Chapter Text
"If I decide not to go on this trip, he's going to think he's won," Bilbo said with a huff, pausing in his frustration to shove a pair of meticulously rolled-up underwear into his suitcase.
The luggage near his feet remained overflowing despite his best efforts. He was confident he had brought only essentials; the trip was only seven days long, so Bilbo had packed away twenty-six pairs of underwear, twenty-four pairs of socks (both dress and casual), thirteen button-down shirts (eight white, five various colors he had chosen in haste), five t-shirts, three pairs of khakis, seven pairs of slacks, four pairs of jeans, two waistcoats, three suit jackets, and a single pair of swimming trunks.
From the brief amount of research Bilbo had done on the island they had chosen to visit all of those fateful months ago, it seemed like the weather always seemed to linger at a boiling point no matter the season, which likely meant the wardrobe he had packed away was in all likelihood ill-advised, but, it was too late to do anything about that now. And, well, he could always visit the shops there if it came down to it, Bilbo reasoned, eyeing his monstrosity of a suitcase.
"I hardly doubt anyone will be considered a winner in this situation, Bilbo," Primula said evenly. "it sounds like one of my worst nightmares."
"He's eventually going to break under all of the pressure," Bilbo dismissed her concerns, nodding his head in reassurance. "He's just talking up a big game right now. Trust me, Primula, I know what I'm doing."
"Oh, is that so?" Primula drawled in response. "Because I spoke to Dis earlier today and she tells me that Thorin is all packed up and ready to go."
"And he will stay all packed up," Bilbo said firmly, clenching his teeth together. "I'm surprised he's still so adamant on going. It took months of badgering for him to consider taking a holiday in the first place."
"Maybe that's why he's so set on it," Primula guessed, "It's likely he called off months ago. I doubt he's willing to spend all his free time lounging around in his apartment when he could be soaking up the sun along the beach instead."
"Well, that's precisely how he's going to spend the week, regardless, which is most unfortunate for him." Bilbo sniffed, refusing to conjure together even the slightest bit of sympathy.
After all, it had been Thorin who had tentatively broached the topic of a split up. Though, in all fairness, their relationship had weathered storms of hurricane-caliber over that year; their bond had been stretched beyond its limits, fraying and decaying and hanging on by mere threads before they had finally agreed to separate.
Despite his mutual opinion, it still wound him even months later; how Thorin had been the one to say enough was enough and call it quits.
Still, within a week, Thorin had packed away the entirety of his belongings; months of accumulation of things he had purchased alongside Bilbo or with Bilbo's opinion in mind, and he had left such a strong presence in his wake that Bilbo was sure he would feel haunted in his apartment for the remainder of his life.
The two of them had amicably decided to remain as friends, but a bitter seed had been sown deep within his soul that was only tended and watered to each time the two of them saw each other. Bilbo could not seem to spare the biting remarks that slithered past his teeth upon seeing with his own eyes how free and uplifted the other man looked now; as if their relationship and Bilbo himself had been an anchor tied around his ankles.
Thorin had flung his passive-aggressive comments right back at him without missing a beat, petty human that he was, and thus, their fragile truce for friendship had been reduced to embers within just a couple of weeks. And, as a result, the ones who suffered the most were their mutual group of friends who were suddenly constantly caught amidst a free fire.
The others had meticulously begun to plan outings where a conversation would be inconvenient and difficult to manage; rowdy bars and restaurants that held karaoke nights had been their preferred go-to. Although, despite putting forth their best effort, there were still some mishaps along the way, like the one time Bilbo had very drunkenly insisted on singing the chorus of Taylor Swift's 'We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together'. Bilbo had done a number of mortifying things in his life, but that was by far the most embarrassing thing he'd ever pulled in his life.
Thorin had sat perched at the bar afterward with his jaw clenched so tightly that Bilbo had briefly worried he would suffer from jaw lock. The tension in the air had been more than palpable at that point, which had led to Bofur immediately ordering another round of drinks before anyone could get a word in.
Primula sighed on the other line, breaking him from his trailing thoughts. "Bilbo, I think it's time for you to start accepting the reality of the situation you're about to find yourself in. Neither of you seems particularly willing to step aside and take this as a loss, which means the two of you will up boarding that plane and sharing that hotel room. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you'll be."
"Quite frankly, Primula, I don't have to come to terms with anything." And with that irritated exclamation and a hurriedly uttered goodbye, Bilbo childishly ended the call and tossed his cell phone onto his bed.
Was Bilbo in denial? Perhaps so, but being in a state of permanent denial seemed much more appealing than coming to terms with the fact that he was likely going to be forced into proximity with his ex-fiance whom he couldn't be in the same room with for more than five minutes without having a spat.
Until this point, Bilbo had stubbornly refused to let himself envision the scenario in which Thorin joined him on this trip. There was no doubt that they'd be forced to interact; they would be in an entirely different country where the culture and language both, were different. It was likely Bilbo would flounder in the face of it, and while he would be more than content to figure that on his own time, he knew that if he were traveling with Thorin they'd have to lean on one another at some point to avoid any mishaps.
The trip that Bilbo had steadily begun to think of as a fresh start would now be irreparably soiled; once again he would be immersed in an environment that revolved around Thorin. Bilbo would be forced to wake up each day for the next seven days to the face of the very same man he was still irreversibly and utterly in love with.
It was all bound to end in disaster.
Bilbo was sure he and Thorin would eventually grind heads (and not in a good way...! certainly not!) and there would undoubtedly be hostility where he once wished there'd be a sense of tranquility. Could it be possible for them to set aside their grievances for just one week? Bilbo sincerely doubted it; he couldn't remember the last time he had a genuinely pleasant interaction with Thorin.
The thought settled like a pit in the bottom of his stomach. It seemed like an entirely different life in which Bilbo and Thorin once collaborated and synchronized as well together as a well-oiled machine. Thorin had often favored claiming that he and Bilbo were two souls intertwined; where had they gone wrong, then? It was the question that most often kept Bilbo awake at night.
Bilbo raked a hand through the unruly curls atop his head, not bothering to withhold the sigh that had threatened to seep from his chest. He still had a long list of things he needed to get done before he settled in for the night. One of them was the immense task of getting his suitcase to close and zip up. Thorin had seldom hesitated to call him out on his habit of overpacking and his general fussiness when it came to undertaking any overnight trips, and perhaps he had had a valid point, Bilbo conceded as he plopped down atop his luggage and hopped in hopes of getting it closed.
Bilbo would sooner rather perish than admit anything like that out loud, though.
After successfully getting his suitcase zipped up, he forced himself to his feet to patter around his home, dusting and making sure things were in tip-top shape before he left. Bilbo would hate to have to return home to a dirtied and cluttered apartment; he was certain that once he returned, the only energy he'd willingly expend would be getting himself through his front door and throwing himself down on his covers.
And with his covers on the forefront of his mind, Bilbo laid himself down in his bed with a drawn-out groan. He tiredly went over his checklist as he dozed, double and triple-checking in case he happened to miss anything of importance. It was of the utmost importance he got an early start tomorrow, in case there was something he happened to miss.
He would need to set an alarm, Bilbo thought while shuffling beneath his comforters. He wouldn't let himself sleep for very long, as there were still preparations to get through. An hour of sleep should suffice fine, Bilbo thought while drifting off. Yes, there would be plenty of time left to do what he needed to do once he woke up.
It seemed only seconds later that Bilbo found himself startled awake by the sound of heavy pounding at his door.
He peeled open his eyelids, his eyes darting around in panic as his heartbeat hammered in his chest. Bilbo squinted against the rays of light streaming from his window. He had foolishly forgotten to close the blinds last night before falling asleep.
Last night...?!
Bilbo scrambled in a panic, stumbling out of his bed and pointedly ignoring the mess of sheets left behind on the floor. He managed to snatch his cell phone off of his bedside table amidst his frenzy, sneaking a glance at the time and going rigid in shock as the clock displayed that he was an entire two hours behind schedule. How could Bilbo have let himself become so negligent? He would be fortunate if he managed to get to the airport on time, let alone through check-in and security.
"Bilbo, open the door! I know you're still in there!"
Oh, as if this morning had not started pleasantly enough already, Bilbo thought with a hiss, accidentally skidding into his countertop as he hysterically raced to gather his belongings; he could only watch with a grimace as his collision brought down his entire collection of kitchen utensils in the process, clattering as they bounced and skipped along the floor.
Crap, Thorin would have most definitely heard that.
“I heard that!”
Well, then! That had blown his cover quite nicely; there would be no point in cowering away until Thorin grew tired and left. There wasn't enough time for a proper stakeout, anyway. No, the only option remaining was directly confronting Thorin and convincing him to go home without a drawn-out argument, all within a strict timespan of twenty minutes, which should leave him with just enough time to catch his flight.
"You can't be foolish enough to keep hiding after that, Bilbo!" Thorin said, punctuating his words with another set of heavy knocks upon his door. "We're going to be late, hurry up!"
The utter audacity, Bilbo thought with a glare towards the door. "The only one in danger of being late for anything here is me!" He retorted childishly, hastily shoving his feet into a pair of well-worn slides before rushing into the bathroom to scrub away at the residue on his face from the night before. He also ran his fingers through his curls, attempting to tame the bird's nest that had become of his hair during the night.
Bilbo knew he had virtually no time left before he would be forced out of his door, yet, even still, a small part of him reveled in making Thorin wait outside his door for just a few minutes longer. Bilbo could almost perfectly picture what Thorin looked like, his arms crossed against his chest and his jaw clenched in the way it did when he was infuriated. It was almost too satisfactory of a mental image, it brought a giddy skip to his step that he lacked on most mornings.
Bilbo snagged a granola bar from his pantry, purposely slamming it shut loud enough for Thorin to hear it before walking to his suitcase and dragging it towards the front door. "Thorin." Bilbo greeted blandly, utterly refusing to let his eyes trace over the expanse of Thorin's exposed arms. "What brings you here so early in the morning?" Perhaps feigning ignorance would anger Thorin to the point of him admitting defeat in a rage? It was worth a shot if nothing else.
"You already know why I'm here and I'd appreciate it if you stopped playing the fool with me," Thorin narrowed his eyes as he let his arms fall back down to his sides, giving Bilbo a fine view of his (bulging - oh, wow, had he changed his workout routine recently? How disgustingly unfair) chest. Bilbo reluctantly peeled his eyes away from the sight and down toward the two pieces of luggage near Thorin's feet; it seemed his ex-fiance was serious about going on this trip after all.
Bilbo's shoulders slumped, knowing the fight was nearly over before it even began. He would make one last-ditch effort. "Look, I don't have the time to argue with you right now, Thorin. I have a flight to catch, and I can't afford to waste any more time spent sitting here volleying insults back and forth with you, as much fun as that usually is." Bilbo drawled sarcastically, struggling to drag his heavy suitcase behind him. He carefully avoided Thorin's frown of disapproval at the very weight and size of it.
Bilbo locked his door behind him and patted his pockets to ensure he had everything he needed on his person. His keys? Check. His passport? Check, thankfully. Cellphone? Check! It looked like he was all set to leave. All that was left to do was dodge the very tall obstacle in his way and jet off to the airport.
"You mean our flight." Thorin dutifully corrected, trailing after him as they traversed the hall. Bilbo, at this point, had decided that perhaps ignoring the other man would do the trick. He knew this was a mistake on his part. Bilbo had almost let himself forget just how stubborn and determined (and petty, of course) Thorin tended to be. One should never underestimate a Durin's ability to dig their heels in and stand their ground. Bilbo often joked that they must be made from stone, with how immovable they tended to be when it came to something they wanted to see done. "I have just as much of a right to go on this trip as you do. We split the expenses evenly."
"It seems only fair to me." Bilbo shrugged. "You can think of it as reparations for breaking up with me." He struggled to rein in the smirk at the huff of exasperation he heard in response.
"That is anything but fair, and you know it," Thorin said firmly, a frown marring his features. "It only makes sense for the two of us to go. Besides, it'd be a good opportunity to try and repair what remains of our friendship. Don't you think our friends have suffered enough from us by constantly forcing them into these uncomfortable situations?"
"Are you trying to make me feel guilty right now?" Bilbo whipped around to face Thorin directly, anger stirring wildly in his chest and undoubtedly showing on his face. "Stop acting like you're this high and mighty peace pacifist who wants nothing more than my friendship when, in reality, you have been as equally argumentive and dismissive towards me as I have been towards you."
"That isn't what I meant-" Thorin slowly began to retract, uncharacteristically floundering in the face of Bilbo's ire.
Bilbo popped open the locks to his car, using his unrepressed anger to gather the strength to shove his luggage into the trunk before he turned back towards Thorin, cutting off any apology he might have offered. He tried his best to wipe any prior fury from his expression; his anger never lasted very long, anyhow, and it was quickly replaced with exhaustion. He was already very tired of fighting something he knew was inevitable; he had known it was all but decided Thorin was going once he saw his luggage. "Just put your bags in the trunk, Thorin. You win. I'm tired of fighting about this."
Bilbo held in a frustrated huff until he was firmly seated and buckled in the driver's seat, resisting the urge to smack his head against the steering wheel. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he would eventually knock himself out and be able to use it as an excuse to get out of this situation entirely.
"Hurry up, or we'll be late," Bilbo called out, forcefully swallowing the lump in his throat. He would make it through this. It was only one week. How much damage could be done in a single week? How much of his progress, however minuscule, could be unraveled? He hoped the universe was kind for once and Bilbo's questions were left unanswered, and with that thought in mind, he shoved his key into the ignition and hoped his car wouldn't give him too hard of a time starting today.
Thankfully, it only briefly staggered before roaring to life. He could only hope Thorin would turn the other cheek and ignore it; he was very attached to his car and refused to look into buying another, something Thorin had prodded him into doing quite frequently, citing concerns for his safety and well-being. It was all a bit dramatic if you asked Bilbo.
"I'm sorry for earlier. It was not my intention to make you feel guilty." Thorin offered lamely after strapping himself in. Well, at least he remained silent about the sorry state of his car, Bilbo reconciled bitterly. "I know how much you've been looking forward to this, the same as I."
"If you're as sorry as you say you are, you'd be willing to jump out of this car right now and stay home." Bilbo quipped, his grip on the steering wheel only tightening as Thorin chuckled next to him.
"Maybe not that sorry, then." Thorin remedied with a quirk of his lips. Bilbo let his eyes sneak a glimpse of him, noting with horror how his eyes (blue, an endless depth of blue) crinkled in mirth at his expense.
"That's what I thought," Bilbo cleared his throat, his attention turned back towards the road. He managed a small prayer to any god who would listen to get him through the next week with his sanity and temper fully intact.
And when he sent another prayer, this time in a much more desperate manner a little while later, once Thorin switches on the radio and softly begins to sing along to the 80's rock drifting from the speakers, well, that is no one else's business but his own.