Soft warnings on negative headspace, suicidal thoughts, and panic attacks.

September 29, 1892 — Cliffs Above the Black Lake (The Lissingwood Spot)

In the grand scheme of his life, overall, Basil was fine. He was… great, probably.

In essence, he had everything he’d ever wanted. He had a supportive network of friends, ever expanding these days as people like Victoire Malfoy settled themselves into his routine and other, older friends came back and wedged some comfortable spots for themselves (looking at you Mr. Dempsey). He’d also, finally, managed to prove himself to Black and secured Ravenclaw Head of House— a position he’d only dreamed of holding! (Even the thought of it was still alarmingly brilliant, if a little stressful.) And yet…

Basil stared blankly at the pages upon pages of his own handwriting sprawled out on the desk before him. He could feel the same overwhelming presence from the past few weeks on the periphery of his consciousness... It was like a beast, waiting patiently to overtake when things got just a little too difficult. It was furry sometimes, with a long tail that lashed at his sensitivities every now and again. Sometimes it let him live; it let him go about his life like a normal person with only the occasional bought of unnatural stress. Other times, when it hit him full force, its fur was replaced with spines and its sharp claws sunk into his heart, chilling Basil to the bone. Nothing he did, nothing he was would ever be good enough for it. A subtle sense of nausea crashed over the brunette.

He was not good enough. He would never be good enough. For Hogwarts, for Atticus, for… Gus. But without them, what was he? Selfish, perhaps. Selfish enough to keep fighting and vying for these things he wanted, things he needed to keep sane. Sometimes he was able to silence the voice in his head telling him it wasn’t going to work, that all was futile. But other times, on rare occasions, he let the voice speak freely and the aftermath was never pleasant. For anyone.

It had been creeping up on him for weeks now, the voice of performance anxiety and imposer syndrome. Who was he really to be Ravenclaw Head of House? Why should anyone bother to look up to Basil Foxwood, the miserable sod who couldn’t even manage to love correctly, much less be a functioning member of the ton or - Merlin forbid - a proper brother. He brought misery and concession to everyone he engaged with; Atticus was the latest example, what with his old flame, and Lissing… well Lissing was a living, breathing concession he’d been forcing into compliance for years without even realizing it.

What were they to one another, if not toxically entwined? Why couldn’t they simply… let things go, or manage their friendship at a distance? Because you want him, you need him, as more than you’re willing to concede, the vicious little voice in the back of his mind supplied. Basil slammed his quill down with some force and grabbed the scarf around his chair. He needed a change of scenery.

Outside the castle walls, some of the asphyxiation of his thoughts was loosened. Without even realizing where his feet were headed, Basil found himself up by the cliffs overlooking the Black Lake. (His spot with Lissington.) It was early evening and somewhere distantly he could hear the sounds of practice going ‘round the quidditch pitch as he sucked in a deep, cold breath and forced the late September chill through his lungs.

As it was, Basil made a habit of not smoking on Hogwarts grounds when he could help it. He reserved the indulgence for celebratory evenings or… less so ones. Tonight fell into the latter category, his fingers fumbling with the accoutrements enough that he said fuckall and decided to use his wand. Where the comfort of doing things manually normally eased him, here it was merely a hindrance. At last the brunette sucked in a deep puff of mind bogglingly familiar tobacco and it was everything he hated to rely upon: the balm for his soul, the silencer of thoughts, the killer of passion.

Basil held the cigarette loosely between his fingers and breathed a puff of smoke out into the nothingness over the lake. He took a step back from the cliff edge then, finding the empty blackness below much too welcoming in his present state of mind. (One step, and he’d cease to be anyone’s problem.)

(Was there anyone who would even mind? Wouldn’t they all be better off?)

Instantly the first face that flashed into Basil’s mind was Augustus Lissington and he frowned. Why the bloody hell did everything come back to him? Exasperation touched the corner’s of Basil’s frazzled mind and the brunette ran a hand through his hair, mussing it terribly. He wished he had something to slam. He wished… he wished he could just make things different! Himself, different.

Why was it Lissington that popped into the forefront of his mind instead of his own family? Why couldn’t he be counted upon to love the way Lissington so evidently wanted him to? Why was it something he couldn’t stomach? Didn’t want to stomach? And, if that was true, then why in bloody Merlin’s name couldn’t he forget that kiss? (Why did he hyper fixate on Lissington when all the rest of his problems seemed to spiral out of control? Why couldn’t he just keep something genuine and good with the pretty red-head without destroying it?) Why was he so broken?!

Basil Foxwood sucked in a deep breath to keep from doing something stupid. He had more than just Lissington to worry about these days.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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There was a tiredness in his bones that normally wasn’t there; it seeped into the crevices he didn’t know existed and blurred the edges of his mind until there was nothing more he wanted to do than close his eyes and sleep. He’d fought it at first, frightened that the darkness that sometimes sung a lullaby would entice him into a sleep he wouldn’t want to wake up from - sometimes, Gus found, his dreams were more comforting than reality. It wasn’t until someone had asked if he was sick that it clicked in his head that the tiredness was just that and nothing more, and when he finally sank into his bed to allow himself to sleep, he slept through all of Friday and most of Saturday, not bothering to claw his way to consciousness outside of a few moments to ensure that he could, that the darkness wasn’t keeping him hostage like it had done once before.

When he finally awoke, prying his left eye open and then the right, the tiredness was replaced with nothing but grogginess. He ate, he showered and made himself feel human again before he pulled on his robe complete with a Hufflepuff scarf that had seen better days, because he absolutely had to get outside before he went insane. Gus had grown up outside with the grass between his toes and the sea breeze against his face, and even as he moved from Ireland to Hogsmeade and Hogsmeade to hop around the world, there wasn’t much time he willingly spent inside. Being inside was stifling and he felt the walls closed in each moment; outside he was free. His body and mind were in agreement that he’d feel better once he had some fresh air in his lungs.

The September air was much cooler than he expected it to be and Gus shivered as he burrowed his face into his scarf; the yellow and grey colors were faded from years of use, as he’d gotten it his first week as a first year. Over the years it had turned from a scarf to a makeshift pillow - one more for mental comfort because it was a reminder of home - and there were few times it wasn’t balled up near his head while he was off curse breaking. It had survived with him and much like Gus it had earned its fair share of scars: the ends were frayed, some much longer than others, and there was a hole burnt into it that he often hid by wrapping it around his neck. The fabric was thin in places from a nervous gesture of rubbing the cotton between his fingers when he wasn’t sure what to say or do. The emblem sewn near the bottom was bright and new, as his mum sewed a new one each year as Gus declined a new scarf altogether. This was one of the only consistency in his life.

Habits were hard to break for Gus, and here at Hogwarts he was still unable to part with it, although here it was used as both a scarf and a pillow. He grabbed it each morning before he stepped foot outside of his room, even if it was too hot to wear it. Now, as he grumbled quietly under his breath at the cold, he was happy to have it wrapped around his neck. If he thought it wouldn’t burst into flames he would have charmed it with a heating spell. The fresh air felt nice though and Gus finally felt like his head wasn't stuffed with cotton. He hated being sick.

His feet dragged him in any direction although he steered clear of the Quidditch pitches as he wasn’t in the mood to converse with people; he wasn’t surprised then, to find himself on the path to their spot. It was comforting in ways it shouldn’t be and haunting in ways Gus knew he deserved; he'd forced decisions and ruined their friendship by saying he was in love. He was declared an abomination, something unnatural here, and part of Gus wanted to believe it was try. (Probably because in some fashion he was both.) At least he could sit with his feet dangling over the cliff’s edge while he recharged himself for another month of being at Hogwarts, another month of wondering if he’d made a grave mistake being here. But he’d missed a lot in his life already and was hellbent on being around so he wouldn't miss a moment longer - hell, he had a living, breathing nephew who was already five he’d just met last month, and if that was being out of the loop, Gus wasn’t sure what was.

The  crunch of sticks ahead of him caused the redhead to glance up, and he couldn’t help but frown as he spotted Basil Foxwood ahead of him. Gus wondered what had brought him to their spot, and as he moved closer, wondered what had brought him to their spot looking like that. The smell of smoke hit him before he saw the cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers and Gus wrinkled his nose from the smell alone, although the rest of him was in a disheveled state he rarely saw Foxwood in. He paused in his steps, wondering if he should leave before the man spotted him but there was something in his gut telling him not to leave him alone, not like this.

Instead the cool September air filled his lungs as he sucked in a deep breath of air before he stepped forward, the scarf unwinding from his neck as he approached the brunette. “It’s too cold out to be dressed like that.” Gus finally whispered as he stopped in front of him, his fingers fiddling with the fabric between his fingers. He reached out to wrap the frayed scarf over the Ravenclaw one, as if it would suddenly make him warm - the warming charm suddenly became a necessity in his life. Next time.

Of course the scarf was much more - it was his life line when things got tough and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to withstand them. A reminder that no matter how many people come and go from his life, it was comforting having something there that held so many memories to remind him that good was still out there. He just hoped that Foxwood would feel as much comfort from it as he did.

His fingers dropped away from the fabric as he offered the man a soft smile. He had many questions, much of which revolved around what in the world he’d just walked upon, but he could see from the look in his eyes that this wasn’t the time to ask him. So instead Gus gently took his hand and pulled him a few steps back away from the cliff’s edge.

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Basil Foxwood

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Staring keenly out over the side of the cliff from a moderately safe distance, Basil raised the cigarette to his lips again and sucked in another deep, long draw. He could just make out the glint of rocks below and the shimmering moonlight that glinted off the water’s surface. It looked enticing enough, as if he could fall and sink into its depths like a siren. The waves he’d make would come up around him, enveloping him in their cool embrace until silence finally—

It’s too cold out to be dressed like that.

Basil tore listless grey hues away from the edge of the cliff and was surprised to see Lissington ambling towards him. An immediate wave of reality washed over the brunette, self-consciousness and alarm both, as he quickly rubbed one cheek into his sleeve. It was damp, if not entirely moist. An uncomfortable warmth settled on his chest then and under his collar in the form of embarrassment, even as Basil drew the cigarette to his face again. He needed something, anything, to pull himself together. The calming swell of tabacco in his lung soothed, if only for a moment.

As Lissington moved to wrap his own tattered, beat-up looking Hufflepuff scarf around Basil’s shoulders, the brunette was silent. He held the smoke in, almost wishing it would asphyxiate him so he wouldn’t have to respond. He didn’t know how he felt at seeing the other so suddenly. Not after the terrible truths he’d faced on the path to madness his mind had just trampled down. Basil both wanted to sink into him and pull Lissington close as much as he wanted to bolt. A third, less grounded part of him wanted to say blast all and shove him up against a tree once and for all, but this Basil swallowed down with as much of the smoke as he could manage. Eventually, when Lissington stepped back and reached for his hand, the brunette let out a long breath letting the scent of tobacco swirl in the chill between them. (He turned his head as any gentleman might to keep from puffing directly in Lissing’s face, but it still lingered.)

They stepped further away from the edge of the cliff and Basil wobbled a little, though he couldn’t tell if it was a mental wobble or a physical one. Both probably. “You shouldn’t be here,” he finally managed to whisper. It was a weak, pathetic little sound but determined nonetheless. “I don’t…" he paused and tried again. "You shouldn’t see all of this—" chaos. Basil made a vague gesture about himself with the hand still holding his cigarette. Ash dropped to the ground nearest them and he stared at it, gravely. “I don’t trust myself to behave like a gentleman with you Lissington, not right now.” He finally said again, a little louder and a little more pleading.

He hoped more than anything he wouldn’t have to explain; he wished desperately that for once, his terribly broken words and wretched emotions would just be transparent to the red-head instead of causing another misunderstanding that would likely break them apart for good this time. He wanted so badly, more than anything, to just... give in. To let himself fall under the easy spell of the handsome red-head. He wanted to snog Gus senseless, to shove him up against a tree and explore the infinite depths of physical touch much as they once used to. He ached to feel Lissington in his arms again, to feel the warmth of his exposed midriff against cold, ink-stained fingers. It would certainly make him feel better right about now, that was for sure. But like the cigarette, it was only a temporary solution. The aftermath of such selfishness would only complicate things further between them, confuse them both more than Basil already had over the summer and things were finally, almost, normal? (They hadn’t talked about it, but they hadn’t needed to. Yet.) This… this was something else entirely.

Running a hand through his mess of curls and tugging on them a little harder than necessary, Basil let out a sigh and took a few steps away from Lissington towards the trees. He drew on his cigarette again and let the thing rest between his lips to keep from saying anything else.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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September was either too chilly or uncomfortably warm outside, complete with thunderstorms that rolled through to ruin most plans Gus had made for the day. As soon as his scarf was draped around Basil’s shoulders, Gus missed the warmth of it wrapped around him; the tip of his nose was still red from how often he’d been blowing it, although he could blame it on the chill. (It wasn’t that frigid out, not like it would be when winter hit, but Gus wasn’t built for cold weather.) Even Basil was chilled, his hand cool against his own as he pulled him forward, and he just wanted to sit there and hold the brunette’s hands between his own - warm him from the tips of his toes to the very core of his heart.

There was something in his expression that was fitting for their spot - another haunting memory that would forever be tied to this place, sometimes spilling over when the loneliness was just enough to stir up nasty thoughts. He supposed he deserved them all because he’d been the one to cause the bulk of them, ruining the semblance of friendship he’d had with Basil. Damn him and his heart for falling in love. Damn him and his heart for believing it was meant for him to begin with.

He frowned then, more at himself than Basil, although the words registered a moment later and he inhaled sharply at his words as he gestured to himself. There wasn’t a part of him Gus didn’t want to see - the good, the bad, the damned. It was only fitting because he was an abomination himself who had to show the world his damning nature day in and day out. Abomination. Unnatural. If Basil was forced to see it, live with it, why wouldn't he be allowed to return to the favor when he needed it? If there was anyone who understood the innate desire to cut pieces from themselves until they molded perfectly into societal expectations, it was Gus.

It took another moment for him to find his voice, although he kept it low, not sure where this conversation was heading - not even sure why it was started in the first place. Foxwood was deep inside his own head and Gus wasn’t sure he was capable of pulling him back out. Those thoughts were the worst; the never ending loop of every negative thing about himself, every mistake, every choice that had hurt in the end. Gus locked those thoughts inside a box so he didn’t have to deal with them, but every now and then one escaped and rampaged through his mind; those days were the worst, taxing both physically and mentally. Augustus Lissington didn’t have bad days around people though, so he could understand the need to break apart alone and piece oneself back together in a way he could only hope was discrete.

He tucked his hands into his pocket as she shook his head. “I don’t care if you’re a gentleman with me.” He finally managed as he wet his lips with his tongue. “I don’t care if you scream or curse or cry. I’ve done it all in a place like this, too.” He gestured around them. Gus watched with bated breath as Basil took a few steps backward, a brief thought of Basil turning tail and running back to the castle crossing his mind. He wouldn’t chase him, press him to tell him his most inner thoughts that would haunt him for days to come. There were some demons he couldn’t fight for Basil, even if Gus would give everything away if he could to do so. He was equipped for this. He was born damned, wasn’t he? He might as well make use if it in some ways.

Gus shuffled a few steps forward to keep the same distance as before, and then held his breath as he continued to watch it. His next decision was so expeditious that he hadn’t even realized he’d taken steps to bridge the gap between them and shakily wrapped his arms around his torso to hug him until it was too late. He should step back. Leave. Because he knew in the end this was just going to be thrown in his face, somehow, someway. But he didn’t - couldn’t.

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Basil Foxwood

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The following 1 user Likes Gus Lissington's post:1 user Likes Gus Lissington's post
   Ida Chang

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Basil wasn’t surprised by Lissington’s response. He couldn’t be, really. He knew inherently that the pretty red-head wanted to see him, help him, save him but… he couldn’t. Nobody could. They had their own deamons. Sure, maybe some of them overlapped, but likely many of them were distinct enough that Gus would be lost in the labyrinth that was the hell his mind sometimes formed. Maybe that was the problem, too. Maybe, if they were more alike, then things could be different. Could be better, between them.

As the cigarette hung from his lips, Basil scraped his teeth along it gently just to feel the texture of the rolled paper before holding it steady and taking another puff. At this rate he’d burn through it and need another one before the night - or this conversation - was through. He was surprised then to find Lissington snaking his arms around Basil’s own torso, however. He shifted as the red-head came to give him a hug and for a good few seconds he didn’t know how to react.

The feel of Gus pressed so close up against him tormented Basil, tugging at something that wanted to snap. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even… tempted, really? He was just… miserable. Coping mechanisms aside, all Basil wanted more than anything in that moment was to dump his entire mind out over the edge of the cliff so the he wouldn’t have to deal with his reality anymore. At the realization of this thought, the brunette burried his face in Lissing’s shoulder and wrapped his own arms around the other. As always, he was solid and muscular under all those layers and the feeling was grounding. Basil squeezed tighter.

He wasn’t sure when the tears started to flow again. One, then two and three escaped him and - blast, this was going to be a mess. Sniffing sub-consciously Basil pulled away and held a hand just under his nose as if that would stop the embarrassing display altogether. He tried to pull himself together and at least the tears paused before the nose could run.

“Argh,” he turned away in frustration. “Sorry.” He took a few more steps away and sucked on the cigarette as if his life depended on it. “This isn’t your problem to deal with. I just… I’m sorry. You really should go.” It was a weak little bleat, less convincing than before. At this stage, Basil wasn’t sure what was worse. Gus seeing him like this or actually believing him and being left alone.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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He waited with bated breath to see if Foxwood was going to shove him off and tell him to go jump off the cliff (which seemed highly inappropriate at the moment because the pair knew he was dying to try it) or accept the comfort Gus was trying to give him. Both had their advantages and disadvantages, but he could only hope he could soothe the turmoil a bit more permanently than however he’d been handling it. He understood the turmoil, he did, but it wasn’t his time or place to tell him that. (And it never would be - how horrified one might be if they learned Augustus Lissington had thoughts that weren’t all sunshine and rainbows.)

His entire body tensed as he felt Foxwood recuperate his hug, his hands settling loosely around his waist to not make him feel trapped in it. The man burrowed into him and he just stood there and held him, not sure what else he could do - at least Foxwood had told him to jump off a cliff. They were making strides, at least. As he was squeezed tighter, Gus’ own hands didn’t tighten around him. It wasn’t until the tears started and the he felt the dampness against his robe that he moved his hands to thread through his hair. His hair was soft as he gently ran his fingers through it.
When Foxwood pulled away, he let him, his fingers twisting against his sleeve as he rooted his feet in the spot he was in. Gus frowned at him. “I know it’s not my problem.” He kept his voice low as he twisted his fingers against the fabric and held it there; he wasn’t sure if he should stay or actually go as he highly doubted the man would even speak of the turmoil he was facing and even if he did, what could Gus actually do about them?

A frown touched his lips. “Is that what you really want?” He flicked his eyes up to meet his gaze. “We can just sit in silence too, if you’d like.”

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Basil Foxwood

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Hearing Lissington echo that it was not his problem only made Basil want to flinch away from the other. That was the problem with pushing people away though, wasn’t it? One found themselves more miserable when others actually took them at face value. But Basil didn’t know what he wanted in that moment. Did he want to be alone? No. Likely not the best option. But he wasn’t sure he wanted Lissington to keep him company… it seemed dangerous. Dangerous to both of their emotional and mental states. All Basil wanted in that moment was to forget about his current predicament in any way he possibly could. Even if that meant wrapping himself up like a drug addict in the pretty redhead.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even technically practical. Not here and now on Hogwarts grounds, even if they were  secluded. Someone was bound to come after one of them eventually, right? Basil screwed his eyes shut. He needed Atticus.

At the thought of his brother, another fragile tear streaked down the brunette’s face and he scrubbed at it angrily. Bloody Atticus and his… prejudices. And stories about fiancés and fathers and rubbish. Even though deep down Basil knew it was all true, he hated how angry it still made him. His brother’s treatment of Lissington was unfair; his brother’s giving up the love of his life for Basil was unfair. His brother’s attitude if he only knew how Basil actually felt half the time— The brunette scowled at the cliff face.

He was surprised, maybe, when Lissing’s sweet little voice tugged at his conscious mind. Sitting in silence sounded terrible, and the more he let himself get caught up in his own thoughts, the more Basil felt like he was going to drown.

He decided, for the first time in his life, to just… be honest.

Letting out a deep breath, Basil turned to look into those deep blue eyes. “No,” he breathed. “It’s not what I want. What I want is to press you up against that tree and forget about everything. But, Lissing,” Basil dropped his gaze and ran his free hand through his hair anxiously. “I don’t want to keep… doing that to you. It’s not fair,” his voice broke on the last word and he sucked in a breath. “I can’t think about what we are or aren’t or what is and isn’t possible right now, I just…” Grey eyes darted up again filled with yearning. “I just… want you.” Basil straightened a little taller. The words felt funny coming out of his mouth and he didn’t really know what they meant. Deciding that was enough of that, and knowing getting into it was going to only make him feel worse, Basil gestured vaguely with his cigarette. “For both our sakes, it might be better if you just… head back to the castle. I’ll… I’ll finish this and follow.” Maybe a good night’s rest would help. Maybe, he could force himself to finish his smoke and head back just as he was promising.

Even if the very thought of being left alone made everything in Basil cry out in grief.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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   Gus Lissington

There weren’t many times that Gus was at a loss for words, but as he listened to Foxwood speak he found his throat dry and his mind empty. It was everything he wanted to hear, mostly, because wanting someone only to be rejected hurt more than he could explain; he had run with his tail between his legs so he could regroup, rebuild himself so he wouldn’t break. It hadn't worked in the end because he could feel himself starting to crumble. The whiplash that was Basil Foxwood hurt both mentally and emotionally, as Gus was always unsure where he stood with him; lines had been blurred but all he could do was push away hope because people like him didn’t deserve people like Foxwood. He deserved a life of living alone because that's what people like him did.

It was unfair of Gus to think he could drag him down the path for the damned for sinning in ways that he alone wanted; maybe it was his fault for confusing Foxwood to begin with and it was his job to place him back on the right path. He should be worried about courting and marriage and children rather than deciding if he wanted Gus or not. He closed his eyes and sighed softly; the brunette probably liked the idea of him but nothing more, because he’d already bared everything he had to him, and been met with nothing in return.

Unnatural. Abomination. Incapable.

He would bear those words alone because it seemed fair, as he had no right to offer Foxwood that life decision in the first place. Gus knew he was something else – a daydream, a what if, something – and whatever the man thought he was feeling wasn’t real. He either wanted him or didn’t. It was an either or, yes or no. Hell, he could pick flower petals to play I love him or love him not and get a better answer than his brain could give. At least he'd be able to see that too. Whatever Foxwood was saying wasn’t true no matter how much he wanted them to be; he wondered if he was nothing more than a distraction to him, used to shield him from the world and then tossed away when he could finally stand on his own again.

Gus sighed softly. “I don’t either.” He finally admitted, the words cracking the silence. “I’m worth more than being here for your convenience. I know that.” His fingers tugged at his hair as he glanced at the ground; the admission was odd and he hated how the words sounded coming from his mouth. He’d waited a decade to hear that he was wanted. Rejecting him almost felt like a slap in the face.

“But I love…” No, Foxwood would yell at him if he finished that sentence.

I care…” No, that either.

“I want…” You too.

Gusc cleared his throat as he shook his head. “Friends stick by each other no matter how rough it gets. And we’re friends, Foxwood, remember? Even if we’re never anything more, I care about you, and I want to be there for you.” He licked his lips as his fingers fiddled with the edge of his sleeve “I’m not going to tell you how you feel about me because that’s for you to figure out, but this constant back and forth needs to stop until you do.” He was breaking his own heart. His fingers paused against the fabric before he finally lifted his gaze to stare into the beautiful grey hues. They reflected with something that Gus would have given his last breath to see, but Basil Foxwood only loved the idea of him.

“But as your friend, I’ll wait until you're finished.” His voice cracked but he kept his gaze on him.

He wanted to wash the words out of his mouth. Or rip his heart out and scream.

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Basil Foxwood

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As the other spoke, Basil felt everything inside of himself crumple. He couldn’t do this. Not now, and not here, again. How many times had they had this argument? How many times had this spot been the root of it? Was there something in the ground that poisoned their senses when they treaded here? Why did his feet insist on circling back whenever he was upset? It wasn’t like this spot was calming, or particularly safe, or made him feel better in any way! Basil wanted to pull on his fringe and scream.

Instead, he flinched. He flinched hard as the word ‘love’ dropped from the pretty redhead’s mouth. Lissington was smart enough to correct it, to taper back, but it was too late. Basil knew what he’d been about to say and it was the same nonsense as always. The chiding that followed certainly didn’t help either. Basil was the one who’d been apt enough to recognize his toxic behavioral patterns and stop them this time, to say something about them; having Lissington repeat it back to him only rubbed salt in an already raw, twelve-year old wound.

I don’t want you to stay! He wanted to snap. He almost did it too, if not for the energy it would take that Basil didn’t feel he had. Fighting, lashing out, was simply easier than trying to sort this out though. Especially now. The brunette pulled a deep draw from his cigarette as the silence lingered between them. He was never going to be the one to convince Lissington that he wanted… whatever the hell this was. Because Basil didn’t. He did… maybe, in the deepest, darkest, scariest parts of himself that were terrified of what it meant for his reality and had no sense of repercussion. But in his heart of hearts, he couldn’t push past the idea of Atticus hating him for it. Or mama hating him for it.

He was reminded then of the story Atticus had told him about Hanna. It had only been a couple of months and already it was coming back to haunt him. Atticus himself has chosen family over love, and he’d seemed… upset about it. Even after all this time. Had he regretted that decision? Probably. (Basil couldn’t see why he’d bring it up now out of the blue if he didn’t.) But the brunette was reminded particularly of his own gut reaction to the story. Instead of feeling apologetic, or… sad for his brother the way a normal person might, he’d felt justified. He wasn’t sorry for it either, even now. It had been the right choice to chose family over love. It was what Basil was trying to do now!

The sentiment that thought carried struck the brunette as he realized that for the first time, he’d actually admitted to himself he might… have anything more than natural, normal feelings for Lissington. That they might even carry a heavy implication of care, and adoration. Love. Instantly Basil felt like laughing. It was a sharp, derisive laugh that bubbled up and he bit it back only because he knew he’d look even more deranged if he didn’t. Too bad any sensitivity and ease got swallowed along with it.

Rounding on the redhead at last, fueled with the realization and the sting of his own thoughts, Basil narrowed grey hues at the other. “I don’t want to be your friend,” he finally said. “Gus, it aches to even sit next to you in the Great Hall.” Basil ran his fingers through his hair, desperation seeping from his pores. There wasn’t a sharpness to his words, more a sadness that made him even angrier. “I know you think you love me, and maybe - in some ridiculous way that goes against everything in this world - I love you too. But I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to spare your feelings, and I’m trying to keep my family happy even if I can’t imagine a single woman on the face of this planet I could possibly marry. It’s only you. And I don’t want to keep hurting you, I don’t want to keep pretending we’re friends when we both know we can’t be. But I can’t win here.” He sucked in a deep breath realizing what it was he was about to say. Basil bit the words back, too scared to actually pull the trigger.

“I… I want need you in my life,” he said instead, taking a small step towards the other. “I just, I don’t see how we’re supposed to resolve this.” Basil stopped short and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t see… how we can be around one another, when all I ever want is to kiss you senseless. When the only things I can think about, especially when I’m unhappy and having a bad day, is what it feels like to forget about all of it with you.” Staring at the ground intently, Basil sighed. He certainly wasn’t about to make this easy on either of them, was he?

“If you want to pull back, I understand,” the brunette finally said at a normal volume. “I don’t… I don’t want that! But, frankly, I don’t really know what else we can do here.” He gave a weak little half-shrug. “I’m sorry you ever met me and that I ever made you feel the way you do. I’m sorry that I refused to acknowledge it back then, and honestly Gus—" Basil turned to meet blue hues with grey. “I wish I could just make it all go away.” Make myself, and my problems, all. go. away. "But I can't."

---

Gus Lissington & this theme song

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There were places Gus couldn’t go back because it only stimulated the melancholy atmosphere deep within it; he’d left a decade ago to forgive and forget, although he wasn’t sure if he was forgiving himself for stupidly giving his heart someone who continously broke it or Foxwood for well… everything. He left to live a life without his friends who’d become his happiness and kept himself busy, for every pause was a moment to reminiscence and he hated ever having the chance for his thoughts to linger. But here at Hogwarts, with memories echoing around him, the ghosts would haunt him.

Maybe one day they’d kill him.

Gus wasn’t sure if he’d die happily or miserably within these walls, but at least the constant heartbreak the world had tossed at him the past few months would be gone.

Foxwood’s words pulled at the air from his lungs and he felt like he couldn’t breath; he shakily inhaled before he shook his head. The argument of love was futile — it wasn’t a might be, it was a I love you and I’m sorry that I do because nothing good will ever come from it; sometimes he wished he could break his own heart to pieces and give it to the people he did love, just so they could see concrete evidence that it was beating just them. That he was very capable of love, so much he often thought he might burst from it. It wasn’t his fault that society deemed him a monster simply because he fell in love with the wrong people. (And even in times like this, where his heart caused his own heartache, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.)

Foxwood’s admission that he might love him too was a nugget he tucked away into his mind to dissect later but his heart still flipped and beat against his rib cage. No one had ever said that to him before, at least not in the romantic sense. It felt nice, to hear it, that maybe deep down all the whiplash and back and forth meant something. But, of course something kind came with something cruel - the Basil Foxwood speciality - and his heart fluttered in his chest before giving a pathetic squeeze to keep itself from shattering.

Not that it worked. Gus averted his gaze toward the ground as he waited for the barrage of words that would follow. As Foxwood stepped forward he stepped back, keeping the space between them. His face twisted into something pained and he wanted nothing more than to wipe it off, so he scrubbed his hand across it. It didn’t work. He frowned then and stumbled a few more steps away from him.

His throat was swollen shut. His head empty of his own thoughts as those of Foxwood’s bounced around, reminding him just how much he should have stayed gone. He’d be much better off living in Azkaban because then the only person he’d be hurting would be himself. There he wouldn’t have to make friends. No one would want to be one when they realized how shitty of a friend Gus truly was – he was selfish and a monster; he walked into lives and caused nothing but destruction in his wake. He couldn’t blame the other man for not wanting to be his friend.

It didn’t matter if Foxwood thought he loved him too, or wanted his comfort on the days that nearly choked him to death. Gus had asked him to make a choice and he had — it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t ever going to be. How could he expect someone to love him when he didn’t even want to pretend to be his friend? He might be disgusted with himself for even admitting to wanting him, and of course he’d want to rid himself of the festering wound that was Gus Lissington, because it meant he could cut away the ugly of him out. The unnatural parts. There wasn’t any fault in that. There were days he’d give everything in his life to be just like everyone else, too.

Gus held his hands up in surrender as his head bowed toward the ground; there wasn’t any fight left in him, and even if Foxwood wasn’t angrily spitting at him, he was still aiming to tear his heart about. There wasn’t a single word that he could say to make this better. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, I always pictured you marrying someone you were deeply in love with and having an entire house filled with kids. Hell, I still do.” He lifted his head but refused to make eye contact with him, choosing to stare at the cliff ahead. He wasn’t sure what they would reflect, but something akin to having his heart ripped out and stomped on. “I’m not going to tell you how you feel, but spare my feelings? Don’t even pretend for one second this is about me.” You selfish prick.

Gus slid his hand down his face. “I wish, I wish I could just stop being in love with you because wouldn’t that make my life so damn easy? Yours too, infinitely. Then all these thoughts would vanish and you could move on. Fuck Foxwood, I want you to move on, away from me.” He should have stayed gone; wherever life would have taken him would have been better than this.

“And if you don’t want to be my friend, that’s fine. Just leave me alone and I’ll be another ghost of your past. I don’t regret meeting you Basil, or loving you.” Finally, he shifted his eyes to meet the grey pair. “I’m sorry you ever met me. I didn’t mean for this to implode the way it has… but I’ll be okay without you, and you’ll thrive without me.” He swallowed around the tightness in his throat as the desire to curl into a ball and cry until he was hollow was overwhelming. He’d gone through this and life was making him hit replay on it. Gus didn’t want to forget about Foxwood. But he was going to have to.

A tiredness washed over him and he sighed. Defeated. “You can’t make it all go away, but I can. I never put up a facade, you know. I do love you and you are… were, my friend, too.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth but Gus powered through them. “You have friends who love you, a family who adores you, and honestly anyone would be stupid to think otherwise. You’ll be just fine without me, I promise.” Gus had gotten through this once and he could do it again. Hell, they both had.

“Bye, Basil.” Gus shuffled forward and paused in front of him before he leaned forward to brush his lips against his cheek. It seemed permanent, absolute, a stake to the heart he wished wasn’t breaking his chest. Then he turned on his heel to walk away from him, finding he had nothing else to say.

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Basil Foxwood

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At least he’d emphasized those three scary, but reassuring little words. But. I. Can’t. No matter how much Basil wanted to make his problems go away, make himself disappear, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that it actually worked like that. Removing himself entirely from any of his loved ones’ lives would only make them more upset, and taint whatever legacy he was trying desperately to leave for himself. If he wasn’t destined to leave children in this world - which day in and out it seemed more and more likely - then at least he wanted his work to speak for him. To advance the cause of science and magic! Offing himself certainly wouldn’t accomplish either of those things. So, trying to pull himself from the drowning depths of his own mind, the brunette raised his chain and sucked in a breath as he waited for Lissington to respond.

When the other did, Basil was just.. confused. And angry, again. “Wait… what?” That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. How… how could Lissington get that from everything he’d just said? Basil made to step forward again but the other continued to shuffle away from him and that hurt more than anything the redhead might actually say. Rooting himself in place, Basil pinched his lips. “You’re right, it’s not about you!” He snapped. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say! None of this,” Basil let out an arm to swoop demonstratively. “Has ever been about you. That’s what you don’t get Gus!”

You’re …perfect. It’s me who’s— broken and unfair. Basil bit back the softening of his words, his temper taking precedence. Hell, things were so far gone now that he didn’t know what the point of fighting even was. But he’d be damned if he let Lissginton accuse him of not fighting for them. After everything he’d finally conceded, after turning his own world upside down and realizing everything he had, this was what the bloody redhead was fixated upon! His not wanting to be friends, in such simple terms. Now who was being selfish. (And self-pitying.) Basil sucked in a deep breath before responding.

“Look, Gus, I’m sorry that you feel this is your fault, or that it’s all about you - but can you just stop and look at this from my perceptive for a moment?” Basil felt his voice soften into a plea and he hated himself for it. “I finally admitted that I was wrong. I finally realize… that… that all along, it has always been you: in my brain, in my thoughts, in my dreams. You don’t understand how… how difficult all of this is for me! You might feel like this every day of your life, but I don’t! Frankly, I didn’t even think it was possible and here we are, almost a decade later, and I’m forced to face head on the very thing that has turned my life upside down, for the past twelve years! The thing that almost killed me!

You don’t know what it’s been like to carry this around. Not knowing, not understanding, being angry and resentful and scared! My brother, my family, would disown me if they ever knew and without them I don’t have anything to live for!” He stopped short, processing that statement himself. It was true. What did Basil have, if not them? The brunette squared his jaw. This was not the time or place to get into discussing his his vapors or will to live. Instead, he pressed on. “You can’t stand there and be angry at me for not wanting to be friends when all of this runs so much deeper than that! You know me, better than I probably know myself at this point. Do you actually think, pulling away will solve anything for us? It hasn’t in the past, so why should it now?”

Perhaps a little bit too far to push the boundary, considering Lissington was already walking away from him, but Basil was seething. He knew, the minute Lissington showed his big head on this spot tonight, that everything would come crumbling down. He’d already seen them splintering, cracking, the chasm from twelve years ago expanding ever larger despite his best efforts. Honesty was never a good policy! Why couldn’t they both have just kept their traps shut. Things had finally been going well for them.

As Basil stared icily at the other’s retreating back, he snarled. “If you want to pull away fine, but don’t blame me for it! I’m not the one closing the door on your way out!”

Why isn’t this enough for you?

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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Having the same conversations over and over was, quite frankly, exhausting. His head was pounding and telling him to give it up, that there wasn’t a point in rehashing this. He was going to make the same mistakes time and time again without ever finding a true way to fix them. Gus wanted this to be the time to change that but he knew, deep down, that wasn’t going to happen especially as Foxwood kept telling him it wasn’t about him. But it was, wasn’t it? Everything always came back to the same core memory twelve years ago, where Gus had first told him he loved him.

If he hadn’t then none of this would have happened. They would have remained friends at best, and Gus might have moved back sooner instead of spending a decade abroad avoiding all his friends and family simply because he was scared shitless to run into Foxwood. The man also wouldn’t be questioning himself, his relationships and would be none the wiser how unnatural Gus was in terms of his sexuality. He had single handedly destroyed Foxwood’s shot at happiness by saying three little words and here he was, trying not to tell him it was not about him when it everything to do with him. There were no words to express such a statement with Foxwood losing his mind, and Gus merely pursed his lips together to keep anything from spilling out.

He sighed then. It was fleeting and pushed out all the strength he had to fight for anything, and he held his hands up to him in surrender. “Of course I know it’s difficult for you! You, who never in his life has once followed his goddamn heart, always choosing to overthink and be realistic. I’m not pushing you to accept anything but I’m glad you finally realize that at least there’s a slim possibility that how I feel isn’t some sick joke meant to hurt either of us.” The words were broken, barely a whisper as he forced them out.

His fingers ran through his red hair. “And don’t for one second believe my family wouldn’t be the same. My family line dies with me and you think I don’t resent myself for it, every day of my life? What I am Foxwood, is a walking abomination. I am damned. I am a monster.” Gus snarled those words and they felt like poison in his mouth.

But he understood the fear of losing everything, to not have anything; it was why he'd jumped without fearing the fall, jumped on the dangerous curse breaking missions that he might not come back from - no one would miss him, not in the end. Another person gone in the blink of an eye. It was like a slap in the face to hear he wouldn't have anything to live for. “You’d have me.” Three little words barely audible; he only knew he’d spoken them because his lips had moved. He wasn't worth much, not in the long run, but at least he wouldn't let him be alone. Hell, Gus would no qualms saying he'd slipped him a potion or cast an unforgiveable curse on him when Foxwood wanted to go running back to the comforts of his family.

Gus shook his head as he stepped backward to distance himself from Foxwood once more; his fingers furled and unfurled around the edge of his robe as he stared out at the edge of the cliff. “There are some days I fixate on myself in the mirror and all I see is a monster. So I get it. Not knowing why the bloody hell it had to be me plagued to carry this damnation around, and why I can’t just turn it off and be like everyone else. Other days I wonder if it’d be best to turn myself in so I can spend the rest of my life in Azkaban, but that thought frightens me more than anything so I can never actually go through with it. I always hope I'm not going to be a bloody coward some day.” But Foxwood had seen that already – he’d seen the prison as the boggart shifted forms. Now he’d see too, how much Gus lived the life of an imposter.

He’d made the right choice not wanting to be friends. “I’m not angry. I’m just… you picked your family and I can’t – won’t ever fault you for that. But it’s not fair to either of us. You don’t want to act on it and I don’t want to tempt you down a path you will resent me for. I don’t think I could handle you hating me.” Gus turned his back to walk away from him, setting his sight back on the castle. He wanted to walk away from this, from Basil, from who knew what else. But his feet paused as the other snarled at him, and he hunched his shoulders and sighed again.

Gus didn’t turn when he spoke; there was that whiplash Foxwood consistently presented him with, and he just shook his head. “So what’s left then? I just hold on to hope one day your family will come around so you get the best of both worlds? You’re all I want. I love you, and I always will. But I’ve tried being more, I’ve tried being your friend, so tell me what options I have left. A stranger seems like the only viable option you’ve presented me with.”

He just wanted to know what to do; what the best call was for them.

Even if that meant leaving.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil wasn’t sure what he expected Lissington to say, but hearing that he put his family above himself was not… it. Also, it wasn’t true? Not… really. Basil had chosen to be away from them ninety-percent of the year, following his dream to be a professor. He fought with Atticus and mama at every turn about marrying and forcing a life he didn’t want. Just because he hadn’t (yet) dropped this particular bomb, didn’t mean he’d set the rest of his life aside. He did overthink and overanalyze and he was realistic, but then what did that make Gus? Idealistic? If that was fundamentally what the redhead wanted from him, Basil knew right now they were never going to work regardless of all else. This was his personality at its core and… maybe they were just too different to match in the first place, after all. Gender, whims, and hearts aside.

As Lissington continued, and exclaimed his own truest feelings of self loathing, Basil was surprised, but not as much as he should have been. He’d known this was hard for Gus too, he’d never doubted that for a moment. But still, the point wasn’t whom this was hardest for. It was terrible, frankly, for both of them. What mattered was what came next. How could they possibly move past this and reconcile the insurmountable? (Basil was starting to think maybe they couldn’t. Not now, not ever. Maybe Gus was right?)

He flashed back to that day in the maze, to Lissington’s boggart. He had seen it, yes. The redhead’s deepest darkest fears. At the time he hadn’t pried, or understood really what it meant. But now… hearing it all laid out, it only amplified Basil’s own nausea at the reality of things. Lissington was right. It wasn’t just loss of family they had to be scared of. Everything was at stake. Basil involuntarily took a step back.

(The only part of this whole speech that made the brunette want to react, to dispute, was Gus’ measly claim that sure, he would have something to live for. He’d have Gus. But how, in bloody hell, did Lissington expect that to be enough when he wasn’t even willing to sort through this now? He was constantly on the run. Besides, this was all black and blue and checkered. There was no way out of this hole they’d dig themselves into. If anything, Gus had made the impossibility of it more clear than a glass of water!)

With his tongue tied in on itself, Basil didn’t know how to respond. Everything inside of him was finally seeing why Gus felt the way he did, why he acted the way he did. But it didn’t make anything easier. Or clear. “I don’t know,” the brunette finally sighed. He tapped impatiently at the ignored cigarette between his fingers and dribbled ash on the ground. The words were confusing and tangled in his mind. “A lot has happened since seventh year,” he hedged, brain still whizzing too fast for him to keep up. “Things are different now.” Basil wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting at. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to wait around. I haven’t told them about this,” he gestured vaguely between them again “and I probably never will, but… I don’t… I don’t really know what I am asking. I just… I know that being friends is too hard, and being strangers is impossible.”

Was there any middle ground that Lissington would accept? That Basil himself could accept?

No. The deepest, darkest corners of his vapors whispered poisonously into his ear. There is no middle ground. All or nothing. In or out. But why did it have to be that way? They couldn’t be the only two in the history of England who had faced this problem; scientifically, analytically (now that Basil was deciding to set aside the impossibility), there had to be someone else out there. How did they manage?

Someone else for you, maybe. But it’s not Lissington. He wants too much that you can’t give.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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   Gus Lissington

Gus wasn’t sure how he had expected Foxwood to react, but it wasn’t this; he felt himself deflate then, finally out of things to say to him when all he really wanted to do was wrap him in a hug and tell him it was okay. That even if it could be the end of the world it wasn’t all bad, all the time. It defined parts of him for sure but wouldn’t defer him from living the life he felt he deserved (outside of relationships because he’d give anything to be able to hold someone’s hand in public or announce to the world he was in love.) He’d still be the same Gus even if his sexuality was different because it wasn’t personality altering. He just hoped that Foxwood would see that, too.

There were comforting parts too; Sophia and Winnie had kept his secret since fifth year and both had decided to love him fully anyway. Gus trusted them with his life. Even if he ever told his family and was rejected (although he had a strong inkling that Fig knew but never mentioned it because it would complicate things), he’d have another found family who would accept him. Foxwood could too, if it boiled down to it, but telling him that would only upset him so Gus pursed his lips together.

He didn’t turn around as he finally heard Foxwood speak. “I’d hope so.” He quietly agreed. They had both grown, experienced things, and he couldn’t imagine being the same person he was twelve years ago. He nodded, although not sure where he was even going with this. “I’m not expecting you to ever tell them. My parents don’t know, and Fig… well, Fig will never ask.” His lips curled into a slight smile. His sister would take that secret to the grave and for her he was thankful; she might have a lot of questions if they were to ever talk about it, but they wouldn’t. It would be a secret they both knew and danced around.

“And where am I going? I can wait around for a long time.” Even if he still had every intention of leaving Hogwarts sometime soon. Maybe next school year – Gus would at least stick it out for an entire year, and then maybe the rest of the year. Return to curse breaking when it wasn't bloody cold outside. London wasn’t too far though, just an apparation away. Gringotts called to him in a way the school didn’t. It made him feel useful, like he was making a difference instead of being a bumbling idiot hoping someone wasn’t going to get themselves killed one day because of him.

I don’t think anything could take me away from you again.

Wasn’t that statement ringing true? Gus shook his head. “Well, come find me when you figure it out. Until then, we can be casual acquaintances. I promise not to ignore you, but I’m not going to go out of my way to find you. And I think that’ll have to do.” For now. Though what he wanted was asking for the impossible. (Which was a ridiculous notion because Gus Lissington constantly defied the impossible.)

His fingers fiddled with his sleeve before he finally turned his head toward him. “I guess I’ll… see you around the castle?” Or around town, whenever he made the jump to London. With a forced smile at him, he finally stepped back toward his hell holecurrent residence, thoughts reeling from this interaction. A nap was very much needed, and maybe a thousand years to decipher all the thoughts in his head.

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Basil Foxwood

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Diana had been there all this while.

How could she not be?

Basil was acting unusually. She knew he felt heartbroken, though now it’s built up into something greater. Something that weighed on his mind terribly, causing a pain so ferocious that Di was worried about what he might do. He never struck her as the kind of gentleman who would hurt another. That left only one route out, when pain is so great: to hurt oneself.

Basil would never confirm it, these dark thoughts. Not even to her. The closest he came was that one odd remark earlier this month, that at least she would miss him. ‘Yes darling I would,’ she wanted to cry, and hold him close. Wishing, for the first time in ages since resigning herself to this furry fate, that she could be human to properly console him and wipe those tears. ‘Everyone would miss you terribly, me and your friend Gus most of all. And your mother, and even your dear brother, nevermind how you two fight. They would be broken beyond repair if they lost you. Darling Basil. Can’t you see?’

Weeks later, she could tell the thoughts lingered. (A mother always knows.) The cigarette smoking more frequent, the ponderous stares out the window more perturbed. His typical productivity waned, scones left untouched. Her dear boy was wasting away into the air.

Today, Basil left the room in one of his swift agitations. He may have assumed she stayed napping. But Diana was a light sleeper by nature, even more-so when she sensed something was afoot. So she followed him, silent and stuck to shadows. Why her instinct found it necessary to hide, she couldn’t say – it wasn’t convenient, when the closed door to the grounds nearly caught her head and trapped her inside. Though a few minutes later Gus made his way outside too. The redhead moved with enough purpose that he did not seem to notice how she skittered along his feet to accompany him through the door. But it seemed he had a destination in mind, and instinct again told her to follow. Instinct had never failed her before.

Nothing, of course, could have prepared Diana for what she heard. The cat situated herself within bushes with a direct line of sight to the clearing where the men met, and where they spoke (if one could call these barbed words exchanged speaking). At first, she was afraid. If they fought, she would simply have to throw herself between them. The woman moved to her back haunches, ready to pounce on their faces. But the fight never came - not with wands or fists, anyway.

What she saw instead were two people ripping out their own hearts for the other. A different type of bloodshed.

What she heard were the words said - and left unsaid. Men that professed an impossible love for each other, love that could not be helped, no matter how much they hated the circumstances. A man determined to let his soulmate lead a long, fruitful future untethered by these feelings. Another man, bound by duty to his family, unwilling to admit this defeat. Both shattered, finding easier recourse in throwing it all away rather than work through the pain (and comfort to be found) in their shared reality. A deep love for each other that could never be known by other (human) eyes. A treacherous unfairness with society's cruelty. Diana understood this all well.

‘I haven’t told them about this, and I probably never will…’

This must have been the statement that drew Diana out from the bushes. She was not fully attuned to the fact that she had done so, but subconsciously, as a mother, she felt compelled to demonstrate: ‘Yes Basil you have. Without realizing it, you’ve told me it all. And I haven’t stopped adoring you as my boy even one ounce less. Surely this is better than keeping these feelings locked away until you combust? Surely this shows you how not all hope is lost, if you have the courage to move with your heart?’

These words could not be spoken, of course. Not in her current form. And even as she sat out in the open, she was certain they did not spot her – they had no reason to notice anything but each other, much less her unusual behavior. Few know how cats have tear ducts just like humans do. Typically this has nothing connected with a cat’s feelings, but Diana was no ordinary cat. Nor was she an ordinary witch (if, indeed, she ever became one again).

So as she sat there, and watched Gus make his broken retreat, she wept. Bared her sorrow openly for her boys. Silent, fat tears dropping from her saucer-sized blue eyes, wetting the fur of her cheeks and splashing onto the grass. Moved by a profound heaviness in her heart as she felt, yet again, powerless to fix anything as simply a cat.

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   Basil Foxwood

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beautiful set by gin <3

Basil heard the words his college was saying but they fell on mostly deaf ears. He wasn’t sure there was anything else to respond, but all of this felt extremely unresolved. Come find me when you figure it out. That statement alone told Basil all he needed to hear. There was no version of this in which Lissington would be ok with… anything less than everything. It was fair, the brunette supposed. He had a right to be happy and free and have everything from someone; it simply wouldn’t be Basil. A queasy feeling bubbled up in his stomach at the thought. Basil couldn’t bring himself to imagine Gus with anyone else, and he didn’t want to.

Where did that resolution then leave him? Was he, Basil Foxwood, destined to die alone, damned? Was it just Lissington he felt this way about? Was it possible there might be a woman out there for him? The thought made him frown, harder, and Basil turned away from the other’s retreating figure. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’ll see you around.”

A loss of ghastly proportions.

Basil lifted the nearly smoked cigarette to his lips and took in a deep drag. His eyes were prickling again as the smoke curled around his lungs, numbing from the inside. Then, anger and frustration and grief welling up inside, the brunette growled and chucked the cigarette butt with all his strength over the side of the cliff face. Damn Augustus Lissington for making him feel like this! For making him realize something so terribly out of reach. It was ridiculous that they were both so miserably unhappy apart, and couldn’t manage a way to bridge the gap. (Couldn’t, or wouldn’t.)

Basil was breathing heavily as he scraped a hand across his wet face. It was then, and only then, that he spotted a familiar little white fluff peering out at him from between the trees. Had she been there all this time? Had he simply been so blind as to not notice her? Duchess had her tail perfectly wrapped around her toes and in an instant, Basil felt all his anger dissipate. He walked over to the precious kitten and scooped her up, burying his nose in her fur. It wasn’t as comforting as he needed, but it was better than nothing. If not for Gus, or his family, at least he had her to still live for.

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Gus Lissington & this theme song

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