#the reason why ludwig left law is definitely ripped straight from law & order

[wewerenotthefirst]

gercan (bakery au/accidental demon summoning au) -- but i know what’s in my heart

Matthew showed up after his rec league practice with a cooler of sandwiches, slipping in through the back door into the pantry where Ludwig’s cataloguing their remaining ingredients and what exactly they can make in the next two days, maybe three if their shipment is delayed anymore.

“We should be fine. But I want to buy extra flour on the way home,” Ludwig said when Matthew came to sit next to him, legs crossed, cooler in his lap. “I’m going to test a recipe tonight.”

“What is it?” Matthew held a sandwich out, and Ludwig really would rather not eat on the floor but he still needed to finish doing inventory, so he took the sandwich and settled against a container of sugar. Ludwig gave Matthew a faint, lingering smile and Matthew’s face lit up. “Ludwig, are you going to finally make tarte au sucre?“

“Yes. And I hope you have a good recipe.”

“I have the perfect one. This mother from Gatineau gave it to me in exchange for—“

Ludwig sighed, “Matthew…”

“Ludwig, I told you when we met. Middle-aged women are an overlooked niche when it comes to contracts. One of them gave me her timeshare in Boca Raton just so she could be at the top of a phone tree.”

--

Matthew shooed him out of the bakery, handing off his hockey gear to Ludwig as well, around 11 pm, offering to clean and prep and even start the baking schedule for the following week. Ludwig had a suspicion that cupcakes and stollen would feature predominately. Possibly hefekranz, too, because Gilbert’s been making noises about more items with less frosting and sugar, but that are still “cool.”

Ludwig’s apartment isn’t close to the bakery at all. It’s actually a 25-minute bus ride away. If he hadn’t sold his car (and Ludwig tries not to think too hard about the smart little coupe he used to drive) it might be faster, but that coupe was a remnant of a life Ludwig didn’t want to live anymore. Couldn’t live anymore.

(Matthew made it clear that he could bring back Ludwig’s coupe, the fancy downtown apartment and even a little extra—with no charge, Matthew insisted—but Ludwig couldn’t find it anywhere in him to agree. Matthew didn’t push.)

The night route was quiet, and Ludwig opened his phone to find a text from Matthew. It’s a sample menu—with cupcakes every day (vanilla, a chocolate variant, and something with fruit), stollen and hefekranz on Wednesday and Friday, and bundt cakes on Tuesday.

It’s something Ludwig would put together, and he texted Matthew, thanks.

--

Ludwig graduated at the top of his class, with a job offer that included a corner office thanks to an excellent internship and impeccable work ethic.

Four years later (three as lead counsel) and enough clients who saw less jail time than they should have, and Ludwig found himself stress-baking recipes from his childhood at 3 am. Flour dusted his thighs and tracked down his black dress pants. He hadn’t even changed after he got in, just hung his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves and pulled out every baking pan in his apartment.

When he stopped, taking his first breath in what felt like hours, Ludwig bent over the mixing bowl, hands flat on the sleek countertop. His tie trailed through the mess of flour and sugar and vanilla. He had three trays of shortbread cookies in a row, apple cake in the oven, and the beginnings of cherry cake in the bowl.

“My client murdered two prostitutes and then his wife. He liked it. He became aroused while the medical examiner spoke.” Ludwig breathed out. “I threw my jacket over his lap so no one could see he was aroused.”

He repeated this until he left for work at 7 am. He quit at 7:20.

--

Gilbert told him to teach and almost—almost—cried when Ludwig told him he was going to open a bakery.

“They have a guest lecturer position available!” Gilbert shouted, gesturing with a tiny apple tart. Ludwig sliced the apple thinly and spread it, fan-like, across the surface, and he’s sure Gilbert didn’t appreciate it now as much as he did when Ludwig showed up with a platter full. “You can turn that into a permanent position, Ludwig! You can do anything!”

“So I can open a bakery,” Ludwig said, mildly. He’s been taller than Gilbert since he was 16, but he feels very small now, in front of his brother’s furious confusion.

Gilbert just stared at him. He scrubbed at his eyes, and then his shoulders just fell. He sighed, “Yeah. You can open a bakery.”

--

Ludwig never told Gilbert why a bakery, and he never will. Gilbert already teased him enough about Matthew. He would never let Ludwig live down the fact that Matthew was the one to convince him.

“You could sell these,” Matthew had told him, two slices of lemon bundt cake in hand. They’re frosted, speckled with little bits of candied lemon that Ludwig painstakingly chopped until each piece was a sliver. The effect was lovely.

Matthew ate the frosted parts first. There’s still a circle of scorched tile around his feet and Ludwig’s entire apartment smelled like ash and sulfur.

“Have you considered that? You could a success. You could have the best reviews on Yelp.”

Ludwig just stared at him, pressed against his dining table, while Matthew stared back.

“You don’t have to give me your soul, if that’s your concern. You could just give me the recipe for this,” Matthew said with a smile, holding up the cake in his hands. “I love recipes. In fact, the recipes in that,” He nodded at the cooking book Gilbert had, in a very well meaning moment, gifted him after finding it at a used bookstore. Ludwig honestly didn’t expected a faded red book with pie recipes that still required suet to summon a demon, and yet—“are all mine. I wrote it. I wonder how it got here. The last time I was summoned was in Calgary.”

“How can a cookbook summon you?”

“It’s actually quite simple. It’s the recipe,” Matthew replied, pushing himself onto the counter. Ludwig grimaced and moved to tell him off, but Matthew was already talking again and oblivious to Ludwig’s distress, “Not everyone decides to make clafoutis. If you tried to make lemon meringue or black forest cake, I’d show up, too. Actually, any pie recipe would summon me. On your third reading, I show up.” The demon gave him a bright smile. “The baker is usually at their wit’s end, would do anything to get the recipe just right.”

The demon’s smile faded. “It’s actually worrying how many middle-aged women give me their souls just to show up Brenda or Karen at a bake sale. Or fair. It’s really an overlooked niche.”

“You take advantage of them.”

“I’m a demon,” Matthew explained. “Also, I don’t ask for their soul. People just offer it. Immediately. I haven’t asked for a soul since the 1500s.”

“I’m not giving you my soul. In fact, I don’t want,” Ludwig paused, wondering how to politely send away the demon, “Please just go.”

Matthew said nothing. But slowly his face began to color, cheeks blotching red, and his eyes widened. They shone.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Matthew said then, looking away. His hair hid his expression, and Ludwig suddenly felt terrible.

Before Matthew left, however, he said, “But I meant it. You should open a bakery.”

--

The next week, after Ludwig talked to Gilbert, he opened the cookbook to the first pie recipe and started.

An hour later, Matthew appeared. He was wearing a thick wool sweater, expression wary. It turned curious when Ludwig spoke.

“I’m going to open a bakery,” Ludwig told him. “I don’t want any contract. I just wanted you to know.”

That’s how Ludwig went into business with a demon. And gained a roommate.

--

“Is your head a field of flowers?!” Alfred had howled when he first met Ludwig, four months after their bakery’s grand opening. Rounding on his brother, the other demon took Matthew’s face in his hands. “You went into business with a human without getting his soul?”

Ludwig, still holding a frosting pipe, wanted to get back to the chocolate truffle cupcakes he was icing but Matthew’s face was distressed and furious and Ludwig was worried for him. And his floor and walls.

The marks from Matthew’s first visits were the reason why Ludwig never got his deposit back from his old apartment.

“Arthur said we need to expand our portfolios! To be creative!”

“He meant stop resorting to natural disasters at the end of each quarter to fill quotas! Not get a human boyfriend and start a bakery!”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Matthew snapped, cheeks pink, slapping Alfred’s hands away. “Besides, even if you collected one soul everyday for the next century, you still wouldn’t come near my records so stop ruining this like you ruin everything!”

“Do you even know the probability of this bakery staying in business? The cupcake bubble has burst!”

“I know! I remember you crying about that op-ed in the New York Times!”

Ludwig watched helplessly at the two demons standing toe-to-toe and yelling, each response a little crueler than the last. Both were also tearful.

He never expected agents of hell to be so emotional. He sighed, and just brought the cupcakes to the front counter to decorate.

--

They hired one human employee and, later, one demon. Both were competent bakers. Both had flawless customer service skills. Neither had a taste for human flesh.

(“Most demons don’t eat humans anymore,” Matthew explained. “I think it’s the increased radiation.” At Ludwig’s look of horror, he added, “I never ate humans. Alfred has, so don’t believe him if he says otherwise.”)

In short, Ludwig would trust his employees to run the bakery while he and Matthew worked on new creations in the kitchen.

“Mango coriander pound cake cupcakes,” Matthew suggested, legs swinging, chin propped up in his hands. “Gingerbread orange. Caramel pear. Almond fig. Lavender—“

“Matthew, we can’t just have cupcakes.” Ludwig couldn’t help but smile. Matthew sighed, tucked a curling strand of hair behind his ear and just looked at Ludwig for a moment.

His eyes were soft, fond and impenetrably violet in the bright kitchen lights. Ludwig’s heart stuttered, and Matthew ducked his head.

He continued, after a moment, “Lime bars. Coconut cashew chocolate oatmeal bars. Tarte au sucre?”

--

“This is my…my Arthur,” Matthew had said, smile shy and small, as he introduced Arthur. His Arthur, the demon who raised him.

Matthew’s Arthur looked nothing like the Arthur Matthew introduced earlier.

“So you’re his Ludwig.” Arthur’s tone was flat and he looked Ludwig up and down. He was still wearing the trousers and sweater from earlier, but instead of looking fatherly and polite, he looked borderline contemptuous. He circled Ludwig. “In my experience, only one sort of human enters into business with a demon. And they’re usually worse than the demon.”

Matthew never discussed what he did as a demon or even what he did when he wasn’t at the bakery or apartment or hockey practice. Ludwig would never ask Matthew to give up his privacy, especially when Matthew never pushed him for anything.

“You must understand why I’m curious.” Arthur’s gaze was narrow and assessing. “But I’ll wait.”

--

The next day Ludwig made earl grey cupcakes with lavender frosting, mince pies (using suet), and devil’s food cake cupcakes along with the hefekranz and lemon bundt cake that was a daily offering.

Matthew looked equal parts delighted and nervous when Arthur approached the counter and quirked a brow at the offerings. He ended up trying one of each, including each flavor of madeleine when Matthew excitedly mentioned that he helped make them.

“I hope you only poured the batter, my boy. Your baking is as bad as my cooking,” Arthur sighed, a small but affectionate smile appearing for a moment when Matthew led him, by arm, to a table in the corner.

Ludwig watched Matthew’s head tilt toward Arthur’s, laughing, clear and sweet, at something Arthur probably said. He watched for a moment longer.

--

When Ludwig baked at home, Matthew was usually at his elbow or perched on the counter top, heels against the cupboard. Ludwig could never really tell him to get down, so he ended up having Matthew hold the cookbook or read him parts of the recipe.

“I picked up some raspberries,” Matthew said when Ludwig stopped the mixer. “We can do small raspberry pound cakes. Heart-shaped sugar cookies and short bread.”

“For Valentine’s?” Ludwig asked. Matthew nodded. “The third cupcake should be a red velvet.

His new kitchen was smaller, cozier, crowded with two stand mixers and the biggest stretch of countertop between them. Matthew’s spot was by the stove and Ludwig’s usually no more than an arm’s reach away. As a result, the two of them are more or less in each other’s space and when Ludwig would look up, he could see the sweep of Matthew’s eyelashes and the freckles on his nose.

Matthew met his gaze and flushed. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and Ludwig busied himself with the mixer again.

--

“He used to bake with our cousin, Roderich. A real prissy bastard. But he could make a deadly sachertorte. Ludwig’s amazing, but that’s one recipe he hasn’t gotten yet.”

Gilbert stopped by the bakery once a week on his way from work. In fact, it was thanks to Gilbert that the bakery saw a surge in business after a few slow, early months. He would stop by in the morning and take an assortment of breads and muffins to work and leave them in lounges around campus with a pile of business cards for the bakery.

Matthew looked forward to each of Gilbert’s visits. As for Gilbert, Ludwig bet that the allure of having an eager, attentive audience in Matthew was just as good as the pretzels Ludwig finally added.

The bakery is finally quiet, half an hour before close. The after-work rush ended 11 minutes ago, and Ludwig has Manon and John decide who starts the dishes and who does the week’s inventory while he counts down the register. Usually Matthew would, but entertaining Gilbert is more difficult than anything else so Ludwig leaves him.

Now the pair has moved on to pictures, of Ludwig, of Gilbert, of their childhood. Matthew has seen them before, but each time Gilbert offered to bring them out (because they’re on his phone, of course), Matthew agreed.

“Ludwig was a cute kid. Really serious. I used to beg him to break a few things, get some dirt on his shirt. But even after baking with Roderich, he’d be immaculate while the rest of the kitchen was a wreck.” Gilbert grinned and Matthew inched closer, wordlessly asking for the phone.

Gilbert, of course, handed it over and let Matthew flip through the photos. With one arm over the back of his chair, Gilbert said, “You have any photos to share? I bet you were a cute kid, too.”

Matthew froze, and Ludwig stopped counting the change in the register to look at Matthew.

“My mother died when I was young,” Matthew began slowly, “My father worked. I was on my own a lot.”

Gilbert nodded, eyes flicking over Ludwig’s. But he just said, “It’s alright. Like I said, you were definitely a cute kid.”

--

Ludwig was testing an improved recipe for white chocolate cream cheese frosting at home when Matthew said, “My mother promised my soul to another demon. But, then there was, uh, a minor civil war in hell and Arthur received me in the treaty. He visited me and asked if I wanted to have my soul back or if he could keep it in exchange for something else. He thought it was unfair that my mother signed me away.”

Matthew looked almost abashed when he continued, “I said he could keep my soul, so long as he didn’t lose it like Francis did.”

“Why would you let him…” Ludwig trailed off, putting down the spatula he was using to fold in extra powdered sugar.

“I was alone, Ludwig. And Arthur gave me a choice. I always had a choice.”

Ludwig had nothing to say to that. But he touched Matthew’s wrist, fingers brushing against the paper-thin skin over his veins. And Matthew smiled.

--

Arthur repaid Matthew’s loyalty, support, and affection with loyalty, support, and affection. He was given his preferred regions to collect souls. He tolerated Matthew’s periods of inactivity, periods where Matthew decided to travel and go to school and start a bakery with a human. He passed an edict, promising to personally uphold Matthew’s demands that no one use the bakery to form contracts or target its workers. Customers were fair game outside the bakery, but not within that part of the city.

“Matthew sided with Arthur in every major conflict, including the one where I left to rule my own part of Hell,” Alfred explained, helping himself to leftover candied bacon. “It looks like no one’s home, you know, when he smiles or just looks at you, but Matthew’s a real bastard on the battlefield. He’s vicious. Scorched earth and shit.”

Flatly, Ludwig said, “I can’t imagine that.”

Alfred grinned at him, popping another piece of bacon into his mouth. “You’ve never seen him play hockey, huh?”

--

Matthew tried very hard to deter Ludwig from coming to his next game. He glowered at Alfred, who looked entirely too excited and unrepentant, and was even snappish toward Ludwig, who brought mini cupcakes for the entire team.

“This is embarrassing,” Matthew hissed before going to join his team.

Ten minutes in to the game, Matthew was sent to the penalty box for cross checking someone in the stomach.

“Oh,” Ludwig murmured, box of cupcakes on his lap, and Alfred whooping next to him. “I can imagine it.”

“He once did that once with a saber, but to someone’s face,” the demon shouted.

--

“Wait, Matthew lives with you? Where does he sleep?” Gilbert asked, looking up from his meatloaf at Ludwig and then Matthew.

Ludwig went completely rigid. Matthew responded by taking a huge bite of meatloaf and broccoli and let Ludwig flounder for an answer.

“Don’t make it inappropriate!” Ludwig knew, before he was even finished speaking, that he chose the wrong response.

Gilbert’s smirk was terrifying.

(“Why didn’t you tell him I sleep on the couch?” “Why didn’t you?!”)

--

Their bakery didn’t have the highest rating on Yelp, but they’re on the Top Ten list and have dozens of rave reviews. Tourists visit their hole-in-the-wall bakery, take pictures of themselves with the exposed brick walls in the background the their tables cluttered with plates of treats.

Matthew insisted he had no hand in their success, but Ludwig corrected him.

“The bakery wouldn’t be here without you.”

The demon blushed, bright red across his face and down his neck and up his ears, and Ludwig, not for the first time, wanted to kiss him.

--

The morning of Valentine’s Day Ludwig and Matthew decorated the sugar cookies, side-by-side. Ludwig alternated between red and pink frosting while Matthew sprinkled pastel pink sanding sugar on a batch of sugar cookies with white frosting.

It took a few times, and Ludwig’s heart was thudding in his chest, but he finally got the words out. He’d been practicing them all morning. “Matthew. We sleep in the same bed. We’re talking about getting a dog. I never took tarte au sucre off the menu. We’re up to four cupcakes instead of three. We fought over the Christmas menu and you left but you showed up before Arthur killed me—“

“Ludwig, you’re rambling.” Matthew looked worried. He still had a pinch of pink sanding sugar between his fingers and Ludwig still has to cut the clafoutis and check on the raspberry pound cake but Matthew is reaching up to touch his forehead, with his sugared hand. Ludwig could feel the streak of sugar against his temple as Matthew peered into his eyes. “I told you to go to bed early. Manon and John are great, but they’re not ready to do the bulk of the baking. Although, we could use another baker. Maybe in a month or so—“

“Now who’s rambling?” Ludwig closed his eyes. Matthew’s fingertips were still by his hairline and he could feel Matthew’s eyes on his face. 

“Ludwig?”

“May I kiss you Matthew?”

Matthew didn’t respond. He just kissed Ludwig.