Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins opened the door and leaned down to pick up his neatly-rolled copy of The Guardian and pint of semi-skimmed milk, breathing deeply of the moist London morning. As he straightened up, his increasingly incredulous gaze passed over broad feet, muscled, hairy thighs, a pair of indecently tight briefs, until he finally came nose-to-what-the-hell-chest of Mr. Oakenshield, his annoying next-door neighbour. Bilbo’s nostrils flared in outraged shock. Underpants! In the street! “Mr. Oakenshield,” he muttered, then backed smartly into his neat little house and slammed the door. He thought he heard “Morning, Bill,” in a deep, Northern voice, but wasn't sure.
Really, the sheer nerve of the man! he fumed, filling the kettle and slamming a mug onto his kitchen counter. Not only had he built The Modern Monstrosity next door to Bilbo’s Grade Two Listed Period Property (and exactly how Oakenshield got planning permission for it was anyone’s guess - Bilbo guessed drug money), but he swanned in and out at all hours, held blaringly loud all-night parties which inevitably resulted in Bilbo having to clean vomit and condoms out of his herbaceous border, and he swanned around in just his underwear! Outside! Why, it was indecent, just because he had a six pack...Something bumped Bilbo's leg, disrupting his little internal rant. “Oh, sorry, Bofur,” he grumbled. “I suppose you’d like feeding, hey? Good boy?” The large English Bulldog beamed and drooled while Bilbo spooned food into his bowl and topped up his water, then he set to with messy glee while Bilbo scratched his ears and sipped his own tea. Once their breakfast was done Bilbo loaded the dishwasher and got dressed before clipping on Bofur’s lead for their daily commute to work.
The tube was packed, and Bofur tucked under Bilbo’s leg, staying out from under people's feet while the train started and stopped, passengers getting on and off until the carriage was nearly empty. Bilbo had been listening to a story on his tablet and was happily in a world of his own when Bofur suddenly stood up and started an enthusiastic, all-over-body wag. “Sit down, boy!” Bilbo yelled, before realising he was shouting and pulling his headphones off. “What’s the matter with you?” His crazy dog was barking and crooning and pulling at his lead, trying to get away from Bilbo. Bilbo looked in the direction Bofur was yanking him and saw Mr. Bloody Oakenshield, of all people, grinning at the pair of them over his newspaper (not The Guardian, Bilbo noted).
“Morning, Bofur,” Oakenshield said in a quiet, deep voice. How are you this morning, lad?” Bofur nearly wagged himself into a heart attack. Rather than have his shoulder dislocated, Bilbo let the lead slacken so his soppy dog could go and properly greet their neighbour. Oakenshield put the paper down and fussed the dog until Bofur collapsed in a happy little heap at the larger man’s feet, drool puddling on the floor of the carriage. Oakenshield looked up at Bilbo and grinned. “He’s a lovely dog, Bill,” he said.
“My. Name. Is. Bilbo,” Bilbo said stiffly. “Not ‘Bill’!”
“Oh, sorry,” said Oakenshield. “It’s so unusual, i thought I’d heard it wrong. Bilbo, then.” he held out a hand (only slightly covered in Bofur-drool). “I’m Thorin.” (Like that was a ‘usual’ name!)
Not wanting to be rude, Bilbo shook hands. “Well, nice to properly meet you, I suppose.” He tugged on the lead to try and pull Bofur back, but the silly dog had fallen asleep on Oak- on Thorin’s feet. Bilbo heaved an annoyed sigh and moved a couple of seats closer to Thorin. They sat in silence for a moment.
“Did you know he gets into my garden sometimes?” asked Thorin with a broad grin. “He’s turned up at my back door, begging!” He seemed to think it was a great joke. Bilbo cringed, mortified.
“I suppose there must be a hole in the fence,” he said. “I’ll fix it, don’t worry. That must be how your, ahem,fellow revellers keep getting into my garden to be sick…” Thorin’s face fell. “Oh, gods, no, they don’t?” he said. Bilbo nodded grimly. They fell into an embarrassed silence, punctuated by dog snores and Bilbo fidgeting nervously. “I’m off at the next stop,” he said, for want of better conversational topics.
“Me too!” replied Thorin. “What are the chances? Where are you off to?”
“Work.”
“What do you do?”
“Travel agent.”
“That’s interesting - do you enjoy it?”
“I suppose so, yes. Ah, here’s my stop.”
Both men stood, waking the dog, and got off the train before riding the escalator up to the exit. Bilbo turned left and Thorin turned right. “See you later, Bilbo,” called Thorin, waving. Bilbo muttered his farewell and walked away, lovestruck dog in tow. Can this day get any worse? he thought to himself.
Little did he know...