This time around he wasn’t sure what he said to upset Basil. He wanted to go back and fix his mistakes, not erase them. If he could set himself down and tell him to reply to those damn letters Gus would, even if it meant holding himself at wand-point. (He’d been good at defensive spells when he was a teen but there was not a single doubt in his mind that he could easily overpower himself.) He didn’t answer that comment nor did he shrug like he wanted to, as he knew Basil would take that as some strike against him. Instead the redhead pushed his other shoe into the dirt.

Then the other hummed soft words and Gus felt his shoulder loosen. He knew that Basil had said the words, maybe not during that fight but at some point. (Tonight he’d skim through the letters and be prepared to shove the words back in his face, but today, at this moment, he was going to believe that the man didn’t see him as a complete failure of a human.) He’d leave that thought to Atticus. For now he put the thought into his back pocket to revisit at a later date when he didn't have to constantly try to explain himself and his reasonings.

Gus focused on having Basil so close to him, holding on to his robe for dear life. If he knew it wouldn’t scare him away he may have taken his hand in his and entwined their fingers together. Ground him in a way he wasn’t sure how to and keep him close in every way he wanted to. But he knew those actions would scare Basil, so instead he blinked at him and watched him. His hair was much shorter than what it’d been a few weeks ago and his eyes were darker than they had been years ago. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that made Gus exhale quietly. He’d seen that look many times years ago; when Basil turned to look at him without realizing he’d done it. Right before he kissed him. When Gus took his hand and held on to it like his life depended on it. It always made his heart beat faster, and even here and now, after the absence of it for so long, it had the same effect.

Despite his best efforts to create that look in someone else's eyes, no one had ever come close.

He could feel Basil’s gaze against his lips and Gus couldn’t help but smile. Sure the brunette hadn’t been in his right mind but Gus would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed kissing him. If he hadn’t missed Basil and all his beastly qualities, whatever in the hell that meant. It was more amused than anything and as the other stepped back, the redhead tilted his head as he watched the flicker in his eyes deepen into something. Then he spoke and he shook his head, laughing quietly. “Well first off Mr. Foxwood, you can’t look at me like that.” Gus purred. He took a step forward but made no other movement toward him. He didn’t say anything further, although he wanted to - they were just getting back on solid ground and he wasn’t about to ruin it.

“We both need to agree to disagree about that day, and perhaps not dredge it up. We both said some pretty disturbing things and that’s not either of us anymore.” Gus chuckled quickly as he shook his head before he ran his fingers through his hair; he couldn’t possibly make it any messier than it already was. “I much prefer to remember us leaving on a positive note. Like we put our friendship on pause, and now we’re unpausing it. More mature, I guess. At least you are.” His grin widened. A joke, of course. He knew he was a lot more mature than when he’d left. Emotionally, at least.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil's blush only darkened as Lissington called him out on the look he was apparently giving. Was he giving a look? He had to be giving a look. Blast him for giving a look! Warm under the collar, the brunette cleared his throat and frowned. He felt like a bloody tomato. “I’m not looking at you any way, Professor Lissington,” he replied, curtly, lying through his teeth. It was obvious, and they both knew it, but he couldn’t well admit to anything, could he? As the redhead stepped closer towards him, Basil felt something in his stomach shimmer like a pair of doxy wings brushing against his intestines. Then, Lissing spoke again and Basil felt himself sober.

The former Ravenclaw wasn’t sure he was quite ready for that level of joviality, or denial. The ache was still stirring in his gut that Lissington had rejected him, forgotten him, so fully after his attempts to salvage the wreckage. He swallowed a heavy lump and weighed the costs and benefits of admitting as much.  On the one hand, telling the truth would only throw them right back into this cycle, back to where they’d started. But in the other, Basil wasn’t sure he could do what Lissington was asking of him. He couldn’t just pick up where they’d left off (for many reasons, the most pressing of these not even being the physical). Basil’s brow furrowed anxiously. 

“I cant… I can’t pretend that it didn’t happen Gus,” he said softly. It had shattered a part of him too soundly. “We can agree to disagree, we can even agree never to bring it up again. But I can’t just… pick up where we left off. It hurt too much to loose you, and I can’t risk that kind of pain again. I won’t.” He said with determination.  It had taken too much out of Basil back then to pull himself together, to not let the cracks show even as his whole world fell apart. Atticus had been his only respite then and even that relationship had fractured by his own hand. Basil couldn’t allow himself to ever be in a position like that again: to be so open to loss, again. There was too much to loose now, more than just himself. 

He didn’t know what he was saying really, if he was telling Lissington to back off indefinitely or simply not to expect such closeness again. Ideally Basil hoped it was the latter, but he wasn’t even sure. Would it be possible to coexist having Lissing at arms length? Was he strong enough to keep it that way? (Considering his whims to snog the man silly, it didn’t seem likely.) Basil licked his lips. 

“I think we should just… take things slowly. See if we can even cohabitate without… mistakes.” Like making out in the trophy room when the students weren’t looking. Basil blushed at the ludicrous thought. “I know I’m not the best with communication, but perhaps that can be our second er, rule. If either of us feels… cornered, we simply let things go unless it requires further shared reflection.” That way maybe he’d have less opportunities to miscommunicate, and perhaps Gus would overcommunicate less. He adored Lissington’s general way of expressing everything he felt and being so loving and open, but Basil knew it would make keeping him at a distance difficult. They needed some distance, and maybe some time. Perhaps - if they survived this term - next fall would give them an opportunity to explore that distant friendship further. They could be friendly, without being friends.

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Gus Lissington

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Gus didn’t smirk often. He wasn’t cocky, even in situations where he knew he shouldcould be, but seeing Basil’s face flush as he lied through his teeth made his lips curl into one. He should keep flirting with him and see how red he could make the other professor, but he wasn’t going to scare him away. Not when they’d finally both accepted an olive branch that wasn’t on fire.

Instead he stepped forward and sighed as the other once again misconstrued what he was saying. (Although to say even he understood where his thoughts currently were was a blatant lie; they were a jumble of everything and nothing, of past, present and future, of words so knotted together he could spend a lifetime trying to untangle them.) He wasn’t asking for the physical. He was just asking for friendship. For the confidant and the person he spent an year spilling every secret he’d ever kept to, and the only person in the entire world he felt he could trust with everything. Basil didn’t have to love him back (Gus was quite aware he probably wouldn’t as he’d spend the rest of their lives denying he was giving the redhead any kind of look.)

“Are we done discussing it then? Because I need to know you won’t throw the letters back in my face if we’re done discussing it.” Gus licked his lips as he flicked his eyes toward Basil, his fingers nervously wound the scarf back around his neck. Then he buried his nose in it and huffed. “I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry. I promise though, if you give me another chance to be your friend… I won’t make the same mistake twice.” How many times could he apologize for the same mistake? He’d speak the same two words and nothing more for a lifetime if it meant gaining his forgiveness. He wasn’t quite sure what Basil was getting out - did he want Gus out of his life indefinitely.

His frown deepened as Basil talked about mistakes. His eyes flicked to the ground. So that’s what seventh year had been to him, then. “I, yeah. That works for me.” What else was there to say? He was tired, so, so tired of the bouncing emotions between them. Basil was making it loud and clear how he felt and Gus was tired of holding onto the pieces while attempting to smooth things over.

He sighed again and forced a smile. He was good at faking them but Gus was quite aware the other would be able to see through it. “I appreciate you for trying to give this another shot.” He swallowed the words of not deserving it; they were untrue and it was just the guilt weighing him down. “Thank you.” Gus settled on instead.

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Basil Foxwood

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Basil’s stomach turned over at the mention of those blasted letters again. Unconsciously, his hand came up to his breast pocket where he could practically feel the one burning a hole through his waistcoat. He tried to smooth out the gesture when he realized, play it off like he was arranging his jacket, and shuffled a little awkwardly. He wasn’t sure he could set them aside, not entirely. But he would try, he supposed. For the sake of… peace.

“I shall… try my best,” he replied quietly. That was better than making a promise he couldn’t keep, at the very least. Basil cleared his throat. “Please stop apologizing, too.” He requested, without looking Lissington in the eye. It made him uncomfortable every time the redhead apologized, especially when it seemed to come out of the blue. (Basil was many things but a legilimens was not one of them and he had trouble following the other’s thoughts on occasion.)

Then, there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. He nodded, awkwardly, at the other’s thanks. He didn’t really deserve thanks, but Basil was too mentally and physically exhausted to say anything more. All he wanted now was to walk away from this encounter without any more emotion. He had enough to unpack in his own thoughts and actions to handle much more.

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Gus Lissington

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Grinning, Gus couldn’t help but awkwardly rub the back of his head as the other told him to stop apologizing. He was trying, firstly, and secondly he’d stop when he felt he was actually forgiven. (Though whether or not that was seeing it in Basil’s body language or getting it through his own thick skull was yet to be seen.) “I’ll try my best,” Gus parroted back to him. Basil wouldn’t look at him and he frowned at that. Why couldn’t he see that Gus was trying his best to make up for the mistakes he’d made. The brunette clearly had been keeping a running list of all the ones he’d made.

An awkward silence seemed to settle around them. He didn’t say much toward his thanks and a knot formed in Gus’ stomach - he knew that whatever they were agreeing on was superficial and their interactions would be limited at best. But mistakes were meant to be buried and the past to never be revisited - the redhead was both of those to Basil.

His frown deepened before he stepped back into the other’s space. Gus knocked their shoulders together. “I’m going to see if they’re still serving lunch. I’ll… see you around?” The corner. Ignoring me. Dodging me.  Gus stepped away from him.

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   Basil Foxwood

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