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"I'm never going to fall in love," Little My had said one day, standing up tall on the dining room table, slightly jostling the Monopoly board Moomin and Sniff had been playing on. "Do you want to know why I'll never fall in love?"
"Because you're fundamentally an unlikable person, and you bite my tail whenever we're all playing hide and seek just to make a spectacle that you've found me?" Sniff offered.
"No, those are reasons why someone wouldn't like her, not the other way around," Moomintroll replied more to himself than anyone else as he rolled the die in his furry palms.
Little My took no attention to their lack of interest (or if she did, she paid it no mind). "I'm not going to fall in love because if I die I don't want anyone to grieve me."
"That makes no sense," Moomin had turned to her then. "We'd certainly miss you if you died."
"I plan on outliving you."
"Is that a threat?"
"Perhaps. But if I was in love-"
"No, this still doesn't make sense," Sniff had cut in. "If you were to die first, he would grieve but you wouldn't know it, and surely others would grieve too, but if he died first, then you'd not have someone grieving you."
"Listen to me, you dolt," she started again, voice strong and hands on her hips. "If I'm to outlive everyone I know- which I plan on doing, as once you've all passed on, I will live in the rafters of the pub owned by the near-sighted hemulen who mistakes me for an opossum at night and feeds me snacks, and they'll most certainly curse me as a scourge and a pest, and so when I pass no one will grieve- I must feel guilt-free. And were my lover to die, and I live, that would certainly put a damper on the mood I've set for myself, in this little pub. When people close to you die, you make sure they're all set and steady- that's what my great-grandmother did for my mother. But I don't want steady. I want light and carefree and savage and feral and fun.
"Whatever you say, My," Moomin rolled his eyes then, turning to the board and muttering a quick curse as he realized he'd rolled doubles three times in a row (and would henceforth have to go to jail, because Sniff would not accept "my boyfriend would break me out of jail, he's done it before" as an excuse again).
"You're foolish, Little My," Sniff said. "You're going to fall for some man eventually, and I'm going to remind you of this moment, and you'll owe me twenty dollars."
"Nope," she shook her head. "I will never, ever, on my life, fall in love with a man."
And she was right. She hadn't fallen for a man. She fell for the Snork girl instead, slowly but surely. The way she'd pretend to be so prim and proper, but she'd get her pale cream fur covered thick in muddy sand if she spotted a seashell on it's way to return to the sea. How she was so kind, but always had a quick retort on hand if one of the boys said something particularly idiotic. How she stood up to her mess of a brother when she really believed she was in the right.
How late one summer night, My had found her out on the porch of Moominhouse in the rain, fur clumped up and dripping wet. How as they sat by the fire and dried her off while everyone else was asleep, she told of how she hadn't known a storm was coming, and how she wanted to see the fireflies before they'd hide away.
She hadn't seen the fireflies that night, but Little My took her out the next, and they pointed out the constellations in the sky, and made them match the fireflies, too.
She supposed something was a bit odd, with her affection. Perhaps a "normal" person would consider Snorkmaiden to be off-limits, being Moomintroll's ex. But frankly, she couldn't care, and she knew Moomin would be happy if Snorkmaiden was, because even during their time of falsified love, they had been such good friends. Moomin would love it if Little My and Snorkmaiden made each other happy. All she had to do was confess. But a building anxiety had risen in her without her knowledge; the thought that if she said how she felt, Snorkmaiden would cease to participate in any activities with her. That everything would become too awkward, and a friend would be lost.
It ended up happening the spring of next year, a few weeks after the ice had thawed and song had returned to the valley. They were both sitting in the flower field, a bit off from the river, as Snorkmaiden gently wove dandelions and honeysuckles into a braid she was forming on Little My's tangled red mess of hair. Snorkmaiden's fur wasn't long enough to properly weave flowers into, so as they talked and My's hair was braided, she attempted her first try at a flower crown.
"Oh- you've got to tie it there, My, or else it'll fall apart," Snorkmaiden's voice spoke near her ear, making her shiver as her breath brushed her neck.
"Alright," she had simply said, feeling a blush grow on her face along with a hot wave of guilt she tried not to let encompass her. And then it was silent for a while, other than the faint sound of Snufkin's harmonica as he serenaded Moomin.
Something about the quiet made her want to fill it. Fill it with yells, or laughter, or sobs, or anything. Just raw noise. Silence wasn't something she could ever handle for long. She grew tense, though she tried not to show it. She wove the flower crown. Her tail flicked back and forth, despite her efforts to get it to stop.
One of the flowers' stems broke.
"Snorkmaiden, I'm afraid to say I feel as though I've been pining for you."
She regretted it. She could feel Snorkmaiden freeze, her paws still curled in My's hair. Little My, despite her bravery and courage in most situations, was afraid of this. Afraid of turning around and seeing disgust splashed across her friend's face. They'd have no more sleepovers, no more late night talks. No more braiding hair in flower fields, for it would be seen as romantic instead of friendly, and that should surely disgust her companion.
She did not apologize, though, for the truth was out there already, and even though she was afraid, she was not ashamed.
The two girls sat in silence, frozen in time, until Snorkmaiden started weaving together My's hair once more. Little My was still stiff. The Snorkmaiden would try not to show it, but even with the pure joy in her eyes, she was a bit scared, too. As if the entire situation was one big joke, and everyone else would pop up from behind a tree and say "gotcha!"- though deep down, she knew My was not that cruel.
"Me as well, My," she simply said, and gave pause for long enough for it to sink in, to see her friend's shoulders loosen up and hear her let out a held breath she hadn't even known she'd taken. "Now, here, I've just finished your hair."
Little My instantly flipped around, and her new braid almost whipped Snorkmaiden across the face, but she was smiling with a mouth full of pointy teeth shown off to the world, holding a mangled flower crown in her hands. "Really? Truly?"
"You've always been the only one who has any sense around here, red robin," she joked, sitting back. "You've done a good job, for your first flower crown."
"Oh- yes, I suppose," Little My said, looking down at it in a way that was neither negative or positive. "I didn't exactly have the size of your head, so it could be too small or too large, and it ripped and tore and so I fixed it by gluing it together with clumps of mud I scooped up, and I think at one point I might have accidentally crushed part of it with my foot, but here you go."
As Snorkmaiden grasped the flower crown in her paws, she smiled up at My and put it on her head. "I like it nonetheless. In fact, I might say I even like it with these things much better."
And though they were unspoken, four words drifted through the air. It's just like you.
Little My was crude, and energetic, and she was messy and all over the place, and she most certainly wouldn't bend to any rules for the sake of love. Luckily, Snorkmaiden wouldn't set any rules, for she'd fallen for her the way she was, without boundaries and brimming with ideas and adventure. And somehow, My had fallen for her too, though it wouldn't be until much later when My said her vows when she'd fully realize how deep her love truly was.
Sniff never got the twenty dollars. Technically, he'd lost the bet.