Guy is softer now, a little quieter. Nothing anyone would notice except those who know him well, which at the moment is: Caroline. Martin's caught up in exam stress again, Boycie's all tangled up with Kim, and neither his biological nor his adoptive parents have called in a while, so that leaves Caroline, who still has one of Mac's old t-shirts in her locker, just for keepsakes.
Guy feels it in himself. His ball still ache when he looks at Caroline, and now his heart aches too, thinking of Mac. Thinking of the two of them, Mac and Caroline, and the three of them, himself and Caroline and Mac, because she's the point around which he can turn their funny friendship-that-was. Their funny love.
Guy now knows that he loved Mac, the way that Guy then would never have admitted, even in a rosy morning-after glow. Had there ever been any rosy mornings, but there wasn't even a kiss ever. He's only kissed Mac through the proxy of kissing Caro, and now Mac's dead anyway.
Guy then did the right thing, and Guy now is still paying for it, and that's all right. Because Guy now knows that someday Caroline will turn to him and her eyes will clear and she'll really see him again, instead of seeing all the moments that he had with Mac and she didn't. She'll remember all the moments they had together, all of them, and she'll remember the time she spent just with Guy then. There was wine then, and Fresians, and writing in mirrors. There will be writing in mirrors again, and more wine, and perhaps a white dress. Guy now knows that the world is a less certain place than Guy then imagined.
Guy now isn't a whole new man. But he's not quite the same old man either. He sits in the bar and drinks real ale with beards and twigs in it, and saves a bottle of Bollinger at home (Mac's then, Guy's now). And he's patient, and that's different, and Caroline comes and sits with him in the bar and smiles like she's about to remember something.
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timeasmymeasure
These Days, Green Wing, Guy(/Caro), now, G
Date: 2007-03-30 03:31 pm (UTC)Guy feels it in himself. His ball still ache when he looks at Caroline, and now his heart aches too, thinking of Mac. Thinking of the two of them, Mac and Caroline, and the three of them, himself and Caroline and Mac, because she's the point around which he can turn their funny friendship-that-was. Their funny love.
Guy now knows that he loved Mac, the way that Guy then would never have admitted, even in a rosy morning-after glow. Had there ever been any rosy mornings, but there wasn't even a kiss ever. He's only kissed Mac through the proxy of kissing Caro, and now Mac's dead anyway.
Guy then did the right thing, and Guy now is still paying for it, and that's all right. Because Guy now knows that someday Caroline will turn to him and her eyes will clear and she'll really see him again, instead of seeing all the moments that he had with Mac and she didn't. She'll remember all the moments they had together, all of them, and she'll remember the time she spent just with Guy then. There was wine then, and Fresians, and writing in mirrors. There will be writing in mirrors again, and more wine, and perhaps a white dress. Guy now knows that the world is a less certain place than Guy then imagined.
Guy now isn't a whole new man. But he's not quite the same old man either. He sits in the bar and drinks real ale with beards and twigs in it, and saves a bottle of Bollinger at home (Mac's then, Guy's now). And he's patient, and that's different, and Caroline comes and sits with him in the bar and smiles like she's about to remember something.