Chapter Text
It must had been a chill, he told himself, what disturbed him. He’d felt sick for a moment, as though his throat was being tied into knots and a short nasty shriek had escaped from his harmonica. Then he’d felt the need to turn away from his friends, in order to hide his embarrassment over spoiling the melody.
Moomin and Snorkmaiden had been dancing for a while now, swaying along with the melody, in a close and playful embrace. Both seemed to be greatly enjoying the music, and Snufkin always felt glad to share a song. It was a perfect scene. The night glowed in hues of blue, bright under a full moon and a clear sky full of stars, and a few embers remained from the midsummer bonfire, keeping a comfortably warm atmosphere. Most of the guests had gone home, and only his own friends remained, lulled by the music, and the fire, and the wine. Sniff and Little My sat to a side by what was left of the appetizers, while the Snork was left snoring, with his back to a tree. Then Moomin had taken Snorkmaiden by the hand and directed her to the middle point between the bonfire and Snufkin’s stump, where they had taken to dancing.
He’d seen them dance plenty times before, and this time could be no different. It was a chill, no less. A chill that happened to coincide with the moment Moomin took his palm just under Snorkmaiden’s ear, sliding it across her cheek, as he leaned in to press his snout against her’s. It couldn’t be anything but a flat note that hurt his pride. He continued to play, with his eyes closed from then on, taking special attention to not let the shifts of weather spoil his tunes. Moominmamma made a comment, the following morning over breakfast, about how the later portion of the party had shifted to a rather melancholic disposition.
✵
“Did you have fun last night, Snufkin?” Moomin asked him, not looking very aware that he might get a negative answer. The golden notes of sunset had crept up on the pair, after a long hike into the lonely mountains. They were tired, and hungry, and Snufkin had decided to fish for a couple minnows. Moomin had decided to stay with him, rather than walk the twenty meters up to moominhouse and have a proper dinner with his family, on the insistence that a fat carp would bite. The mumrik kept a small smile on his lips and nodded.
“It was a lovely night”, he lied. Or didn’t lie. The night had been very lovely, as rarely did a full moon and a solstice coincide. Never mind the wind. Never mind Snorkmaiden . The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. “You seemed to be having a whole lot of fun, Moomintroll.”
“Oh! Of course I did,” His best friend beamed, “your new songs were very beautiful.”
Snufkin blushed thinking of Moominmamma’s remark, and turned his face down to his snare. A couple seconds of silence went by, as Moomin lifted himself off of the bridge’s railing, and decided instead to sit besides him, by the stream’s edge. Snufkin’s right shoulder tensed, as he became increasingly aware of the centimeters that were left between them.
“I do wish we had more time to talk”, Moomin continued, picking on the grass, “but then again, everyone else would have been left without any music to dance to. Although, by the end of the night, I was the one doing most of the dancing, and Snorkmaiden, so really I’m thankful of your performance. A lovely one, at that.”
Another blow, of the northern wind of course, sent a wave of goosebumps through his skin. “The wind is starting to feel cold.” Snufkin stated.
“Oh.”
He hadn’t meant for that to sound like a threat, but it was received as such nonetheless.
“No it hasn’t, really”, Moomin said with perhaps a little too much intent. He shrugged, as if he didn’t mind, but a nervous glint didn’t leave his eyes. His best friend couldn’t be leaving that early in the year, he told himself, which doesn’t mean that he’s not thinking about leaving . A pinch of sadness had only started to settle in his stomach when he heard a soft chuckle from his side, followed by a light-hearted murmur.
“You just don’t feel it because you’re all fuzzy.”
His ears perked in indignation, and he turned to find Snufkin smiling, with his eyes still fixed down on the water. “Or maybe,” He retaliated, “you need to patch up the holes in that old smock!”
Snufkin started openly laughing at that, and whatever tension built up had dissolved. He laughed too, and soon they settled on a comfortable silence. Around them, the sky refashioned its vibrant golds and reds into subtle lilacs and blues. The wind, did in fact, grow a couple degrees colder. The murmik then stretched his back and shifted his posture, rolling his shoulders and resting his weight on his right hand, while his left held on to the fishing rod. He turned to Moomin with a smile still in place, and told him.
“I guess with you being so eager to dance, I could only oblige with the music.” Moomin quirked up, trying, without avail, to catch up on the subtext of whatever his friend was trying to convey. After a beat of silence, he gave up. Instead, he picked up on the more obvious line of conversation.
“Do you enjoy dancing, Snufkin?.” He asked, out of genuine curiosity. He’d seen the mumrik dance before, when they were younger, but those instances had grown scarce over the years.
“Of course.” The vagabond perked up. There was a certain confidence in his voice, that the moomin couldn’t help but tease.
“So you actually know how to dance!”
Snufkin squinted, before he tore his gaze away and answered. “Of course I do.” He huffed. “A nephrurus merchant taught me to waltz, swing, quickstep, mambo and tango, a couple years back over the winter.” His confidence had evolved into a full brag, but it all blew over the moomin’s head, who instead, fixated on a different detail.
“What’s a nephrurus?” He asked, feeling a hollow form on his gut. Hunger, clearly, after such a long day.
“They have thick, scaled tails, and oddly shaped fingers. They live much further south than I’ve ever traveled, but this particular nephrurus happened to be a wandering soul, just like me.”
Moomin nodded, rapt in thought. He released his knees and leaned into his left hand, turning his head to face his friend. “You’ll have to teach me all those dances someday.” He said.
Snufkin turned to him as well. He felt his throat swell up, noticing how closely Moomin’s hand had landed to his own, then lifting his stare to meet warm blue eyes, that seemed to absorb the last strays of light from the twilight. “Of course.” He let out in a small voice, frozen in place. His fingers filled up with electricity. His mind became warily absent, and his lips clamped shut, trying to drown the sudden whirlwind of emotion at bay. He felt guilty, for the most part. About the nephrurus. About Snorkmaiden. He felt anxious and exposed. But he also felt greatly excited, without cue. He felt threatened by the prospect of a smile forming on his face. But then, thankfully , Moomin turned away, and exclaimed, before he had the proper time to process all of that.
“You’ve caught something!”
He immediately regained composure, lifting his right hand back to the pole, and using his left to real up the catch. Turns out, Moomin was right.
✵
They roasted the carp over the campfire, while exchanging guesses on which parts of Moominpappa’s memoirs where true, the mumrik being far more granting than the explorer’s son. They laughed, and ate, and talked about their own adventures, in pleasant reminiscence of their friendship, and sometime before midnight, by when the sky was black and the moon high, they said goodbye. Moomin walked back to moominhouse, and Snufkin settled in his tent. The rest of the night he spent awake, obsessed over the doubt of whether the summer solstice was meant to have the shortest of nights, or the longest.