he found a packet of aspirin and a glass of water waiting for him on the table. The flat was silent, so Bilbo figured Thorin was already off to an early morning class. He gulped down two pills with a grimace and elected to check his phone. He found his mobile still in the pocket of his discarded pants by Thorin's bed, and turned it on. He only had a couple of messages from Bard, some of which looked as if his friend was intoxicated when he wrote them.

heyt u okkacy?

Goodt hing u lft sum guys wer maekin fights

Hey, sorry. I heard about last night? Are you alright? You aren't in class and Thorin isn't saying anything.

Bilbo gulped and checked the time. It was later than expected.

Bilbo Baggins was late for class.

Before he even realized that he had put his clothes back on, Bilbo was out the door and down the steps of Bag-End. He checked his watch as he sprinted down the road towards his english class. He was already 20 minutes late. He didn't stop running until he reached the door to his lecture hall. There he took a moment to compose himself, heave in two large gulps of air, and then push himself through the doors.

The hall was silent when he entered, Elrond was now glaring at him from the podium. Bilbo felt his face redden as he searched the crowd for his friends. He caught Bard casually raising a hand to wave him over, so Bilbo quickly scuttled up the stairs. He sat and dumped his things onto the table beside Bard, who gave him a questioning look.

"You okay? You look exhausted."

Bilbo scoffed and opened his laptop. "Well, I do have the biggest headache ever, and I sprinted here from my flat, not to mention I ended up-"

He was suddenly interrupted by something kicking the side of his chair. He snuck a glance to his left and found Thorin, who seemed to be listening to the lecture with a new-found intensity. Bilbo could only turn pink and stiffen. He slowly turned to Bard,who was looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Bard asked. Bilbo looked at his hands and fidgeted.

"I, um, I ended up vomiting on the carpet!" Bard's eyes narrowed suspiciously as Bilbo bit his lip.

"You threw up?"

"Yes! Exactly. I threw up." Bimbo quickly began to take notes, and much to his relief, Bard didn't question him any further. The class simply went on without conversation. Elrond droned on about proper thesis statements, giving Bilbo the odd glare every so often. Finally, after about forty-five minutes, the class was dismissed.

Bilbo turned to greet Thorin, but found that he was already halfway down the stairs on the other side of their row. Bard raised an eyebrow at him and Bilbo shrugged innocently. He felt a little relieved, being able to avoid his problem without trying. Bard suggested they go to Starbucks and Bilbo agreed.

He said nothing as they walked to the shop, Bilbo was worried that something would accidentally slip out and he would be exposed. Bard only smiled at him as they finally made it to the store. They ordered quickly and sat in a two person table. Bilbo nervously sipped on his lemonade and Bard waited for his coffee to cool off.

"So," Bard began, taking a sip and swallowing, "did you at least use a condom?"

Bilbo choked on his lemonade and nearly spat it all over the table. Bard seemed completely serious with the question, which made Bilbo blush even more.

"I-he-I can't even-what?!" he sputtered, making Bard lean back in his chair and almost sneer.

"Really? You think I can't tell when something's happened? He wouldn't even look at you today."

Bilbo blinked, "He looks at me?"

"Yeah, does he ever." Bard exhaled loudly, "The way a bear looks at her cubs. But anyway, not the point. I can't believe he took advantage of you like that."

Bilbo pursed his lips and held up a hand. "Um, no. It's not like that. Trust me."

Bard made a face. "then why's momma bear so upset?"

"Well, I may have, um, ended up sleeping in his bed. . . With him in it?" Bilbo fidgeted with his straw as he saw Bard's concerned face, brow furrowed and eyes serious.

"You didn't take any clothes off. You didn't do anything?" Bard cocked his head to the side as Bilbo looked hesitant to answer. Bilbo thought for a moment, honestly trying to remember past him being hot.

"I don't think so." he finally answered, feeling somewhat self-satisfied.

"You don't think so." Bard repeated, widening his eyes and focusing on Bilbo's shirt. His voice sounded almost sarcastic.

Bilbo looked down to see what Bard was indicating. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. His black shirt seemed a little too big for him, and carried a strangely familiar scent. He touched the material and recognized the texture. Though he didn't know the garment from being on his own skin. He remembered the feel from a lazy, intoxicated hand that gripped for purchase and gentle arms helping him into the truck.

Bilbo swallowed. Oh god. He was wearing Thorin's shirt.

"I, um, I have to go." Bilbo nearly tipped over the table when he stood, and Bard had to actually reach for his drink to keep it from spilling. The scrumhalf didn't apologize or grab his own cup before he was out the door. Bard shook his head, but didn't go after his friend.

Bilbo sprinted back to Bag-End, feeling panic rise in his throat. He curled inwards because he could feel everyone's eyes on him, they knew. Bilbo saw dark storm clouds loom overhead and the wind picked up. Students all began to rush for cover inside the condos as thunder rumbled its warning.

They knew.

Bilbo made it to the stairs of Bag-End before it had begun to rain. He rushed up the steps and inside, but halted before he touched the brass doorknob. All he could do was grasp the cold metal gingerly and stare at it for a long moment. What was he going to say? What was Thorin going to say? He closed his eyes and imagined the floor collapsing and swallowing him up, or perhaps wolves materializing out of thin air to consume him whole. Each scenario sounded a lot better than whatever was inside his flat.

Instead, the door opened, causing Bilbo to jump back and cry out.

"Oi, laddie! Didn't mean to give you a start there!" Bofur cackled and yanked the catatonic scrumhalf into his flat. "I was just about to give up on you and head off. Thorin told me to wait and tell you about practice tonight."

Bilbo shifted on his feet and crossed his arms. He glanced out the window and into the darkened street. "But it's thundering outside."

Bofur scoffed, "Rain can't hurt ya!" he prodded Bilbo's chest with a stout finger. Bilbo allowed himself to stumble back a bit, fighting back a grin.

At this point in his life, Bilbo had learned when to pick a fight and when to accept the fact that everyone in the building had a key to his flat and they would drag him along on every adventure possible. He also learned to never trust old grey men with a twinkle in their eyes. All Bilbo did was roll his eyes and trudge to his room to collect his equipment. The scrumhalf was relieved to find his room as he had left it, noting that the bed was still made. He grabbed his readily-packed bag and checked himself in the mirror. There were noticeably dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a rumpled mess. He sighed and tried to flatten the mop of curls offending his head, and absently wondered where Thorin was.

He blushed at remembering last night's events. What if Thorin had taken advantage of him? What if Bilbo had done or said something to upset his flyhalf?

Bilbo's eyes widened. That's why he sent Bofur to collect him. Bilbo had done something stupid and now Thorin hates him for it. He had scared off his flat mate and now Thorin couldn't even look at him. All Bilbo could do was stare at his reflection in horror. A knock quickly sounded at the door and he barely moved.

"Um, Bilbo? You alright in there? I promised the captain I wouldn't be late."

Bilbo swallowed and balled his hands into fists. He quickly ripped Thorin's shirt from his body and stuffed himself into his practice jersey. After fixing his face in the mirror to feign confidence once again, he opened the door to a waiting Bofur.

He mouth was so dry he could barely speak, "Let's go."

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