Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Six

We walked through the glass doors of Barbican Centre. Immediately, I felt my eyes widen over the lights coming from this long Charles and Ray Eames billboard. I think we may have been in the dim for a little too long.

"That was nice by the way," Harry suddenly said.

"What was that?" I asked, not really picking up on what he was describing as nice. Because, currently, everything looks and feels nice I couldn't discern anything specific anymore.

"The drive on the way here," he explained, "it was nice."

"Yeah it was," I chimed, "I like your music taste Harry."

"I like that you like my music taste Vivien," he joshed.

We pass by this long hall that ended with another glass door. Then an interesting interior of orange colors greeted us as we navigated through shops, bars, and walkways that lead to the theatres and cinemas. This place seems to be a hub for many things. Food, art, music, film.

We took several flights of stairs before this large number three, in orange color of course, told us we were already in the third floor.

"Do you want to check out an art gallery before or?" he asked and I realize that as great as what we have already seen was, we weren't at the place yet, which raises my intrigue as to what Barbican holds more. Here, every turn you take and every glance you make, you'll be surprised.

"Sure, why not," I answered.

"It's on this floor. I think it's over there," he said, eyes directed towards another turn. He took a small step in front of me as he led me to the entrance. I recognize the names Charles and Ray Eames as the ones from the billboard at the ground floor, the very first thing I ever saw in here.

"There's a lot of chairs," I described.

Harry chuckles, "Yeah, this could get interesting."

As we wandered, we later found out that Charles and Ray Eames were two creatives known in the architectural industry and especially for their modern furniture designs. The cool thing is, they were married.

"They're like," he started, "the most legit work-life partners."

"Exactly," I agreed, "but imagine their fights if their ideas, like, don't meet."

"Figures," he said, "it's got to be the soulmate thing making it work though."

I nodded, trying to keep my attention undivided as my eyes are caught by someone leftmost corner of the room.

For reasons unknown, we humans are somehow sensitive to gaze. And that sensitivity I can feel right now as the woman's gaze burn through my body.

"Yeah, that reminds me," I spoke, ignoring the growing feeling on me. To prove my undivided attention, I decided to contribute a quote in the conversation. "You know how despite their differences, they had one important thing in common—"

"They were crazy about each other," Harry buzzed in, copying even the chuckle of the narrator from the film. "The Notebook," he stated.

"Right," I said, fighting to dial down the unease.

"You can count on me in quoting all of The Notebook," he smiled, an artless pride in the curve of his lips.

"Well, I might actually count on you since I remember a few lines but not everything," I admitted. Harry moved, fully facing me. I took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder and saw that the girl had her phone out, angled towards us.

"Just hit me up then, for The Notebook emergencies," he said.

I hardly laugh as the distraction fully distracts me. I wound up staring at this one chair behind him, lost in the knowledge that someone was possibly taking footage of us. I notice him follow my eyes and, in my peripheral vision, drift to the person with the phone. I raise my head up to look at him and saw the subtle tension in his jaw.

"Hey," he suddenly turned his head towards me, "do you want to go now?"

His jaw softened; his voice tender as ever. He looked at me as if nothing felt rigid in that previous second. I guess, he was used to dealing with this kind of matter.

"Okay," I said, in a hushed manner.

He brushed his hand with mine, immediately interlocking them again, and the feeling flows. I watch as the girl with the phone followed us, trying to be discrete. But since there was about twenty of us in the room, her motions were in plain sight.

Harry stopped, briefly letting go of me, "Just one second," he said. He walks towards the girl who was left openmouthed with the bluntness of Harry's action. I nervously purse my lips, wishing that the night won't take a foul twist.

"Excuse me, uhm," Harry calmly uttered, "but I saw you had your phone out, and uhm, it would be really nice if you, uh, deleted any photo or video with us. Or just uh, blur us out if you post it."

Both the girl and I were left surprised at the nice way he had laid out his request. I feel my nerves die down. The girl on the contrary remained taken aback, but relief seemed to slowly wash over her eyes.

"My, uhm," he paused, "she's a very private person, as am I. So, we were hoping that you'd kindly respect that part."

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, "I will sir, uh, I'm sorry. I will delete them."

"Just Harry please," he said, modesty evident in his tone, "and thank you. Have a lovely evening."

With that, Harry began walking back towards me and I feel my lips unknowingly curve up into a smile over the gentleness of this man. He was oozing with conviction but with kindness. It was a rare combination you find in people. From then, I realized, he really was something.

"Sorry about that," he apologized.

"Oh no, no problem," I assured, "that was very kind of you. Dealing with it that way."

I meant it. I don't have the faintest idea of how fame works. With the paparazzi, the fans, the nosy ones, it's easy to lose composure around the idea that your whole life is recorded or scrutinized by the world. In other words, I would have snapped at some point. I don't if it is because he's been dealing with it for quite a long time, but Harry is a natural in appreciating the little privacy he gets and tolerating the lack thereof.

"It's not a big deal really, it comes with being able to do what you love," he reasoned.

"Hmm," I hummed. This time, I took his hand, dodging all the warning signs in my head telling me not to do it. He grinned over action. I decided not to linger in that minor situation anymore, "Let's go?"

a/n:

yes, John Green has a Harry cardboard cutout that's the one fact I can't forget. And there was a legit Charles and Ray Eames exhibit in Barbican, not sure exactly when though.