Recommended listening: "Babylon" by David Gray
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1
Words
Worte
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Most of the time, life was pretty serendipitous.
Ludwig Beilschmidt pondered that as he stepped out of his West Village apartment and began making his way east toward Washington Street, one crystalline Tuesday morning in late September 2011.
Ludwig liked to believe he knew a thing or two about serendipity, enjoying that winning intersection of traits that people who thrived in New York City so often did: youth, good looks, financial stability, and occupational success. He was closing out thirty (nothing to worry about yet). He was blessed with tall, blonde, sturdy German genes. He was engaged to an Italian fashion designer who came from very old money and whom he loved deeply in spite of said money. And he, among all of these things, had spent the better part of the past decade nurturing his greatest calling and pride and joy—his very own architecture firm—to thriving life on a quaint block in utterly-gentrified Tribeca, Great Recession of 2008 be damned.
And sure, Ludwig thought as he glanced at his watch and slid a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, things weren't always perfect. The day-to-day of cultivating a life and a business in the center of the universe was hectic and messy and generally quite demanding. Ludwig had lots to worry about all the time, between keeping his business running smoothly, keeping his clients and his employees and his fiancé happy, managing the logistics of traveling abroad five or six times per year, picking up his dry-cleaning (he should really just start getting it delivered, but he wasn't sure he trusted his doorman with such a critical percentage of his wardrobe), finding gray hairs (at thirty!), and the impending doom of climate change—which he felt a little guilty about because he flew first class. But he was a businessman, and if he had to endure wearing a suit while strapped into a prison of an airplane eight hours at a time every other month, then by God he deserved first class.
He was just grateful that he didn't have to do any of it alone.
Though he was its founder and the project essentially his brainchild, Ludwig was actually one-third of the ownership of his company, Beilschmidt & Bonnefoy Architects. The other two-thirds were made up of his totally psychotic brother, Gilbert—who was quite competent in the financial and logistical areas of the business when one got past the arresting force of nature that he so often personified—and Francis Bonnefoy, who he'd met through said brother, and with whom he'd developed quite a close working relationship over the years. Francis was quick with his tongue both by day and, allegedly, by night (though he remained an eternal bachelor, and Ludwig remained eternally confused); he knew just how to say the unsayable; and he had some uncanny sixth sense for when it was necessary to order office pizza, which some days was the only thing that kept the whole operation glued together at all.
Quite possibly the best part about his business, though, was the location, and the fact that the location had led him into some love that he had not previously imagined possible. Beilschmidt & Bonnefoy Architects occupied the top three floors of a lovely, classic, pre-war Manhattan building, cast-iron-faced and painted white and powder blue, that sat at the intersection of Duane and Staple Streets in the heart of Tribeca. Directly below B&B's three stories, on the building's second floor, was his fiancé's studio VARGAS, and that arrangement was how they'd come to meet—running into each other, quite literally, as they entered and exited the building—in those first fragile years of cultivating their respective careers. The aforementioned 'old money' meant that VARGAS was really more of a way to pass time than anything, and so Ludwig's dear Feliciano could, and did, pop up into his office at most any hour of the day, and bother him when he was busy, and eat lunch in his office while rambling on about nothing at all to provide a welcome backdrop of insufferable noise against which Ludwig could focus. They could even walk home together when Ludwig wasn't working late. And that, certainly, was not only serendipitous, but also quite wonderful.
So Ludwig Beilschmidt took each day as it came, and ran his business as best he could, uncorked one of Feliciano's vintage barolos when he had to, stubbornly continued to pick up his own dry-cleaning, and paid his carbon offsets at the end of every year. And things were good, that way. He had much to be happy about.
As it was, Ludwig was strolling down to Caffe Dante on MacDougal Street on one of those crisp, early autumn mornings when the sun seemed to rise forever. The sky was a deep, rich blue behind the towering cityscape, with nary a cloud in sight, and the steep angle of the light cast long shadows over the Village as it filtered down between the stately blocks of townhouses he passed. It was a rare walk for him, leaving home well after nine and not going directly to work, and he was glad to take in some scenery that did not conform to the muscle memory of his daily commute. He was more glad, still, to feel that he'd reached a point in his career where he could afford a morning like this one, without the threat of his business imploding into chaos after an hour or two of his absence.
Ludwig dodged an upturned trash can and its scattered contents expertly, pondering the curious circumstances that had caused this deviation from his normal routine.
It was the product of a single email, actually.
FROM: vash_zwingli712_at_mail_com
SENT: 5 September 2011 03:57am EDT
TO: lbeilschmidt_at_beilschmidtbonnefoy_com
SUBJECT: coffee?
Ludwig—
Vash Zwingli here. remember me? I saw your face on the homepage of dezeen a couple weeks ago and thought it was a shame we lost touch. I hope America is good, it sounds like it is. 'The gayest architecture office on the east coast', I guess you're carrying on the legacy of ABK 2004, ja? I would make a joke about Gropius, but I realize that, Harvard is not so close to you. (Gropius was probably also not gay, but you never know.)
anyways, I'm in New York City this month, any chance you want to catch up over a coffee?
let me know
VG
VZ
The email was right; it really had been a long time. It was funny, too, how the written word so revealed the voice of the person who sent it—university-era inside jokes aside—and how much it sounded just like the Vash he didn't quite realize he remembered in such clarity.
Vash Zwingli. How strange it was to hear from him again, perhaps stranger still that he hadn't in so many years. Vash, from Basel (or was it Bern?) had been one of Ludwig's closest friends in university, back before Ludwig had moved to the United States and Vash had snagged one of those ever-coveted positions at architectural megafirm IDA—in Hamburg, of all places. They'd been two of a small handful of students in the accelerated architecture program at the Staatliche Akademie der Bildenden Künste, in Stuttgart, combining a Bachelors, Masters, two required internships, and professional certification into just five years—five years that Ludwig remembered fondly as a time in his life where he'd slept maybe one of every three nights.
Ludwig remembered Vash, specifically, as perhaps the smartest person in the program, bitingly dry and humble to a fault. He could, Ludwig recalled, come across as prickly, and he tended to be short-tempered, but Ludwig had never minded any of that so much because the sentiment always seemed genuine. Vash was the kind of person who didn't smile when he didn't mean it, but when he did, rare as the occasion was, there was no question of whether it was sincere. The two of them had been equally studious in nature, and had taken a mutually level-headed, rational approach to all things life and work, and so they had become fast friends. They'd challenged one another's Friday night ambitions, clothing choices, and tastes in music, sure, but they shared a common dedication to built space, and that was plenty for them.
Of course, Ludwig mused as he crossed 7th on Bleecker, it was not possible to reflect on his time in school, nor the friendship he'd had with Vash, without also accounting for one Roderich Edelstein.
Because Roderich was really the lynchpin of the whole thing: in school, he was the third member of their little trio, was Vash's flatmate in the university-allocated dorms, and now—having moved to America at the same time as Ludwig—occupied the position of senior architect at Beilschmidt & Bonnefoy. And if Vash Zwingli was one of the smartest people Ludwig knew, Roderich Edelstein certainly made a formidable rival. Like Feliciano Vargas, he sported an aristocratic upbringing, but unlike Feliciano, he was all sorts of messed up from his emphatic rejection of it. Ludwig always felt, in the most complimentary way possible, that Roderich's childhood spent in deeply Catholic, high-society Vienna had rubbed something very Freudian into him that he'd never quite outrun. Roderich was a gifted musician and a contradictory, complicated man with a mind for all things design, a taste for culinary fineries and the unsubtle art of melodrama, and charisma to outshine it all. To that last point, Ludwig had found in their years of working together that it made some tangible difference in the atmosphere of a conference room to position his friend right in front, whether he was actually driving the meeting or not.
Roderich was also, in some ways or maybe many, the reason that Ludwig had so long been out of touch with his old friend Vash—but he didn't have time to get into that whole matter now.
Ludwig broke from his thoughts as he made a right onto MacDougal, the green awnings of his destination emerging down the block. He stepped into the bustling restaurant five minutes early, searching for a familiar face (would it be as familiar as the email, after all this time?) and upon finding none, asking the hostess about a spot for two for coffee. She sat him at the bar past the door, put two menus down in front of him, and he waited.
Not for long, though. Vash walked through the door one minute and fifty-five seconds early, and Ludwig recognized him just about instantly.
In many ways, he did look a lot like Ludwig remembered: the same stern green eyes, the same straw-colored hair—which he was apparently still letting grow past his chin—and the same brusque clip to his step as he entered the space. But despite those similarities, he gave the immediate impression of having really come into his own, and Ludwig realized that all his memories of Vash were memories of someone who could be called a boy—while this Vash, here, was most certainly a man. His height would never match Ludwig's, but he was well-built, and didn't by a long margin give off any sense of being scrawny. He had also apparently elevated his sartorial sensibility since they'd last spoke: he wore slimming black, from a form-fitting turtleneck to dark leather Chelsea boots peeking out from the cuffs of his pants—save for a boxy, utilitarian-looking jacket the color of olives, which Ludwig identified only because of Feliciano to be a French style. Vash looked good, really good, and Ludwig was glad to feel the immediate impression that the years they'd been out of contact had treated him well.
Vash scanned the room for a moment before spotting his old friend, raising a couple fingers in greeting and making his way toward the seat that was set aside for him.
"Guten Morgen," Vash said first, and extended an arm. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. Long time no see."
Ludwig stood to shake his hand, surprised when—he wasn't sure who initiated it—they hugged briefly, a little awkwardly in their years of separation.
"It's good to see you, Vash," Ludwig replied, pretty sure that he meant it.
"Likewise." Vash made to remove his jacket and hung it on the hook beneath the bar. A waiter came to take their orders—for Ludwig, a cappuccino; for Vash, an iced latte.
"I am constantly impressed," Vash said once the waiter had left, "with how much ice Americans put in their coffee."
That was effectively the first thing Vash had said to him in seven years, and it was probably meant to be funny, Ludwig realized belatedly. He wordlessly hoped that the whole morning wouldn't fall as flat as the first attempt.
Vash eyed him for a long moment, as if to study the silence before trying again. "Actually, I like your shirt. It's very…"
Ludwig couldn't suppress a self-conscious cringe quickly enough to just take the compliment at face value. "Ah, ja. My fiancé—he's a fashion designer and he likes to make me his, er, test subject, sometimes."
Vash cocked his head a few degrees, and the corners of his mouth curled upward slightly, slyly. "I was going to say 'Schutzstaffel', but maybe I should just say 'high fashion'?" Then he cringed, too. "God, sorry, that's actually not how I meant to start—"
"No, no, you're probably right," Ludwig shrugged, pinching a piece of the fabric between two fingers. "Especially when I wear it. But I think here in America you'd say it's 'WASP-y'."
"Ah. Sure." Vash relaxed visibly in his chair as their drinks were placed in front of them, and he flicked one noncommittal hand while picking up the coffee in the other. "You Americans and your… words." He held his glass up to his face, inspecting what Ludwig could only assume was the coffee-to-ice ratio. "But, America. How is it? How have you—oh," he interrupted himself, "you said 'fiancé'? Congratulations."
Ludwig took a sip of his cappuccino and nodded as he swallowed.
"Thank you, yes, his name is Feliciano. He's… uh, he's very Italian. And old money—" Damn, that probably sounded like bragging. He quickly made to cover it: "We got engaged in July, you know, with that being legal here, finally, the timing seemed good." But Vash hadn't missed a word, and his eyes glinted cheekily.
"Independently wealthy and Italian? Ludwig, Ludwig—not everyone gets so lucky, you know."
Ludwig knew. "I feel lucky. Really, very lucky."
"Good. Ja, and somehow America got ahead of Switzerland and Germany there, so you can count me surprised. Although I think die Schweizer have the excuse of being more Catholic, at least." Vash shrugged, pausing for another sip. "When is the wedding?"
"Well, New York is only the sixth state out of fifty. Most of this country is still completely backwards—anyway, it's in January." Vash nodded.
"January is a good month for that; people like a celebration in the middle of winter."
Ludwig smiled inwardly at the line of thought. "That was kind of the idea, yes—and all our friends are just scrambling to get married, now, so in the summer it was going to be impossible to schedule something that didn't overlap with someone else's."
Vash nodded again. "And the business?" he asked. "Sounds like it's really…" He seemed to choose his next words carefully. "Taken off."
"It has," Ludwig answered. "We went through a pretty major period of growth in the third year and have held steady since, even through the recession, thankfully. And we're growing again, now, a bit more modestly."
"That's really great to hear." And Ludwig wasn't quite sure why he was a little surprised that the assessment sounded genuine. "If I can ask, bitte, growing how?"
"Well, we just hired a new research assistant, and actually, we're looking to hire on a second person in a senior architectural role. You can see where we're trying to alleviate pressure, I mean there's just too much work now for only—um, for Roderich, so…"
An odd look flickered over Vash's face. "I see." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Talk about a long time. He's still working with you?"
"Ja, he—well, you know, he's been a really vital figure in the whole thing—" God, hopefully that didn't sound backhanded. Ludwig shrugged noncommittally, but wasn't sure that made it better. "So it's good to have him around."
No perceivable offense taken at the remark, Vash only nodded. "Aber ja. I didn't see him in that article, so I wasn't sure…"
"Yeah, no, he just wasn't interested, I guess. Something about being too busy."
"Sure." Vash's eyes narrowed slightly, a little sheepishly, then, as if they were broaching a topic they weren't meant to. He cocked his head and gave Ludwig a sideways glance, burying his question in his coffee as he picked up the glass again. "So is he… still married?"
They probably were broaching a topic they weren't meant to, actually; suddenly Ludwig's generally good sense of discretion was thrown askew, and he wasn't entirely sure what to say.
"Erm, no." He laughed uncomfortably, feeling a little sheepish himself. "Not for a long time. I mean, you know," aware that Vash likely didn't know, but maybe could have guessed, "it only lasted for about a year. And then he did come out, finally, and—" he stopped himself. "You know, I'm actually not sure I'm really the right person to be talking about this."
Vash waved a hand again.
"All in confidence," he said, which did little to quell Ludwig's unease about the general direction of the conversation, but nevertheless he divulged the rest of his thought to his old friend.
"Well, yes. So, he came out and then got divorced, and as far as I know he hasn't spoken with his parents since. Although," he added, "he and Elizabeta are on good enough terms now. They still talk."
Vash hummed in thought, not looking particularly surprised at any of it. "What's that thing you used to say? 'Das Leben ist wei eine Hühnerleiter' or something, right?"
"Ja, I mean, my Opa used to say that, but I guess that's right," Ludwig agreed. Looking to steer the conversation elsewhere as quickly as possible, he probed his own curiosities about the man before him.
"So, what brings you to New York? Business? Your email was kind of cryptic."
Vash shook his head. "Naja… not business, exactly. Lilli is starting university here, actually, at NYU—you remember Lilli?"
Ludwig did indeed remember Lilli, Vash's very sweet little sister and near-doppelgänger. He remembered Vash looking after her closely through their time in school, and he'd always admired the immense amount of energy Vash put into keeping her happy and healthy and safe, despite the pressure of their academic program. If Ludwig felt he hadn't slept enough through those years, surely that paled in comparison to Vash, who had taken on the role of full-time parent in addition to full-time student when he was eighteen and his sister just six years old. Perhaps out of a sense of duty after their mother and father had passed away suddenly, or maybe more out of desperation, Vash had spent the first semester of their program waging an uphill battle to keep him and his sister together—and had emerged, against all odds, victorious.
"Of course I do," he said, "but college, seriously? I mean, if that's not a marker of how much time flies—"
"Yeah, I know—" Vash's voice lifted with an enthusiasm that Ludwig found decidedly wholesome. "It is honestly crazy. It's like, she's really become her own person, you know?" He smiled, finally, and his features brightened fondly, "I mean, she is old enough now that all the time I spent trying to get her to like good music seems to be wasted, but…"
"Well, you probably started on the wrong foot with the Pinback," Ludwig teased, and Vash scoffed in mock offense.
"How dare you say a word against Pinback—they absolutely hold up!"
They both laughed, in the moment recalling the banter they had exchanged about musical tastes between studying for exams and working on projects. There had been lots of those moments back then, the ones which had forged their friendship; in this one, the atmosphere of the entire cafe seemed to soften, like the air had taken a great sigh of relief. Ludwig exhaled with it, and realized that a tightness in his chest he hadn't really realized was there had loosened. Vash continued to speak, seemingly emboldened by the turn of the conversation.
"I mean, I can't believe that after all these years, you're still sitting here, trying to tell me that Pinback is not the greatest band to ever grace the earth, really—"
Ludwig blinked, the previous moment wiped away as he thought without his own conscious permission that perhaps 'after all these years,' as Vash had said, it was maybe a little late to be taking offense to such a thing, even as a joke.
He didn't say that, though. It wouldn't have done anyone any good, not when they were finally breaking some ice. And it didn't really matter, anyway. It had been a long time ago. Surely they'd all moved on.
"Okay, okay, fine," he said instead, nudging the conversation along again. "So how much longer are you here then, if you're helping Lilli settle in?"
"Well, actually…" Vash pinched a piece of hair between his fingers and examined it, a strange expression on his face. "I'm staying here too. I thought I could use a change of scenery, you know. We're staying in an AirBnB now, and we're looking for an apartment, which is a little difficult because Lil started classes two weeks ago. And we're working on the resident thing—we're trying to get green cards, but she has a student visa, and I'm authorized to work, for now."
"Moving here?" Hadn't he said… "In your email you only said you'd be here—actually, I guess you didn't really say how long."
"I know, I know. It just sounded weird to say all that in an email, you know?"
Ludwig thought about it for a moment, and conceded that Vash was maybe right.
"I suppose," he shrugged. "Herzlich willkommen to you and Lilli, then. So are you going to be at IDA's New York office?" Vash blinked, and then shook his head.
"Oh, no. I left IDA a couple years ago."
"Ah, they don't make you sign your life away to them when you start?"
Vash let out a huff of laughter, but rolled his eyes. "Well, kind of. I had this brutal two-year—ah, you call it a 'no-compete'?"
"Right."
"Yeah, so I decided I would wait out that time and get another degree, because I basically couldn't work anywhere. And I just finished that in the spring in Rotterdam. And I was doing this freelance 'consulting' thing—" he quirked two fingers of his free hand into air quotes "—which is exactly as stupid as it sounds, but Lilli and I had to eat."
"So, you're a doctor now? Or have you decided architecture isn't for you anymore?"
Vash's eyes glinted, and he leaned in conspiratorially. "Doctor. But the best part is, I don't want to teach at all."
It was Ludwig's turn to roll his eyes. "Trust you, of all people, to get a PhD just for the hell of it."
Vash shrugged. He offered a small smile and sipped at his coffee again. "The bragging rights are very worth it so far, anyway," he muttered, which earned a snort from Ludwig.
"Well, congratulations on the bragging rights. So, if not IDA, and not teaching, where are you working now that you're here?"
"Ah." Vash hesitated for a moment. "God, I hope this doesn't sound weird—" And Ludwig braced himself for… he wasn't really sure what, actually, what kind of answer could be that weird? A competitor? "I'm actually kind of a free agent, right now. I talked with a few places so far and just didn't care much for any of them."
"Mmm." Ludwig thought about that for a moment and blinked as he realized what Vash was saying between the words he'd actually verbalized. "Oh. Actually, maybe…" The word serendipity poked at the back of his mind again. "Well, we've interviewed several people for this position at my office as well, and they've all been fine, but Roderich is so picky, he just hasn't liked any of them at all—"
"So he's like the same person he always was," Vash interjected bluntly.
"In that regard." Ludwig rubbed two fingers against his temple as he considered this new possibility. It was a dangerous thing to even suggest, in some ways, though they'd always worked well together. At least, right up to—
"Hey," Vash interjected into Ludwig's thoughts, voice now laced with concern. "I really don't mean to impose, you know. I'm not asking you for anything."
"No, not at all," Ludwig replied quickly. He marked himself lucky for being deft in navigating this particular area of business politics, and made up his mind on the spot. "And I'm not guaranteeing anything, nor am I asking you to consider something you wouldn't be interested in. But if you want, I'd like to show you around our studio, at least. So you can see how we operate."
Vash folded his hands in front of him, and Ludwig could tell that the simplicity of the response was as calculated as the offer. "Understood. When?"
Well, given their mutual understanding, he didn't see why not—
"How about right now?"
Something passed over Vash's face—so brief that Ludwig couldn't identify exactly what it was, or if it had even been more than a figment of his imagination—but then he nodded, so they settled their check, finished their coffees, and hailed a cab. Between apologizing to his old friend for the abominable traffic and making more small talk about New York City and architecture periodicals and the weather, Ludwig hypothesized from the back seat of the taxi that the serendipity of the universe was about to make quite an interesting return into his life, and into Beilschmidt & Bonnefoy Architects, in one way or another. He wondered whether there was anything he could do to brace himself for what he could only predict would be entirely unpredictable.
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A short and sweet beginning, but don't worry—things will stay neither for long!
This story is as much an ode to New York City and its white-collar professional culture as it is the hopeless slow-burn romance between our favorite star-crossed 'neighbors' that you're all here for. That being said, I'll give the standard disclaimer: the events and characters in this story are fictional. All references to real places and real people are not intended to be interpreted as factual, and any editorial statements on real places and people do not necessarily reflect fact or the author's personal opinions. Credit for the characters' bases obviously goes to Hetalia and its creator, Hidekaz Himaruya.
Huge shoutout to my beta, peach_oolong_tea (AO3), who has been a huge help in wrangling in this project and smoothing out its wrinkles. They're a fantastic writer and y'all should definitely go read their work!
By the way, you may have noticed that I have "recommended listening" at the top of the chapter. This will be a recurring item—with each chapter I'll pair one or two songs that capture its general tone, and that I listened to heavily as I wrote it. If you like listening to music while reading to help set the mood, check them out! If not, you won't be missing out on anything life-or-death, so don't worry about it.
Last, but definitely not least, this story is rated M and is intended for Mature audiences. This story will contain sexual content, drug and alcohol usage, and deals extensively with potentially upsetting themes including homophobia, mental health, grief and tragedy, and so on. It is a story about adults and is therefore, by nature, adult. Please read at your own discretion.
See you in chapter 2!