#gresic

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Has he ever! Of course, the one I'm most well-known for is perhaps SicIre, aka him and Harry O'Connel. The definition of OTP for me and it has been the greatest honour to rewrite Irish Problems to tell their meet-ugly that launched a thousand posts. Saluting emoji.

But Michele is simply too shipable to me. Love GreSic, aka him and his childhood friend Herakles who bond over the shared secret of their horrible childhoods. Michele is also just weak to a man with big arms and big legs ... plus they can talk all throughout the night. I love GreSic, man.

TurSic is great for "The one that got away". I love these two being flirtsy and Michele being into being adored, but also clearly saying "Ah ah ah! Not your toy!". And Sadık can't help it, he loves to run after beautiful people to cherish. This ship is also very-well suited to femme fatale, ever-devouring Sicily Michele ...

I ship FraSic but only as horribly, messily divorced ship. These two only saw each other as shiny, shiny trophies for two weeks and then all they could think about was sexily murdering the other. I love FraSic as bitter exes so much man.

Sicgypt has also been on my radar, simply because I love the Sicily & Egypt connections throughout history and they're both very laidback together, I think. Would both love to adore the other.

Michele is also one of two men that Arielle has any romantic respect for and they make an absolute dream marriage in my res publica AU. They're only friends in LFLS (<main AU) and most other universes I come up with, though. Also because I'm too busy ruining Arielle's life by her finally being engaged to Tahir and then that DIPSHIT still chooses Robert. But that's neither here nor there.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Pasta Norma and good, fresh seafood. He loves an eggplant so much. Also pistachios, everything sweet that comes in pistachio, he'll get in pistachio. Hell, he has pistachio-flavoured condoms, which are one of the main reasons Harry seriously wanted to stage an intervention at some point.

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Gangster - again. In this case, he's the biggest shark in Sicily's already dangerous shark tank.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

He loves gardening and cooking, both things he inherited from his mother. It was Maria Vento, who turned the useless, landscaped garden of that hell-mansion into a vegetable and fruit patch. After his father died, Michele expanded on it. He also taught both of the twins how to cook, and especially Lorenzo was an eager student.

🎯 -What do they do best?

He is an excellent cook and an excellent host. The latter is also connected to how he's a great leader. This man will keep a group together! He'll stand his ground, but he'll make concerns feel heard. He'll put everyone at ease and rally them to a cause, just because he makes them feel like a family. Certainly, he does choose to whom to extend his empathy - He wouldn't be a mafioso, couldn't be, if he did to everyone. But when he does extend his empathy, he does make it feel heartfelt.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Loves to cook! Loves to garden! Hates to have to catch Angelo's chicken and drive it back to his farmer neighbour! (Seriously, how do these chickens keep escaping and make it all the way over to his fenced in garden?).

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

When his mother first let him help cook in the kitchen ...

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Probably most of his childhood, as far as his father is concerned. To be beaten and then told that if he told his mother (again), he'd earn twice the beating again is probably seared into his memory.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Already not answered here!

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Already not answered here!

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

He should be in an upbeat yet whistful regional romantic family comedy ... instead he's in this gangster drama.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

He's a pansexual cis man.

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

None! But Marco and Lorenzo Bontade, the twins he took under his wing when they were 12 and he just 18, refer to him as their "big brother".

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

He loves and adores his mother Maria above all else. She's his everything, the person he loves the most in the entire world. Her love is the reason he's even alive.

Because his father Salvatore is one of the main reasons this AU is called "Like Father Like Son". Jealous that someone else got attention by his beloved Maria, he quickly grew to hate his son and physically abused Michele for most of his childhood. Michele has never told anyone but Herakles about the abuse and he's haunted by everyone associating him with his father's brutal political legacy.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

He's such a tragic figure and I love that. He's so motivated by 'fixing' himself, eradicating any trace of the hurt he received in everyone's mind, that he doesn't notice how he hurts those he loves the most and wants to protect the most in this quest. You understand why he's so desperate to achieve his goal and you can also blame him for his actions, still. He's a posterchild for how most of the characters in LFLS have been failed, deserved support and help and didn't get it, so now they keep the cycle of trauma and abuse going.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Currently in a writer's block when it comes to Irish Problems, but I've been consistently writing him for the past few years. Even more so because most of the time when I want to write, it ends up being a SicIre drabble. When in doubt, make Michele and Harry be in love.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

No, not Michele, dearest. Again, whether he grows old or not is none of my business, but I wouldn't kill my Miché.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

No phobias, as far as I'm aware of, no. He does have a deepseated distrust of father figures and hates being called 'son' or someone acting like he does with his own kids. Unadoptable by men, this man.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

The Vargas brothers, but more specifically Lovino Vargas. Cousins thrice removed, Lovino believes that he's entitled to Sicily as part of his territory, especially since his family has all of Italy and is so much more successful than Michele's. Michele is going to give up his power and control over his cold, dead body. They also both hate how much they see themselves in the other - either all they could never be but should OR they see their most glaring faults reflected back at them.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

That is a good question, because I don't know when Michele stopped being my friend's OC and became my OC instead ... I'd guess somewhere in 2014, 2015. When my friend moved on to other places and I was still obsessed with both Hetalia and this little AU world I created.

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

94. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

-> I spent 30mins searching through our discord chat to find this thing you mentioned once when we were talking about the Cell Block Tango AU. But I knew it had to be there and now here's a drabble.

Michele came here to get fucked. The 'how' ended up a bit unexpected, but hey, take it or leave it, right? And Michele was definitely taking it. "It" in this case being Sadik's dick up his ass.

They hadn't planned for any of this to happen. Not for Sadik to keep making salacious comments about Michele shoving his crotch into his face when rehearsing their part for the 100th time, not for Michele to make retort in an equally salacious manner, and especially not for Herakles to do anything but get his Turk to stop when his hands kept wandering from Michele's waist to other parts of his body.

"Don't tell me you're starting to regret this now." Michele propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Sadik who had slowed down his thrusts a little, making the other man suspicious.

"What? No!" Sadik leaned down close enough for Michele to think he would want to kiss him. Instead he whispered in his ear. "But if you keep being so loud you might attract an audience."

The next snippy comment died on Michele's tongue when Sadik quickened his pace again, going harder and deeper. All he could manage was another moan and a couple of curses.

"Can you at least try to keep it together?" Sadik frowned, but kept thrusting into Michele as if to accentuate his words. "You can tell me about how much better than Herakles I fucked you when there aren't-"

"You think you're doing this better than me?"

The small sofa creaked under Sadik and Michele's weight shifting as they turned towards the door. They both froze while Herakles closed the dressing room door behind him and gave them a disapproving look.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Sadik straightened up, his dick still burried deep inside Michele who only rolled his eyes.

"I figured that much." With an audible thud Herakles let himself fall into the armchair opposite the sofa, only a small coffee table between himself and the other two men. "You could have invited me so I can make sure you're fucking him right, but at least I'm here now."

Michele huffed, immediately attracting the others' attention. "Could you maybe stop talking about me as if I wasn't right here with some dick up my ass?!" He clenched around Sadik to make his point clear and earned himself a surprised gasp followed by a lazy thrust.

Herakles chuckled when he noticed how Sadik gripped Michele’s hips, trying to hold back. “He doesn’t break that easily. And you don’t have to pretend as if you care if he did.”

In any other situation Michele would glare at Herakles for such a comment. But right now he just shifted, rolled his hips. Trying to coax Sadik into finally continuing where they had left off. If Herakles and Sadik had even the faintest idea of how much he wanted to see them try breaking him. He smiled to himself.

“Come on, old man, he’s begging to be fucked. Or are you tired already?” The challenging look in Herakles’ eyes was the last straw it needed to pursue Sadik into giving him a show. The first thrusts were slow, deep, making Michele moan and reach for Sadik’s arms, his back, whatever part of him he could reach to hold onto.

“He feels so fucking good.” Sadik’s voice was strained, saturated with the need for more, but he was determined to stretch this out and if only for Herakles’ sake.

“I know.” A low purr from Herakles caught Michele’s attention and he watched him pull his pants down just enough to free his hard cock and stroke himself. Their eyes met for a moment. Was that.. longing in his eyes?

Michele was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Sadik bent his knees a little further, drove into him deeper and hit his prostate with every following thrust.

"Fuck!" Michele clawed onto Sadik's arms, digging his nails into the skin. Sadik hissed at the slight pain, but didn't slow down his pace. "You're supposed to fuck me, not re-arrange my guts!"

Before Sadik could make another witty comment, a loud moan coming from Herakles captured the others' attention. "Stop complaining, Miche." He was stroking himself faster, running his thumb over the tip every time. "He's so good at this... Watching you taking him so well...I'm almost jealous."

Herakles' breath hitched when Sadik smirked at him. No words were needed for him to know what the Turk had in mind for them to do later.

Together with the movements of Herakles' hand on his cock Sadik's pace also sped up. With a groan that he was sure the others outside the dressing room heard as well, Michele drove his nails deeper into Sadik's arms, drawing blood. His head lolled to the side, giving Herakles' a perfect view of his face.

"Please..." The word was almost inaudible, coming from Michele's lips only for Sadik to hear. He huffed, but wrapped his hand around Michele's cock to stroke him in time with his thrusts. The tip was wet with precum and so sensitive to Sadik's touch, after a couple of strokes Michele was already cumming all over himself and Sadik's hand. He bit his lip to stifle his moans, so as to not attract anyone outside to check onto them. The way he clenched around Sadik was enough for the other man to reach his climax as well, spilling inside Michele with a low groan.

Instead, Omar and Timothea had the kind heart of their father and the steadfastness of their mother, but most of all, their parents' stoic pragmatism.

They weren’t here. They were safe at home in Athens with their parents.

Maria had left with Marco and Lorenzo a day before Herakles had arrived. “Gone east for the weekend,” Michele had said. He had bought a bouquet of flowers and now arranged it into a vase. Herakles had been reclining on the living room’s couch, with his arm on the armest and his cheek rested against his fist. “Near Syracuse, a fun weekend for Mamma to get out for a while and for the boys to fool around on the beaches. I’d wish I could say to see some culture as well, but ah.” He had laughed and thrown his head back, before he tended to the flowers again . “I don’t think that the archaeological park in Syracuse will be of much interest to them or the castle on Ortygia, unless they can get up to shenanigans unsafe to them and the historical grounds.” He had clicked his tongue and raised his eyebrows. “No, no no, I can’t put that stress on Mamma.” He had fidgeted with the flowers but glanced up at Herakles. “After the Turks tried to set foot here, in the 1570s, the Spaniards re-fortified the castle on Ortygia, you know. The opposite of what you’re doing.”

Michele had grinned at him for a second before he gave a ringing, impish laugh. Herakles had chuckled at first, but upon hearing Michele’s rascally joy, it grew into laughter as well.

“If somebody threatens me with a good time …” Herakles had answered.

He was here. Not in Athens, not in Ankara.

As they stood among the fields, Michele said: “I love to be outside around here at night. Just to stare at Monreale, how it’s lit up and tucked away against the mountains.” The walls around Michele’s garden were too high to see a lot of the surrounding area.

“I know that King Gugghiermu built the monastery and the cathedral, and all the other things, just to get the bishop out of town, but do you think he ever regretted it?” The moon was bright enough and the light pollution bad enough that they hadn’t needed any lamps for their night walk.

Michele didn’t take his eyes off the warm, orange spot of light couched into the hills. “I mean, Palermo’s beautiful, but … so is Monreale. It must sting to have such beauty tower over you.”

They trekked the last hundred metres back to Michele’s house in silence. 

“Do you think that’s why your ancestors built the fence around the garden so high?” Herakles asked and Michele looked at him, his eyebrows quirked in bewilderment at ‘ancestors’. “Because they couldn’t bear the beauty either, soaring to heights they could never reach.”

“That sounds like Luigi, yes,” Michele replied and opened the front door. He hit the light switch for the atrium. He hit it again.

Still no lights.

An exasperated sigh in the darkness. “Alright - You don’t happen to have a lighter on you?” he asked Herakles, who patted down his pockets.

“I don’t.”

“Moonlight it is then.” Slowly, yet with purpose, Michele walked into the atrium. Herakles ambled behind him, while he opened cabinets and rummaged through them. He mumbled something in Sicilian to himself and pulled a long and heavy object out of the cabinet.

A metallic click. A circle of light appeared half on the wall, half on the cabinet.

“Here, take that one,” Michele said and handed the flashlight to Herakles. “And shine into the cabinet, please.”

Herakles did so.

Michele took a closer look inside and rummaged around it some more. He straightened himself and opened a drawer. Herakles shone inside of it.

Michele mumbled a few more things in Sicilian, then something that sounded like “There you are” and turned a smaller flashlight in the palm of his hand. He turned it on.

“Alright now – Minchia -“

“Sorry.” Herakles lowered the flashlight after Michele had turned and stared straight into it.

Michele’s eyes were squeezed shut and he blinked a few times before he caught himself with a shake of his head.

“Now we’ve got to find the fuse box and hope that that’ll solve our problem.”

“Perhaps it’s a blackout,” Herakles suggested while Michele looked around.

He turned to him with a cocked eyebrow.  “Curious blackout though that would only affect my house, since we still saw the neighbours with their lights on, wouldn’t it be?”

“Point taken. Where’s the fuse box? In the cellar?”

“No, that one’s only for vegetables and wine,” Michele replied. “And … well … clandestine operations.”

“I think we made out there once,” Herakles said.

“I can hardly remember that, unless you mean stolen kisses while we were fetching something for Mamma cooking dinner. “Michele made his way around the atrium’s freestanding staircase.

“I think I meant that.” Herakles followed him. “A basement full of alcohol also hardly sounds like a place to hide from Athanasios.”

"No, not quite … It’s a good place to hide from me, though,” Michele said and looked briefly over his shoulder with a bright smile. “You wouldn’t believe how many spaces there are in this house to hide from me!”

Herakles snorted. “It’s a bit of a labyrinth, isn’t it?” Michele chuckled. He followed him around the corner and down the hallway. At its end, it split into two crammed corridors.  Michele shone a light into both sides. “Should I get you a thread, my hero?” Herakles asked and slipped his arm around Michele’s waist to tuck him against his body.

Michele jumped at the contact, but then looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a pouting smirk.

“Get me the fuse box, Casanova.” He quickly ran his hand over Herakles’ and gently pushed his arm away the next moment. “Before that, we should check the backdoor. I’ve checked everything before we left, but better safe than sorry.”

“Wouldn’t want to run into any minotaurs in here.”

“Yes, or any hit men or dumb teenagers, who thought this would be a funny prank,” Michele said and walked back towards the atrium. “Well, teenagers aside from my own rascals.” He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder at Herakles. “Actually, you can wait for me here while I’ll check the backdoor.”

Herakles nodded and Michele returned into the atrium. He disappeared behind the stairs and Herakles heard a door open and close. He listened into the dark.

There was the constant background noise of the city far away. Silence, otherwise. Michele’s steps were muffled. Something rattled, but he couldn’t discern what would make such sounds.

He looked behind him. There was no movement in the dark; where the hallway split, the last specks of light that made it through the atrium’s glass ceiling was swallowed. There was only pitch blackness outside the circle of his flashlight.

A door opened and he turned around. Michele closed it behind himself and walked back over to him. “The backdoor is completely undisturbed, as are all the windows, so I think we’re safe from roaming monsters.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes, I would even call it vital information. Now, onto the fuse box…” Herakles let Michele pass him, before he followed him into the left corridor.

There were no paintings or other decorative objects on the walls. There was barely space to walk anyways.

Michele lit up the end of the corridor and turned towards a door. He reached for the handle but paused before he pressed it.

He looked at Herakles over his shoulder, who was met with a relaxed smirk. “But perhaps there is a scuro in here. Or a grecu livanti. Scuri like abandoned houses.“ He opened the door, the handle creaked and the hinges wailed. 

“What’s a scuro?”

“It’s a – “

“And the other thing. I thought I was the only Greek traipsing around here.“ Herakles stepped into the room after Michele.

Michele laughed to himself. “It’s named after the east winds, which we call the grecu or livanti. The creature that’s called grecu livanti travels with the winds and that is the reason why it can show up so quickly at the doorsteps of naughty kids.” Michele hunched his shoulders, curled his hand into a claw and wiggled his fingers. “And grab them!” The claw snapped into a fist. Herakes chuckled. “If it doesn’t gobble them up on the spot, it will stuff the kids down its pants to take them home and eat them later.”

Michele grinned at Herakles. “... charming.”

The grin dimmed back to a smirk. “Wonderful, the idea that one might run into such a fella in the dark, isn’t it?” Michele briefly took a look around the room, before he walked towards a box, mounted against the wall in a corner.

It was some sort of storeroom. A few wooden crates and half-empty shelves. Either a generator or an old AC unit. Herakles wasn’t sure.

“The boys would have their fun with this,” Michele said and he looked at him.

“ … fixing the fuse box?”

“They would have fun traipsing around in the dark.” Michele turned his head and the light in his hand as he examined the box’ handle and where the door met the frame.

Herakles stepped closer and lowered his light. “Unafraid of grecu livanti?”

“Oh, far from it!” Michele pulled at the fuse box’ handle, but it did nothing except for making the aged metal moan. “Oh, actually, there is a … My god, it’s so embarrassing.”

Michele pulled again, with the same result as before.

“Do you want me to open it for you?” Herakles asked softly.

“No, no …” Michele switched the lamp from one hand to the other and pulled. The door didn’t even budge this time. “But you can hold the lamp, if you would be so kind?”

“Of course.” Herakles took Michele’s lamp. He turned his own off and put it on top of the nearest crate. He stood aside from Michele now.

Michele now pulled with both hands. “You see.” There was a strain from the physical effort, but he tried to talk as if there was no effort at all. “This must have happened a while ago. Marco and Lorenzo weren’t on their-” He took one hand of the handle to gesture and the other one now pulled with short, hard jerks. “-best behaviour. And in a fit of …” Michele stopped and breathed for a few moments. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I honestly don’t know. But I had gotten the idea that maybe a bogeyman would strike some fear into their hearts.” The pulls became weaker and weaker. Michele sighed. “Now mind you, the boys fear very little.” He let go of the handle and turned to Herakles. Herakles wondered if him leaning against the door with his upper arm was intentional. “Much less than is good for them, and ghosts are most certainly not on the list. I, however, thought I’d give it a shot. Alessia, do you remember her? You ever met her? Girl, around sixteen. Loud, cheeky, got short brown hair, nearly as tall as I am.”

“I might remember someone like that.”

“Anyways.” Michele learned harder against the box.

“I don’t think it’s going to help with the power if the door caves in and crashes the fuses.”

“Well, it’s not doing me any favours with the power this way either, being closed.” Michele had said it with a smile, but released his weight.

“If anything, you might have gotten the door stuck even more.”

“Bullshit.” Michele pulled with both hands again and Herakles pouted. “Anyways, where was I? I asked Alessia if she wanted to do me a favour and she did.” He stopped and sighed. Herakles could see him stare ahead at the fuse box, but his look was lost in space. “So … Honestly, please don’t ask what’s gotten into me, but I asked Alessia to come to the house and play a grecu livanti one night. Which made the boys believe in ghosts for a few hours, who knows, really, but they also believed themselves to be excellent ghost hunters and did not resign to their fate. All I did was frighten them into more mischievous action. So much for boogeyman to keep the kids in in line.” Michele sighed and rubbed one hand over the back of the other. Herakles was glad that the banging and clanging had stopped, for it had started to give him a headache. Michele picked at his skin. “That’s the story behind the crack in the wall upstairs, by the way. And I think that Alessia, who’s now … who’s now … She and the boys will probably spend more time together in the future, and I don’t think she’s ever going to let them hear the end of it. At least someone had fun. I don’t know what I was thinking, it all seemed like a terrible and silly mistake in the same night and I apologised profusely to the two for playing such a terrible prank on them. Frighten the children with man-eating monsters! What a cruel thing to do, especially in this day and age, don’t you think?”

Michele hadn’t looked up at Herakles once. Only at his hand, at which he had picked all throughout his monologue.

Herakles stepped closer to Michele and gently laid it over the hand that picked at the skin.

“It sure makes for a remarkable story despite it all, don’t you think?” He asked. “I am sure that, give it a few years, Marco and Lorenzo will think of it as a silly childhood adventure and not a breach of trust.” Michele glanced at him. “You’re so hard on yourself, Michele. Trying to be a parent in your teens, I think it’s perhaps not that unusual to go a bit mad with the task.”

“Parent … well …” Michele buzzed.

“Older brother.” Herakles put his head on Michele’s shoulder. “Will you let me try to open the box?”

“Give me one last shot,” Michele said. Herakles rubbed his face against Michele’s cheek and neck, before he straightened up and took a step back.

Michele grabbed the handle. He took a deep breath, shifted his stance and yanked one last time.

The box flew open, with such a force that Michele stumbled back. Herakles stepped behind him and let Michele bump into him.

It was quiet for a moment. Herakles had put an arm around Michele, who slouched in his hold.

“… careful there.”

Michele snapped out of his daze.

“Hah! Eureka! Told you!” He got onto his feet and pushed up his sleeves. “Now, shine inside, be so kind.” He pulled the box’ door wide open.

“Of course.” Herakles stood right behind Michele to light the box’ interior.

The fuses were extremely old, of plastic that had gone yellow with age and dust. Some of them were labelled - a few with neatly etched plates drilled into the box, but most with paper labels. Herakles couldn’t read a single one.

“Everything seems to be fine here …” Michele said. He gingerly touched a few of them, turned one or two with an audible click, but nothing happened. Herakles looked at the room’s door over his shoulder, but stared straight into the pitch black hole.

“Curious,” he said.

“Indeed.” Michele stared ahead for a while. He turned his head to Herakles. “There’s another one upstairs.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” He carefully and slowly closed the door, until it hit the frame and wouldn’t budge any further. He sighed and increased the pressure, but it would only move millimetre by millimetre and with the ugly scratch of metal on metal. “Ciaccatu,” he cursed under his breath. “Couldn’t even build a fucking box that fit. Surely, better to have it all out in the open, better than whatever shoddy electric works Luigi added to the house, but Giovanni couldn’t even bother with a proper box!” He banged his hand against the fuse box’ door. The noise rang in Herakles’ ears still. Michele sighed into the silence. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“I’m sure you want your flashlight back.” 

“I do.” Herakles handed Michele the flashlight and then took a step to the side, until he realized the problem. “Can you shine over here? I put my flashlight-” Michele had already turned.

“Of course.”

Herakles picked up his own, wiped off the dust and turned it on.

“Alright,” Michele said. “Let’s go.” He walked out of the room with Herakles behind him. He closed the door on the way out.

It was a claustrophobic feeling to walk down the small corridor. When they turned into the bigger hallway, Herakles took a moment to shine a light onto the objects on the wall.

An old clock that no longer ticked. A painting in a heavy, detailed frame that showed a shipwreck. A Sicilian marionette of a knight.

The moon had shifted. Herakles saw the polished metal of the rail and post gleamed in the pale moonlight, but everything else was engulfed by darkness.

“You’d think that this stupid glass ceiling would serve at least some kind of purpose,” Michele said as they walked towards the front of the stairs. “Or all these giant windows. But no! If the moon isn’t visible or at the wrong angle, it’s useless, all useless! It only all makes this house a living nightmare in summer and winter alike! Giovanni had the right idea when he bricked up one of these hideous things instead of fixing it - Nothing about this is practical!” He grabbed the handrail and began to climb the stairs.

The balcony at the top was marginally lit by the moonlight overhead. Beyond the landing was another yawning mouth of blackness.

“But I am sure he didn’t even install a lamp in that room,” Michele ranted about his grandfather. Herakles began to climb the stairs behind him. He didn’t care! He cared as little as his father had, just in a different way! Nobody cared about this house and how could you! How could anyone live in here, in this … in this monument to hubris!” Michele stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked at the glass ceiling. Herakles stopped as well. “It was supposed to be it all! Spanish Baroque, an actual Roman villa – well, if only this damned hole had a single use like it had in a Roman villa! But they didn’t care for history! Cared nothing for it like the fucking fascists who locked them up – Neo-classical! Neo-classical it was supposed to be too! Neo-classical my ass, have you seen the things they built in Palermo? You’ve seen the tribunale! How fuckugly! I’d rather they throw me straight into jail than try me in this affront to everything! ” Michele made it to the landing of the balcony and looked from left to right. His heavy breath echoed off the high walls and stone floors.

Herakles came to a stop beside him. “We technically don’t have to fix the light, if you don’t want to.” Michele looked at him for a moment, mouth still open to breathe through it. “We’re not gonna freeze nor die of heatstroke without the AC and I don’t know about you, but I don’t need light for the things I do at night.” He smiled. “Though some types of sleeping are more fun with it, I’ll say.” The smile thinned. Michele scanned the atrium. “But you don’t have to see even as much as the shades around the house, if you don’t want to, Michele. They’re not real.”

Michele looked at him, with furrowed brows but eyes open and alert. “If those shades aren’t real, I’m terrified of what real things they’re supposed to represent.” He turned to the left. “And I am not meeting them in the dark.”

“So we’re not going to bed?” Herakles asked and intonated it like a neutral question.

“No, we’re not. There could be something wrong with the wiring or the fuses and I want to make sure …” His voice had begun to waver. When he spoke again, the desperation in his tone wanted to rise above a whisper, but his vocal cords couldn’t manage it. “I really hope nothing happened in … that room.”

That room was to the right of the staircase. Michele walked ahead into the hallway to the left and Herakles followed him in silence. There were two large photo prints of places in Sicily, but a painting was hung prominently where the hallway split into two. It was romantic and showed the Acropolis of Athens against the backdrop of a vast landscape, devoid of any people.

Herakles noticed how the circle of light from Michele’s flashlight shook slightly.

He dared to ask the question. “Have you opened it since?”

"No." Michele turned the right corner.

Herakles wondered what the state the office of Michele’s father was in when Michele had decided to lock the door and hide the key. He wondered if he had hidden it at all or gone as far as destroying it or throwing it out to sea. He hadn’t asked any follow up questions two or three years ago. Michele had told him about it on a late summer night, when the world had been at its most quiet. Herakles had not really cared to know more than what he had told him. Michele wanted to close the door on the past. Herakles would be the last person to deny him that.

Michele cursed and Herakles’ attention snapped back to him. He had stopped in front of a door on the right side and now muttered angrily under his breath.

“Hm?” Herakles asked: “What’s the matter?”

“I have to get the key, wait here for me for a second.” Michele walked past him and disappeared around the corner.

Herakles listened to Michele’s steps down the stairs. He heard a cabinet drawer open, then close, followed by steps that receded further.

He looked around. At the far end of the corridor opposite to the one he was in, he could see a tall window. Barely any light fell inside, but when he lowered his lamp, he could see Palermo’s lights twinkle in the distance.

Herakles thusly had to assume that the window faced the front, although perhaps he was mistaking one of the towns further inland with Palermo. Despite the many nights he had spent at the house, without the warm glow of the dim lamps mounted against the wall, everything looked the same.

It took him until Michele’s return, key in hand, that he vaguely recognized his position in the house. Michele opened the door, which revealed a guest room.

Or rather, a room that could function as such. The official guestroom had become Maria’s room, now that she had moved back in with her son. Marco and Lorenzo had taken over another guest room. He knew that Michele had offered them their own rooms more than once, but they had rather shared. They were around 14 now and Herakles wondered if puberty would make the offer more appealing. He knew that as much as Timothea and Omar loved each other, a shared room would lead to a disaster.

This room had a bed with a rug, oriental but more likely to be from a North-African region, a nightstand and two closets.

Herakles had only ever slept in the one now occupied by Maria, which was a far nicer guest room than this one.

He lingered on this thought for a while as its implications occurred to him. He knew that Michele went on dates and even had met a girlfriend once, but tried to think back to the last time Michele had made him sleep in the guest room or refused to sleep in Herakles’ bed on a visit to Athens. Although it would lead to perhaps a platonic cuddle at most, Herakles’ respected Michele’s commitment to faithfulness during his brief romances. He understood that if the twins found them in the same bed, it would raise questions – Marco and Lorenzo were older than the time Michele had told them Herakles was sleeping in his room because of a sleepover. It had been a fun night in the end as they had watched movies with the two and talked until 2 am, when Michele and Herakles could barely keep their eyes open. It reminded him of the time when, years ago, Sadık had come to meet him in secret at the Simonides’ house, so that Athanasios wouldn’t catch wind of it. The two of them had barely stripped down to their underpants when there had been a knock on the door of the guest room. Sex had to be postponed for the next hour as they had entertained Omar and Timothea. Omar had shown them the Pokémon game on his Gameboy as he sat in Sadık’s lap, while Timothea and her perfectionism only managed to braid one and a half braids into Herakles’ hair, before Natasa and Ibrahim told the twins to “leave the boys alone” and had put them to bed. Herakles had left the finished braid alone, because Sadık had said he had looked cute with it.

“Have you ever considered open relationships, Michele?”

A loud creak went through the room. “Huh?” Michele asked into the dark. “Oh, so you finally got your head out of the clouds. Would you be so kind and help me with the door again?”

Herakles shone his light at him and realized that Michele struggled with the fuse box again. This one looked more modern than the one downstairs.

“Sure.” Herakles ambled over. “You want me to open it?”

“No, I think I’ve got this one.” Michele had put his lamp onto the nightstand and Herakles continued to use his own this them. He stood behind Michele, in case he had to catch him, and shone onto the box over his shoulder.

Herakles said: “I’m just saying, I’m sure you could find someone who’s open to an open relationship.” Herakles smiled. “It’s a mighty lot of fun, if you ask me.”

Michele snorted before he laughed. A welcome sound to Herakles’ ears in between his laboured grunts and the bangs of the door when he pulled on it. “I’m sure it suits you just fine, my friend.” The pulls continued. “But those things, they need time and commitment … why not just play pretend with love, if it’s fleeting anyways?” He stopped his efforts with the box and shook his arms. He swallowed. “Now, I’m glad that you got lucky in love, but I … I am starting to believe that ‘true love’ isn’t in the cards for me … But I am happy to take the scraps of love I find along the way.”

Herakles put his head on Michele’s left shoulder. He kissed his cheek. “You can always come back to me, if you need it.”

Michele trembled. He had trembled this entire time. “I know, Erculi,” he said. “I know.”

Herakles switched his lamp to the other hand and yanked the fuse box open. 

“… thank you,” Michele said.

“Thought you could use the help.” Herakles touched his cheek to Michele’s, before he straightened up.

Michele looked through the fuse box. Herakles still couldn’t read any of the paper labels, but at least these fuses looked 30 years old and not from the 30s. Michele’s fingers shook as he flipped the switches.

“Michele, I can take a look for you, too …”

“Hm? No, no … you don’t even know what is where … it’s fine …” There was an erratic quality to his eyes. He turned a knob, but nothing changed. “I don’t … I don’t know …” His hand rested on the knob. It was limp. Herakles started to notice his own breath as well. “Is there another one I don’t remember …?  Everything was fine before we left, there’s … there’s no nothing left but that room ...”

A creak went through the house and Michele whirled around, eyes wide open.

Silence.

“Old houses sound like that,” Herakles said. “Probably nothing – “

“I think I saw someone in the corridor,” Michele said. With his look fixed onto the door, he reached for his lamp behind him. He missed it a few times before he turned around and picked it up. Herakles shone his light into the open door.

“Are you sure?” he asked him.

“I saw, I saw something move …” Michele walked towards the door and Herakles followed him with a worried frown on his forehead.

“I think you might be – “

“There!” They stood in the corridor. “There again, there …”

A panel of lights hushed across the wall.

In time with the sound of a car as it made its way through the bumpy streets around the fields. 

Herakles looked to the tall window. “I think what you saw was just the headlights of the car.”

Michele stared into the dark.

The lights in the atrium flickered on and he jumped. His lamp dropped to the floor with a loud clunk.

“The electricity seems to be back,” Herakles said, but kept his flashlight on and picked up Michele’s.

“Yes …, yes, apparently it’s back,” Michele said as he looked around. He took a deep breath.

“Your lamp?”

“Oh?” He took it from Herakles. “Yes, thank you.” He switched it off, so Herakles did the same. Michele had pressed his eyes shut when he said: “I think there’s ghosts around every corner.”

“They’re only shades, though. They may pass through you, but they can’t cause you any harm.”

Michele clicked his tongue and shook his head. He looked at Herakles. “Some may only pass through you, but pray to God that none of them stick. And some of these ghosts are bodily and if they come back, they bring nothing but rot and illness with them. Turnati . Bodies who’ve crossed over but won’t stay dead.”

Herakles wondered if Michele spoke in a literal or metaphorical sense. He realized that the ghosts were real regardless. “ … I’ll send you a charm as soon as I am back in Greece. I’m sure it’ll keep some of these ghosts at bay.”

Michele’s look was turned towards to atrium. A stare tired enough for a millennia of pain. A haunted man.

“I need to sit down,” he said.  “I need a glass of wine.” He turned to Herakles. “Care to sit on the porch with me? I can’t bear another wall.”

Can’t bear the garden wall. Can’t bear Monreale.

Can bear the quiet night. Can bear to stare out at Monte Pellegrino and hope that someone would take the plague from him. Can bear to look out at the sea – Swallowing everything and giving nothing back. Can bear to look at the city, walls so beautiful and yet so bloody.

“We’ll open one of the bottles from crete that I brought, if you like.” Herakles was reminded of his remark about his own father earlier and was glad they hadn’t put the bottles down into the wine cellar yet. A ghost in a bottle was the last thing he needed right now. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good…” Michele stared ahead, where the hallway to the right of the staircase split into two. The light of the atrium couldn’t reach it. He walked towards the staircase and Herakles followed him.

~*~

Gugghiermu is the Sicilian version of William. Michele is referring to King William II of Sicily.

"Minchia" - "Shit". Literally translates to "Penis".

"Ciaccatu" - Something broken.

Tribunale is the Italian word for court. The tribunale in Palermo is an example of "Stripped Classicism", a neo-Classical style widely employed by fascist regimes of Italy & Germany. "The fascists who locked them up" is a reference to Cesare Mori. To insert historical nuance that the text lacks - Cesare Mori often butted heads with the fascist regime and thus had lost his job briefly after Mussolini had come to power. He was re-established as prefect of Sicily by the fascist regime later in the 20s. His fight against the Mafia was arguably extremely effective, but also ensured by very harsh measures, so he continues to be a controversial figure. The association expressed in the text is best explained by the fact that the fascists bragged about how it was them who destroyed the mafia. It's a bold-faced lie and soon after WWII, the mafia proliferated again and is active to this day.