There were only two people in this world that Sophia could ever confess herself completely to: her husband and Gus. More than any sibling, longtime dance partner, or other friend. And like her late husband, Gus had an annoying knack for asking the right questions. The pointy ones that snuck in, non-judgemental as they were thoughtful, tactfully drawing Soph’s eye back to its target before she decided to shoot. So it didn’t bother her too much, when Gus picked up whatever dissonance he found and patiently implied that she ought to examine it.

Now that he made her stop to notice, Sophia could wholly admit that she didn’t know what she thought about Ozymandias. Too wrapped up in her emotions, too strung up with her past - that much is a given for the grieving widow. But stripped apart from all that, what did she now think of the man left standing before her?

“...You might say he has a nice face,” she relented to his tease. And Sophia fucking Voss tipped her head down slightly to hide a smile that looked downright shy. Oh no- what was this about? Now that Gus tugged on this ball of yarn she felt it unraveling, revealing quite a few new colors she hadn’t expected. Things that had to do with his face, and things that didn’t. A warm feeling spread like honey across her chest. A small sting when she remembered how angrily she’d tossed him aside.

This feeling felt equal parts unnerving and exciting. Timed with Gus’s emphatic insistence that she was not broken, that warm feeling lingered. Maybe this was what it felt like to fill in the broken chips of one’s heart? Not quite hope or healing or anything so banal. More like a nice cup of mulled wine when you kick your feet up by the fire in winter - that growing sense of resilience. Enough resilience for Sophia to perhaps sit and examine this line of questioning about her feelings towards Ozy, if only to find an answer she could give Gus beyond surface level.

Take that raw pain and channel it somewhere. The two sat with the idea Gus placed before them in thoughtful silence. Between a half-eaten lemon tart and now cold tea, they held hands like could-be lovers. The sentiment sat heavier now than what Gus may have intended when he said it; a minimal frown tugged the corner of her lip over mention of Basil. What Gus shared wasn’t new knowledge - they’d written to each other often at the time, and she knew how badly it wounded him to be discarded that way. So it worried her more than a bit, that he would bring that memory out so readily. A signal that this sentiment has been top of mind for him lately.

And why is that? Silent ire for Basil already started to rise in her belly. Dear Gus, too good for this world, wouldn’t want to hear any of this now. So she bit her tongue and gave his hand a final squeeze.

“I will set aside for a moment that you, a Hogwarts professeur, have encouraged me to commit arson,” she teased instead, trademark catlike grin briefly flashing her teeth. The playfulness soon abated, however. They took a beat to watch her daughter, still flying that kite across the way. The girl’s hair looked like a rat's nest and she appeared to have dirt and grass stains all over her knees. This must be what living life to its fullest means.

“But in all seriousness,” she went on thoughtfully, “Your friendship is my greatest treasure. There is no one on earth I would rather have by my side when I try to rebuild.” Throwing him a knowing look, she hoped the implication of this message was clear. So stay put here with me, will you?

“I should very much like the both of us to be happy,” she sighed, finally pulling her hands away from his to smooth down the front of her skirts. “So by all means, if it sparks joy within you to introduce me to Mason and anyone else. I promise to be on my best behavior.” And to not eat these silly men for breakfast.

---