Who? Hemingway & Abi Where? Milan When? Monday afternoon What? Exploring the city, bringing up the past. Open? No Rating? Warnings for PTSD
Hemingway really didn't know what he hoped to get from going back to Milan, literally a hundred years later. When he'd first heard about the door, it sounded like an opportunity he shouldn't let pass him by. It seemed like the kind of thing he should be doing. It sounded cathartic and healthy. But there was also a part of it that sounded like an absolute disaster of an idea. There was a very real risk of making a scene, looking like an absolute fool over something that would be impossible to explain in 2018.
He was nervous, but he wasn't admitting it. He wasn't miserable, but there just wasn't the usual sparkle about him, the enthusiasm that always accompanied taking a trip with his not-fiancee. Maybe it would be fine, maybe he'd see how silly it was and they'd be acting like idiot tourists before long, just enjoying the beautiful city for what it was.
So, with his girl on his arm, he stepped through that door and into a different world. A hotel, by the looks of it. High ceilings, ornate and dripping with wealth, from the decor to the kinds of people milling about in the lobby or checking in. It felt strangely familiar to him, but he couldn't put his finger on why right away. "Fancy," he remarked simply.