a heart in barcelona - a carrison fanfiction

Chapter 2 - State of Grace

for jazz

Their cabbie pulls over on Passeig de Grácia, a large thoroughfare where every shop is inscribed with an expensive name: Dolce & Gabbana, Yves Saint Laurent. Yet, amidst this luxury, shines an actual gem: Casa Milà, or as it is commonly called, La Pedrera.

Carrie and Harrison dash below an awning and squint through the blinding sunlight, across the intersection, at its interesting stone facade.

"Did you know," Carrie reads from her very informative brochure: "That a wealthy man called Milà commissioned Gaudí to design the building?" she explains.

"It's beautiful." He exhales, in awe.

"Your first Gaudí!" she exclaims, excitedly. She clutches his arm like a proud girlfriend: "How do you feel?"

"Like I said," he repeats, still fixated on the frontage. "It's unbelievable."

Its grandiose structure is made up entirely of waves and curves, there not being a single straight line of construction. It was the home of the Milà family, as well as several other renters, but most of the locals despised it as eyesore – exactly how the same generation of Parisians felt about the Eiffel Tower.

"I wonder how it would've felt back then," Carrie confesses. "I'd like to think I would've been one of those people who understood this was special."

"You have an eye for special things, kid," he states, matter-of-factly. He probably didn't even think twice about his comment, he just said it. Like most of the things he does, he does them very true to his character, without thinking twice whether they're hurtful or meaningful. This time around, Carrie cautiously rejoiced in his words. She knew there was a possibility that he just blurted it out without feeling it, but nonetheless, she'd record those words in her mind.

"Nice roof," Harrison says. "But mine in London is better." He waggles his eyebrows at her. She nudges him, and he nudges back.

La Pedrera's rooftop is notorious for its weird, bulky chimneys: some shaped like medieval armory, others imitating soft-served ice-cream. The waves of tourists go up and down the Escher-esque stairs, around the chimneys again and again, like an endless ocean of dissimilar people.

"Harrison, stand right there," she orders, hurriedly.

"Here?" he motions to the empty space in between tourists and chimneys.

"Yeah," she pulls out her disposable camera and swiftly snaps a shot. "Smile for me, baby," the pet name escapes her mouth without a warning. Thank God for the camera hiding her face. He obliges, surprisingly, and she takes the picture. "Perfect."

"Let's go?" he rushes, noticing of the amount of people surrounding them.

"Yeah, you wanna visit the other house?" she offers.

"Aham," he's already descending the stairs, a strange mixture of nervousness and fear.

"Harrison, wait for me!" She shouts, without being able to keep up with him.

She reaches the bottom and he's waiting for her amongst the trees.

"What was that?" she asks, partially annoyed.

"What was what?" he asks back, impassive.

"That! Up there! That whole scene!" she's still rather out of breath, trying to keep up with his fast pace.

"Don't know what you're talking about." He's already half-way into the subway station. She notices its name in yellow: Metro, oh-so-different from its brother in London.