Chapter Text
Stopping the car at a red light and taking a drag of his cigarette, Ludwig is sure that his brother has set him up on a blind date again.
He’d just finished packing up after work, a light backpack hanging off his shoulder as he grabbed his coat off the chair, when Gilbert’s name appeared shining bright on his lockscreen.
Meet me at (a bar that sells anything other than beer and cheesy fries) could only mean one thing. Gilbert is anything but subtle.
Could Ludwig simply refuse to go, not even answer the text and move on with his life? Absolutely. Is he also unimaginably, pathetically, intrinsically lonely out of his mind since he stopped living with his best friend? Well.
It’s been nearly a year since, and Ludwig hasn’t even tried to find a new roommate. Paying for all expenses himself has rendered him not broke, but with less money to put away in savings and to spend on what little frivolous treats Ludwig allowed himself-it’s irritating.
His routine has changed, the house is too quiet without Feliciano’s humming and the smell of fresh paint ever present in Ludwig’s nostrils. A gentle assault on the senses which kept him grounded. Now there is nowhere to stand on.
He is no longer enamoured, not the way he used to be. He inhales the smoke and allows himself to go back in his mind to that time, when he could play house with his best friend and pretend it might one day be true. Feliciano with his face and hands covered in flour, freshly made pasta drying on the counter and idle chatter in the air.
He hasn’t moved on entirely, if he’s being honest with himself. The person in his memories stops looking like his friend and becomes something amorphous and hopeful.
The cigarette nearly begins to burn the tips of his fingers, right on time for him to park his car two blocks away from the bar. He stubs it out and throws it in a garbage can.
Ludwig walks down the cobblestone street. Berlin is beautiful in late autumn, the ground covered in brown leaves, the last vestiges of the sun hiding behind grey clouds that slowly turn into the night sky.
He thinks to himself that he must look like shit, must look worn down and needy for something he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s taken off his tie, the grey button up is soft to the touch. His slacks are black and fit him well enough. Perhaps he looks…professional? Will that be enough? His hair is still neatly slicked back, if his rearview mirror is anything to go by. He hadn’t bothered to look while he was still in the office, Ludwig hadn’t thought he’d care-he still doesn’t. It’s a matter of pride. He always wants to look presentable. There’s no more to it.
He hasn’t been to this bar before. The pictures in the website didn’t do it justice. It’s small, cozy, yet elegant. There’s little candles on the tables and it’s quite full. The people are well dressed, most seem to be couples. There’s faint music in the background.
Ludwig checks his phone again, his brother hasn’t said another word, hasn’t sent him a phone number or a picture. Or a name, even. The hostess asks if he has a reservation. He’s not quite sure. He says his own name, and they let him know to head to the terrace.
‘The terrace? It’s freezing’, Ludwig thinks to himself, the smell of smoke clinging to his fingertips. He hates it, hates the nervous habit. It’s a hard one to get rid of. A family heirloom of sorts.
He goes up the dark wooden stairs and ends up under the rapid sunset, night settling in. There’s significantly less people out there. It’s more quiet. He sees his own breath as he sighs. Something about the chilling air hitting the tip of his nose calms him down.
A waitress nearly collides into him when she turns around, catching her at the last second. She avoids three glasses falling off the platter and shattering on the floor. After a swift apology, she leaves-what could’ve made her so distracted? She’d walked straight into him.
“Ludwig?”, comes a voice that he does not recognize. But that is his name, indeed. Ludwig’s head snaps back towards that voice, prepared to not like what he sees.
Gilbert hasn’t figured out his taste in men-it’s something he wouldn’t want his own brother to know, in any other circumstance. Gilbert knows about what he felt for Feliciano, so maybe it’s more so a strategy to help him move on.
The men he’d pushed towards Ludwig had been tall and broad, some boyish charm here and there. Ludwig’s sure he met them all at the gym. They were nothing to write home about. Nice to look at, at times.
This man makes Ludwig blink twice in surprise.
He waves at Ludwig to come closer. He looks amused. The stranger’s ashy blonde hair is tied back and the closer he gets, Ludwig realizes it’s with a navy blue ribbon, leaving out two wavy front pieces framing his handsome face.
Ludwig can recognize when he finds someone attractive, but one thing is to know, and another is to feel it physically in his body like a waft of wind sneaking past the fabric of his jacket. It shakes him.
His eyes are blue like Ludwig’s, but his resemble the color of his ribbon. His cheeks are a healthy pink from the cold, so is the tip of his pointy nose. The stubble on his chin and upper lip is a perfect frame to his smile. There’s a chapstick sheen to his lips, perhaps to protect them from the cold. Perhaps to make them appear more enticing. It’s working terribly well so far. He seems to be a little older than Ludwig, around his brother’s age.
He stands up when Ludwig approaches him. The table is right against the glass railing, there’s an earthy smell from the few potted plants below it. There’s an ashtray on the table where a cigarette butt lays, another hangs between the stranger’s gloved fingers. They’re leather, a color similar to red wine, same as his coat. He extends a hand, with an easy smile. Ludwig takes it when it’s offered, but instead of being shaken, the man squeezes. Ludwig squeezes back. A smirk plays on the man’s features.
“So tall. And a strong grip.” The man says, matter of fact, and chuckles.
“Have you been waiting long?” The words spill out of Ludwig’s mouth before he can help it. His face is burning. Hopefully the cool weather can mask the reality of his situation.
Ludwig would loathe to tell Gilbert he actually got it right this time around. There’s a whole evening ahead of them, though, there’s time for this handsome man to turn into another blocked number on his contact list.
“No, dear, not at all. Gil should be back any minute, he went to pick up Toni. His car broke down again, it seems.”
Ludwig’s mind short circuits, and it must show on his features because the man raises an eyebrow at him. They’re still holding hands. Ludwig quickly lets go. The man sits down, shrugs and eats the olive off the toothpick in his martini.
“What do you mean? Why are they coming here?”
The man looks at him funny, cocks his head to one side. It seems like he wants to laugh. He takes a drag of his cigarette to hide it, but he does a terrible job at it. Ludwig’s heart drops to his stomach. Is he being made fun of?
“It’s fine, calm down. Here, order something. My treat.” He grabs the menu, tries to hand it to Ludwig, who doesn’t reach for it in return, sitting down with his arms crossed over his chest. “I think there’s been some miscommunication.” The man chuckles, sets the menu down on the table, in front of Ludwig. Looks him up and down, raises an eyebrow. “Ludwig, dear, do you not know who I am?”
Ludwig is about to ask the obvious, ‘why am I supposed to know?’. Then, he hears his brother’s boisterous laughter from the other end of the terrace.
Both Gilbert and his friend Antonio stick out like sore thumbs under the warm string lights, both wearing thick winter jackets, his brother’s yellow and Antonio’s in orange. They walk up to them quickly, complaining of the cold and Francis’ smoking habits forcing them to be outside.
Francis. Why does that name sound familiar?
The man- Francis , stands up again to greet Antonio with a bright smile. Antonio hands him a thick, white scarf and Francis just about moans when he wraps it around his neck. Who the hell is this man?
“You could’ve just bought another one meanwhile, don’t be so fucking dramatic.” Gilbert says, rolling his eyes at Francis and sitting next to Ludwig-how hadn’t he noticed before that they were sat at a table for four?
“Excuse you, I knit this with my bare hands , Gil. There is no better, warmest scarf than this. I thought I’d lost it at first, thank God it was at your place.” Francis says to Antonio, moving his chair closer to his when he sits down. He bats his eyelashes at his…friend? Antonio complies but a moment later, wrapping an arm around Francis’ shoulders, seeming to want to warm up himself as well.
Ludwig’s hands ball up into fists under the table.
“The scarf isn’t enough for you?” Antonio chuckles, rubbing Francis’ arm in a familiar way, as he grabs the menu and begins checking it out.
Ludwig looks at his brother. Gilbert’s eyes meet his. Ludwig stares. Gilbert smirks when Ludwig glares daggers through his skull.
“What? You remember Francis, don’t you? You were obsessed with him, back when you were still cute and tiny.” Gilbert says, attempts to pinch his cheek before Ludwig slaps his hand away with a groan.
That does ring a bell, though. An alarm bell. He does remember knowing someone named Francis, it’s just been too long for him to connect the features of the boy and the man.
He must’ve been three years old when he met Francis for the first time. Francis only stayed in the country for a couple years. Ludwig was around six years old when he left, and his young heart could barely take it.
How silly it must’ve felt for Francis, to be chased around his house by a shy little boy who hid behind curtains and loved to stare.
Even as a boy, Ludwig’s lack of interpersonal skills weighed heavily on his older brother, who brought him everywhere he went. Ludwig brought his own toys, he could play on the sideline and not be a bother.
Francis was kind to him, he remembers. Even when Ludwig was so weird. He would call him over to the backyard where they were playing football-those are what little memories he’s kept of that time. Being six years old and attempting to play with the older kids, they must’ve been fourteen or fifteen.
Gilbert announces he has to pee and stands up from the table. Ludwig stands up as well, towering over him. He’s grown quite tall, indeed. Now he knows that’s what Francis must’ve been referencing.
The bathroom is downstairs. Ludwig enters behind his brother, arms crossed over his chest. It’s well lit, the sinks are black. Gilbert whistles casually as he goes to the last urinal in the row and does his business.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Ludwig speaks, on the louder side of the scale.
Gilbert startles and looks over at him. “What the fuck, Lud, you want me to piss all over myself?! Shit!” He complains, pulling his zipper closed.
“Serves you right. What the hell is your problem?”
“What the hell is your problem? Can’t I go to a bar with my friends and my brother? Did Fran say something weird to you or something?” Gilbert says and laughs, like he knows the answer and it’s hilarious to him.
“No, he’s…he-you! Why did you text me like that?”
“Like what?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, staring at Ludwig through the mirror as he washes his hands. “I just said to meet me at this place.”
“Yes, and you’d never be caught dead in a bar like this.”
“Yeah, Fran found this place. Said he wanted to check it out. Wouldn’t be my choice, obviously.” Gilbert says with a roll of his eyes, dries off his hands with a paper towel. “Why are you so agitated? That old crush getting back at you?” Gilbert chuckles. Then Ludwig’s face must do something awfully recognizable and obvious and embarrassing, because Gilbert begins laughing his ass off. “Fuck, did I get it right? You think he’s hot? Gross!”
Ludwig puts his hand over Gilbert’s mouth just in time for a random guy to enter the bathroom. Ludwig heads out, but instead of going up the stairs, he makes a beeline to the exit.
“Lud, where are you going?”
“Home, obviously. Enjoy your evening with your friends.”
“Hey-” Gilbert grabs his arm to stop him.
Ludwig sighs, closes his eyes and counts to five. Then he turns back around.
“What?”
“Lud, you’re being super weird right now. What’s going on with you?”
“...Why’s he here?”
“Who, Fran? He got transferred from his job in Paris to be the boss of a sector here. He’s like the manager of the marketing team or some shit. It’s kinda cool, to be honest.”
It does sound cool. A successful man makes Ludwig hot under the collar. “Okay. Whatever. Why am I here?”
“Thought you might wanna meet him again after all these years.” Gilbert’s expression is neutral. He has his hands stuffed in his pockets, now that Ludwig isn’t trying to run away anymore.
It’s suspicious, to say the least. There’s got to be a catch somewhere.
“...I’ll go back up there. But if you’ve got anything else up your sleeve, you better say it now.” Ludwig says, tentatively heading towards the stairs.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
They make their way back to the terrace. Francis and Antorio are still at the table, ordering something. The closer they get, Ludwig realizes that Francis is flirting with the waitress. The same one Ludwig had knocked into when he arrived.
He can tell his brother is watching him like a hawk now, but Ludwig doesn’t care. He’s the same as Gilbert, when he wants to hide, his expressions turns serene. Impassive.
The waitress giggles, red up to the tips of her ears. She sets down another martini on the table for Francis. Ludwig gets the impression that he’s getting them for free.
She speaks to Francis in broken french. Ludwig hates that he feels warmth in his stomach when Francis replies in his native language, charming and sensual as the words roll off his tongue. She’s a young woman. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
Ludwig slides up to the table. Gilbert starts complaining there isn’t beer on the menu, says he’ll have whatever Ludwig is having. He orders a whiskey.
“To warm your throat?” Francis comments. An ankle finds Ludwig’s beneath the table. “Why the long face, dear?”
Ludwig moves his foot away, clears his throat, pulls the collar of his coat up further. His brother, Antonio and Francis are all smoking, but Ludwig won’t.
“You must be tired, huh? You work too much, Lud.” Antonio says, arm wrapped around Francis again. “But you’re a good guy, offering to take in our friend over here.” He says and shakes Francis a little, laughing.
Ludwig’s eyes open wide. He looks between Francis and his brother. Francis is studying him , probably had already figured out something was wrong.
Antonio yelps. “Gil! What the fuck? Why’d you kick me?”
“I’ve been staying at a hotel these past few weeks-” Francis starts.
“Offered you my couch, but you didn’t want it…” Antonio mumbles, still rubbing his sore knee.
“And I started looking for a place to stay, when Gilbert commented that you were looking for a roommate. I thought this was the perfect opportunity for both of us, Ludwig. I’m Gilbert’s friend, so you can trust me. That should give you some peace of mind already. I’m a clean person, I’ll be respectful of your space. I know this is last minute, but I make good money where I work, so I’ll be able to comfortably help with expenses and whatever you need in such short notice. I was under the impression you’d already agreed to the arrangement-” He shoots Gilbert an unimpressed look. Ludwig doesn’t care what his brother is doing with that. “But I understand that isn’t the case. If your answer is no, I’ll keep searching for another place to stay. But…I would greatly appreciate the help. Your home is only a ten minute ride from the office I’m working at…” Francis looks up at Ludwig through long eyelashes, leaning slightly over the table. Ludwig swears he can smell his cologne. It’s something musky, spicy vanilla. “Please?”
The waitress comes back with his whiskey. Francis doesn’t even spare her a glance. Ludwig takes a sip. Francis stares at the way his Adam’s apple jumps when he swallows. “...I’ll think about it.” Ludwig finally says.
Francis grins from ear to ear and eats an olive coated in vermouth.