#catchyneptune

“You invite me plenty of places, Harry.”

“Yes- but I invite everyone places, even people I despise. In fact- preferably people I despise. They always have something wonderfully horrid to say about me.”

“I see illness hasn’t taken the edge off your cynicism,” Basil muttered, handing him a cup of tea.

“Of course not! I am most cynical when irritated, and sickness makes me dreadfully irritable.”

“What are you generally irritated about then?”

“The fact that I have no valid reason to be irritated of course!” Henry grinned, sipping his tea.

“It’s a wonder I am not yet cynical,” Basil sighed, “Being around you is painfully irritating.”

“That’s the plan my dear Basil!” Henry cried, “It is most wonderful to have such an effect on people.”

“Have you ever considered having a good effect on people?”

“No, and I never shall. I am perfectly content as I am. No man should ever change himself, he should change only his passions. And those he ought to change frequently and without thought.”

“Do you ever take a break from saying terrible things Henry?” Basil said under his breath as he sat beside Henry and snuggled up beside him.

“Would you still like me if I did?”

“I would undoubtedly like you much more.”

“How is that possible when you already love me!” Henry said smugly, wrapping his arm around Basil. 

“Indeed, I love you, but I most certainly do not love what you say.”

“I’m glad, it makes you far more fun to talk to.” Henry coughed, obnoxiously loud, probably far louder than was necessary, then spoke in an overplayed voice as a sick child would, “Basil, would you make me some soup?”

“Of course I will,” he stood up, “But you must promise me to stay in some nights! I miss you terribly! You are nearly almost gone.”

“Basil,” Henry whined, “I simply cannot comply! You are tremendously boring, how can you expect me to spend an evening cooped up in here with you? I am sure you will spend the entire time painting anyways, and you never speak when you paint.”

“Then you can make your own soup,” Basil said dryly.

“You know you’ll make me soup anyways,” Henry began, “Either you’d feel guilty naturally, or I’d convince you to. You are a quite simple person Basil, everything you do is founded on conscience.”

“That is- what most people’s actions are based on, Harry. You are the exception to the rule.”

“I am most certainly not!” Henry cried indignantly, leaning back on the couch with a pillow over his chest, “There are plenty of people who base their actions on pleasure, it’s a school of thought my dear Basil.”

“The thing is though, you never base your actions on it, simply your words. I cannot take you seriously when you preach without conviction. You never believe a word you say. I suppose you just like to hear yourself talk, and watch others listen,” he sat on a chair beside the couch and took a pad of paper out, “And they always do.”

“Of course they do!” Henry said, smirking, “I am quite brilliant!”

“And unbelievably arrogant. I have never met someone so pompously egotistical in all my years.”

“One of my main aspects of charm,” Henry said, leaning over the couch to watch Basil sketch, “There is nobody who could ever replace me.”

“That, at least, is true,” Basil sighed, pencil gliding across the paper.

“Basil,” Henry began, sliding across the couch until he was nearly in Basil’s lap, “Could you get my cigarettes?”

“Harry, you’re sick, you oughtn’t smoke right now, it will make you much worse.”

“Ah! So you do care about me!”

“I care that I’ll have to listen to you complain,” Basil said, pushing him away, “I can’t see my paper when you do that.”

“I don’t want you to see your paper,” Henry pouted, “I want you to see me. Basil, pay attention to me. I could die any minute you know.”

“You just have a mild fever, I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine. And besides, some time away from the spotlight will do you good.”

“That’s what will kill me though!” Henry said dramatically, hanging onto the edge of the couch with his knees and resting his head on the arm of Basil’s chair. “I need attention Basil, I need it!” He reached over and tried to tug Hallward’s pencil out of his hand. 

“Harry, stop it!”

“Baassill,” he said drawing out the word excessively, “Why won’t you pay attention to me?”

“Because I always pay attention to you,” he sighed, pulling the pencil away. “And  because I have work to do.”

“Can’t you do it later? Aren’t I important to you?”

“Henry, I’ve known you long enough to ignore your guilt trips. You can just sit there in your own self-indulgent misery until you get better.”

“How am I meant to get sympathy if I can’t go looking for it, and you won’t give me any?”

“Oh, I feel so very sorry for you Harry,” Basil began sarcastically, sketching aggressively, “a charming, handsome young man with the world at your fingertips. So sad.”

“I’m sick Basil, how rude you are!”

“Perhaps you are rubbing off on me,” Basil muttered, brushing eraser bits from his drawing.

“Do you think so! I hope so, it would be most satisfying! You are so very set in your values, influencing you has always been a most tremendous challenge. It’s why I keep you around.”

“Silly me, I thought you kept me around because you liked me.”

“That too of course!” Henry cried, “I am sickeningly fond of you! It makes me want to hate you, if I am being honest.”

“But when are you being honest?” Basil asked, looking critically at his sketch.

“When it’s the most interesting thing to do, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Basil said nonchalantly, biting his lip as he assessed the picture.

“Are you even listening to me,” Henry whined.

“Why should I when I already know what you will say.”

“How insulting! I pride myself on being entirely shocking!”

“You pride yourself on nearly everything, Harry.”

“Basil. Would you please get my cigarettes? I would be eternally grateful.”

“Get them yourself.”

“I cannot stand up, I am devastatingly ill.”

“I suppose I will need to cancel all your plans for the next week then.”

“I have no plans Basil! I simply have options. I try never to have any sort of obligation, it takes all the charm out of any event.”

“I am not sure why I put up with you.”

“Because I am clever, and because I am exciting,” Henry bragged, grabbing Basil’s sketchbook. 

“Give that back Harry, it isn’t done!”

Henry sat up and held it above Basil’s reach. Hallward stood up, and Henry poised himself precariously on top of the couch.

“Harry, stop! This is cruel!”

“Promise you’ll stop drawing and do something with me?”

“Henry- Henry!” Basil shouted, jumping up and down, trying the reach the sketch pad. 

“Basil, it’s simple! Just say you will play cards with me and I will return your picture.”

“I hate cards though!”

“Something else perhaps! Some sort of game though, Basil I am painfully bored, you ought to entertain me!”

“Fine! Fine Harry, we can do something, just give it back.”

Henry slid back down onto the couch and handed the paper back to Hallward.

“Aren’t you curious about what it is?” Basil teased.

“Well I am now!” Henry said indignantly, trying to get a peek at the sketch. 

“I will show you when it is done, but you must wait, it will do you good to learn a bit of patience.”

“Patience is what principled men use to justify their eventless lives,” Henry said, grabbing at the sketchbook.

Basil ripped it away from him and hit him in the arm with it, “I simply hate that I love you.”

“I hate that you love me as well, it makes me feel as if I owe something to you, and I hate owing things to people.”

“So long as you love me back, you owe me nothing.”

“Of course I love you Basil, you’re moral enough to challenge me, and clever enough to do it well. I will always love you, though I often worry you will one day move on from me.”

“You need not worry, I’ve dedicated too much energy to putting up with you to ever leave.”

“How romantic of you,” Henry smirked.

“I know how you hate excessive sentiment.”

“Only when I’m well,” he said, squeezing beside Basil on the armchair and resting his head on the painter’s chest. “I really do love you,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around Basil’s shoulders. He snuggled up against Hallward, yawning. Basil smiled to himself and stroked Henry’s hair,