June 20th, 1893 — Lissington Cottage, Irish Coast

Pushing the open shirt off Gus’ shoulders, Basil made clear his intentions. Trepidation dripped from his gesture, every movement slow and deliberate despite the brunette’s ringing desire. His head was full of cotton, everything but Gus dulled and unimportant. It hadn’t taken much to get to the precipice, that tortured place between anticipation and release that had him panting. Fingers tightening against Gus’ shoulder, Basil flashed the redhead a wicked grin. “Yes,” he replied breathily. There was so much more that Lissington could do with that enchanted mouth of his than talk (even if Basil did love hearing his voice, his laugh, his groan.) Just the thought made the brunette’s gaze flicker down to those full lips and he growled impatiently. If only there was something about him that could drive Gus as wild as that mouth drove—

Basil suddenly paused. Understanding seemed to flicker over his features.

It was raining when he landed in Ireland. (Because of bloody course it was.) Basil Foxwood held tightly to the small wooden box he had in hand and tugged free his wand to cast a sheltering charm. (Because of course he would.) The address he’d aparated to was not so different from what he’d imagined. A small, cozy cottage tucked into the landscape, sitting just on the edge of a spit of sand. Rocks, craigs. An abundance of greenery and dampness. It was not so dramatic a deviation from the last time he’d been here. In fact, it was a sight that so wholly screamed Lissington that Basil felt his stomach lurch slightly on instinct.

Basil felt a spark zip through his whole body at the sound of Gus’ groaned curse around his name. He lived for that sound. It was every reward he could possibly need as the brunette tried a variety of things with his tongue and teeth and mouth that he’d never before imagined. He’d always wondered what the sensation of actually taking the other into his mouth would amount to and frankly, it wasn’t anything like he’d expected.

Face pale and somber, the brunette took strides that looked full of purpose to an uninformed party. In fact there was nothing about the man’s outward appearance that indicated any of the swirling chaos of his thoughts or the tendrils of anxiety creeping into his lungs and beginning to squeeze. No. Basil was the picture of put-together: a Professor and Head of House from the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on a visit to a fellow colleague. A knuckle came up to rap sharply on the wooden door.

“Hngh—” Grey eyes screwed shut in an attempt not to move too much but he couldn’t help it. One taste and Basil was rocking, gently, in rhythm with the pretty redhead. He couldn’t imagine anything better than the warm, wet, all-encompassing sensation of Gus on him.

He needed Gus. He wanted Gus. He didn’t bloody well want to share Gus with anyone, ever again.

Realization proved his undoing and Basil bucked up with a frantic groan. His fingers tightened in the redhead’s hair. Strangled, ragged words finally pulled forth. “Gus I—” Was it warning, was it confession? The world would never know. Basil knew in that moment however, as he shuddered and came undone under the pretty redhead’s touch, that he loved Gus. And he’d never quite be able to push that reality aside, again.

Faltering at last, the brunette felt himself visibly balk. Hand still raised in midair from his knock, Basil took a step backward. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. This was all a big mistake. He never should have come. There was no part of Gus that was bound to forgive him for bailing on their agreement. For… kissing Victoire and then actively avoiding every ounce of their shared reality. For setting him aside and running scared. The pang of that realization hit Basil like an ice bath and the brunette was sure that if a house-elf hadn’t opened the door in that very moment he’d have disappeared again. This time likely for good.

As it was, the creature looked him up and down. Basil straightened marginally and cleared his throat, tucking his wand back into his waistcoat pocket. If his gaze skipped past the small creature to peek around wildly for his former friend, that was his own business. “Er-- Basil Foxwood,” the man announced himself quietly. The house elf didn’t peep as she gestured him inside. Evidently Gus hadn’t instructed her to do away with him on sight if he ever came by so that was good. Instead of moving into the small entry hall however, Basil shook his head. “I’ll just… wait here, thank you.”

“As you wish,” the creature responded.

With a soft sigh, Basil accepted the hand that was entwined with his. If only it could always be this easy: asking for what one wanted and then getting it. They communicated poorly, was the problem, and he knew a large part of that was his own doing. He tried not to think about it, to let those thoughts creep into his mind. Instead, Basil watched as Gus released him to traipse back and eventually plop a pile of… bed linens in front of the fire. He couldn’t help but laugh.

It felt like an eon before the sound of footsteps finally approached from somewhere in the depths. Basil’s grip tightened on the small wooden box by his side. It was plain, nothing at all inscribed on the outside. Only a small latch to open and close the thing indicated that it was even more than a block of wood. For the second time in less than five minutes Basil felt the urge to wretch.

As that perfect face came into view, all familiar curls and blazing red hair, the brunette felt himself tip forward without warning. The sensation of a balloon swelling in his chest made Basil want to break in half. He shoved the box into Gus’ chest without a word, grey eyes practically melted into pools of anguish. There were no words to explain how he felt - then, now, ever - hence the box. Basil opened his mouth to force something anyway and thunder clapped in that instant to swallow them away.

Rolling off the couch and onto the floor, limbs heavy, Basil made his way over less than gracefully. He collapsed about half-way, dropping into the redhead’s lap and nuzzling into his thigh, as his whole body just stopped moving. The floor was cold and hard under him but it was surprisingly better than the lumpy, too small couch. Grey eyes flickered up to find blue and Basil grinned as he settled onto his back. Looking up at Gus, upside down, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by all the freckles and curls that fell just on and around the pretty redhead’s face. He touched them, reaching one hand up to brush gently against Gus’ cheek with his thumb. “Thank you,” he murmured, quietly.

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Gus Lissington & ALL THE FREAKING SAD SONGS EVER (but I guess this one is the title)

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   Gus Lissington, Madeleine Backus

On days like this Gus wondered what his life would be like if he hadn’t hightailed it back to England and become (a rather miserable) professor. There were moments he enjoyed enough, like watching a student’s face light up the first time they mastered a spell, but most days dragged by and were suffocating — Gus wasn’t meant to be shackled to a desk or kept inside for long lengths of time. The single most reason he stayed at Hogwarts was to see Basil (the redhead scowled at the very thought of the man), but now that they weren’t even remotely friends, what was the point? He preferred being a Curse Breaker so that’s what he should be doing with his life. Having already promised Winnie and Soph he wasn’t going to disappear again without a trace, he’d have to settle for Gringotts, but at least Basil didn’t often visit London. And even if he did, he was probably too busy snogging someone to even remember Gus existed.

The redhead snorted quietly as he placed a box atop another and stepped back until his knees hit the back of the couch, which he sunk down on. Hands covered his face as Gus resisted the urge to scream. He loathed London and Hogsmeade and England as a whole right now, which was why he’d sold the Bartonburg home and moved to Ireland, to a little cottage right on the beach, with a hammock tied between two trees next to the sea. When the tide was high, he could dangle his feet into the water and let the cool water lapse over his skin. It was tranquil and a little spot he’d carved out for himself, although Phil had taken to sunbathing in it when it wasn’t too hot out.

(Bought a little flat in Egypt too, but that place was his sanctuary and he hadn’t told a soul about it. Not even Phil had seen it.)

Blue eyes turned toward the large window just behind the couch, watching as droplets of rain splattered against the pane. Of course it would rain on his birthday. Gus imagined spending the day lazing on the hammock, eating desserts instead of lunch and maybe enticing Fig and Edmund over so he could play with his nephew. Instead he was inside unpacking boxes that reminded him of his dad, his broken heart shattering inside his chest. He couldn’t do this. Why the hell did he think buying a place to put down roots was a good idea for him? It was a terrible idea.

“Master Lissington?” Gus’ attention shifted to Cimny, his lovely house elf. She looked almost excited, but then again only Soph visited him, and she used the floo network rather than the front door. Cimny had never announced a visitor before. He hummed in response, curiosity flickering in his gaze at who was here; not many people knew he’d moved, and those who did would’ve written to make sure he was available. “Basil Foxwood is here to see you. He didn’t want to come inside.”

Gus tried to twist his mouth into a smile, but it was difficult. Fingers brushed through his hair as he sighed quietly, eyes flickering around at the mess that was his home. Of all the days for a surprise visit it had to be his birthday, but then again Basil’s timing always did suck. “Thanks Cim. I got it from here.” The elf house nodded and scurried off, leaving Gus alone on the couch. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest as he tried to decide what the other wanted, but nothing came to mind. They hadn’t spoken since Christmas and there was no need to — the silence told Gus everything he needed to know. Gus pressed a palm against his chest to will his heart to stay inside its cage before he was standing from the couch and padded toward the front door barefoot, this was his house damnit, having already decided that he’d turn Basil away, slam the damn door right in his face. There was nothing left to say.

But the man never made anything easy for Gus and suddenly Basil was inside his home, inside his space, filling all the redhead’s senses with his distinctive scent of parchment paper and ink, of amber and spices. Broken but still beating, his traitorous heart flipped at the sight of the brunette, staring at him with grey hues that threatened to drown them both. Gus sighed and opened his mouth to say something, to send him away, but the clap of thunder and box shoved into his chest simultaneously gave him pause.

Narrowed his eyes at him before he turned the plain box over in his hands to examine it, suspicious at what it could be. Not a birthday present because they weren’t friends. Maybe it was something like the genie lamp he’d gotten stuck in, and this box would be where he’d live out the rest of his days. But the more he looked at it over, running his thumb over the hinge and smooth wood, the more he recognized it for its worth: a pensieve. Blue eyes flicked up toward the man with a look of uncertainty and confusion, but Gus gave him a curt nod and turned on his heel back toward the parlour, figuring the other would follow if he wanted.

Gus sunk down the couch. Licked his lips. And then with another glance at Basil from the corner of his eye, he lifted the lid with shaky hands. The man couldn’t break his heart anymore if he tried. Whatever this was… was it. No more. His heart can’t take it.

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The following 2 users Like Gus Lissington's post:2 users Like Gus Lissington's post
   Basil Foxwood, Madeleine Backus

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Everything about Lissington from the way his hair seemed to bounce, to the sharpness of his perfect blue gaze seemed to pierce Basil in the soft under tissue of his intestines. It was as if someone had reached directly into his gut and grabbed a hold, ready to yank. This had been a bad idea. What had he possibly imagined could keep him from falling apart once he’d landed here and shoved the box forward? Even if Gus accepted it and opened it right here and now, there was nothing to say that anything in there would change how the other felt about what he’d done (or failed to do.) Basil sucked in a shallow breath and held it, praying against everything he believed in that Gus would just… try.

I.

The fire was roaring again, just beside them, and Basil could feel its warmth on his profile. He was comfortable here in this little house, in this little country, far away from everything he knew and loved. Well, almost everything. The thought sparked something in his gut, a small flutter that the Ravenclaw was not inclined to dissect. He just brushed a hand from Gus’ cheek to the back of Gus’ neck, gently threading his fingers through the redhead’s curls. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say many things, actually, but fear kept them all bottled up inside. On the one hand, he wanted desperately to tell Gus how much he missed him - now, before, always. But it had taken so much heartbreak to get them here, to this single moment of peace, that he couldn't bring himself to set them down a dangerous path. All roads led to the inevitable discussion that he was trying to avoid: that same clashing of understanding that had fractured their friendship in the first place.

In the end, Basil didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes instead, taking in the warmth of the fire and the comfort of having Gus so close. Maybe it was cowardly, but he just wanted to hold onto this - to them - for a little bit longer.

The first memory trapped inside the confines of the box: Christmas Eve, 1892. His first time sharing any real intimacies with Gus. There was so much in that moment that Basil wished now he’d had the courage to communicate. So much he'd wished he'd said but didn't have the words for. Still didn't. He knew this one wouldn't make too lasting of an impression but it felt significant for Gus to know what that moment, that evening, had meant to him.

II.

Basil was still fuming the next morning when he woke in his big, cold bed in Wellingtonshire. He hadn’t slept a wink all night and his entire reception home was blurry, as if he’d dreamt it. Instead, the Ravenclaw’s mind was filled with roiling memories of Gus Lissington. Good memories, sweet memories, and then the hell that had rained down upon them yesterday. Basil screwed his eyes shut at the thought. He was in a cold sweat and the sun had yet to rise over the horizon, his room still dark. He knew he couldn’t possibly sleep any more than the tiniest bit he already had. His mind was too involved in the waking nightmare of his new reality. Standing from the bed angrily, Basil frowned into the darkness. He knew his desk was piled with things from Hogwarts he had yet to unpack; quills, parchment, texts. All things he valued once upon a time.

The very sight of them made him sick now.

On a whim, Basil stormed over to his desk and shoved the whole pile into a heap on the floor. It crashed down with a boisterous noise that probably would have awoken his entire house had their rooms not been so spread apart. Basil didn’t care. He plucked the nearest quill and wrinkled piece of parchment from this mess and began to scrawl angrily across it.

The second memory: 1881 the day after graduation, seventh year. The day after they’d fought so wretchedly. Bits and pieces of the letter swim around in the memory for Gus to see, sentiment and heartbreak alight as the image of the broken seventh year scribbles out the only words he can fathom to make sense of what happened. Words and letters that were never shared before.

There is nothing in this world that I could ever cherish as dearly as you, my darling Gus, and yet you’ve ruined me forever.

How could I ever expect to be happy again? How can I even pretend at happiness without you at my side?

My heart, for what it’s worth, has always, and will always, be with you. Even as it burns and turns to ash without your soul next to mine, fueling it for all eternity.

The third memory is the worst of them. It's a swirling mixture of confusion and fog, the force of amortentia tinging the edges around that night. Now that Basil understood what it had been, it was so obvious why something felt unusual. Why his ‘love’ hadn’t made sense, had made his gut roil. His heart hadn’t ever truly been in it, not even under the potent will-bending power of the strongest love potion in existence.

III.

It was a strange feeling at first, kissing Victoire, one that set his mind reeling. Despite grey eyes flickering closed and his free hand pressing against the bindings of books behind her, it felt off balance. Basil had never… actually kissed a woman before. She was soft, and warm, and so fragile around the edges he was almost worried about hurting her. There was none of the same drive that pulled him forward when he’d kissed Lissington, or even Macnair once upon a time but— there was still that twisting in his gut. A feeling that was familiar as it warmed him from the core.

Basil felt like he was floating, untethered. He was full of hot air and soaring somewhere high above the rest of reality but… by force, almost. Not of his own genuine accord. He tried to focus on the feel of his love’s lips against his own but for whatever bloody reason Lissington’s face floated across his mind’s eye. That was terribly unfair to Victoire, especially when she was the one here before him, the one he was determined to prove himself to. To marry! The moment was only a few seconds long, but it felt like an eternity in which his desires waged war on his mind. His body was reacting to Ms. Victoire, physically, but his heart and his brain were adrift.

To make matters worse - and perhaps to Basil’s credit, sharing this particular mess - he’d only continued the trend later in the evening with Atticus. Gus had to understand, to feel the reality of his confusion that evening. It had never been real, and the regret was overwhelming. He’d even admitted it, however unwittingly.

It all felt forced, like some hand was pressing against his will, bending it and trying to convince him this was what he wanted. With some distance now between them, not obligated to see the lady’s pretty face five centimeters from his own, he could start to rationalize some of the fog.

Basil paused suddenly in the middle of the room as a strange thought occurred to him. “You know,” he mumbled to his brother without thinking. “It was nothing like kissing Lissington. I felt… an urge, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t as distinctly overwhelming.”

The fourth memory: August, 1881.

IV.

Sheets felt like razors against his skin. Atticus’ hand against his shoulder was a dead weight, the only thing keeping Basil from drifting off into the nightmare that was his thoughts. He forced his heaving body to still, breath held against his better judgment. It wasn’t fair, some small part of him cried out for the billionth time. Why did it have to end like this? Why did he have to leave? “Basil…” His brother’s voice was far away, undulating as if wracked by sound waves. “Basil, breathe.” No. There wasn’t anything he could do to force oxygen into his system. The only thing Basil could think at that moment was of Gus. Was it truly his fault? What could he have done to keep the other here? “Basil! You have to breathe for me, please.” Atticus shook him and distantly the brunette felt something release in his spine. His brother’s worried face came into view above him. There was pure anguish slapped across that familiar visage but Basil didn’t see it. Blind and deaf and numb.

Atticus lifted the blanket to tuck it more closely around his shoulders without the younger’s notice. His own eyes were rimmed black from too many similarly sleepless nights, worrying about the broken shell that had come home in his baby brother’s stead.

The memories of those days were weak. Foggy around the edges, and tinged with a certain illness of the mind that was embarrassing. Basil didn’t know when he pulled that one from his brain if the depression would suffocate Gus. He’d… debated about including it at all. It had taken a number of treatments to finally come back into his own, diving too far over the other side into his studies thereafter. Atticus had been the only one who knew even a fraction of the truth. Perhaps that was why he’d always been so hard on Lissington since he’d come back? Perhaps not.

V.

Accepting the offered glass in silence, Basil looked around the room with Gus. He nodded, a soft, amused smile coming to his face. “It looks like you,” he said gently. “Everything here… it reminds me that, I guess, there’s just so much of you that is so familiar. So safe.” Basil turned to look at Gus with an earnestness in his expression. “Sometimes I just… forget,” he admitted, an uncomfortable feeling twisting in his stomach. He stepped closer to Gus so that he was facing the redhead and tangled his fingers in the man’s sleeve. “I know you didn’t plan that,” he agreed, quietly. “And… I know we don’t really have a lot of chances to be alone, just us.” He dropped his gaze then and pulled awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I just… I get nervous around you sometimes.” It felt stupid to say it aloud, so Basil didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to admit to Gus he was scared of the other running away again. He didn’t want to admit to Gus that everything about this, about them, still terrified him. He didn’t want to ruin this moment, here in this house, that was supposed to be special.

The fear was paralyzing. Going back there into that headspace was his worst nightmare come to life. It was why he’d originally bolted from Gus on Christmas Eve and so many other times over the course of this past year. Why he was so hard on the pretty redhead when it sometimes seemed like he should just give in. Basil only had one true fear in life: going through the loss of something that broke him to that degree. Again. And still - against all better judgment and all lessons their past had supposedly taught him - he'd let the redhead in again. He’d… crossed that line.

VI.

“Gus I—” Was it warning, was it confession? The world would never know. Basil knew in that moment however, as he shuddered and came undone under the pretty redhead’s touch, that he loved Gus. And he’d never quite be able to push that reality aside, again.

Gus made Basil feel safe and comfortable in a way very few people in his life had ever managed. He was the ray of sunshine that shone through the perpetual grey, cloudy storm that was the brunette’s academically driven life. It didn’t even matter that he was a male, Basil had never been interested in the parts he carried around, it was always just… Gus. His smile, his laughter, the way his dimples moved when he grinned and talked at the same time. Everything about the pretty redhead made Basil need him, in every way that he possibly could. There was no turning back.

He loved Gus Lissington.

The realization in that moment had been clouded by other more primal distractions but, in his heart of hearts, Basil had finally felt it. The confused misalignment of what his brain was taught and the fear in his heart had finally been forced to yield. He bloody loved Lissington and… Basil didn’t know what that meant. Or what it would look like in the future, if anything at all. But he did know that the last memory in the box, one from this past January, was the one he was the most terrified for Gus to see.

VII.

Sitting at his desk locked away in Ravenclaw Tower, Basil tipped the last of a bottle of firewhiskey down his gullet. He’d long since moved away from the pretty little glass, a pretense that he was just blowing off steam. Darkness crept in through the large window beside his bed. A fire roared by the wayside. Regrets and resignation weighed heavily on the memory. It was tinged with a lens of pain that was bound to make Gus seasick, drunk as Basil was in that moment. Intrusive little thoughts plagued him, nondescript but insinuating. Worthlessness. Toxicity. What was his reason for existing if he made everyone around him so bloody miserable? Gus, Victoire, Anthony, Atticus… They’d all be better off if he simply ceased - to exist, to breathe, to get in their way, to cause such anguish. It’s too bad he was too much of a coward to solve everyone’s problem. At that realization, and fear from the dark thought itself threatening to draw him back into that headspace, Basil threw the bottle with some force.

Glass shattered in the fireplace with a blast that he didn’t regret. It was time to reach out to Atticus.

His brother, his lifeline, the only person Basil dared to turn to when he was at his worst. However much they fought, Atticus was the only person on the planet that Basil trusted with his mind. With his heart. Gus had to know this, and accept it, if they were ever to repair anything. If they were ever to even touch upon the topic of friendship again. But he also had to know... how badly Basil feared for them. He loved Gus yes, but was it enough to overcome the challenges of their society, and of his own personal issues? He didn't know, and he wouldn't make that choice for Gus either. But... for the first time since they'd met, or re-met, Basil wanted to arm the pretty redhead with everything.

Standing there then, with his heart in his mouth, Basil remained utterly silent. It was the longest moment of his life. He was sure he was about to keel over and curl into a little ball any second-- but then Gus turned the box over - curiosity likely getting the best of him - and for the first time since they'd met, Basil was almost glad he was a curse-breaker at heart. It yielded a sense of interest in bizarre little objects that was working to their advantage here. The brunette let out the breath he’d been holding and watched, wearily, as the other turned on his heel and padded back inside. He hesitated at the doorstep, unwilling to encroach any more than he already had.

Ultimately Basil realized he had no choice. He stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind himself with a small click. He stood there, leaning against it, willing his heartbeat to settle. He wanted to give Gus privacy to explore the memories in that box on his own. Slowly, deliberately, the brunette moved through the cottage until he reached what looked like a living room. Gus was planted on the couch. He settled awkwardly off to the side and laced his fingers behind his back to wait. This was it. This was the moment that would define anything they could possibly be to one another ever again. He could be patient for that, right? (Perhaps. If his stomach contents didn't accidentally interrupt by spewing all over the nice clean floor.)

Eventually, Gus seemed to return back to the present and Basil swallowed a heavy lump. He had to say something first. He knew he did, but the words simply wouldn't formulate. They stuck in the back of his throat, lodged as if by magic.

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Gus Lissington & ALL THE FREAKING SAD SONGS EVER (but I guess this one is the title)

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   Gus Lissington

Basil didn’t follow him right away, and Gus wondered what the box in his hand was going to show him. Pensieves were deeply personal with memories that most people worked to forget; Gus didn’t like to work them, didn’t like to touch them or dissect them for fear of what he might find, but right now he had no choice. Basil was trying to show him something, and whether it was more curiosity or the need to look and then turn him away because there was nothing else for them to discuss he wasn’t sure, but one way or another he found himself staring down into an open box. The inside was bright, with wispy, cloud-like light moving ceaselessly, like the way the waves of the sea continuously touched the shores near his home. Blue eyes stared at it, memorized by how beautiful it looked. Sucked in a sharp breath and went out on a limb, trusting that Basil wasn’t going to him things that were going to completely shatter him.

The first memory was one of recognition immediately — Christmas, the last time they’d spoken. The last time really, Gus had felt much of anything. Something in his heart fluttered but he immediately shut it down and steeled himself, as he was still trying to determine what the hell Christmas had been all about. They’d spent the night together like this, basking in each other and how they felt, but it hadn’t really meant anything afterward, had it? Even if he hadn’t wanted to set them down a dangerous path, it had happened anyway, and their friendship, almost relationship, had become fractured because of it. Non-existence. Basil had broken his trust after this sweet moment. If he thought this was going to fix things between them, the brunette was dead wrong.

Gus snorted quietly as he brushed it aside. Foxwood was going to have to try harder than that if he wanted to repair whatever this was, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that was the purpose.

The second memory gave the redhead pause, finding that it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed, even after reconnecting. The next morning had been rough for both of them and he’d never considered how Basil had fared — Gus had jumped headfirst into being a Curse Breaker, proving himself to be eager and headstrong, willing to do almost anything it took to get to a treasure first. It was like reinventing who he was, bending and breaking the sweet Hufflepuff who wouldn’t hurt a fly; he had to if he wanted to make it in his world. Maybe that was part of the reason he never wrote back to anyone, why he kept letters but never bothered to pick up a quill to return them. (It wasn’t until recently that Gus had disposed of the letters Basil had written him, burned or buried, tossed into the wind, they weren’t going to taint this new place he was calling home.)

But this letter, the one that Basil furiously wrote in the memory, was one he didn’t recognize. Fingers reached out to brush against the lettering floating around him, although they weren’t tangible and went right through them. Gus had been expecting that, but his lips still parted in surprise. He crossed his arms loosely across his chest as blue eyes flitted around, soaking in bits and pieces of a letter he suddenly found himself desperate to read. Some of the anger he’d been feeling melted away, curiosity and anguish replacing it. He felt sick to his stomach. Would he have replied to this one? Come home? It was living proof that even if Gus had been the one to pour his heart out to him in their spot, had been the one to have his heart shattered that day, he wasn’t the only one. But Basil had told him that the way Gus was in love with him was impossible, and that he was incapable of feeling, so what then had made the other change his tune? It seemed almost unfair for Basil to drop this on him, like he expected this memory to make him feel better, that he’d loved him all along.

My heart, for what it’s worth, has always, and will always, be with you.

If it wasn’t an actual memory, the redhead wouldn’t have believed it to be true at all.

Still, something in his stomach loosened. He wanted to read it, letting his eyes gloss over the words of a heartbroken Basil Foxwood waxing poetry about what Gus had meant to him. (Means to him?)

The third memory, Gus instantly turned from. He couldn’t blame Basil for wanting something more, for wanting to marry and have children and a family — things that he couldn’t ever to him, no matter how much he loved him. (Loves him, his mind supplied unhelpfully.) Those were things that were impossible for Gus. So impossible, in fact, that there wasn’t ever going to be a way to defy it. But instead of explaining it, letting Gus down gently to tell him that Christmas hadn’t actually meant much of anything to him, not in the long run, he left the redhead feeling like a damn fool for ever thinking he’d had a chance with him in the first place.

Of course Gus turned when he heard him speak, watching Atticus sitting on the edge of the bed with Basil still lost in his daze standing in the middle of the room. He sucked in a sharp breath, but it wasn’t like Atticus needed anymore reason to hate him; he’d broken Basil Foxwood, but Basil had broken him too. He’d laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, stared at fire pits and the stars while on duty, willing himself to get over it, that he’d find someone even better. After New Year’s Eve, his heart had been shattered, and the pieces were so scattered that no one would be able to put it back together — they’d have a better shot at repairing humpty dumpty before they had a chance at repairing Gus Lissington’s heart. Somehow, without even realizing it, the memory of the brunette standing there, talking about kissing him brought a small smile to Gus’ lips. They were always electric, addicting, and felt like they meant something. Maybe they’d be using them as a way to communicate without either of them ever truly picking up on that.

It seemed though, that this was a trend. Basil had been broken when he left, in a completely different way than Gus had been. He’d thrown himself into missions and dangerous places because no one would miss him — he’d made sure of that, dropping everyone he’d ever cared for like a hot potato. Not once had he considered what Basil had been feeling, how torn up and angry and broken he’d been, but he hadn’t even considered them dating, so it was nothing more than losing a best friend. Gus had lost his first love, been told things that were cruel and heartless. (It didn’t explain why guilt was quick to claw at his throat, like it was his fault that Basil was heartbroken. If he’d expressed himself sooner… sent the letter, things would be different. Had to be different.)

Gus cleared the guilt from his throat and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. “I would have stayed if you’d asked.” He said, as if memory Basil or the real one could hear him. He’d voiced it once, how things could be different, but he still wasn’t sure if he would have resented the man or not for asking it of him.

Being afraid of Gus running away was like a dagger through the heart, and he brushed it off without even thinking of how it made Basil feel — he was working on that. He’d bought a damn house in Ireland to put down roots, and if that didn’t show he was trying then nothing would. Instead he found himself staring at another Christmas Eve memory, and once again his lips parted and he turned wildly to look for Basil who wasn’t next to him. That seemed unfair, he had thoughts on these memories, questions that needed answering, but the man had bloody sent him alone. He couldn’t just drop a revelation like that — something he hadn’t even voiced there, in their little bubble where the world couldn’t touch them — and expect Gus not to have some sort of reaction to it. His heart lodged in his throat and he pressed his hand against his chest as he choked on the words.

Basil was in love with him.

Why in the hell was this so difficult then?

The last memory was the most difficult. Of course people would bloody miss him. Gus didn’t think he’d ever get over losing him for good; even if they weren’t meant for each other, even if they didn’t fall in love and live happily ever after, it didn’t mean he didn’t want to awkwardly see him around. (Although to be completely honest, they probably wouldn’t — Gus would be happily living in his Egyptian flat that would forever remain unknown to the world so they wouldn’t cross paths.) That was the worst case scenario if they couldn’t get their shit together and at least be friends. Anger bubbled up inside him. Anger at him, at this situation, at the entire bloody world for not understanding that he didn’t choose who he fell in love with, but even if he could, he’d probably choose Basil.

The return to the present was nauseating and his brain felt like it’d been spun inside a blender until it was pure liquid. Blue eyes flickered around the room until they finally landed on Basil, who looked as uncomfortable as Gus felt. Neither of them spoke and it seemed unfair to Gus that he had to start the conversation when it had been Basil who charged into his life today, turning it upside with his revelations. So he didn’t say anything, not at first, just stared at him with an expression of uncertainty as he pursed his lips together, not sure where to even begin.

Finally his mouth opened and he sighed quietly, extending a hand out to the brunette without getting up from the couch. He wanted Basil to come sit, to explain, to… he wasn’t even sure what. Not leave. Gus didn’t want him to leave. His heart was spinning, he felt nausea clawing at his throat and his heart was hammering in his chest, mending and breaking simultaneously. “Why didn’t you ever send that letter?” Gus asked quietly as he peered into his grey eyes, like they’d give him the answer to every question circling his brain. It seemed like a good enough palace to start to Gus — to him, this was the first place Basil had realized he was in love with him. Twelve years wasted. Twelve years of wanting not to be in love with the man before him, which seemed daft now that he was hearing that maybe Basil had been in love with him too, so many years ago.

---

Basil Foxwood

---

  

---

The feeling of bile trapped somewhere in his esophagus was asphyxiating as the seconds trickled past. Every moment that he wasn’t speaking, wasn’t trying to explain what Gus was seeing, was another grain of sand in the hourglass counting down to their doom. Blue eyes finally focused on him and Basil was sure any second now Gus was going to tell him to get out. He didn’t, instead capturing Basil in the grasp of those deepest baby blues.

Ever since they’d met, Gus's eyes had always held a remarkable depth, as if containing an entire galaxy within. They emitted an inviting warmth, drawing others like moths to a flame and creating a sense of being seen and understood. Meeting Gus's gaze always felt like establishing an unspoken connection, transcending words and entering a realm of profound understanding— until Basil opened his mouth and realized they were on entirely different planes of existence. No matter how much he might wish they could communicate on sight and expression alone, they were both terrible at giving the other the benefit of the doubt, a facet of their messy relationship that Basil deeply regretted. He didn’t know how he was supposed to trust Gus, and frankly, he wasn’t sure Gus would ever trust him again either.

When a hand reached out to him suddenly, Basil felt his whole world stop spinning.

It was symbolic, that gesture, even if Gus hadn’t meant for it to be. Grey eyes looked from the extended offering to Gus’ familiar, exhausted looking face, and back again. Everything in his heart pinched. He wanted to accept it, he wanted this to be easy, but of course it couldn’t be. What would it mean if he accepted that outstretched hand? Would Gus think he’d come here to start… something? That wasn’t necessarily the case! He just couldn’t stand this. They still had to talk about it, discuss, decide… Basil felt the panic begin to rise in his chest again. It was swelling to the point of bursting, ready to lift him right off the floor and splatter him all over these tidy walls. Before the feeling could consume him, the brunette stepped forward and accepted Gus’ outstretched hand thinking only of a lifeline. (Lissington… could be his lifeline too, right?)

That was what they were here to find out.

His feet carried him to the couch where Basil hesitated. He was stiff as a board, his grip too tight on Lissington’s hand. Before he could decide if he wanted to sit or not there was a question, adrift in the remaining space between them. Basil plopped his ass down abruptly, a good distance from Gus, but refused to let go of his lifeline.

“Why didn’t you ever send that letter?”

“I…”

The truth should have been obvious, but it danced on the fringes of Basil's awareness, eluding his grasp. He had always been afraid of losing Gus, even before fully understanding what that fear entailed. The brunette sucked in a small breath, uncertainty lingering in the air.

(Wanna run away, man, fuck this town.)

“It wasn’t a love letter,” he finally deflected, grey hues flickering away from that expectant face. “Please don’t misunderstand. It was just… an attempt at comprehension.” Comprehension of the unnatural, erratic sensation he was starting to now perceive as love. Affection. Whatever.

(I'm just five minutes away from burning this whole shit down— )

A heavy silence settled, leaving Basil to wrestle with his thoughts. Amidst the swirling sensations in his stomach, he sought solace in the fact that Gus had reached out first, but he had come here to say something specifically. It was time to force it out.

“Gus… I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings.” His heart leapt to his mouth again and Basil had to force himself to swallow it back. To keep talking. “I… I know I’m not always the most forthcoming with my thoughts or sentiments. I only brought these here so that you could have a clearer picture of—” me. “A clear picture.” His heart fluttered in his chest, causing him to pause briefly. He swallowed hard, voice tinged with hesitation. “We’ve never talked about any of this before. And I just… I don’t want to let it sit unresolved until it fades into the background.” I can’t live like that anymore. “I’m not… asking you for anything. Not to forgive what happened with Victoire, or even to be friends again. I just… I needed you to know.”

As Basil let the words hang in the air, a mix of vulnerability and apprehension washed over him. The weight of expectation still hung in the air, and he couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled deep within his being. He had finally expressed what had long remained shoved in the darkest parts of his mind, but the aftermath felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, unsure of what lay ahead.A wave of uncertainty crashed over him, engulfing the flicker of courage he had summoned to speak up. The potential consequences of his confession loomed large, casting a shadow of doubt over his heart. Would Gus understand the depth what emotions lay behind those memories or would the reminder, the images themselves, drive them further apart? The unknown outcome fueled his anticipation, tinged with a gnawing anxiety that tightened his chest.

The air hung heavy with the weight of possibility, the unspoken consequences weaving a delicate tapestry of what-ifs. Basil fidgeted with Gus’ fingers, gaze drawn back down. He didn’t dare close any of the distance between them, back still straight as a rod.

(We're a beautiful mess,
That's the ugly truth.)

---

Gus Lissington & this one wins

---

  

Gus couldn’t help but watch him curiously. Had the roles been reversed and his own letters had gone unanswered, Gus probably wouldn’t have sent it either. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about the thought process of writing it, and whether the other didn’t send it because he didn’t want to face himself, or if because he didn’t want to face the repercussions of his actions if this was the one letter that Gus decided to reply to. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he seemed to war with himself, but he didn’t press. There was no point, not really, when he was still trying to decide what in the world Basil Foxwood was doing in his home in the first place. At least he’d taken his hand and sat on the couch, although he was so far away that Gus hadn’t even felt it dip.

What he couldn’t hide was the snort and the way blue eyes narrowed. Had the circumstances been different and he hadn’t felt himself unraveling at the edges while trying to hold himself together, Gus may have laughed. Thrown his head back and laughed until his throat was raw, until the man before him was so unsure of Gus’ sanity that he might call the same clinic where his Mam resided to take him away, too. It wasn’t the worst option in the world. “Don’t think of me as naive enough to think you wrote me a love letter, Foxwood. You wouldn’t turn around after the conversation we had and suddenly decide to pen emotions you didn’t believe were possible.” He did his best to keep his voice even, to not show some of the bitterness he felt. Don’t believe are real, his mind supplied unhelpfully, even if there were parts of his brain that weren’t quite on board with the sentiment. His lips twisted into a wry smile as his eyes narrowed, appraising the man before him.

Basil was silent and Gus didn’t bother to shatter it. He wasn’t the one who came barging into someone’s life after months of radio silence with memories that were heartbreaking, confusing and hopeful rolled up in a giant ball, so it wasn’t his responsibility to get the ball rolling. Part of him still wanted to send him away, to tell him to shut the door and never come back because he absolutely could not go through getting over Basil again. Through his own accord or his heart disagreeing with his head, Gus managed not to yank his hand away from the brunette. In fact, he found his fingers gently enclosing around his hand to just… hold it. Didn’t entwine their fingers or squeeze his hand in encouragement, merely held it like he would anything that he didn’t want to fall from his grasp If this was the end of things, and he shuddered a quiet breath because it seemed like it was, then Gus wanted to get it all out in the open. No more questions, no more secrets, no more wondering how and why and if. He couldn’t stay in limbo forever; even if Basil didn’t agree, Gus deserved some form of happiness with someone, too.

Finally the other spoke, and Gus just looked at him, nodding as he began to explain — they hadn’t ever talked about this, and even now it was almost evident that Basil didn’t want to, but they were going to anyway. The fallout had been instantaneous and the results had been disastrous for both, although it seemed worse for Basil, the person who hadn’t thought feelings like this were real at all. Karma had been slapping him in the face, albeit maybe a bit too much. It broke the redhead’s heart to think about.

He waited for him to finish, and a surge of emotions rattled inside his chest. Anger, hurt, love, bitterness, but there wasn’t a single one Gus wanted to latch onto to throw back into Basil’s face. Blue eyes turned toward him, and he felt himself deflate. “.... I never did consider how much it affected you. Then or now.” Gus started quietly. “And seeing that… darling —” He let himself trail off as he looked at him, really looked at him. Tired and just beaten down from life. The brunette looked entirely how he felt. Gus squeezed his hand without thinking about it as he swallowed around a lump in his throat. “I don’t know how we got here either. Or know where everything went to shit.” He shrugged and turned his attention to their hands, where he loosened his grip.“And I’m sorry we’re here because it fucking sucks. I’m not angry with you,” Gus glanced at him from the corner of his eye before he found himself staring down at the fingers fidgeting with his own. “Not anymore, at least. But you Basil… are you still angry with me? Watching all that, you have every right to be.”

---

Basil Foxwood

---

  

---

Basil visibly flinched at Gus’ reaction. His eye tweaked and his elbows instinctually tucked in closer to his torso, as if to protect himself from a physical blow. Everything from the way perfect blue hues narrowed at him to the scorn in Lissington’s voice felt like a slap. He should have known better than to think Gus would assume anything positive about.. well, him. If only it had been a love letter— if only he’d sent it— if only he could go back in time and undo fucking everything— even just undo two minutes ago! He’d swallow that deflection faster than it could slip out if it meant starting over on a better foot.

As it was, Basil held firm, lips pursing as he bit back a retort. He hadn’t believed it impossible, he’d just believed it to be wrong, deep down, and denial of the possible was easier than admittance of being unnatural. Wrong, in his affections, and punishable by bloody law. But that was the crux of this, wasn’t it? Lissington had never understood - or bothered to try and understand - why he was so terrified. Gus just… assumed it was a right, that if Basil cared even a fraction for him, that they were going to live happily ever after. That even the mere idea wasn’t going to tear up every shred of self-worth the Ravenclaw had. A failing of his own, Basil knew, but a truth about him nonetheless.

The brunette resisted the urge to tug his hand back and fold it into his lap, struggling to find the words to articulate this. This was what he needed Gus to know and obviously those memories hadn’t quite done the trick. What would it bloody take to shake into that red skull that - one, he wasn’t ever just going to be ok with all of this, who he was, what they meant to one another - and two, that even if he hadn’t realized it back then or understood himself well enough to articulate as much, he always had bloody loved Lissington! A confession that felt dangerous as it contradicted everything Basil was so terrified to face.

He would lose everything. And just having… this, them, Gus wasn’t enough for him to survive. Not when he didn’t trust the redhead to stick around. That was the ugly truth of the matter.

Silence continued to stretch, tense and awkward between them. Basil felt Gus’ hand move over his and again he wanted nothing more than to snatch it back, but this was his olive branch of a gesture. Not… retreating in on himself. Continuing this bloody miserable conversation until they reached a conclusion. They had to this time. There was no alternative.

Basil held his breath as Gus released a small sigh. He didn’t know what the other was thinking and it was killing him. That look on porcelain freckled features just seemed… tired. Exhausted, really, and ready to be done with all of this. Basil couldn’t blame him, but then Gus said darling— and something in the brunette’s gut twisted. (He had a pretty damn good idea himself where things fell apart, but he wasn’t at liberty to share that.) Instead—

“I’m sorry too,” Basil breathed. At least that much was the truth. And it did bloody suck! They’d been so close once, things had been so easy… “I’m not angry with you, either. I don’t think I ever was, really.” Grey hues shifted and he clenched his fingers harder around Gus’ cold ones, determined not to pull away. “I’m just…” Exhausted, terrified, irreparably toxic— “upset.” Well, that seemed like an apt enough word. Now, the next ones. “Upset in the way that I feel all kinds of miserable things when I think about… us. Our present, the meaning of what we are to one another, any possible future for either of us—” argh, bloody what was he saying?! “But then… I don’t feel that way when we’re actually… together? Or when I think about our past.” Grey hues flickered back up to search for blue. The lifeline.

“When I think about… you, and our shared memories, I get a sense of what it would be like to have my own, new, family. As if nothing in the world could ever possibly go wrong again so long as I have your smile and your positive outlook to fall back upon. In the moment, everything is easy! When you’re here, I don’t feel like anything could possibly shatter…this.” He made a vaguely violent, frustrated gesture between them and ran his hand frustratedly through his hair. “But when you’re not here, and when I start thinking about the implications, the logic, the legality, the impossibility of sustaining any semblance of happiness—” Basil stood abruptly and sucked in a deep breath. He was itching to flee again. Three steps and he could be out that bloody door and never have to look back again…

Ten,
nine,
eight,
seven…

The swelling panic in his chest was there. He could feel it ballooning to the surface, shoving aside any nausea that was prevalent before. Atticus’ voice too, was there, telling him to breathe. Telling him to wake up, to come back, to be in the moment.

Basil reached for Gus’ face, running his thumb gently across the redhead’s cheek. There was an entire night sky of freckles there, each one lighting up under his touch so that Basil could almost imagine the glow of every star. “It’s not enough to just have this,” he whispered.

“It’s not enough, when I don’t know if you’ll be around forever.” Fingers slid down to the redhead’s collar and tugged him to a stand.

“I’m so bloody terrified, all the time,” Basil heard himself say, grey hues caught on Gus’ shirtfront. He balled the thin linen material in his fists as if that could stop the weakness his words exposed, but he kept going. “What if we’re seen? What will our families think, say, do? What if I lose my job, the one thing in this world that keeps me sane? What if we both end up in Azkaban— and for what? A whim that you might stick around?”

Basil finally forced himself to look up into Gus’ face. He didn’t know what his expression looked like but it was probably pinched and on the verge of a meltdown. “We’ve never been able to communicate properly. Even now I feel I’m botching this so miserably and will kick myself, every day hereafter for not saying the right thing, or— not trying hard enough, but Gus,” Basil forced himself to stop rambling and wrinkled his nose. “The thing I am the most scared of is trusting us." His voice lowered to a whisper again. "I don’t know how.”

And there it was, probably. The truth. The whole truth. Basil didn’t know if he’d put his foot in his mouth one too many times or if Gus would finally begin to see him, really, behind all the fog and clouds that seemed to shroud them from one another. But for the first time he felt… relief? Maybe? That at least he’d tried to communicate everything that was weighing on his shoulders. Everything that was cutting at his innards like a small pickaxe every time he glimpsed the pretty redhead in the halls. He didn’t know how Gus would respond, didn’t even want to try and think— but it was out for now. And for that at least, Basil was… proud.

---

Gus Lissington & muse song (holy goliath sorry lol)

---

  

Gus was very aware of the hand clenching his, holding it in place; had Basil’s grip been any looser, he would have pulled his hand back, put it back in his lap or sat on it so the other couldn’t take it. There was something about the way he sighed, the way those grey eyes bored into him that he didn’t really feel like holding his hand. This conversation felt final, a nail in the coffin that was them and he didn’t want to sit here holding his hand pretending that everything was going to be fine and dandy. He wasn’t angry, just numb from the whole ordeal. The past year had been a bitch and he was ready for it to end so he could start anew. Here, there, he wasn’t entirely sure, but putting down roots in Ireland made the idea of staying a little easier.

Blue eyes shifted over as the man started speaking, and his expression softened once Basil apologized. It was nice to know they’d both done and said things they hadn’t meant. Something eased inside his gut as the man tightened his grip, and Gus was pleased he hadn’t pulled away a few moments ago. Tilted his head as he explained his emotions, wondering where he was going for this. He was upset about them them? Well, that didn’t bode well, but if this was the end of the line, the threads finally unraveling to the end, he was almost at peace with that. Gus loved him so much but he didn’t want to be in limbo forever. It wasn’t fair for either of them.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, but it wasn’t like he could just ignore Basil spilling his feelings, so the redhead swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Our present is messy, and I don’t know where we stand. But I like spending time with you, and I’m forever grateful for the time we’ve had together.” It did sound final, even if Gus hadn’t meant it that way — he didn’t want it to be the end. “And I know it’s scary. I’m scared too, about what could happen…” His lips did tip into a small smile because he liked hearing that Basil thought he was positive, and that he had a nice smile. Gus liked his smile too, and the way those adorable little dimples poked into his cheeks when he cheesed too hard.

Basil stood abruptly. Gus let go of his hand until he was being forced to stand up. There he kept his hands down at his side, a sharp breath sounding from him as Basil reached out to stroke his cheek. When was the last time he’d freely touched him like this without Gus initiating it? Couldn’t recall a time. The redhead wanted to lean into his touch, but instead he closed his eyes. It’s not even to just have this. He felt like his heart was slowly being ripped out. Gus wished he’d just get it done with so he could lick his wounds without having to put on a happy face for the man in front of him. Fingers moved to grab ahold of his shirt, and Gus reached out to steady himself on Basil’s shoulders, blue blinking into grey, but the man seemed refused to meet them.

“If you want this, if we want this, we’ll be careful. I promise you Basil, you won’t be fired or go to Azkaban. I’m the Dark Arts professor, I know my unforgivables, and if it comes down to it…” Gus shook his head, not wanting to finish his sentence. “And there’s no whim, Basil. I’m here. I bought this house to put some roots down. I have a nephew I adore. I have friends and family. I love curse breaking, and do I miss it? Absolutely. But are there things more important to me now than when I was eighteen, running away from everything that hurt? Yes.” Grey hues finally found his and they reflected his own, but then again misery always did love company.

“I don’t know how to make you trust me. Or us. Or this. You don’t need to say anything or try, because all I care about is you, Basil.” Gus moved one hand to stroke Basil’s cheek, offering him a tiny smile. “I don’t know either. It’s just a matter of what we want, and if the rewards outweigh the risks.” Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t. Gus wasn’t a seer, he couldn’t see the future.

---

  

---

There was something very… implicit about Gus’ response as Basil clung to his shirt and inhaled the familiar, bittersweet scent of curse breaking and angst on him. Something almost final, terminal even, in his tone and in the words that colored it. The brunette wasn’t sure if he liked that or if he’d just become inadvertently resigned to it but, this… could really be it, couldn’t it?

It was a strange thought to wrap his head around, really. One Basil hadn’t actually considered before. Not engaging with Lissington anymore if he did stay? Not speaking, not laughing, not even fighting, and certainly not being there when the redhead needed someone— his heartstrings gave a painful tug at that. It wasn’t possible for Basil to ever turn Gus away in person, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he might someday wish he could. And he didn’t know what he’d do if Gus ever tried to make him.

So maybe that was their answer, right there:

Basil couldn’t actually imagine a life without Lissington in it, someway or another, if the other was here. In England. In Ireland. Within reach.

Something about it sent a small shiver up his spine.

Basil heard what the other went on to say about his own fear. (A slight relief, to think he wasn’t alone in that.) To hear what Gus thought about his anxieties. (Thank goodness the redhead took them seriously, because they were, very serious!) But the most important thing that Gus could have said was that little, niggling comment about putting down roots. Grey hues flickered up to blue, terrified to be hopeful but managing only just. Things more important to me now. What things? Those things are still the same, the nasty little voice in the back of his head chirped. Figueroa, him— they’d both been around back then too. Back then when Gus had shoved it all aside to run rampant through Egypt. What would happen now, if they fought again? If he took another misstep, or said something stupid - because he would, undoubtedly - and when Gus flared up at him like in the past? Would he run? Basil’s chest felt tight but it all kept coming back to that same irritating realization…

Within reach.

Basil stared, hard, at Gus’ tiny smile and pinned all his hopes on it as he let out a soft breath. He counted sixteen and a half freckles on the man’s nose alone and let his gaze move slowly, carefully, up towards those deep baby blues. Gus had always been taller than him. Not by much, but enough that Basil had to lift his chin to meet that devastating gaze. He wanted so badly, so masochistically to just dip forward and kiss Gus. But that was the wrong answer. It always had been.

“Alright,” Basil finally said, voice quiet in the too still room.“Let’s just… think about this, logically.” His fingers released from their stranglehold on Gus’ shirt, leaving wrinkles in their stead, and the brunette ran a hand quickly through his hair. It was time to make a plan. Talk out the intricate details of what they wanted, weigh the pros and cons, and decide based on fact - not feeling - what the best path forward might be. It was foolproof! And yet, as he stood there trying to think of what best to say next, there was only one thing that kept coming to mind. It was irrelevant, stupid, and utterly capricious. Basil knew he ought to keep his mouth shut. But one more weary look into Gus’ face, still quite close to his, and it came blurting out before he could catch it.

“Have you ever heard of Achilles and Patroclus?”

(The question itself was harmless. Even came out sounding relatively normal, if a little random. It was what came next that Basil should have kept to himself. )

“There’s… this line in a great classic you may have once read, and it’s about er— them. Patroclus, he… he’s killed when Achilles refuses to go off to war and anyway, he comes back in a dream and says ‘Never bury my bones apart from yours… let them lie together…So now let a single urn… hold our bones - together.’

Basil trailed off, voice quiet again. “They remind me of us. A better version, maybe. More honest. More free.” He ran a hand through his hair again, tugging on the fringe a bit. “Anyway, it was just something I read, once. After… after you proved to me that what I thought impossible was, in fact, historical.” Here Basil felt his cheeks warm and he looked away, determined not to say any more on the topic. He knew anything he dared to share about the whole ordeal before graduation would only put them in a worse place. He didn’t trust himself to tell Gus that he’d fallen into a cesspit of research. That he’d dug up every paper and scrap he could possibly find about this kind of thing in myth and history and emblazoned it into his mind. It wasn’t helpful, and in the end had only made him more miserable, anyway.

Basil pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just… I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want one fatal mistake to mark this coffin. Why don’t we just… take it slow,” he suggested. “Let’s… see if we can’t be friends again. Maybe time will help this…” he gestured more gently between them this time “feel less…” (monstrous was not the correct word) “haunting. Easier, even.” Basil shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know if Gus would hate that. If it was a cop out to everything he’d come here to lay out and decide. But as the words came out, he finally realized this could be the right answer. Time was their worst enemy, but could also become their greatest ally. If Gus did stick around and they managed to find a way to coexist in one another’s lives without the burden of expectation then… maybe they could find a more natural way of things. Or, perhaps too they’d realize they were better off merely as friends. Either way, it would be a choice made upon further research rather than rash assumptions of what ifs and what nots.

Nodding, convinced, Basil should have taken a step backwards to put some space between them. Instead, he reached for Gus and pulled him a bit closer by the lapels of his shirt. “This time we’ll get the hang of it,” he promised, earnestly. “This time, we’ll force one another to communicate and be honest. No more… running.” Either of us. “This time… we build something with a brand new foundation.” Obliterate the old and don’t let the mistakes we’ve made rot our little cottage to the ground.

Because he could almost see it: this abstract place outside the realm of reality where he and Gus shared whatever it was they needed to share, where the constraints of modern society didn’t matter and they could live in peace. He wanted that. Wanted it more than he dared to bloody admit, to himself and especially not to Gus. Because Basil Foxwood had never been an idealist. He was too academic for that.

---

Gus Lissington & muse song

---

  

Sometimes it felt like the travel bug had bitten him and there was absolutely nothing in this world Gus could do to satisfy it. His blood sang whenever he was somewhere new, heart full as he experienced new sights and new smells, new cultures that made him laugh whenever he did something wrong. Never in his life had he considered putting down roots, especially where he’d grown up. Gus had always imagined himself staying in Egypt, living there, growing old, never stepping foot back in Britain ever again… but now that he was friends with Basil again (kind of), and knew about Seamus, Gus couldn’t really imagine living somewhere else. His little beach home had so many unexplored places that it was like starting new somewhere else.

Basil was staring at him like was growing a second head, and the longer he stared at him with those grey eyes, the more uncomfortable it made Gus feel in his own skin. He’d always had a way of dissecting him, making him feel like he was reading his thoughts and discerning them from what he was really saying. But Gus didn’t utter a word as the man met his gaze, wondering what he was thinking. Did he believe Gus? Because for the first time in a long time, everything the redhead had said was truthful. This was his home, for better or for worse. (And if he eventually bought a tiny flat in Egypt? He’d invite Basil to look right alongside him, thrilled at being able to show him a place he called home for so long.)

Finally Basil spoke, small and unsure, but Gus nodded in response. He could do logic (even if everything he did was illogical, just spur of the moment, whatever happened, happened kind of deal.) The man let go of his shirt, wrinkling it but Gus didn’t really care, who else was going to see him, instead watching as Basil drew his hands through his hair. It was a nervous tell from the man which in turn made Gus’s stomach twist, waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s not enough, he’d eventually tell him, which would shatter his heart into a million pieces but this time around Gus didn’t have anything more to give him. He smoothed over his shirt just to give himself something to do, tearing blue from grey as Basil gave him another weary look.

“I uh… no.” Gus wasn’t too much of a reader, at least not in the same sense that Basil was, so it wasn’t too shocking that even if he had read it, he wouldn’t have remembered a single quote from the book. Still, it was important to Basil so he listened, raising an eyebrow at the quote. It was beautiful and morbid wrapped together, but Gus could understand the allure of it, to love someone so deeply that they didn’t want to be apart, even in death. Maybe one day he’d get that ending, although as each minute ticked by he doubted it more and more.

Cocked an eyebrow at him but Gus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “There will always be a better version of us, somewhere.” He replied quietly, not poking the subject anymore because it was sore for both of them. Words had been spoken, hearts had been broken and it was a time that Gus wished he have oblivated (he’d asked Vince once to do it but changed his mind when his friend had very quietly asked if he was sure, because no, no he wasn’t), but couldn’t force himself to let go. He stepped back to give them both some breathing room, lips pursing together as Basil seemed to ramble on about what he wanted, which was everything and nothing knotted together.

“Slow,” The redhead echoed. He’d never done anything slow in his life, “But we can try being friends again. It’ll make Hogwarts a little easier too.” Sharing a space with Basil was difficult but they couldn’t avoid each other forever. No, Gus would leave and Basil would have Hogwarts, and if they were separated by that amount of space again, Gus wasn’t coming home, ever. There’d be no point. Fig and Seamus were both Foxwoods, and he couldn’t stomach being around them knowing that their family would consist of just him and then all of Edmund’s side. It’d be easier if he didn’t exist altogether. Ignored the fact that he called their current time together haunting, but it did stab him straight through the heart, forcing blue eyes to stare at the floor, finding a dust bunny that he hadn’t had the chance to sweep yet.

Gus offered him a small smile. “I think we will get the hang of it. No more running. No more hiding.” Gus raked a hand through his hair, huffing a laugh. “I will gladly be your friend.” Even though it felt like a stab to the gut, he'd get over it. If whatever happened only bloomed into a friendship, so be it. Gus would deal with that when it happened. Whatever foundation Basil was trying to set for them was better than nothing. It felt like a solid landing when they’d been on rocky ground for so long.

The redhead took a nervous look around, raking his fingers nervously through his hair, not sure what to do now. “Do you uh… do you want a tour?” It wasn't massive like the Foxwood home, but then again he’d really only imagined himself living here.

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Basil felt as if his whole world was slowly tilting on its axis as he waited for Gus to respond. He saw the uncertainly flicker across those blue hues, saw the way Gus’ hope seemed to deflate. But it was everything Basil could do not to launch at him and just say to hell with it all. He didn’t want to make that mistake again, not when this time they were finally - almost - communicating.

If they could build a solid foundation on trust and transparency, maybe they still had a chance.

Eventually, the redhead put him out of his misery. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Basil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, sheepishly. It would make Hogwarts a little easier. Dodging Gus in the halls had not been the most mature or simple task, after all. As the redhead went on to agree further, finally even letting free a small laugh, Basil felt all the tension release from his spine. No more running. No more hiding. It was like everything he’d ever searched for in the fog had finally materialized, almost within reach.

Basil let a small smile finally creep over his face too, shy and nervous. I will gladly be your friend, Gus said. There was some resonance of doubt there, Basil was almost sure, but he didn’t comment upon it. This was what he’d asked for. He was determined to make the best of it.

As Gus looked around nervously and ran a hand through his hair, the Ravenclaw let all hold on him drop. Basil didn’t feel the need as urgently to grip onto the man’s coattails anymore and, as reality finally settled the dust around them, he shook his head gently. “No,” he responded. “I’ll come by next time with a proper invitation, once you’re ready.” It seemed the right thing to do. (Besides, lingering after the weight of all this had yet to process was only bound to lead them down the wrong path again anyway, if they forced it.)

Basil made a vague gesture towards the door. “I should probably be off. I’m sorry for interrupting you so abruptly.” He offered another sheepish little grin. As they made their way towards the door, he lapsed into silence and for the first time it felt almost like it could - one day - be comfortable. Just on the threshold, Basil turned once more and gave Gus an anticipative look. It was one that exposed every ounce of sentiment he could manage, without guard or restraint. “Let’s write, this summer?” He asked, quietly. Basil was sure Gus had many travels and adventures in his future and it would be rude of him to interrupt again. But this could be enough. Their first step in the right direction, the step they’d missed so many years ago.

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Gus Lissington & muse song

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Gus was confused about the whole ordeal, his head spinning, but it wasn’t like he could voice as much to Basil without cracking the little olive branch they’d just exchanged. Sure, they could promise each other everything in the world, but only time would tell if they could be friendly with each other without falling into old habits. Gus was tired of holding on to whatever this was between them, anyway.

At least Basil put him out of his misery by not wanting to stick around any longer than he had, allowing the redhead to breathe out quietly, nodding. “Probably won’t be until late this summer,” he replied with a sheepish smile, taking a look around the dusty room that was nowhere remotely close to being unpacked; at least Hogwarts was out for the term so he could focus on unpacking as he really didn’t want to leave the everything to the house elf he employed; Gus did like to know where things were, and well, sometimes cursed objects winded up in places they shouldn’t be.

Gus nodded again as Basil gestured toward the door, and followed him without a second thought. The redhead laughed quietly, his fingers wrapping around the doorframe. “Yeah, we’ll write.” He had a few things planned this summer, but Gus was sure he could find time to send a few owls. With another farewell to the brunette, Gus shut the door before he stepped back, hand raking through his hair as he wondered what the hell had just happened.

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