Remus and Regulus had gotten into the habit of traveling together ever since Regulus moved in with him after finishing his last year of high school. The first few months had been a quiet mess of adjusting to each other’s rhythms, mostly by avoiding one another at all costs, sidestepping in the hallway, timing meals to dodge the other in the kitchen, communicating through unnecessarily polite Post-its on the fridge.
It really began over Christmas break.
Sirius had invited his brother to spend the holidays at the Potters’, but Regulus had given some vague excuse about deadlines and assignments piling up. Remus, who had been making tea in the kitchen, overheard the conversation. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But later that night, the quiet sobs through Regulus’ bedroom door were harder to ignore. The next morning, without explanation, Remus packed his own bag, knocked on Regulus' door, and told him to be ready in twenty minutes and bring a coat.
“What? Excuse me?” Regulus had blinked, clearly confused.
“Need someone to drive me to the ER,” Remus muttered, brushing past him.
That excuse held up for exactly forty-five minutes, until Regulus noticed the Wales road sign flashing by the passenger window. Remus refused to acknowledge the suspicious glares he was receiving, choosing instead to sing loudly and off-key to the Christmas station blasting from the radio.
They eventually pulled up in front of a small stone cottage, all ivy and charm, where a petite blonde woman in a yellow jumper was waving at them like she’d been expecting them both all along. Remus’ mum, Hope, had the kind of kindness that didn’t need words to reach people like Regulus.
They spent the week helping out at her little shop, stringing lights, setting up the tree, wandering the sleepy town in comfortable silence. They ate until their eyes rolled back in their heads and drank too much cheap wine, cheeks pink with warmth. Regulus barely spoke, except when Hope coaxed a sentence or two out of him with gentle, persistent care.
Remus, meanwhile, had grown used to the quiet glances. He didn’t push. He simply made sure Regulus’ tea never went cold.
It all shifted on Christmas morning. The three of them were curled up in the living room, each wrapped in soft sleep and even softer flannel. Regulus sat cross-legged in borrowed pajamas, the legs rolled at the ankles. A white scarf with R.A.B stitched carefully at the end, one Hope had started knitting months ago when Remus first mentioned his “new roommate”, was draped in his lap. A couple of worn paperback books rested at his feet, along with a bright red Christmas card, identical to the ones Remus had received every year of his life. In one hand, Regulus held the card. In the other, a warm mug of hot chocolate.
He looked up then. For the first time since they’d arrived, his eyes met Remus’.There was something vulnerable in them. Something raw.
“Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were glassy, but steady.
And in that moment, Remus only nodded. That was the day something changed between them.
From then on, they never missed a college break, a summer vacation or afterwards a work holiday when they didn't cross another destination off their list. The proof of those travels filling up every nook and cranny of their home, the mismatched and funky fridge magnets only they knew the significance of, the paella pan from when the visited Barcelona and Regulus mentioned never having paella before, so they only got that for dinner every night of their stay there. The one ear magnet they bought at the Van gogh museum in Amsterdam because why be boring and buy a starry night themed one? The hot pink glittery elephant, gaudy and ridiculous, much like the couples massage they accidentally booked during their trip to Thailand. They didn’t realize until they were side by side, nearly naked, soft music playing, and Remus let out a low groan as strong hands dug into his back.
Regulus nearly choked. “Are you moaning?”
“I didn’t know you were such a prude, Reggie,” Remus smirked, then groaned again, louder.
Regulus spent the whole session trying very hard not to look or feel anything. Afterwards, Remus bought the silliest magnet he could find in order to break the awkwardness.
Then there were the postcards, a habit they picked up along the way, buying one each every time and sitting at a coffee shop like strangers to write something and the wander around the city until they found a post office to send them back to their apartment, only some were displayed on the fridge, the one Remus wrote the morning after that night in Bali when he got so drunk off of cheap vodka that he kissed Regulus back at their hotel, or the one where Regulus had confessed falling in love to him when they spent the night under the stars in Venice, talking about everything and nothing. And of course that red Christmas card that would be joined by many more Regulus cherished so dearly.
There was a smooth rock on the coffee table Remus had pocketed at the beach in Greece when he and Regulus tried to do a little rendition of Lay your love on me from Mamma Mia, only to end up on a heap on the sand, their bellies hurting from how much they laughed and their lips swollen from an hour of making out under the warm sun. A faded Polaroid of them sunburned and happy from a beach in Antibes, Regulus' sleepy face laying on Remus' shoulder. The coasters they bought from Izmir on the first trip they took with Hope, matching ones they always saw on her dining table whenever they visited as well.
Their story was told in a scrap book of restaurant receipts and train tickets used as bookmarks and a stack of postcards with random ramblings turned into sweet nothings and then love confessions in their nightstand drawer. Theirs was a story told in motion, it's words written in the many tongues they heard spoken around the world.
And sometimes, when Regulus came home late from class or work, exhausted and quiet, Remus would be there on the sofa, legs tucked under him, scrolling through train schedules.
“Where are we going this time?” Regulus would ask, dropping his bag and toeing off his shoes.
Remus would smile, the kind that started in his eyes. “Anywhere you want, love.”
Because home had stopped being a place. It had become them. Two boys learning how to hold space for one another, two boys who managed to hold each other's hands as they looked at the same sky. Always.
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