Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Wilkommen
Amidst the dull greys and beiges in the outskirts of Hamburg was a small, quaint bakery. The smells of fresh pastries permeated the air and called to passing commuters, who were busily making their way through the numbing, unforgiving wind as it bit and stung their cheeks. It was in this bakery that Ludwig Beilschmidt worked. Since his brother, Gilbert, had moved to Berlin, the bakery had been much quieter. Whilst it was an unexpected change, he did not mind it.
Ludwig was currently standing behind the counter, his back pin-straight, mulling over an apple cake recipe. His stony expression never wavered once, and his frosty gaze remained fixed on the warm fog that covered the windows. He only looked up when he heard the small chime of a bell and the footsteps of a customer. The man was clearly a tourist with his relaxed manner and playful grin.
“Wilk—“ Ludwig started, then quickly switched to English. “Welcome.”
The tourist, Feliciano, tore his eyes away from the baked goods in their glass cages and looked at Ludwig. “Excuse me, are you Ludwig Beilschmidt?” Ludwig nodded in response. “Did Gilbert tell you I was coming?” Ludwig nodded again. “So…” he trailed off and fidgeted nervously in front of Ludwig, who motioned for a colleague to replace him behind the counter, then he led Feliciano upstairs.
Inside the office, Ludwig could see the other look around curiously, drinking in everything he saw. The sight almost reminded him of flour greedily absorbing water. He took a seat behind the desk and the visitor, now watching him, also took a seat. Now that the two were facing each other again, Ludwig took this as an opportunity to assess the man in front of him.
He carried himself differently to the many customers Ludwig had seen before and clearly was not dressed for the German winter. Although he had a large coat on, he was still shivering slightly underneath it.
“Would you like to tell me more about the reason for your arrival?”
He shifted in his chair at the question and held a wrinkled letter towards Ludwig. Taking the letter from him, Ludwig noticed several small dark smudges of ink across his fingertips. A writer, perhaps? Unfolding the letter revealed Gilbert's angular script, confirming the truth that this man was sent by him. Ludwig glanced over the contents and looked over the cream-coloured paper to peer at him.
He flinched and started spluttering. “Feliciano Vargas, signor—sir! I work as a fashion designer in Venice. I work for Mr. Edelstein and Erzsébet... Ms. Héderváry! There was this model you might’ve heard of, but he left a couple of years ago… Sometimes I wonder where he is and if he still remembers me…” His voice grew quiet as he lost himself in a sea of memories. “But that was a long time ago! I’m sure he’s in a better place now!” He froze and then continued. “I’m not implying he’s dead. I’m just saying that maybe being in the fashion industry wasn’t right for him.”
Ludwig was stunned into silence. Feliciano’s fast speech with his rapid hand gestures was quite a sight, nothing he had seen before. Ludwig did not know how to respond but he knew that he was hosting this man until further notice. He slid the letter across the table and told Feliciano to stay in the office and refrain from making a mess. As he left, he managed to catch Feliciano musing under his breath, “Isn’t it funny how both their glares look quite similar…”
The time for closing arrived, though Ludwig was unable to recall the hours passing, and he made the journey up the stairs again to the office. Surprisingly, it was warmer than he had left it. It seems Feliciano had found the thermostat.
The man was staring down at a pad of paper, aimlessly drawing circles on the smooth surface. Ludwig slowly approached him from behind, boots landing heavily on the hardwood floor, and carefully looked over his shoulder curiously. Inked in delicate and precise lines was an exquisite gown, paper fabric folding and flowing neatly down the page. Ludwig did not know much about fashion, but he knew that drawing an idea from scratch was no easy task. Coming back to his senses, he cleared his throat and called out to Feliciano. No response. He tried again, gently shaking his shoulder this time. Feliciano turned around and sluggishly blinked. Was it jet lag or just plain exhaustion? Did he even come by plane? Ludwig told him it was time to leave, then left him to pack his drawing supplies away.
Eventually, Feliciano descend the stairs and unsteadily exited the bakery. He glanced at the bright light spilling out the open back door. “Isn’t it closing time? Why are people still inside?” he questioned.
“Night-time bakery preparation,” came the blunt response.
Feliciano hummed in response and continued to amble down the concrete lined streets. Ludwig turned down a shadow lined street and past an old, rusty gate. He reached for his keys and unlocked the front door with ease, opening it for Feliciano to rush inside. He gratefully ran inside and almost tripped over Berlitz, who was patiently waiting for Ludwig’s return. He barked and ran circles around his legs. Ludwig bent down to pet the blond dog and looked up at Feliciano, who was watching the exchange curiously.
“What’s his name?” He took a hesitant step forward and began to stroke Berlitz.
Ludwig quickly introduced Berlitz to Feliciano and led him further into the house. He met Aster and Blackie, then settled into the guest room that Gilbert had decorated many years ago, falling asleep with Berlitz curled up beside him.
An hour or two had passed and Ludwig was awoken by the sound of fast, frustrated breathing and writing utensils being harshly dragged across a worn sketchbook. He swung his legs off his bed and crossed the corridor towards Feliciano’s room. Ludwig raised a fist to knock on the door but paused, his hand lingering near his sternum. He should not interrupt Feliciano. He was clearly occupied and might not want him to see his drawings. And so, Ludwig returned to his room that night.