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“I’ll sing you a sweet song, if you say to.”
Summer had just cast her gaze over Moominvalley, and she kept the air of the lowland balmy from the moment the sun rose through the whispers of eventide. The sky remained cloudless for days at a time, flaunting a plethora of stars for the residents of the valley to appreciate at the end of each day, be they small beasts from the wood or the lumbering Hemulens in their homes.
“I’ll write you the saddest… of all words, rhymes, and phrases.”
Moomintroll and Snufkin grew closer day after day. It was like something had clicked between the two of them, presenting the overwhelming impetus to vanish to the mountains or the beach quite early in the day, only to steal away once more when the moon and the stars were the only lights left. It was silly to their friends; summer had only just begun, so winter was still far, far away. Even so, the two were adamant to be together whenever they could. Fishing, collecting ingredients, picking flowers, sifting through tidepools, day after day.
“I will be your everything, and I'll try give you anything back, but I cannot give you my love.”
The crepuscular birds made way for the nocturnal, and the soft titter of their blithe songs were replaced by the occasional hoot or caterwaul. The sun had completely vanished behind the open sea, leaving behind those splendorous stars which Moomintroll loved so, so much.
Right now, the troll had his head resting in Snufkin’s lap as he sang whatever he could remember from his latest foray south. He’d taken it upon himself to write down the lyrics he liked the most in a small journal Moomintroll crafted for him, a few pages of paper folded upon themselves bound together with an opalescent ribbon, so he could share them more effectively in their occasions of repose.
“I have fight in these roses, I still can’t be scared… I got stones in my pockets, I still can’t be shared…”
Snufkin kept one paw resting on Moomintroll’s forehead, absentmindedly carding through his velvety fur. He used the other to grope in the low light for the flowers of asters and bluebells. The vagabond would delicately pluck their stems from the grass and hand them over to the troll, who was weaving a crown.
Moomintroll held his finished wreath triumphantly for him to see. “Snufkin, look! It’s done!”
“You did a very good job,” he replied, shifting as the troll pushed himself to a sitting position. Snufkin stretched his legs. “Well, put it on then, dove.”
Moomintroll maneuvered to his knees and placed the crown around his ears. It sunk just above his eyebrows, and the fragile petals gleamed tender blues and lavenders under direct moonshine. The dull gray of his fur complemented the pastel colors, especially when the light was directed just so, and the hairs resembled the powder layer of fresh snow.
“How does it look, Snufkin? It’s a bit big on me.”
“I think it looks wonderful, Moomintroll,” Snufkin sighed, reaching to pick a loose bluebell from its pedicel. He held it between the two of them. “Do you know the meanings of these flowers?”
“Meanings?”
“Well, I learned on my travels that you give flowers to others to communicate in secret.” The troll gasped.
“What do these ones mean, Snufkin? Do you know?”
“I think I remember. The bluebell… is constancy, or steadfastness.” The wanderer hummed, dropping the bluebell into the grass. “Those other ones are asters. They’re symbols of love and delicacy, so I’m told.”
When Snufkin looked back up, Moomintroll was staring at him rather thoughtfully. A light flush spread across the vagabond’s face.
“What’s wrong, dove?”
The troll didn’t say anything, but he did carefully lift his headdress from his ears. Before Snufkin could ask for an explanation, Moomintroll slid it down the top of his hat. It was a snug fit, but the crown rested naturally among the brim. After a moment, the wanderer raised a paw to toy with a leaf.
“What was that for?” He asked, meeting the other’s eyes. Moomintroll’s face was dusted with pink now as well, and he had a somewhat whimsical smile.
“Well, you said they meant constancy and love, right?”
It was Snufkin’s turn not to respond. In fact, he didn’t quite know what to do. He blinked and looked back to the bluebell he’d dropped, the color of his face deepening from taffy to cerise.
“Snufkin? Are you alright?”
At the concern in his friend’s voice, the wayfarer giggled lightly, tugging his hat down in front of his eyes. “You’re right, I did say that!”
“Snufkin?”
Moomintroll looked fixedly at him, his face still obscured by a brim and a paw, laughing a bit breathlessly. The troll remained confused until, all at once, Snufkin let go of his hat and instead wrapped his paws around Moomintroll’s back, burying his face into the downy fur of his neck. He returned the hug, still a tad perplexed but mostly relieved that he hadn’t done something wrong.
Snufkin sighed. “Yes, I did say that, my clever Moomintroll.”
He pulled away to look into the troll’s eyes, and just then did Moomintroll truly understand the magnitude of what he’d said. In the effulgence of the full moon’s light, Snufkin’s face was the color of rose petals. There was something in his gaze that made the fur bristle on Moomintroll’s neck, some overwhelming fondness and affection that felt just like the first day of spring.
Snufkin cupped his paws around the other’s face and tilted his snout upwards very gently, like he was handling a porcelain bird.
Oh, yes, this was the magnitude of what he’d said.
The vagabond ducked beside Moomintroll’s snout and slowly pressed their lips together. The latter held still for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he delicately rested his paws on Snufkin’s shoulders and kissed back. He smelled like river water, the woods, bluebells, and asters.
Some time passed before either of them considered stopping. Ultimately, it was Snufkin who pulled away, just enough to disconnect their lips and look back at the troll’s face. Moomintroll’s eyes were still shut tight, and Snufkin hummed.
“Sorry.”
Moomintroll finally opened his eyes as the other bashfully looked away.
“Oh, no, don’t be sorry,” Moomintroll consoled, covering Snufkin’s paw on his cheek with his own. “It was nice.”
Nothing was left to be said that night. Moomintroll eventually lay back down, his head supported by Snufkin’s lap, as the wayfarer combed through the fur on his head and resumed his serenade.
“I’ve got you in my heart, to make this all harder…
I will stay addicted to you.”
Of course, just one kiss would never be enough for the two of them.
Once they’d figured it all out, how to comfortably brush their lips together without necessitating an obscene amount of neck craning, they never wanted to stop. The two would abscond together come noon, when Sniff and My and everyone else were enjoying pancakes and jam and the opportunity presented itself to disappear into the wood. Snufkin shared more of the melodies he’d written down, and Moomintroll would make more crowns out of the flowers that summer had nurtured. Snufkin would share any meanings he knew of, and Moomintroll would immediately hand the bouquets to him, little exchanges of ardor or harmony that only the they could understand. And, they would kiss, kiss, kiss.
After a while their need for secrecy began to fade, and even in the presence of others Snufkin would apprehensively press his mouth to Moomintroll’s paw or forehead. The Vagabond especially liked to drop kisses upon the troll’s ears, blowing air into them afterwards to see them twitch. He thought it was silly. Moomintroll found it annoying until he saw the way Snufkin smiled afterwards, and then, well, he thought it was alright. It was just like a little game, just for the two of them!
Moomintroll did want to play with Snufkin, too, though. It was no fair that Snufkin could have all the fun.
One day, they’d sat together on the embankment, the wanderer lazily casting his fishing line into the river in a halfhearted attempt to catch a minnow or two. Moomintroll was curled beside him like a cat, paws tucked underneath himself with his cheek in the lush grass. His eyes were on Snufkin, who had closed his own and was singing another one of his winter songs. What a perfect opportunity, Moomintroll thought, to play a little trick. He sat up and crawled closer to Snufkin.
“Looking for stars in the storm… Oh, dove, what is it?”
Moomintroll didn’t say anything, as he often didn’t if he sought a kiss. He put his paws on Snufkin’s cheeks and rubbed a thumb across the light ruddiness that’d appeared, over freckles and flush that he’d come to love. The wayfarer understood almost immediately, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. Oh, perfect!
As Snufkin leaned in to kiss Moomintroll, he deftly swiped his paws up to catch the brim of Snufkin’s hat, yanking the thing over his face.
Moomintroll leapt to his feet and started down the riverbank, picking up speed when he heard a noise of surprise from his friend.
“Wha-hey! Moomintroll!”
Snufkin left his hat behind next to his fishing pole, stumbling before racing after the troll. Their laughter could be heard from Moominhouse, where Mamma and Pappa watched their pursuit with nostalgia.
Winter came, just as she always does.
Snufkin made sure that, for every day he’d be gone, he’d given Moomintroll one more embrace, one more kiss on his mouth and ears and nose the day before he knew he had to leave. The snow had not fallen yet, but it was to do so evidently soon, as the sky had withheld itself behind a fleet of pale grey clouds. The pair was huddled into one another in front of Snufkin’s campfire, soaking in the warmth from the two warmest things they knew in their world.
Snufkin was fastidiously placing pecks upon each of Moomintroll’s fingers when the latter finally dared to break the silence. “You should stay this winter. Snorkmaiden will be spending the hibernation in the Snork’s house. You could stay with me, and wake me up whenever you want, and we can explore Moominvalley as it’s hidden with snow…”
Snufkin stopped and looked up at the troll. “I can’t. I can’t stay, you know that.” He still held a white paw in his hand, now tracing patterns into the back of it with his thumb.
“I know, but… I miss you terribly so when you’re away, even if I’m asleep. I miss you in my dreams.”
“I understand, dove. I’m sorry. I hope you know I am.”
When Moomintroll looked at Snufkin’s eyes then, he didn’t see the composure or poise he normally would, but instead something he couldn’t quite place. Trepidation, or perhaps disquietude. It was not the display of fortitude that Moomintroll often looked to for consolation. He realized then that, maybe, Snufkin felt just as terrible as he did during the wintertime, the same air of horrible loneliness that would rest upon his shoulders when the gusts of snow would rattle him awake.
“Snufkin… I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for, Moomintroll?”
“Sorry for making you miss someplace. Sorry for… making you miss me.”
“Moomintroll…” Snufkin began, but the words didn’t seem to take form. They held each other’s gaze for some time, the only noise being that of the wind and the fire.
Snufkin spoke up. “Moomintroll… don’t be sorry. It’s my fault for having this nature. If I could stay, if I could force myself to stay… I would. But it would be torture for me to stay in one house for so long… I would never have the heart to wake you up. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your hibernation, not ever. I love you.” Snufkin’s voice cracked with the admission.
Moomintroll wasn’t sure what to do, and he was thrown into memories of that summer night long ago, when Snufkin had looked at him like he’d hung the moon simply by placing some flowers on his hat.
“I love you too, Snufkin. Please, please, be safe. Come home.”
“I will. I always will.”
The next morning, when Snufkin stood facing the Moominhouse from his faithful bridge, a tear threatened to roll down his cheek. He sang to himself under his breath, ignoring the way the wind turned to ghosts as he spoke.
“I’ve got you in my heart, to make this all harder…
I will stay addicted to you.”