Basil noted immediately how Lissington accepted the teacup and saucer but proceeded not to lift it to his lips, once. He gave the redhead’s shoulder a small squeeze. It was terrible, really, what Lissington was going through. There was so little anyone could do for him and the pain that had swelled up inside was like a bubble that was both uncomfortable and painful all at once. Basil wished he could alleviate it, but beyond giving the other a draught and maybe patting him on the back, he wasn’t sure what else there really was to do? Besides… regrettably, Basil didn’t know what the pain of losing a father one was close to even felt like.
He’d loved his father, sure. Or respected him, maybe, more aptly. But the first Atticus Foxwood had been a hard man to please. Nothing Basil ever did was good enough for him, not in school and certainly not out of it. When he’d passed away from the plague Basil had felt a sense of loss, but it had never come close to the way he’d felt originally when Lissington abandoned him left for Egypt. It had been uncomfortable as all change was, maybe even a little bit more sad than usual. But Basil hadn’t felt the devastation that was rocking through the pretty redhead beside him now. That had fallen more to Atticus than to Basil. Running his fingers through Gus’ hair gently as the other leaned into his touch, Basil sighed. He knew it was going to be like this for him when Mama passed away. Hopefully that wouldn’t be for a long time yet, but the thought still troubled him.
Basil turned grey hues dutifully to Lissington as the other began to discuss funeral preparations. He nodded gravely, brow creased with worry as the other admitted to his hardship. “I think a notice in the post should be enough,” he said gently. “Invitations shouldn’t be necessary.” Basil thought about it for a moment and then added: “But you may want to owl any relatives at a distance. I can help if you’d like? I’ve no problem scribbling up a few things if it would help.” He felt his heartstrings tug tighter at the thought. Imagining Gus just sitting in his office at a desk, writing out the same death notice over and over again made something inside of Basil flinch.
When the other revealed he hadn’t yet gotten in touch with his sister, Basil sucked in a small breath. Figueroa. He hadn’t even considered her in the whirlwind of Lissington’s emotions and sweeping into the room. Oh how devastatingly terrible this would be for her, too. And Gus was right; Figueroa probably would have planned everything seamlessly, painfully, on her own. She was just… the best? In that way. Deciding he couldn’t say as much to Gus at a thought of discouraging him, Basil met the other’s gaze reassuringly. “Don’t worry about Fig,” he replied. “She’s strong and she’ll be fine, just like you.” Because I promise Gus, you will be fine, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. “I can help you with the attire if you need, that’s an easy fix, and you can do this Gus.” Basil slid from his place beside the chair to bend just beside the other at eye level. (Almost as if he was talking to a first year.)
“You’re both the strongest, most independent people I know,” he whispered gently. His hand had come to rest on the redhead’s arm and Basil tangled his fingers gently into Gus’ robes to give him a small squeeze. “I know it’s going to be hard. The house is always going to feel a little different now, sure. But you can do this Gus,” he repeated again, more firmly. “And I’ll be here with you step by step, along with Fig and all the other friends you’ve amassed over the years. We’ll support you both through this, and always.” He tried to offer a helpful little smile, but even Basil could feel that it was a half-hearted attempt. He pressed the teacup closer to Lissington.
“Why don’t you take a sip of this? It should help the overwhelmed feeling you have,” he prompted, gently. Overwhelmed was one way of putting it. The draught was meant to pull him back from the edges of frayed insanity when the world was feeling too tight, too asphyxiating around him. Basil had come out of many an episode with the aid of this little liquid, something he’d learned quickly to rely upon when Atticus talking him down in public quickly became a non-starter.