April 18, 1892 - Hogwarts Grounds, their “spot”

For April it was frigid out. Gus huffed quietly as he tugged the yellow and grey striped scarf draped around his neck further up to bury his nose into the fabric, his feet on autopilot as he walked the ground of Hogwarts. The morning classes had ended and his afternoon classes wouldn’t start for another hour, leaving him ample time to be alone with his thoughts. Basil had denied any vistations once he’d gotten to the infirmary Friday night and the redhead had been finally shooed away once it was clear that no, even if he batted his big blue eyes and offered a chipper smile, he was not going to be allowed in. He’d spent all weekend fretting over him, wondering if his memories had come back or if he was going to be stuck with a seventeen year old’s brain forever - it hadn’t helped he’d gone home, and for what, Gus had no clue. He didn’t have a right to ask, either.

His feet stopped as he neared the edge of the cliff, and Gus heaved a sigh as he sat down indolently. He folded his legs and leaned back on his hands, raising his head just enough to blink up at the blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. Being back in London was certainly having its drawbacks, and part of him wanted to run back to Egypt with his tail between his legs and pretend the last few months had never happened. But he couldn’t for reasons he still wouldn’t admit aloud, which was forcing Gus to deal with Basil head on. They just needed to find a balance. A professional, friendly balance where they could safely orbit around each other without fear of ruining the other.

He sighed. Life had been so much simpler at seventeen. Basil had been his voice of reason when he was trying to do something stupid and he’d helped Basil live on the wilder side. The cliffs had always been their spot; away from prying eyes, away from the castle, and it was always just them. He knew exactly what tree he could take Basil’s hand at without much of a protest, and which tree the young Ravenclaw would push him against when he felt the urge to kiss him had become overwhelming. They’d spent a lot of time on the walk up speaking of real matters, leaving the polite small talk for the walls of the castle.

Outside of that one day, their spot was filled with nothing but fondness and memoires.

“Hey, think I summon a broom before I hit the water?” Gus asked as he turned around to glance at Basil, a grin against his lips. His toes were dangling just off the cliff, his arms straightened out from him to provide a semblance of balance. Gus’ wand was tucked behind his ear, probably held more so in place by the abundant amount of hair he refused to cut than anything. Basil had just frowned at him, unamused that Gus would even want to test that theory! He’d gotten up and taken his arm to guide him from the edge of the cliff, distracting him in other ways.

The redhead couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. He still wasn’t sure if he could fall faster than a broom!

But despite the memories, Basil’s words still echoed around him; they tainted a lot of what Gus remembered, although he did his best to look past them. “What do you mean you love me? It’s not biologically possible!” He heard the words a lot - in his head, in his dreams, when he thought about not doing something dangerous but then decided why the hell not if he wasn’t capable of loving anyo-

“I… what? No. That’s not right.” Confusion flicked across his face as he frowned at the ground, his face scrunching as he tried to pull out the actual words Basil had said to him. It had been ten years so of course the memory had faded over him - there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the man had told him he was incapable of love. He huffed and unwound the scarf from his neck to use as a pillow as he laid flat on the ground, mulling over that damn day. If he could forget it entirely he would. Maybe Ms. Dashwood could hit him with the same spell.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

It had been a long few days.

Basil wasn’t sure when he awoke that morning, back in his normal bed at Hogwarts, how he was going to face this day head on. It was an unusual feeling, one that prickled at the usually so confident, eager professor. There wasn’t anything that Basil loved more than teaching and enveloping himself in research. It was his escape, his comfort. Today, the very thought of having to guide young, impressionable minds seemed daunting. Who was he, really, Basil Foxwood to teach them anything when his own life was such a mess? He’d scrubbed a hand tiredly over his face that morning and skipped breakfast. Tea in his room would have to be enough.

To say that Basil was avoiding his problems was perhaps a bit generous. He was outright making every interaction with Lissington nearly impossible to keep from having to face said problems. In fact, he’d ben doing it since the infirmary visit. On Friday evening, after the rather abrupt end to their conversations, the two of them had headed off to see the nurse. Basil was foggy on most of what was said, but he distinctly remembered feeling the need to keep his own mouth shut. To keep himself in check. To such aims, he’d asked the nurse to refrain from allowing visitors in to see him. It was a rather lucky thing too. Coming out of that fog and reconciling what had transpired over the past decade with conversations and emotions from just a few hours prior had been difficult at best. Basil was still, frankly, trying to reconcile the two.

He could remember so vividly the emotions he’d felt that afternoon as… a younger version of himself. Everything from the confusion, the attraction, and the blind trust he’d had in Lissington, to the feeling of their fingers entwining so naturally, and the press of familiar lips against his own. The very stark recollection of the latter sentiment sent something zipping down Basil’s spine; the brunette felt himself heat up in places he hadn’t even known were possible anymore, and was glad for the chance to recollect alone. He remembered now, more prominently than he had before after years of muddled betrayal, how it felt to care, to want, to need Gus Lissington in his life. Honestly, Basil wasn’t sure how he’d ever managed to forget it, really. It was like the ability to breathe had been returned to him after years of drowning at sea. And these were the thoughts that so desperately confused Basil, making everything so difficult.

He wasn’t sure how, or why, he felt the way he felt. He couldn’t quantify it. He couldn’t explain it. All he knew rationally was that he needed, wanted, craved Gus Lissington in ways that - to his own point - should not be possible. In ways that simply weren’t allowed. By society, by decorum, by everything Basil valued and believed. Still, he would be a liar if he didn’t admit to feeling it. Add to that the even more anxiety inducing thought that Lissington might also feel this way and well… Basil had much preferred not to unpack any of it. Instead, he’d opted to run home and spend his free weekend sheltering in his family home in Wellingtonshire. He’d hidden from the reality of his problems behind the pretense of fixing his brother’s hair and hiding behind his mother’s skirts. Now, however, he had no such excuses.

He didn’t know what he was going to do or say when he did finally face Lissington head on. He knew things now about himself, and the other, that had previously been an enigma. Something to be ignored, and willed away. But not anymore. Basil simply couldn’t ignore the feeling swirling around in his gut every time he so much as thought about the redhead. What was worse, he knew what it felt like to act on the impulses from their time as boys. (It had been a long time since Basil had even entertained the idea of kissing anyone at all and now he felt justified in his having avoided it this long.)

It was with this whirlwind of thoughts however that the professor managed to get through his morning classes, just barely. He’d almost transfigured a quill into a mess with his first years, and he’d decided then and there that he would be giving his N.E.W.T students a free period to continue their essays this evening. He was at his wits end. Now, on his break between periods, Basil had decided he needed to put Lissington (and himself) out of their misery. Three days of avoidance was long enough.

The first place he’d gone looking for Lissington was the scene of the crime. Unfortunately the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was not in his office, or his classroom for that matter. After poking his head into the Great Hall and coming up empty, Basil figured he knew exactly where his former companion was hiding out. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to venture back up there. Not after all this time.

Basil hadn’t visited their “spot” in years. Likely not since the last incident that had fractured them so deeply. He’d made a point since his return to Hogwarts as a professor not to go up there; in fact, he avoided most of the vast grounds in general, preferring to hole up in the towers when he needed a change of pace. It was only the odd whim that saw Professor Foxwood strolling across the grounds, and usually it was in the snow, or to help out with something in the greenhouses (so never). Today, as he returned to his office to deposit some grading and retrieve the scone he’d meant to leave out for Aubrey, Basil grabbed his navy and grey Ravenclaw scarf for good measure. It was brisk out today, given that it was only April, and he was not going up there without protection.

Sure enough, some odd fifteen minutes later, he heard that familiar voice float out from between the trees just up ahead. Lissington was undoubtedly standing just near the cliff-face, overlooking Hogwarts from a distance. Even just the sound of the other’s voice after three days of incessant obsessive thinking made something twist in Basil’s stomach. (He didn’t know who Lissington was talking to, if anyone, but the sudden thought that he’d brought someone else up here made Basil pause.) When no other sound came, the brunette sucked in a deep breath and pushed his way through the trees. “I knew I’d find you here,” he greeted, hesitantly.

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Gus Lissington

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Gus leaned his head back to get a better look at Basil as he heard his voice float through the air, cracking the thought process he’d been on. Whatever had actually been said that day was lost to the ages and he knew, he just knew that Basil had told him something different than what he was remembering. There was another beat of silence before Gus realized that he actually needed to respond; he rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin into his hand as he tossed the other a lazy smile. “Looking for me then?” He questioned, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

He figured they’d play the avoidance game until the end of the term, reconvene during the summer and deal with the consequences of not having spoken for months when they returned. Not in any of the scenarios Gus had imagined when he finally talked to Basil again involved the other seeking him out. Why then? Here to yell at him? He’d deserve it. Here to tell him he finally remembered and to stay the hell away from him? Expected it. Gus had taken advantage of a confused Basil - he should have pushed him away instead of divulging him.. He couldn’t help but feel guilty of how the entire situation had started and ended, all because of his own actions.

Swallowing the thoughts, Gus sighed softly as he finally rolled onto his knees and then to his feet. There was a refusal to meet his gaze. He took a step closer to his friend, winding the scarf back around his neck as he did so. (He was always thankful he didn’t have to don Gryffindor colors - sure the red would have consistently clashed with his already bright hair.) He licked his lips.

“How’s your head?” He asked quietly, blue hues flickering from his face to the ground. Basil still looked a little worse for wear and he wondered how much he remembered. Gus didn’t want to talk about it - he didn’t want to own up to his mistakes, didn’t want to own up to their conversation and didn’t want to own up to the fact that yes, he was still in love with Basil just as much as he had been ten years ago. He shook his head. “I’m sorry for what happened. For the spell, the deflection and the letters. I should have known…” Should have been able to predict that they’d upset you and make you react negatively? Even he didn’t believe that and snapped his mouth closed.

Gus ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” He finally settled on.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil eyed the almost too relaxed form on the ground. Did Lissington not care about what had happened? Did he not find it odd? Why shouldn’t he, Basil, be looking for the red-head? They had things to sort out didn’t they?! Basil sucked in a breath and held it, willing himself not to get annoyed at his companion’s blasé demeanor. Lissington likely didn’t mean anything by it, not really. But, Basil supposed, if he wasn’t long suffering with this weight then there was no reason to stir it all up again!

Mouth forming into a hard line, the brunette watched as the other finally rolled onto his feet and stood. He knew he shouldn’t feel anything, really, about how the other was acting but he did. And it bothered Basil. (Though he wasn’t sure if it bothered him more that Lissington didn’t seem to care at all about what happened, or that he could be so relaxed after the fact?) Stifling that emotion down and locking it away as best he could, Basil laced his fingers behind his back and stood up a little straighter as Lissington advanced towards him.

“It’s… better,” he replied, unwilling to pretend it was quite fixed. His memory was resolved, as much as it could be with conflicting emotional stints, but he still had frequent, powerful headaches. Lissington then went on to apologize and Basil felt his anger deflate a bit. He knew it wasn’t Lissington’s fault, what happened. Not really. Sure, he could have thought twice about deflecting the spell out into the hall but blaming Lissington for that would be like blaming Poppy herself for casting it at all. Basil didn’t place any blame whatsoever on his cousin, and he wasn’t here to point fingers at the other professor either.

“You couldn’t have known,” he replied, quietly. “Thank you, in fact, for helping me to the infirmary. I don’t think in that state I was fit to do much for myself.” Basil cleared his throat a little awkwardly and looked down at his feet. He didn’t know if he ought to mention anything regarding the letters. He was still a bit fogy on what caused his memory to rip in such a way, but he did know something in those scribbles - or rather, missing from them - had triggered it. He was surprised, he supposed, that Lissington had actually kept them all. Or perhaps not so very surprised, after the telling revelations from Friday evening. Basil’s cheeks warmed at the thought.

“I suppose I just wanted to say as much,” he tried, voice a bit more firm this time. “Thank you, and I’m doing alright.” Not that you seem to mind much, my avoidance. Basil eyed the red-head carefully. He knew he’d come up here to discuss the melodrama of what had occurred but suddenly, it didn’t seem so important. Perhaps - despite Lissington’s lingering affection - they were too far past the stage of even uncomfortable discourse. Perhaps they were just two ships that had once crossed paths in the great wide sea, never to cross so close again. Perhaps he was kidding himself that he even had a right to confront Lissington with his confusion of thoughts and ideals. His initial instinct from long ago had been to run towards the redhead, with his concerns, his joys, his anxieties. Perhaps he’d been too caught up in that past to see that it was no longer appropriate.

Basil tugged at his scarf a bit; it suddenly felt too tight, wrapped around his throat like that. Something deep down sunk inside of him: a pearl, soft and ready to fracture. He searched for something final to say but words failed. He turned as if to go. He supposed that was all there was left to do.

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Gus Lissington

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Basil was angry at him, that much he could tell from the way he seemed almost rigid and had a sudden interest in staring at the ground. Gus scratched the back of his head before he stepped forward, itching to reach forward and brush back his hair to check for any signs the injury had actually occurred. Instead he huffed a slight laugh as he pressed the tip of his toe against the ground.

“Well, I tried to stay with you, after I’d dropped you off but I was told it might be too much while your brain ah… fixed itself.  Visiting was also a no-go because you said you didn’t want any visitors. She was very annoyed when I said I’d camp out until you were ready, and I promise I wanted to be there…” He’d threatened to build a tent the hallway (Gus was very adverse at the spell) but eventually decided not to press the issue, especially after a few students had started stopping, curious as to what in the world was happening.

Gus trailed off as he blinked upward. How much did he actually remember? He didn’t want to put his own foot in his mouth and tell him the things they talked about nor did he want to give any sort of explanations as to why he had the letters, why he’d clearly read each of them but never bothered to pick up a quill to give him any correspondence back. Even a “please stop” would have been better than silence. The redhead truly wished he could sit down with his seventeen year old self and tell him what an idiot he was. Gus also was still well aware he shouldn’t have reciprocated anything Basil had done, but he’d play it off as instinct if he had to. “I was… you went home the next day and I was so worried something had happened to you.” He’d stepped forward without realizing it. “But I didn’t want to overwhelm you and I know you like space, and I’m -”

He opened his mouth to apologize again but he knew the brunette would just chide him for saying it so many times. Even hearing that he was doing alright didn’t make anything better. Gus wanted to know how he felt - was he angry? Sad? Disgusted? Mortified? The redhead was certainly that with his own self control. Basil turned to leave, and the redhead knew he still had things on his chest to get off - he didn’t have a single desire to live with the thoughts in his head, the guilt eating away at him. His fingers curled around the edges of the scarf near his chest as he sighed softly, taking a step away from him.. “I know I shouldn’t have, well… I took advantage of you, didn’t I?” He said quietly.

Blue hues glanced upward at him. This should be the part where he apologized for the millionth time because certainly he couldn't actually say it enough, but despite being mortified he’d do it again a thousand times over. The kisses, maybe not the whole memory thing. Gus could only wish it’d been this Basil, twenty eight year old professor Basil who still made him laugh and made him feel whole. The scar on his arm itched.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil paused as the other spoke, glad that he had an excuse not to walk away. Things didn’t seem settled and he didn’t want to leave them so abruptly open. It felt like this thing between them was a wound that would bleed out until their fractured relationship finally gurgled and died, unable to hold up against the abandonment of this life-threatening abyss. They needed to address it. He wasn’t ready for everything to all fall apart; not again, and not like this. Not when he finally realized the peace he’d once had with the other. Not when this thing in his gut threatened to tear him apart every time he so much as glanced in the redhead’s direction.

“No… but it proves we can fix things.”

Basil frowned as the ghost is his own words came back to haunt him. He cleared his throat and had the decency to at least look sheepish at Lissington’s recollection of the infirmary events, how he had asked for no visitors. “Yes,” he replied. “I… ah, didn’t trust myself not to give us away.” He admitted, staring intently at his shoes again. My, they were interesting to him today, weren’t they? “I appreciate your help anyhow,” he added hastily.

Before Basil could really get his bearings enough to respond with something, anything, more substantial - or decide if he even wanted to - Lissington stepped towards him. That small action shouldn’t have sent such a panic through Basil the way it did. Grey hues widened a touch, and he eyed the redhead skeptically. Basil didn’t really trust himself now, either. The impulse to shove Lissington into a tree and snog him silly was warring with his desire to straighten things out, to not make them worse. In an effort to distract himself, Basil replied:

“You didn’t take any more liberties than I myself did in such a state…” His voice was low, and his cheeks were tinged so red he was sure you could match them to Lissington’s hair. Basil cleared his throat again. “Don’t… don’t fret about any of it.” He said gently. “I’m not here to place blame, or point fingers. I don’t particularly even want to re-visit the whole debacle.” It felt cheap to admit it. “I just…”

I wanted to talk to you about it because you and I could always figure everything out in the past. Together. I want to know what it means. I want to know where this leaves us.

“I just wanted to let you know that I was alright… and… to make sure you didn’t blame yourself as I know you’re wont to do.” Here Basil paused to force a knowing smile on his companion. (He did know Lissington was the type to shoulder something like this, to keep it balled up and let it affect his perception of how effective he was as a professor. Basil also knew the redhead had already come to Hogwarts with doubts about his abilities, and the Ravenclaw didn’t want this to settle in and amplify them. Still, his concern was a bit of a cop out.)

Basil knew it was a fine line he was walking; he’d come up here to straighten things out, to touch on the source of the conflict. He simply couldn’t seem to find the words. It would be so much easier to just let this go. To just, figure out his own thoughts and act accordingly. They weren’t the same as they used to be. He couldn’t expect this to go well in any way, and fighting just didn’t seem worth it. It wouldn’t gain either of them anything. They were different people now, and this incident had really only proven that. Basil was entirely morphed, almost alien-ly so, from the seventeen year-old who’d carried around that infatuation with Gus Lissington.

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Gus Lissington

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Gus only managed a shy smile at the other when it came to his reasoning for no visitors; it had been a wise decision in hindsight - he knew he would have wanted to sit next to his bed, hold his hand in one and use the other to stroke his hair while promising it’d all be okay. He knew how it’d draw eyes; they’d snuck around for an entire year without gandering any attention, and he was quite aware that seventeen year old Gus was a lot more brash and a lot less subtle than he was now. (Although to say that twenty eight year old Gus was a lot less brash and subtle than most other people was a lie - he had a larger than life personality that he never liked to bottle up.)

“But you thought yourself seventeen and with me. I was quite aware of what I was doing,” Pausing, the redhead licked his lips as he thought of his next words. He focused his gaze on Basil and found it endearing that other was blushing; embarrassed at the memory? Or that he’d do it at all? It didn’t matter. Gus always thought Basil was cute when he blushed. Then he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “I, well we… Basil.” He finally breathed out without finding actual words to say. Eyes wide, Gus blinked up at him with the next set of words. He supposed Basil would know him well enough to understand he’d shoulder all the blame - he had to. It was his fault for not warding the room. His fault for reflecting the spell into the hallway and his fault that Basil bled from his ears and winded up in the infirmary with a fractured memory. Not to mention the entire ordeal that had happened in the room.

There was doubt that he was cut out to be a professor - what if it had been a student? Then he’d have to protect Ms. Dashwood from any repercussions for performing the spell and face the consequences of fracturing someone’s memories. A parent wouldn’t be as friendly or as forgiving as Basil was. He deserved the blame, and quite frankly, if Basil wouldn’t give it to him (when they both knew he deserved it), he’d take it himself. This was just the first of many instances where Gus wasn’t sure he’d made the right leap.

Then he laughed, a bit forced and a bit awkward, stepping to bridge the gap between them. Gus took Basil’s face in his hands. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I can’t imagine learning that after being conjoined at the hip for so long that we were suddenly strangers. I do know about having memories you can’t touch, and how much that hurts. Like there’s a dark spot in your mind but the door is locked and no matter how hard you pound on the door won’t open.” He pulled in a deep breath as he closed his eyes; those months he couldn’t touch were some of the worst. Filling in the gaps of what had happened was far worse than knowing. It was a rabbit hole and once he went down it, it was hard for Gus to pull himself out of the what ifs.

Blue hues fluttered back open as he offered a smile to him. “I wish, Basil, I wish it would have been me that has to shoulder this.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against his. “But we can’t ignore this forever. I won’t hold what seventeen year old you said against you.”

But I just have to know for sure.

Gus let his hands drop from his face as he took a step back. Basil could run if he wanted - that would give him all the answers he needed.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil didn’t know so very much about healthy emotional expression. In fact, he was quite averse to it, health be damned. His gut instinct was always to push things aside, ignore them, pretend they never happened; anything to prevent a scandalous uproar of sentiment. He was quintessentially British in this regard, as was his brother, mother, and father before him. Some days however, some much like this, he wished he was better at it all. To be, even a fraction more …American, would have helped his case of tongue-tied lolly-gagging. (Not that he had any particular affinity or disdain for Americans; he quite admired their less-flappable way of life, but he liked the ease of expectation when it came to decorum and tradition that the English way enforced. Most of the time.) Listening to Lissington also struggle to speak made him feel only the slightest bit better that this was awkward on both their parts.

But then the redhead forced out a laugh and stepped towards him and Basil could feel himself leaning subtly away. Grey eyes betrayed nothing as he appraised the other. Lissington had a very intentional look on his face, one Basil wasn’t sure he trusted, and rightfully so as, a moment later, Lissington reached up to hold his head in place.

Everything about the action made Basil squirm.

He wasn’t used to Lissington, or anyone really, being so close up in his personal space. It was uncomfortable, in the worst way possible. Entirely unsolicited too. He didn’t hear much of what the other said as he blinked, quickly, and tried not to jerk away. There was a cloudiness touching his peripherals; the darkness loomed, just out of sight but cold and threatening. Basil felt his breath shorten a touch, and he tried to force himself to breathe evenly. 

He didn’t know why something as mundane as Lissington holding his head was eliciting such a response. Perhaps it was the head injury, perhaps it was being forced to reconcile with something he was so deeply terrified of confronting. Whatever the matter, he held his breath as Lissington pressed their foreheads together. We can’t ignore this forever.

Eventually the redhead stepped away from him and Basil felt all the oxygen in the world rush back into his system. He felt dizzy almost from the tremendous relief of it, and sucked in a few short, panicked breaths. The darkness creeping up into his system seemed to pause, not yet overwhelming him, but not quite abating either. Basil screwed his eyes shut.

Lissington was right. They couldn’t ignore this forever. They had to hash it all out, once and for all. He was terrified of what that meant. Did it mean loosing Lissing, his Lissing, forever? Did it mean losing something else, something potentially more terrifying? (His family, his beliefs, his own sense of self?) Basil wasn’t sure he was ready to even consider the latter. Frustrated and in a state of panic now, the former Ravenclaw frowned and ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends in a way he hadn’t since he was a child. He stepped back, away from Lissington, and paced back and forth hoping to make sense of his own thoughts.

What did he want from Lissington? What did he want from himself? What was it that prickled at him so much about… all of this. Why was it so hard to believe that Lissington could feel for him, could love him— ?

“I don’t know!” Basil finally crowed. He paused, abruptly, realizing he’d said that aloud. “I-I just mean… I wish I could understand…” he hesitated. I wish I could understand what I want, what this feeling is, why it’s so stressful… why I can't stop myself from wanting to shove you against a blasted tree! The darkness prickled at the edges of his consciousness again. He could feel the panic building in his gut. It shouldn’t have been so difficult to discuss this; it shouldn’t make him feel like the world was closing in on him. Basil didn’t know if Lissington knew about his wretched vapors; couldn’t remember if this was anything they’d ever managed before. He desperately hoped not, and he willed himself not to have a fit here and now in front of the redhead. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked anywhere but at the other. Ten, nine, eight…

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Gus Lissington

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There it was. There was the disgust that Gus had always looked for in Basil’s expression and finally seeing it despite the anticipation didn’t make it hurt any less. Two things happened nearly instantly: Gus deflated and all the fight he had for well… everything seemed to escape his body as he sighed softly, his hands twisting behind his back while Basil had a sudden outburst of words, as if still not understanding what Gus wanted.

Answers. That was it. Were they friends? Were the enemies? He couldn’t keep doing this weird dance around Basil while pretending he wasn’t drowning in a life he thought he could just step back into. While it was inevitable for life to move while he’d been away, he hadn’t expected it to move quite as fast, or as much; it was like he’d tripped and was being trampled to death without anyone offering him a hand.

Blinking, Gus could see the panic that was beginning to show around Basil’s face; he’d spoken about them as children, how the attacks would come out of nowhere and last for a spell, yet he couldn’t ever recall seeing one. He couldn’t recall ever hearing him talk about how to talk him down. (If Atticus were still here he’d send for him but he wasn’t and Gus felt entirely unequipped to handle this himself.) Instead he stepped back again to give him some space, not wanting to hover around him yet didn’t want to leave him. “I’m sorry.” His two favorite words when it came to Basil - if he hadn’t come home, the brunette wouldn’t have been in any of the messes the former Hufflepuff always seemed to be causing. It was just another reason on the never-ending list he shouldn’t have ever left.

Gus opened his mouth but found himself without a single thing to say. He retreated back a few more steps before a hand made its way through his hair. “I just, I can’t keep playing this damn game with you Foxwood! I’m not a toy and contrary to belief I do have feelings, and I just… Why did you come out here? What do you want from me?” He pleaded, watching the other with wide eyes; it probably wasn’t going to help his panic at all, but there was nothing more he wanted to do than leave. Leave it to him, being selfish all over again.

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Basil Foxwood

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Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

When Lissington took yet another step back, Basil felt some of the darkness around his vision begin to assuage. Five, four, three… He released the breath he’d been holding in and opened grey eyes to the world. It was still cold and cloudy, but at least the air was flooding back through to his lungs. Basil resisted the urge to cower; he didn’t have a wall to fall back against and slide down, wrapping his arms around his legs and covering his head. And he didn’t. need. one. He was an adult for bloody sake! Three, two, one…

The transfiguration professor brought a heavy hand to his head and scrubbed at his face. He was exhausted already, but he knew he had to push through this. He knew he had to force back the darkness, the monster threatening to overwhelm his brain. It was better now, somewhat, even as he turned away from Lissington and started to pace. Physical activity often helped distract him from the brooding clouds. It never passed quickly, but hopefully he could at least distance himself from the asphyxiation until it settled in his gut for next time. He tried to refocus on what his companion was saying and by proxy his expression hardened just a touch.

Basil didn’t want apologies. Every new one that slipped from Lissington’s vocals only made him feel worse. He tried to listen through stomach-churning anxiety at the meaning behind the redhead’s words but all he could really sense was anger and desperation. Two sentiments he echoed, quite tragically. “I … I just—” Basil tripped over his own words. He was both cornered, and frustrated. Frustrated with himself, with Lissington, with the world for having slung them into this situation. Why the bloody hell couldn’t Lissing have just stayed away? Basil had been doing just fine on his own without the turmoil and… emotions the redhead stirred up in him. He wasn’t equipped to handle such things and he certainly knew it!

"Why did you come out here? What do you want from me?”

Basil paused abruptly in his pacing and looked up at the treetops.

“I… I don’t know what I want!” He finally admitted, throwing up his arms in a vaguely open gesture. “There, are you happy?” Basil turned to face the redhead, his face twisted into a scowl. “I just, I felt as if avoiding you was not going to resolve things but perhaps I ought to have because I don’t have any bloody idea what I’m supposed to say!” He took a vague step in Lissington’s direction, desperation clearly written across his pale visage.

“I think the better question is: what do you expect from me?” Basil felt his voice hitch. “I am the same beastly person I was when you left ten years ago! Nothing has changed in my circumstance—" or my sentiments “and I can’t offer you anything more now than I ever could!” He tried everything in his power to keep his tone even. To keep from bursting out in a display of emotion, and failing miserably.

“I have no intention of toying with you Lissington, or playing any games.” Basil started pacing again. “I simply hate this… this uncertainty of where we stand and the expectation that something, anything, has to change. You dropped back into my life from nowhere, after years of silence! Years that I spent, quite frankly, miserable and trying to forget you ever existed!” Basil could feel himself spinning up emotion into something explosive but the tap had opened and there was no tapering it off now.

“What am I supposed to - no - what am I expected to do now? Am I simply to forgive and forget the way your loss practically ripped out a piece of me I was only just starting to understand? A part of me that I’ve done everything possible to deny ever since? You took the only human, feeling part of my heart with you that day and dropped it in the dunes somewhere, lost to the both of us!” Voice beyond emotional capacity now, Basil tried to do everything in his power to lower it. To bring his tone back to something neutral, something that wasn’t going to explode in both their faces.

“I apologize if you feel overwhelmed by coming back here, and I apologize if all of this only makes you feel worse. I just… I don’t know where we go from here! Having you so close makes me absolutely mad with the desire to grab you by the waistcoat and do obscene things, things that no gentleman should ever even imagine! So what would you like, Gus? Tell me, please, and put me out of this misery because quite frankly - I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to move on!”

Heaving a little with the effort such an admission had taken out of him, Basil finally straightened. He moved a hand to his breast pocket, feeling the outline of the letter he’d been carrying around with him. It was still there, practically burning a hole into his soul. He debated for a moment flinging it at the other, letting him see just how terribly things had gone for Basil after he left. Some small sense of decorum stopped the former Ravenclaw, and Basil dropped his hand.

It was silent for a moment and a bird squawked somewhere nearby. Basil could only hope that out of all of this Lissington could pull what was important, that he would finally understand. Basil was angry, he was furious; years of pent up… everything had just come spewing out and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was somewhat surprised, perhaps, at how much resentment had built. He hadn’t imagined that after the year it took grieving and then accepting Lissington’s loss that he’d held onto anything. But now, faced with all of that pain over again and then the expectant look on his former friend’s face, Basil just didn’t know what more there was to do. Lissington had to know how difficult it had been for him. He had to know that it still hurt. He couldn’t simply expect things to be alright and to move forward as if picking up a week after their argument. Perhaps if he’d answered a single blasted letter back then, shown some sign of reciprocation at all, things might be different now. But he hadn’t. A simple apology and some good will would not be enough to mend this fracture. Basil didn’t know what, if anything, could - but he was determined to find out.

---

Gus Lissington

---

  

Gus stilled as he watched Basil begin to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, and if he continued there’d be no doubt in his mind that there would be the beginnings of a worn path. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair finding that he had little else to say to the other - what was the point? It went in one ear and out the other and he was exhausted from having the same conversations over and over without making any progress. But then Basil stopped his pacing and turned abruptly to look at him as Gus spewed out angry words. What did he want from his former friend? Because no matter what avenue he took Basil always seemed to be angry at him and Gus was getting tired from shouldering all the blame.

Then Basil spoke and Gus scowled back at him. “I haven’t been happy in a while, so no!” He tossed back at him as he took a step away from him as the other stepped forward. But those were thoughts he wasn’t ready, or willing to unpack. That was his problem. “And you’re wonderful at avoiding things so perhaps I should applaud you for finally having enough time to figure this out.” Basil hadn’t been the one to leave the country to escape him. Gus was quite aware of much he was to blame too.

Pausing, Gus sucked in a deep breath before he exhaled softly. All the anger he’d felt welling inside of him seemed to dissipate and for a moment he felt nothing. It was a blessing and a curse for someone who did nothing but feel. He turned blue hues to look at the man in front of him and frowned - if he had to choose words to explain who Basil Foxwood was to another, beastly wouldn’t be one of them. “I wish, Foxwood, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. There is nothing beastly about you. The only thing I wanted was you. I didn’t care about your flaws, I cared about you. I wanted to celebrate your accomplishments and make you see you’re so much more than your failures. I wanted to see you smile and I wanted to wake up with my heart full because you were right next to me. I know I asked for too much and look at where it’s gotten us.” It was easier in the long run to put all the blame on himself. If he hadn’t pushed that day Basil wouldn’t have shoved. He swallowed an apology.

Gus took another step back. He sighed again. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just want you to leave me alone.” If the redhead could apparate on school grounds he’d be gone already. Instead he stared at the ground and hoped that when he glanced upward that the man would be gone. Luck hadn’t been on his side in a while as he finally did raise his eyes, Basil was still in front of him.

“I-” Gus deflated. There wasn’t anything else he could say. He was tired of having this conversation over and over again. “I chose silence because you told me I wasn’t capable of love. And that I didn’t have a heart. How could you expect me to sit down and write you letters when you made it very clear however I felt about you was a sham. How I felt about everyone was a sham!” What Basil thought he’d said that day wasn’t in question as the former Hufflepuff had taken those words to heart and had repeated them in his head over morning and night like his own personal mantra. Gus raked his fingers through his hair before fidgeting with the scarf around his neck.

He lowered his eyes again and found himself mumbling the words. It was difficult to admit what he’d done and why he’d done it, but no one had ever questioned his why - Gus Lissington was just an adventurous soul. “I did everything in my power to forget about you. I didn’t care what happened to me,” he frowned as he dropped his fingers from the scarf and chose not to elaborate. If something had happened and he hadn’t had Lady Luck on his side, who would mourn him? His parents? Fig? That was nothing compared to what it felt like to lose a love. He knew that first hand.

He could hear the overwhelming emotion in Basil’s voice - the hurt, the anger, the disgust all wrapped up in a pretty little bow. Gus bowed his head as he continued to mumble. When was this going to be over? “I don’t have any expectations and I certainly haven’t done anything to deserve your forgiveness.” He wasn’t daft - he understood that Basil was placing the blame on him for the emotions that had come from their budding relationship. Basil was terrified of love and took any opportunity to push it away. It hadn’t been Gus who’d ripped his heart out of him, no, it had been Basil himself who didn’t want to be something society would frown upon. (Even if he already was! He was a professor, he hadn’t courted, he despised events so much he avoided them, but it was Gus who was the problem. Gus, who mirrored him in the same ways except he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was in love.)

He took the blame without much fault. Then his shoulders sagged.

There was a pause then with the next statement of words. He sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet Basil’s. It was a loaded statement and one he’d need a lot more time to unpack than just in this moment. He opened his mouth before his brain to process, perhaps to allow his heart to do a little bit of the talking for once. “I didn’t mean to uproot your entire life. Before, now and let’s be honest, probably after this too. I just, I had to come home. I didn’t mean to drop in and make you question your whole life again. I just had to come home.” Gus was aware he was starting to sound like a broken record. He’d been scared. He’d been homesick and scared and needed a bit of familiarity even if he discovered upon his return everything had changed here too. For the first time, he took a tiny step forward.

He’d called him by his first name. That had to mean something, right?

The redhead bit his lower lip. “I just want you to be happy Basil. So if you tell me to leave, right now, I’ll go pack my bags and be out of your life. I can obliviate myself from your memories. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.” Desperation seeped into his voice. He’d lost Basil once and it seemed no matter how hard he was trying to slip back into this London life, it was going to keep rejecting him. He was oddly good at disappearing. He’d go back to curse breaking; he’d jump right back into the arms of danger and this time there’d be no tickle in the back of his mind reminding him he needed some sort of self-preservation.

He wondered too, if the guilt he felt for everything he'd done for Basil would bury him.

---

Basil Foxwood

---

  

---

Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil felt himself try to scoff at Lissington’s quip that he avoided things. He didn’t scoff, because he knew the redhead was right, but he hadn’t avoided this! He should have, but he hadn’t! Instead, Basil frowned at the man’s declaration that he wasn’t so beastly, that he was cared for. That all Lissington had really wanted was to celebrate him, to be with him! Basil almost laughed at the thought. He could believe that Lissington might have wanted that once, but not badly enough to do anything about it.

“Well you certainly didn’t give us the chance!” He retorted. There was more bitterness in that statement than Basil had imagined himself capable of. He hesitated, wondering if he should elaborate, and then said to hell with it and plowed on. He’d already started digging this grave, he might as well bottom it out soundly, with no regrets. “Not a single answer! Despite your dramatic bemoaning about how much you claimed to love me. If you had even so much as deigned to write, once, perhaps we wouldn’t be here at all!” Basil ran a frustrated hand through his hair, mussing it. “And since then, you’re right, I’ve done everything in my power to seal up whatever capacity I had, whatever the inclinations, to care for anyone else.” And he meant it. “I don’t want to feel that way again. I can’t ever be so vulnerable as that!”

It was a headspace he’d never wish on even his most mortal enemies (not that lowly Basil Foxwood had any). It had been… wretched, to say nothing of it. He’d had episodes almost daily at the beginning, fits of asphyxiation and darkness swallowing him whole. It had taken a great many nights tucked into Atticus’ side, unwilling - unable - to communicate what was wrong to his brother and still expecting him to make it better. If Basil closed his eyes and remembered, he could still feel the press of Atticus’ coat against his tear-strewn cheek as the elder tried to coax the madness from his mind. Basil shut the door on that memory quickly. He could only deal with one troubled relationship at a time. But it had been madness. A loss of all capacity for self-understanding, a will to do anything ever again, and for what? A boy who’d forgotten him so completely? If being left alone was truly what Lissington wanted, then by Merlin, Basil would leave him alone. Forever.

“I never claimed you are incapable of love,” the brunette laughed icily then. “If anything, your capacity to feel so strongly has flagrantly thrown my own incompetence into a harsh light by contrast.” And there was that bitterness and admittance, again, but Basil steamrolled through it without even pausing to consider. He couldn’t. Not now, not when things were unravelling so quickly and so out of his control.

The brunette sucked in a deep breath as the darkness threatened his vision again. He started to pace more frantically as Lissington spoke and every syllable only felt like another stone cast, breaking down his nerves. Basil was still angry. He knew he was, and felt he had every justifiable reason to be so. But the tone, the look of Lissington as defeated as he was, standing there and pleading with Basil to just let things go… it made one thing very clear. The redhead was finished fighting with him, for him. Basil paused in his pacing. He didn’t know when this had really become a fight to reconcile them, or to make things better, but it was abundantly clear now that such reconciliation was out of the question. Lissington didn’t want him dwelling on the past. He didn’t seem to want Basil in any capacity. The realization sunk… like a large pebble, into the abyss that was Basil’s soul.

Grey eyes appraised blue in a way that was almost as if Lissington had finally reached out and struck him.

It was quiet a moment and Basil could do nothing but stare, aghast, at the redhead before him. He looked from one blue eye to the other, searching for anything that could possibly contradict what he was thinking. Instead, the other muttered something about obliviating memories and Basil felt his rage flare up again.

“I don’t need my memories triffled with any more than they already have been.” He replied shortly, straightening his coat. It was a low blow, and Basil forced himself to breath out. He had to set his anger aside, if only for a moment. 

“I won’t ever be happy,” he said quietly. “Not in the way you, or anyone, expects of me.” Basil looked down towards his shoes.

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?

His own words from ten years ago floated about in Basil’s mind. He didn’t dare admit them aloud. He didn’t have any right to, not anymore. Lissington had very plainly revoked any such confidence between them. Still, if this was the end of it, of all of it, he felt he ought to say something.

“I don’t want you out of my life. I don’t want you to do, or be, anything. I just… I wish things could have ended differently between us. That is all.”

---

Gus Lissington

---

  

“Dont,” Gus almost snarled at him as he raised his eyes to meet his before he narrowed them. “Don’t ever throw that back in my face. Tell me Foxwood, truthfully. If the roles were reversed would you have written back? I’ll paint the picture for you. You’re seventeen with the world at your fingertips. You know there isn’t ever a possibility of marrying a woman, of producing children or living a life that’s expected of you. It’s a disgusting, filthy secret you have to keep because when someone finally finds it, it’s not a happy ending.” He scratched over the fabric of the scar on his arm before he laced his fingers behind his back.

He huffed quietly and squeezed his eyes shut. Now wasn’t the time for that. “But then you meet someone and my god, your heart flutters when you see him and then one day he kisses you! And it’s like life just clicks in place. That maybe, perhaps there is a chance of happiness in a world that would rather see you dead than love another like yourself. And things are so great. So one day you work up the courage to tell him you love him, because you do more than anything. Hell, more than anything to this day.” Because no matter how much Gus had tried, recreating just how deeply he’d loved Basil proved to be damn near impossible. He'd felt it fleeting with someone but they had fizzled out; sometimes he couldn't stop himself from comparing others to Basil. Sometimes he imagined that whatever he was doing was what life would have been like if the man had accepted his proposition.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before sighing. He was tired. So, so tired and if Basil didn’t want him then why the hell was he fighting for this? Gus forced the words from his throat, not caring if a few cracked. “And he lists off every single reason why you can’t love you. And then he tells you it’s impossible. That you don’t have a heart. That it doesn’t matter what you feel, he’ll never love you. Why would you write to him, Basil? Why would you want to give your own already broken heart on a platter to someone who's rejected you and convinced you you’re once again filthy and disgusting and incapable of feeling what you know you feel? You’ll always be an outcast. Society will ostracize you. You don’t love anyone because you’re incapable of it. And it’s all you hear at night. Hell, you’re kissed by a dementor and those words are what nearly kill you. Would you pick up a quill and write to him?”

It was a thought he hated to dwell on; sometimes they still plagued his memories and he woke up in a cold sweat unable to move, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. His eyes widened and he unraveled the scarf with haste from his neck, allowing it to dangle from between his fingertips. Gus turned away from Basil and shook his head. It wasn’t until his thoughts were clear that he turned back toward him. Basil was pacing again and Gus willed his own feet to remain glued to the ground.

Another sigh. Another rake of his fingers through his hair. The other laughed coolly and the redhead knew that they weren’t going to get anywhere. But there was something in the words he spoke. He hadn’t expected to hear something like that during his lifetime, even if he was lying through his teeth. There was no answer he could give at the moment. Then Basil paused and Gus frowned as grey hues searched for something although he couldn’t pin any emotion down. There was a beat of silence between them and the redhead knew in his gut that was it - Basil was once again going to reject them and his entire world was going to rattle.

The comment of the memories made him wince but he still managed to keep his lips pressed together. Gus wasn’t going to dig himself further into a grave. He wanted this conversation to be over and done with so he could figure out how he was going to piece himself back together again. The final blow that made him bow his head and sigh. If Basil didn’t want him in his life, so be it.

It didn’t stop him from saying one last sentiment, as if the words would mean anything at all.

“It’s maddening Basil, that I would still choose you. If the world was burning and I had a chance to only save one person, it would still bloody be you.”

---

Basil Foxwood

---

  

---

Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

Basil was surprised at the fire he saw suddenly light behind blue eyes. He wasn’t prepared in the least for the tirade that followed. He grasped at straws, trying to follow the story Lissington was weaving for him. It wasn’t fair that he was throwing the fact that he’d known longer, known more assuredly, in Basil’s way like an obstacle. Hell, Basil still didn’t know whatever it was Lissington was claiming to have felt because frankly, he’d never felt that way. Not really, not so soundly. He’d never really sat back to unpack what he did feel and perhaps that was the mistake that could have prevented all of this in the first sense. But Basil hadn’t; instead, he’d gone along with it, let the tide and whirlwind that was the affection of Gus Lissington draw him along, out into the sunshine. He’d never meant to hurt Gus the way he presumably had by not knowing, by not being sure, by not being able to uproot everything in his life for a whim he’d never had the courage to examine.

Basil frowned then, even as Lissington went on to put words in his mouth Basil was sure he’d never said. He’d never told Lissington he didn’t have a heart! Basil had never even said that he could never, would never, love Lissing! All Basil had ever expressed was disbelief at the possibility of such a thing! Frankly, he still wasn’t so sure about the science - the fact - behind it. But he couldn’t deny that there was something there, even if he couldn’t quantify it. The letter in his breast pocket confirmed as much! He opened his mouth to protest, to correct the record, but then Lissington admitted to some dementor experience and Basil felt his mouth shut firmly.

Would you pick up a quill and write to him?!

Silence stretched on the cliff-face between them. The wind picked up, fluttering around and making Basil feel cold through to his bones. Of course he wouldn’t have written back to that image of a villain Lissington had so unequivocally painted. But that wasn’t reality. That wasn’t him. Basil raised his chin to say as much and again he was preempted. This time, the confession that fell between them stopped something inside of him and doused whatever flame Basil had left burning angrily through the ice around his heart.

Finally, the brunette gave in. He let out an exasperated sigh and threw his arms up again. “What am I supposed to say to that, Lissing?” He asked. “After everything we’ve both expressed, all the resentment and anger and obvious miscommunication, what am I supposed to say?” Basil ran a hand tiredly through his hair and looked out past Lissington over the Black Lake. You think I’m a villain and I think you gave up on us.

“You made it very clear that you didn’t want to hear from me. Any chance I had to apologize, to correct anything that might have solidified in your thick head over these past ten years, is gone. So what do you want me to do now with this confession? I can’t reciprocate it! I can’t tell you that if given the chance right here, right now, I would leave everything behind to be with you!” He sucked in a deep breath and closed the space between them. Carefully, Basil held just the sleeve of Lissington’s robes to steady himself.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, that I’m still hurting you—“ because Merlin knew this wasn’t making either of them feel better about themselves “but I… I don’t want to anymore.” He pleaded. “I just want us to be…”

What? What did he want them to be? Friends? Strangers? Distant acquaintances? Basil sucked in a deep breath.

“I just want us to be at peace again. Please, Gus. Whatever, and however, I don’t care.”

---

Gus Lissington

---

  

Silence filled the world around them and Gus felt like he could breathe. He flicked his gaze to the ground and pressed his shoe into the dirt. They were starting to talk in circles and where they’d been was exactly where they were heading. This was going to be their lives - orbiting around each other, with a collusion being potentially deadly. What else could Gus say? He had his reasons he didn’t write back; he’d laid bare his feelings and the rejection had been sharp and clear. The other tossed his arms up and Gus took a step back as he shook his head.

He sighed too. “Nothing. Please don’t say anything. Contrary to what keeps happening, I don’t actually want to make you hate me.” A joke, a statement, he wasn’t entirely sure but it had to be said. It seemed like nothing was going right and no matter how hard Gus tried he was going to keep mucking things up. He was tired. He didn’t have any fight left in him and quite frankly whatever the other professor asked of him he’d do without hesitation.

Blue hues flicked up to him and he couldn’t help but huff a slight laugh at the thick headed comment. Wasn’t that the truth? He moved to run his fingers through his hair but instead he rubbed the scarf between them. There was a refusal to look up at him. He wasn't asking Basil to choose him; he knew he hadn't and wouldn't ever be his top choice for anything and while the thought hurt he understood. “I’m not asking you to! I’m not trying to force your hand. I just need you to understand why I didn’t return your letters Basil.” Gus frowned before he huffed another laugh. “And if I could go back ten years and smack my younger self over the head for every stupid thing I did, I would. I should have…” But I didn’t. Well I did, but crumpled each response and tossed it away before the ink was dry.

He continued to fiddle with the fabric in his hands, refusing to meet a gaze he knew wasn’t even looking at him. Gus sharply inhaled and froze as Basil took a hold of his sleeve. “No, Basil. I hurt myself and then hurt you in the process.  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He quietly corrected Why was he always trying to take the blame from him? Basil put the blame on him not too long ago it felt so much more deserved than a forgiveness for something the other never even did.

“I don’t -”

Deserve your forgiveness.

“I don’t want to hurt either of us anymore, either.”

Gus turned to look at him.

“I want that too.”

A sigh.

“I just don’t know how to stop hurting you. I think we need some ground rules.”

He paused before quietly adding, “And I think I believe you, when you said you didn’t say that.” Although why then, Gus had ingrained that quote into his memory was beyond him.

---

Basil Foxwood

---

  

---

Are you student? Learn how to earn house points!

“Stop saying that!” Basil heard himself snap. He was surprised, he supposed, at how aggressively tired he was of hearing Lissington take the blame and wish he could take it all back, obliviate it, etc. What was done was done and they couldn’t un-do it. Trying to would only make things worse. Basil let out a sigh and tried again. “Please… stop apologizing and trying to erase everything that happened. It wasn’t all bad,” he whispered. He supposed he understood why Lissington hadn’t written him. Or he was trying to, even if he couldn’t really stomach it. A small voice in the back of his mind kept chirping at him that if Lissington really did care, if he really had loved him, then he would have written - anger be damned. But Basil knew that voice was not going to help them any; it was just the monster waiting in the wings to suck him under with one more piece of ammunition.

Basil sucked in a breath as Lissington mentioned something about ground rules. In theory he supposed it was logical. He even nodded, like it was an easy thing to agree to. Deep down, however, Basil wasn’t sure what any bloody ground rules were going to help them resolve. They were supposed to be adults, and so far not even the stifling propriety of Victorian English society had managed to keep them from combustion. He didn’t know how many more ‘rules’ they could impose that would make much of a difference.

Still, he finally let out a soft sigh of relief when Lissington said he believed that Basil hadn’t said ‘that’ - which Basil could only think to mean something about Lissington not having a heart. It was ludicrous. Lissing had the biggest heart in this world and whatever had given him that idea Basil could only blame on another miscommunication. He knew he wasn't the most eloquent sometimes, especially when he was angry, but he hated the thought of Lissing having latched onto that. It was utterly preposterous. “I’m glad,” he hummed softly.

Now that they were close, and somewhat calmer than before, Basil could feel those urges he’d been trying to set aside begin to resurface as if the world didn't hate him enough. He was still clinging to Lissington’s robes, only a hare-length of distance really separating them, and Basil suddenly realized just how much the other's physical presence affected him. (For better or worse.) Resurfaced memories from Friday prickled at the edges of his mind and the brunette felt himself wanting to lean closer. He wanted to press his forehead against Lissington’s even if not twenty minutes ago the very same action had nearly made him faint. He hated how sharply he could remember the feel of those vaguely familiar arms around him, of those lips on his. Basil felt his gaze fall to Lissing's mouth rather opaquely and he quickly let go, taking a step back. He felt his cheeks warm and cleared his throat awkwardly, tugging the scarf tighter around his neck. “So, what did you, erm, have in mind for these rules?” He asked. Perhaps they did need something after all.

---

Gus Lissington

---