Basil found himself glad when, inevitably, Lissing set aside his drink and decided to abandon ship. There, from its place on the side table, they could indulge in the idea that Basil was not drinking alone but neither did Lissing have to actually force anything down he didn’t want. A little pang of relief hit the brunette and he sucked another gulp of his own. Basil nearly spluttered on it as the other’s statement filtered into his understanding though. Lonely? Did that… imply anything? Basil didn’t find the emptiness lonely at all; in fact, he relished in it. He supposed in a house this big he was never really alone though. There were always human and house elf staff running about prepping this and that. Less so, maybe, since the majority of the family was away but even so. Shrugging a touch so as to not contradict the red-head, Basil conceded. “It’s quiet,” he agreed. As Lissing then hummed at him about the letters, Basil felt that self-conscious tug pull at him again. He hated hearing that the red-head had been having a wretched summer, but he supposed he could commiserate a touch. As Lissing actually mentioned Atticus being part of that horrible chain of events, Basil felt himself flush terribly. He was so embarrassed for his brother, and himself he supposed, that such a demonstration had even transpired! He’d sent a note immediately following, thanking Lissing for the gift and trying to apologize, but it too had gone unanswered.
Basil untangled his fingers from Lissington’s robe and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I am sorry about that, again,” he said softly. Then, surprised at himself for feeling particularly chatty about it, he continued. “We haven’t spoken since, actually.” Basil paused. “A lot was said that afternoon that frankly I’m not sure I can forgive so easily.” Or forget, a small voice chirped unhelpfully in the back of his mind. (Basil was still determined to get to the bottom of that ex-fiance nonsense that he didn’t believe.) He turned a small smile onto Lissing. “And before you take the blame, don’t even dare. He was a cad, and it’s inconceivable of a supposed gentleman to act in such a way.” Basil frowned. “I’m glad you’re not going anywhere though,” he breathed quietly. “It would be a loss of ghastly proportions.”
The brunette took another sip of his drink, praying it would loosen him up a touch. He didn’t know why he was being so ridiculously awkward. It was… Lissing. Gus. His old friend. They should have been able to pick up where they left off? Though, he supposed, that ship had sailed over the many, many rehashings they’d had ever the past months of what there even had been to pickup. Basil swallowed the firewhsikey down with a hint of bile. He stalled on a subject to change to. It didn’t seem fair to pry into whatever else had happened to the red-head, but he still felt the overwhelming urge to touch comfort him. Shifting then to face more fully towards the fireplace so that he could bump their shoulders together, Basil nudged the other. A little electric current rattled through his spine.
“Hey,” he said, gently, playfully. “Do you remember the first time we found our spot?” A grin touched the corners of the man’s lips and Basil laughed lightly. “Your transfiguration book went careening over the side of the gorge and we never managed to get it back.” The fondness in his tone and on his face was unmistakable. This was a memory Basil hadn’t touched in a long time, and for whatever reason, he’d thought of it just now. “I was sure you were going to dive after it, and I was determined to tie you up against a tree! Luckily you seemed to wisen up before I had the chance.” A mischievous glint touched the brunette’s face and Basil leaned into Lissing’s space. And then they’d kissed. It had been their first kiss, that afternoon.