As he stood there, holding the most precious part of any humans’ body (the cranium) in his palm and carding his fingers through Lissington’s hair, Basil felt all the anguish in the redhead’s large frame begin to dribble out. It was almost a tangible thing, something that with the right spell could be cast into a fog that would have filled the whole room. Basil ached for him, to make it better, to do anything he possibly could— but the reality of it was that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anybody could do. As Gus spluttered three little words into his shoulder and began to break, Basil closed grey eyes and tangled his fingers deeper into the other’s robes. He clung as if both their lives depended on not being separated by any means and perhaps it helped, perhaps it didn’t. He didn’t want to stifle Lissington in any way, but he wanted the redhead to know he was supported, that he was cared for in the event of anything else that might come hurling his way. There wasn’t much Basil was realizing he wouldn’t do for Gus and frankly - the thought scared him a little bit.
Fingers continued carding through red locks as the other let out all of his emotions into the big wide room. This was good. This was… healthy, right? It was a tad uncomfortable, as everything British and stilted and emotionally stifled inside of Basil cried out against the inelegance of it, but even more than that, Basil was just glad Gus felt comfortable enough to come to him in the first place. It was a strangely flattering thought, if he let himself think on it. Surely this meant there was something not yet broken between them? Some small remnant of a tie that could be built upon if they willed it? It was selfish of him to think this way, especially now as Gus practically collapsed in his arms from grief, and yet Basil held onto the idea. He would tuck it away for later, perhaps, for further reflection.
Eventually Lissington eased enough to lift his head and Basil offered the other a watery, lopsided smile. He brushed red, sweaty bangs from the ginger’s face and tried to keep his heart from breaking, again, as the other’s request settled into the small space between them. A friend. the one thing he’d told Lissington he couldn’t be anymore.
“Of course,” Basil murmured, without hesitation. For what was he, if not a friend to Lissington at this stage? There was nothing less he could conceive of being anymore, even if they never took another step— past friendship.
Fingers dropped form the other’s head as Gus stepped back, but Basil held still to his robes, unwilling to let Lissington go entirely. Already he felt cold and sad without the other in his arms; at least holding him had been a way of providing some comfort. He dropped the robes a moment later - reluctantly - as Gus requested tea, but moved only to rest that same hand on the other’s arm gently. He nodded, and made motion to guide Lissington to his armchair by the window. When Basil was satisfied Lissington was comfortable, he turned to the small corner of his quarters where he kept a teapot and some snacks. His secret stash for particularly rough nights. The empty fire whiskey bottle had been cleared long ago, but the space it had occupied still haunted him when he passed.
Basil gave his wand a flick and a teacup floated to life. The tea began to prepare itself, water filling the pot and a small device used to strain leaves settling within. Basil selected a softer tea for Lissington, something with valerian root and chamomile to calm the nerves, as opposed to the monstrosity of a black ink tea he himself drank day and night. He added a copious amount of honey into the thing, knowing full well that the sweet smell that accompanied his redhead was not solely scent alone. It was indication of preference, and if anything was going to help Lissington now, it was the comfort of something sweet. Then, adding three drops of a potion the apothecary had been prescribing him since his first case of vapors in his third year, Basil turned back to his guest.
“Here,” he said gently, moving to pass the saucer into Lissington’s hands. The pot floated after him delicately, waiting to refill as needed. “It’s a gentler sort, and I added a few drops of my erm— calming draught.” Here Basil paused to scratch the back of his head awkwardly, cheeks turning pink. He didn’t know if Gus would remember his episodes, but he didn’t particularly want to elaborate. “It should help ease your discomfort a touch.” At least he could do that.
Settling another hand, again, on Lissington’s shoulder, Basil sighed. He knew it wasn’t enough, his companionship and a cup of tea, but he didn’t know what else to do. Touch was his way of comforting others, his ‘love language’ if you could believe it. Very few knew, or were privy to this select group, but Basil decided not to hesitate now with Lissington. The other needed him and this at least was familiar and known to them.
“Do you need any help with preparations or the like?” He offered, gently. It was a bit of a shot in the dark if mentioning funeral preparations would send Gus into another spiral, but Basil was trying. He hoped the redhead could see that.