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Today, Moomin decides. It’s going to be today.
Mind, he’s promised himself it would be today many todays ago and it has never, in fact, been said day but Moomin is utterly confident that he shall manage it this time. Those other todays were not a today like this one; it’s so lovely outside. Bright like a lantern and the gentle warm of a wind too lazy to blow. A day for lounging and quiet, and smiling! The perfect day for what Moomin has planned.
He keeps telling himself this as he bustles about the kitchen, making and unmaking up his mind like a bed with a restless occupant. It’s the perfect day, so perfect that there is rather no more reason for delay.
‘What are you doing?’ the teapot asks him and Moomin is so surprised by this he jumps, banging into the counter and sending Mama’s carefully stacked carrots rolling.
Little My pops up from within it, the round lid of the teapot on her head like a hat. She scoffs, cruelly, as Moomin scrambles to catch the carrots from where they are determined to fall to the floor.
‘You couldn’t catch a cold, never mind a carrot,’ she says to him and Moomin throws her a look, not at all impressed but when has that ever stopped her? He replaces the carrots as she crawls out of the teapot, crossing her tiny arms in a manner most contrary. Moomin steels himself. ‘What’s got you marching a new cellar through the floor?’
‘Nothing,’ Moomin says and his voice breaks, right in the middle. Little My arches one brow, which serves much the same purpose as smoke does a fire. ‘I’m just trying to… get some exercise done.’
‘Exercise?’ Little My repeats, dubious. ‘In the kitchen?’
‘Mama does say it’s the most productive room in the house.’
‘That’s any room she’s in. Just so happens to often be the kitchen,’ Little My replies stoutly and Moomin thinks that might be true all right. ‘What are you really thinking about?’
‘I told you, not thinking about anything.’
‘On any other day, I’d say that’s quite true,’ Little My says sweetly, like that might hide somehow the nastiness of what it is she says. Moomin, used to this trick, does not fall for it and huffs at her. ‘But I think there’s something special about today.’
Moomin freezes and feels his fluff stand on end. He looks anywhere but at Little My, going so far as to turn around and start straightening the carrots. As if carrots would ever need such a thing.
‘Don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you know more than your silly, fluffy face lets on.’
‘You know,’ he says, glancing at her over his shoulder. ‘Aren’t you a little too old to be acting this mean?’
‘I’m a little of anything. And anyway, I’m making up for lost time,’ Little My says to that, inspecting her nails that always remain clean no matter how much trouble she certainly digs them into. ‘You grew up so long with no sibling at all. Terribly unfair on you, really and I wouldn’t want you to miss out.’
Moomin thinks he’d have rather missed out but it’s been a few years since this particular milk spilled to be crying over it.
‘But it is a really lovely day outside,’ Little My continues, slowly because she’s always been the kind of creature who likes pulling wings off flies. Or patience from a Moomin. ‘One might even say a perfect day. A perfect day for something special.’
It cannot be possible for her, of all creatures, to have figured it out but Moomin feels his stomach squeeze unpleasantly with dread all the same. Cautious, he turns to face her and the dread increases when he sees how utterly delighted she looks. She knows, Moomin thinks and he panics.
‘It’s not that great a day,’ he says, though this is blatantly untrue with the sunshine that fills the kitchen. Little My makes an unpleasant snort. ‘In fact, it’s so miserable a day, I think I might just go back to bed.’
‘Back to bed?’ Little My laughs again, louder. ‘You’d rather sleep through your grand plan than just admit you have one?’
‘What- I don’t- there’s no grand plan!’ Moomin stammers, voice breaking again. He had thought he’d rather outgrown it, but it seems puberty didn’t get the memo to take embarrassment with it. ‘Why would you think there’s a grand plan?’
‘Probably because of this,’ Little My says, reaching into her teapot and pulling out a crumbled up bit of paper. Moomin watches, horrified, as she unfurls it. Opened out, it’s nearly the length of her. ‘Moomintroll’s Grand Plan to Tell-‘
‘No, no, no!’ Moomin rushes forward and snatches the paper right out of her hands, to which Little My protests with an undignified squawk. ‘This isn’t- this isn’t what it looks like!’
Little My scowls up at him. ‘What is it then?’
‘It’s… none of your business. That’s what it is.’
‘You threw it away!’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘If it’s in the rubbish, then it’s my business!’ Little My says stoutly and Moomin stares at her, boggled as to why any creature would boast about such a thing but when has Little My ever behaved as anyone else might? ‘You’re keeping secrets. You’ve never been very good for keeping secrets.’
‘No, you’ve just been too good for finding them,’ Moomin says bitterly, scrunching the offending piece of paper back up again. He tosses it towards the wastebin, where it lands to the left of it. ‘Can’t you just bugger off and be someone else’s problem today?’
‘Being your problem is more fun.’
‘I don’t want you to have fun,’ Moomin tells her sourly and she laughs at him again.
Moomin reaches behind him for a carrot, thinking it would feel pretty good to crack one over the top of her wretched head when someone knocks on the backdoor.
Moomin gives Little My his sternest glare; ‘Not a word from you, got it?’
‘Not one word,’ Little My says, which seems strangely agreeable for her but Moomin goes to answer the door anyway.
It’s Snufkin, which does a worse job of it than anything so far and Moomin instantly puffs like a dandelion, all his fur on end from the hot, bubbly feeling he always seems to get with Snufkin around the last few seasons. Little My makes another horrid noise of pleasure from behind him.
‘Oh dear,’ Snufkin says, giving Moomin a look up and down as Moomin desperately tries to pat himself into some semblance of propriety. ‘Have I given you a fright?’
‘You don’t have to, he’s already a fright,’ Little My says from the table and Moomin scowls back at her.
‘I thought you weren’t going to say a word?’
‘And I didn’t. I said several.’
Isn’t that just bloody typical? Moomin turns his back on Little My, cross with her and looks to Snufkin again. Snufkin who is not quite smiling, but he’s pleased because Moomin is always able to tell. It’s the sort of thing one learns about their dearest.
Friend, Moomin adds to his thought hastily and bugger it all down the hill, he’s blushing again. His dearest friend, Moomin reminds himself firmly as Snufkin watches him with a mild bafflement.
‘Are you quite well?’
‘Is he ever?’ Little My adds as Moomin replies, loudly; ‘Quite okay, thanks! What can I do for you this fine day, Snufkin?’
Everyone seems to wince from that together as it’s far too mannerly to make any bit of sense between the two of them. Snufkin tilts his head, dark eyes on Moomin’s face. The sun is behind him and the wide brim of his hat has his own face in shadow, making them very dark indeed.
‘You don’t have to do a thing you don’t fancy,’ Snufkin says gently, as though afraid he might spook Moomin off into further embarrassment. ‘But I was hoping you’d come with me today.’
‘I’d love to!’ Moomin says, too eager really but Snufkin smiles then. A proper one, if a little small. Everything about Snufkin is a little small, truth be told. ‘Wouldn’t fancy anything more.’
‘What about your plan, Moomintroll?’ Little My asks loudly and Moomin’s pleasure drops like a stone. Snufkin leans around Moomin looking into the kitchen with interest. The only thing more dangerous than Little My with a secret is a Snufkin with an interest in it.
‘Oh? What’s this?’ Snufkin lands back on the heels of his boots, looking to Moomin slyly. His smile is growing. ‘Have we plans, Moomintroll?’
‘It’s nothing. Not really. No,’ Moomin says, starting weak and never quite pulling himself back up to anything that might sound convincing, and oh dear- Snufkin’s looking a bit like a cat who’s just spotted the cream left unattended. In this, he resembles his sister a little too closely.
Worse again, he resembles his father though Moomin knows never to say so.
‘How sure of that, you sound,’ Snufkin says, clearly teasing him and Moomin can feel that blush brewing again. Any more and he’ll spill over like a kettle. ‘Am I interrupting these plans you do not have?’
Certainly not, as any intention Moomin may have had in pursuing such plans are well and truly scuppered.
‘No, you’re perfect,’ Moomin says instead and Snufkin’s smile falters, but he ducks his head too quick to get a proper look. His hat is so wide it hides him at once. Moomin clears his throat. ‘So, um. What did you want to do today?’
‘Must we do something?’ Snufkin asks from beneath his hat. He turns a bit, looking up only to consider the garden. ‘I reckon it’s enough to just enjoy this pleasant day with our friends.’
‘In that case, can I come along?’ Little My says, hopping down from the kitchen table and her boots click on the floor where she lands.
‘Absolutely not,’ Moomin says just as Snufkin says; ‘I suppose so.’
The three of them all look at each other, Snufkin and Moomin looking perhaps a touch longer as it is so very nice to do so. Moomin fidgets with his paws, agitated and failing at not showing it.
‘Little My can’t today. She’s very busy, you see,’ Moomin says, thinking on the spot and Snufkin considers Little My, who is too distracted with frowning at Moomin to notice.
‘Am I?’ she says, tapping a small foot. ‘What’s got me so busy?’
‘You’ve that job that Mama gave you,’ Moomin says, trying to convey how badly he needs her to help him with the pleading look he gives her. As with all things asked of her with desperation- Little My refuses to offer anything.
‘Moominmama didn’t give me any jobs today.’
‘Yes, she did. You’re just a terrible listener. Everyone says so, don’t we, Snufkin?’
Snufkin jumps, surprised to be drawn into this it seems. When Little My turns her sour expression on him, Snufkin simply shrugs.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Little My says, though she doesn’t sound very sure. Moomin jumps on it.
‘Fine, come along then,’ he says, raising his paws with dramatic nonchalance. ‘But if we get back and Mama asks why you didn’t do the one thing she asked of you, you can tell her yourself that you just weren’t listening to her.’
Moomin sighs, looking forlornly to the ceiling for effect.
‘Poor Mama,’ he says, a paw to his chest. ‘How very disappointed in you, she’ll be.’
‘You’re trying to trick me,’ Little My says, but Moomin knows her too well now himself. He knows she’s not very certain of it and that’s all he needs. Moomin bends down to her level, saying loud enough so only she might hear.
‘Do you really want to take that chance?’
With that, Moomin hops up again and looks to Snufkin.
‘Righteo, let’s go!’
Moomin hurries Snufkin into the garden, following after him and pulling the backdoor closed behind them. Moomin strides on ahead, letting Snufkin have to hurry a touch to catch up with him but once they’re making their way, they fall into step quite easily.
‘My, my, Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says after the quiet, laughing soft and breathy. Moomin looks at him, always loving to see how Snufkin looks when he laughs. ‘If you didn’t want her to come along so badly you could’ve said. Seems terrible to trick her like that.’
‘You would say so,’ Moomin says, bumping his shoulder to Snufkin’s, who bumps him back. ‘You let her get away with absolute murder and she does not deserve it. The odd trick? That she deserves.’
They both laugh then, walking so close together. Moomin doesn’t mean to, but his tail swings very near the end of Snufkin’s smock, catching there. It feels very good, walking on this beautiful day. It’s so easy, really; it always is with Snufkin. Being with Snufkin is just so easy and even when it isn’t, Moomin would rather be difficult with Snufkin than not with anyone else.
‘Who knew you were capable of such cruelty,’ Snufkin says, eyes bright now in the sun. The funny colour of wood varnish, Moomin thinks, for he is often thinking of the colour of Snufkin’s eyes. It’s becoming a problem, really. ‘I hope you never trick me like that.’
‘If I did, how would you know?’
‘Hmm. A very good point,’ Snufkin says, taking his chin in hand. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to trust that you don’t.’
‘I don’t,’ Moomin says, in a rush because he can’t even pretend to be that mean. Not to Snufkin and not even for a little bit and Snufkin laughs again.
Sometimes, Snufkin laughs and it sounds like a match struck. Moomin would strike it as often as he could, until it sizzles down to the tips of his fingers.
‘I believe you,’ Snufkin says, putting a hand to Moomin’s shoulder. It slips away again but Moomin tingles still. ‘Which direction will we go?’
‘How about we go East?’ he says, stopping before they hit the bridge. ‘Follow the stream for a bit, towards the glen. We don’t head that way very often.’
Snufkin doesn’t say anything but he nods, going the way Moomin gestures and walking ahead. Moomin looks at him, feels that turnover feeling in his chest. A feeling tossed to cook on both sides of something very hot and Moomin has been feeling it so much, so often, he wonders how it doesn’t burn a hole right out of him. Wonders how Snufkin has never noticed.
‘Moomintroll?’ Snufkin has stopped, is looking at Moomin where he hasn’t moved for a long moment. Moomin starts, rushing along to catch up.
‘Sorry,’ he says but Snufkin stops him with another hand to his shoulder. The other comes up, sun-brown fingers close but then stopping. They both hover, staring. ‘I was just… thinking.’
‘Thinking,’ Snufkin repeats, before he blinks and it’s like he comes back to himself. He steps back, quick and pulls his hands back to himself. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Just… the day,’ Moomintroll says instead of saying You. Snufkin hums.
‘It is a very lovely day.’
‘Any day with you is bound to be lovely though, isn’t it?’
‘Do you think so?’ Snufkin says, looking at Moomin from the corner of his eye and Moomin is going hot again. ‘My hat won’t fit over my head if you keep being as sweet as that, you know.’
It’s dreadfully unfair, but sometimes Snufkin looks at him like that and Moomin gets the distinct impression Snufkin knows exactly what he’s thinking. Moomin really hopes that’s not true.
‘You deserve it,’ Moomin says, without thinking and they both go tense.
It’s been getting like this quite a bit now. Neither are saying anything that isn’t true, but it’s all gotten so very… muddled. It was always pleasant to hear, but now they seem to linger too long in the moment, neither all that willing to move onto the next one until they both realise it’s too late to do so without awkwardness.
Perhaps that’s how things get after this long between two friends as good and dear. But Moomin very much doubts it.
‘Right,’ Moomin says, clearing his throat once again and patting himself down for something to do. ‘Shall we go on?’
They walk on, quiet and Snufkin steps around the flowers with his boots while Moomin sneaks glances over when confident Snufkin isn’t going to see him doing so.
Moomin isn’t sure himself where to say it exactly started, only that it has run at least half its course and may very well be onto the next round of it.
He’s always thought Snufkin a handsome creature, if a little foreign but somewhere along the way, that shifted into Moomin spending a lot of time looking at Snufkin’s foreignness and worrying Snufkin might see him as equally strange- but not as nice to look at.
It was at that point he’d brought the situation up to Snorkmaiden. Who had been very diplomatic, then very cross. And after she was done being cross, she’d come back around to be almost helpful.
Moomin says almost, as she was most definitely not entirely helpful. At the suggestion he write any of these alarming new feelings down so Snufkin might read them, on scented paper no less, Moomin had politely dismissed Snorkmaiden’s help. She’d gotten cross again.
‘Thinking again?’ Snufkin asks, coming close so their arms brush together. ‘You’ll philosophise a whole new world if you keep at it like this.’
‘Nah, wiser to leave the philosophising to you,’ Moomin says and then it’s easy again, both of them smiling and walking along. ‘You’re the cleverest person I know, after all.’
Snufkin narrows his eyes, but the humour is still there. ‘You’re so generous with the compliments today. One might think you were up to something, you know.’
‘Not up to anything.’
‘Said in the manner of someone intent on concealing that they are, in fact, up to something.’
‘Are you implying that I’m trying to butter you up?’
‘Like a parsnip,’ Snufkin says coyly and Moomin loves that look on his face. The one that says Snufkin is feeling clever, and very confident, and for someone so usually serious it’s just like clouds parting. Moomin could stand in a fine day like Snufkin any moment.
‘You don’t like parsnips,’ Moomin says and Snufkin pulls a look of offence.
‘What a silly thing to say! I’m a worldly traveller, you know. Couldn’t be so precious as to be picky over vegetables.’
‘And yet,’ is all Moomin says to that, for truly he knows no one as precious as Snufkin. Except for possibly Snorkmaiden, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish and Moomin has trouble balancing the ones he’s got presently never mind adding another.
Snufkin is too gracious to shove him, but he purses his lips with a small pout and strides ahead as though in a huff. He isn’t, for Moomin knows intimately and unpleasantly what a Snufkin huff looks like. But Moomin plays along and tries to offer more compliments, as if to tempt Snufkin out of his false bad humour.
They walk a long ways, turning right when the stream turns left so they start making their way up the glen. It’s verdant, and beautiful and smells overwhelmingly of sweet-peas and lily of the valley. Up ahead, where a tree felled in a storm over the winter is lying on its side, Moomin can see the latter growing. They hang like little white bells.
‘What kind of tree do you reckon that was?’
‘Looks like a horse chestnut,’ Snufkin says, looking over. ‘And I imagine it still is, even if no longer rooted.’
‘Let’s have a sit!’ Moomin suggests and Snufkin pulls a face, genuinely this time.
‘Already? We could walk so much further, you know.’
‘But then we’d have to walk back.’
‘Which is double the pleasure.’
‘Only you would say that,’ Moomin says, making his way to the tree. He doesn’t sit on the trunk of it, but on the grass and with his back against it. Snufkin stands above him, hands on his narrow hips. ‘But my feet will be falling off me and what we will do then?’
‘I’ll carry you,’ Snufkin says resolutely, which makes Moomin laugh at once because bless his heart, Moomin knows Snufkin believes he could.
‘You could in your arse-’
‘Language.’
‘You’d no sooner be able to carry me one step than Sniff might grow a beard like the Hobgoblin’s,’ Moomin says and Snufkin is frowning now, moody it seems and this only makes Moomin laugh more.
Despite having met him only a handful of times, Moomin has never seen the Joxter bothered by what anyone might say of his cans or cannots. (Except for Snufkin, of course but that is definitely not to be mentioned). Which leads Moomin to think this stubborn prickle is more a Snufkin figary than a Mumrik one in itself. It’s funny all the same and seems almost too big a thing for something as skinny as Snufkin.
‘I could carry you just fine,’ Snufkin says, firmer and standing up straighter. ‘I carry my pack on my back quite a long ways every Winter.’
‘I’m a good bit heavier than your tent and bowls, Snufkin,’ Moomin says, with perhaps a touch of pride as it does no harm for a Moomin to be as sturdy as he is. He picks off some grass that sticks to his legs and looks up when a shadow crosses over him. Snufkin has a hand reached out to him.
‘Come on then,’ he says, that determined look in his eye that Moomin has seen before.
‘Come on then what?’
‘Come on and let me show you how strong I am.’
‘No, definitely not,’ Moomin says, laughing again but Snufkin bends down to grab his paw and is starting to pull at him. ‘Snufkin- Snuf, stop pulling at me!’
‘Get up, you daft troll!’ Snufkin says, pulling harder and Moomin thinks fine then! and stands up. Snufkin, who was not prepared for Moomin to be so accommodating, pulls too far with his momentum and drags Moomin with him.
Snufkin falls on his back with a gasp and Moomin lands on top of him with a swear.
Moomin has both paws on either side of Snufkin’s head, the hat for which has rolled off in the kerfuffle. Moomin holds himself up, but he is still very much on top of Snufkin. He ought to move, ought to get his considerable weight off so slight a thing as Snufkin.
But Moomin finds himself quite stunned. Snufkin is staring up at him, hands tight on Moomin’s arms and their chests almost meet, breathing in tandem.
‘Uh…’ Moomin doesn’t know what he was going to say just then, distracted by Snufkin’s face. Moomin looks at it all the time, but not so much without the hat. ‘You’ve got freckles.’
Snufkin is staring at him. He really is so very different a creature. ‘You know I’ve got freckles.’
‘Yes but- I don’t usually get to see them.’
‘You can always ask,’ Snufkin says before his cheeks colour. Not much, not as obviously as Moomin feels his fluff sticks up for the like but it’s enough. ‘If you want- that is-’
‘I want to,’ Moomin says, quieter and Snufkin is still looking at him. Moomin wants to guess the colour in his eyes but he can’t. ‘I like looking at you.’
‘Oh.’ Snufkin glances away then, ducking his head seemingly with habit for there’s nothing to hide with. His fingers tighten in Moomin’s fur and Moomin shivers so it all stands on end for a moment. Snufkin looks at it, mouth open but he doesn’t say anything. ‘I like looking at you, too.’
‘Really?’
‘Very much.’
‘I bet you’ve seen lots better.’
‘It’s not a competition,’ Snufkin tells him, which is not a No and a very Snufkin sort of answer. Snufkin meets his eye again and Moomin gets the niggling thought that he ought to be doing something.
It gets like this sometimes, too. Like straining to hear the song that’s playing in another room, but the door is shut. Or the stickiness between Moomin’s fingers after a tart fruit. Something lingering, something not quite holding together but they each hold an end of it. Moomin feels like his heart is not able to take much more of this almost.
Then, something completely unusual happens. And it happens so quickly, Moomin isn’t entirely sure it did so at all.
Snufkin is lying on the grass and the flowers, quiet and still until he very much isn’t. He leans up, cheek to Moomin’s as though he’s about to whisper a secret as close to Moomin’s ear as he can reach.
But he doesn’t say anything, instead he pushes his mouth to the fluff of Moomin’s cheek which is the strangest thing Moomin has ever had done to him.
It’s quick, too much so for Moomin’s liking, whatever it may be. Snufkin flops back down into the grass as though the simple thing has taken all the strength from him. He’s very dark now, the tan of hot summers in the South burnished like something too hot. But it’s Snufkin’s expression that has Moomin all the more confused; he looks like he’s just done something he shouldn’t have and fears scolding for it.
Moomin has never known Snufkin to fear a scolding in his life.
‘I- I’m so sorry!’ Snufkin says in a burst, continuing the trend of behaving in a way Moomin can’t follow.
Snufkin releases Moomin’s arms and twists about underneath him, scurrying out like a mouse from a trap and up to his feet. It’s all so quick and awkward that Moomin flops at once to the grass, stunned once again. Moomin rolls over, sees the barest wisps of clouds in the perfect blue of the sky.
‘I should not have done that, oh goodness!’
‘You shouldn’t have done what?’ Moomin asks from the grass, lying there on his back and watching Snufkin upside-down. Snufkin is pacing about in short little steps, swiping his hat from the ground. He doesn’t put it on, only turns it anxiously in his fingers.
‘That!’ Snufkin says, clearly panicked and that knocks the sense back into Moomin at once. He jumps to his feet, trying to reach for Snufkin who takes a frightened step back. ‘Oh, you must be so unhappy with me! Please know, that as cross as you are it’s nothing compared to how silly I feel.’
‘Why would you- Snufkin, would you just-!’ Moomin sighs, a bit irritated by all this fuss so he walks up and grabs Snufkin by the shoulders to stop him fretting so very much. ‘By the Booble! Cop on for a second, would you?’
Snufkin stops, staring at Moomin with those same wide eyes from before.
‘What did you do that’s so silly?’ Moomin asks, because he wants to know. He thinks of Snufkin putting his lips to his cheek and tries to stop the way he starts to flush again. Must be the heat of the day. ‘That cheek thing just now?’
The colour Moomin had been admiring in Snufkin’s face before vanishes so quickly it alarms him.
‘You don’t… Oh,’ Snufkin says, swaying a touch. ‘No. Of course you don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Know,’ Snufkin replies, softer and sadder and his eyes drop. ‘Not that you should, I suppose. Not very proper.’
‘Since when do you care for proper?’ Moomin asks, curious and fond. So wretchedly fond. When Snufkin still won’t look up, Moomin reaches out and puts his fingers under Snufkin’s chin. ‘Snufkin?’
Snufkin goes where bid, letting Moomin move him and that is so sincere and significant a thing, it stalls Moomin entirely. He holds Snufkin right on the tip of his finger, watching and waiting and aching from somewhere deep and warm. The kind of ache that Moomin has only ever gotten from looking at Snufkin like this.
‘What is it, Snufkin?’ Moomin asks, and they are so very close. Moomin can see all his freckles, the very fine fluff that grows down the sides of his face.
‘I... ‘ Snufkin doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, seemingly leaning forward. Moomin lets him, because he’s rather afraid he’d let Snufkin do anything.
And then, Snufkin seems to change his mind as quickly as he does anything. Which is to say, very quickly indeed.
He jumps out from Moomin’s paws as though burned, making a flustered noise that trills at the end. It makes Moomin’s ears stick up, straining to hear it for truly Moomin doesn’t remember the last time Snufkin made such a sound. It’s far more common from the Joxter, (when bothered), and not half as pleasant.
Snufkin turns about again, seemingly intent on working himself back on up into the tizzy Moomin has just coaxed him down from and Moomin rolls his eyes, despite himself. Perhaps one ought to be more sympathetic to their dearest friend, but when their dearest friend was so finnicky a creature as Snufkin patience for such did tend to run a tad short.
‘Snufkin, will you just tell me what’s the matter?’ Moomin pleads, so very lost on what aboutpressing one’s lips to their friend’s cheek could mean that has Snufkin so frantic. After all, Snufkin presses his lips to all sorts of things! His mouth-organ, for one!
Moomin is about to make this point when Snufkin suddenly slaps his hat back onto his head, tugging so tightly on the brim it comes down over him like a very tight bonnet, hands almost pressed together over his face where he holds both ends of the brim together.
‘Ehcassedchoo!’
Moomin gives that a second- but no. Not one bit of that muffled snort of a noise comes to him as any meaningful word.
‘Come again?’ he says and Snufkin trills; again and higher, thus more familiar. Moomin has heard this a few times when Snufkin gets very worked up.
Snufkin walks away with his hat still pulled down around his face, stops to stamp his right boot once and comes back. He lets his hat go so it springs back and he returns to Moomin, looking determined, then very frightened, and then desperately unhappy. Moomin watches each one flitter over his face like the candle in a zoetrope.
Snufkin stops before him, crossing and clutching at his own arms.
‘I kissed you,’ Snufkin says, plainly as though this were a reasonable thing to say though it absolutely can’t be. Moomin stops; only word for it, for he can’t even seem to breathe quite suddenly. ‘I know I shouldn’t have. It was a very selfish thing to do, especially without you knowing but I- oh, it doesn’t matter. No excuse could possibly be good enough.’
It’s Moomin’s turn to sway now.
‘Kissed me,’ he says, dazed. ‘You kissed me.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Snufkin says miserably and Moomin puts a paw to his own cheek, like he might feel Snufkin’s kiss there.
‘Oh.’ Moomin goes hot again. ‘Oh my.’ His heart is racing. ‘Oh, no, no, no!’
It’s Moomin’s turn for a tizz, very upset and not all sure where to put it now it’s upon him so suddenly. He pulls on his ears, struggling to work around the tension that’s bubbling up. Horrifyingly, it feels it may burst from him in a laugh of all things!
‘No, no, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!’ Moomin says desperately and Snufkin is past the point of pale now, almost ghost-like as he watches Moomin with an expression of growing misery. ‘You weren’t it- it wasn’t supposed to be like this! I had a plan!’
That laugh erupts, like a pistol and it shocks Moomin so he can’t quite stop once it kicks off.
‘Are you- are you laughing?’ Snufkin asks, sounding nettled and this only serves to make Moomin laugh more. His eyes are even starting to water and he rubs at them furiously. ‘Moomintroll, are you well?’
‘No!’ Moomin blurts out, sniffling and his laughing is taking on an unfortunate warble. ‘No, I’m not bloody well!’
‘You’re upset with me,’ Snufkin says, like it makes sense and Moomin stops fussing over himself to look at where Snufkin is beginning to curl inward, like he might make himself smaller. ‘I understand.’
‘No, Snufkin! I’m not upset with you, I’m not upset at all!’
Snufkin gives him an arch look. ‘You’re crying.’
Moomin puts a paw to his cheeks, feels the fur is damp and wonders how he could’ve been crying without noticing?
‘Okay, maybe I am a touch, but it doesn’t matter!’ Moomin says, rushing forward and he goes for Snufkin’s hands, only to stop. Something about the way Snufkin is holding himself gives Moomin the same wariness he might get when he hears the buzzing of an angry wasp before he sees it.
‘It matters to me,’ Snufkin says, solemn. Which Moomin supposes he would be.
‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean I’m not upset with you.’
‘You should be.’
‘Why? Because you kissed me?’
Snufkin balks, before replying very shakily; ‘Yes. Because of that.’
‘Tough luck then, because I’m not at all upset about that nor am I sorry you did it,’ Moomin says and he’s running out of breath very quickly as he talks, each word twice as eager to come out than the last. ‘I’m only annoyed with myself because- well, because…’
And then all the words run out.
Moomin and Snufkin stand in the glen, staring at each other and Snufkin is watching Moomin so closely. Moomin always loves it best when Snufkin is looking at him, for Snufkin could look at anything else and indeed walks so very far and must see better, no matter what he says. But sometimes, he looks at Moomin and he looks at him like this.
Like Moomin’s very, very important which is the daftest thing, for how could he be with so wide and wonderful a world waiting for Snufkin just beyond the valley?
‘I wanted to kiss you first,’ Moomin confesses, finally. Finally.
Snufkin frowns at once. It’s so in-character, Moomin near laughs again but his nerves have him by the throat so it doesn’t quite make it. Snufkin turns his frown to the grass, seemingly thinking, before looking back to Moomin again.
‘But, why would you want that?’ Snufkin asks and Moomin groans, wondering what straw he drew in a past life to end up admiring so baffling a person as this. Must’ve been very short indeed.
‘Why do you think?’ Moomin asks, incredulous. ‘Why did you want to kiss me?’
Snufkin seizes like a spider that’s been stepped on. ‘Well! I would’ve thought that were obvious!’
‘Then you see my point?’
‘... No,’ Snufkin admits and he does sound confused. Moomin’s laugh makes itself known at last, though it’s a strangled sort of thing that only serves to make Snufkin look more upset.
‘This is why I wanted a plan,’ Moomin says, rubbing a paw over his face and down his snout. ‘Look what a mess this is without one.’
‘What was your plan?’
‘It wasn’t finished,’ Moomin says, very bashful of it but Snufkin’s shoulders drop in a manner that suggests his anxiety is thawing. ‘I was waiting for the right day. The perfect day, really.’
‘For what?’
‘For telling you how I feel. I was thinking flowers? Like I said, wasn’t finished.’
‘We have flowers,’ Snufkin points out, looking about their feet to where the sweet-peas hang heavy with pink and purple petals. ‘You could tell me now, if you still want to.’
‘Do you want to hear it?’ Moomin asks, not to be cruel but because Snufkin looks so very unhappy still. Snufkin goes soft, like the wax of a candle burning and he slackens the grip he holds on himself.
‘I always want to hear what you have to say,’ Snufkin says, genuinely and kind. Sometimes, he says things that sound like an invitation when they couldn’t possibly be one and this is such a time. ‘But please don’t feel you must say something particular just because I… well, you know.’
Moomin is unsure what that means, until he isn’t. ‘That’s not why I’m telling you. I told you, I had a plan.’
‘Perhaps, but this was not your plan.’
‘It could be. Could be a new plan.’ Moomin waves a paw about the glen. ‘Like you said, I’ve already got the flowers.’
Moomin holds the paw out towards Snufkin, heart beating fast and heavy in his chest. Like an engine, it pushes him along into the not-known but deeply-hoped.
‘Snufkin,’ he says, asks really and Snufkin considers the paw offered to him. Slowly, Snufkin lets himself go and reaches back, taking Moomin’s paw in hand.
Well, not quite. Snufkin’s narrow fingers, rough and dry, curl around Moomin’s longest one and hold that instead. As though to hold Moomin’s paw is simply too much for him and it is so decidedly endearing, Moomin’s eyes are beginning to water again. Moomin presses his thumb against Snufkin’s fingers, runs it like a stick over bars across the knuckles.
‘Moomintroll,’ Snufkin says, less sure and Moomin ought not to like it so much. But for the first time possibly ever, he thinks he might be more certain of something than Snufkin is.
‘You’re my best-friend, Snufkin,’ Moomin says, as it’s certainly true and warrants saying. Snufkin’s fingers tighten, just slightly and Moomin rubs his thumb along them again. ‘My very best one. And you are such a pain.’
Snufkin blinks, entirely thrown but Moomin grins, the lock turning in his heart and finally open and it’s too glorious a feeling to hide from any longer.
‘You’re contrary. Fussy, and worse, can’t even admit to being so,’ Moomin continues and Snufkin looks too surprised to be offended. ‘You could walk through five days of mud and rain but not five hours without puffing on that awful pipe of yours. And you are the most remarkable Snufkin I have ever met.’
This time, Snufkin’s fingers snap like a purse over Moomin’s single one, almost too tight for comfort but Moomin just moves his arm, tucks it in so to pull Snufkin closer. Moomin always wants him closer. He wants to smell that rotten pipeweed, see the stray hairs of Snufkin’s eyebrows and look at his wide, pointy nose.
‘And I would know,’ Moomin says, softer for they are coming quite close again. ‘For I remark on you all the time.’
‘Do you?’ Snufkin asks, barely above a whisper. Moomin nods, snout very close to Snufkin’s nose.
‘Everyone’s well sick of it, I can assure you.’
‘Then the world must be very sick of you, for I talk about you even more and for even further,’ Snufkin replies and Moomin beams, turns his paw so he can lace his fingers together with Snufkin’s. Oh, Moomin could do with a compliment like that every now and again!
‘Yeah?’ he says, fishing for the rest of it. ‘What do you tell them? That you’ve got a very brave, very clever and not at all bad looking Moomintroll waiting for you?’
Moomin is laughing his way through that, brilliantly happy but the most bizarre and alarming thing happens and it cuts right off like a rope.
‘Snufkin- Snufkin!’ Moomin lets go of Snufkin entirely only to move to cupping his face, panicked. ‘You’re bleeding!’
Snufkin frowns again, looking very dazed of all things and Moomin steps back to gesture to the end of his own snout. Snufkin raises his own hand, uncertain and mirrors the gesture, touching just above his top lip and coming away again. When he looks to his fingertips and sees the blood that has suddenly started running from his nose, his frown returns.
‘Oh,’ is all Snufkin says and when he adds nothing else, Moomin’s panic rushes in to fill the quiet.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks, patting himself uselessly for Moomin has never had anything even resembling a pocket in all his life but he has no idea what else to do. ‘Bloody hell- I mean! Not bloody like- are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Quite well, quite well,’ Snufkin says, covering the bottom of his nose with one hand. He leans his head back, hat slipping but not off. ‘Don’t worry, it happens.’
‘When?’ Moomin asks, horrified. He’s never seen it before! ‘When does this happen? Does it happen a lot?’
‘Oh no,’ Snufkin says, waving the hand that’s currently not stoppering his sudden nosebleed. ‘Not for a very long time.’
‘How long?’
‘I can’t say for certain,’ Snufkin says, muffled as he tries to breathe and talk at once with his nose covered. ‘When did my father show up?’
‘What? Now?’ Moomin asks, possibly more scared of the Joxter’s sudden appearance today, of all days, than the spontaneous blood. Which might seem a touch unfair, if one hadn’t met the Joxter.
Moomin has, unfortunately.
‘No, in the first place,’ Snufkin says, taking the most unattractive, snorting breath Moomin has ever heard from him and Moomin desperately hopes he’s not in pain. ‘Hmm. No good it seems.’
‘What’s no good?’ Moomin asks but is answered when Snufkin removes his hand and Moomin feels ill at once. There’s blood smeared all over the end of Snufkin’s nose.
Snufkin tugs on his scarf, awkwardly pulling it undone and bustling it up. He sticks it over his nose, the bundle of it too large and awkward to show much other than his eyes, which meet Moomin’s horrified gaze.
‘That’s better,’ Snufkin says, harder to hear even more so now. He’s lucky Moomin has such large ears to begin with.
‘I don’t know if this is better, Snuf.’
‘I suppose it’s not… ideal,’ Snufkin says through the wool, bloody hand getting red all over the scarf. It’ll be ruined from the inside out now, Moomin thinks. ‘It should stop in a moment now, I promise and then I’ll be a neater.’
‘Neater?’ Moomin repeats and he shakes his head, caught in an awful tangle of utmost and brilliant affection. And complete bafflement. ‘I don’t care if you’re neat! I care if you’re well! It doesn’t matter a jot to me if you’re snotty or bloody or- or covered in mud! I love you, after all. And you’re often covered in mud more times than not, to be honest with you, Snuf, and-’
Moomin cuts himself off just as Snufkin stops fussing with his scarf and both go still at once; Snufkin staring at Moomin with his eyes very round. It’s about all Moomin can see of him presently and Moomin often boasts to himself that he has learned to read Snufkin quite well.
‘You love me?’ Snufkin replies, quiet and unsure. Moomin takes the last thing he said by the tail and drags it back, realising too late that he has indeed said so.
‘I…’ Moomin stops, considering the penny before dropping the whole pound. ‘Yeah. That is pretty much what I was getting at, yes.’
Snufkin drops the scarf.
He’s a dreadful mess. The bleeding in itself seems to have stopped, but the damage is done all the same for he’s smeared red all across his top lip and little across one cheek. Moomin grits his teeth, rudely perhaps but they’re too close for such a thing to matter.
‘You… oh, darling creature!’ Snufkin says, head shaking slightly. ‘Daft, darling troll.’
Darling sounds a little better than daft, Moomin finds, but he’ll take both all the same if they are to come from Snufkin.
‘How undeserving, I am. But how very selfish also-’
Then, Snufkin rushes forward like a tide. Both arms are up and he takes Moomin by both cheeks, tugging him forwards just as Snufkin lands against him. Snufkin has his lips pursed and he presses them right to the very end of Moomin’s snout, clutching very tightly and pinning them together.
Moomin squeaks. Only word for the high-pitched noise that shoots out of him in surprise. Snufkin pulls away only to press his lips again, more insistent and then he moves. Moves his nose down so it’s flush against Moomin’s and- and-
Moomin isn’t hot; he’s past that. He feels like he’ll burst with the way everything swells inside of him, like his pelt is two sizes too small and he acts with a desperate instinct. He paws come up to Snufkin’s waist, wrap around it and pull Snufkin as close as he can. Which is pretty darn close.
Snufkin is rubbish at this, is the first thought Moomin has of Snufkin going in to nuzzle his nose to Moomin’s again. Snufkin’s nose is so pointy, and so small that Moomin can feel much more than just it at the end of his own. He can feel Snufkin’s cheeks, the brush of his lips. It’s all so very much of Snufkin on so singular a place.
The second thought Moomin has is that if this stops, even for a moment, he might faint for the loss of it because it is the most marvellous, perfect feeling in the world to be kissing Snufkin. Moomin is not sure how he could possibly stop and so he doesn’t, for quite some time.
Eventually, Snufkin starts to sink down from the tip-toes he’s standing on. Moomin tightens his grip on Snufkin’s waist, catching him and Snufkin lets himself pour into the space Moomin has made. He lets himself be held and when Moomin opens his eyes again, he is struck by the fervent need to be kissing again.
‘Wow,’ Moomin says instead of that, but he still thinks it. Snufkin is ruddy, breathing through his mouth with short, raspy breaths and his eyes keep dropping to the end of Moomin’s snout.
‘Yes,’ Snufkin says with a shaky nod. ‘Wow.’
Their eyes meet, their breath light for it’s so close between them and it lends itself to uneven but bright laughter. Moomin laughs big, usually does and Snufkin laughs in small oh’s of mirth. Snufkin has a laugh like a stone skipping and if Moomin is to be anything, he wants to be the lake for that stone.
‘Oh. Oh no,’ Snufkin says, laugh tapering off and he moves a hand from Moomin’s cheek to press two slender fingers to the end of Moomin’s nose. ‘You’ve got a bloody nose, now.’
‘Do I?’ Moomin asks, not following until he pays more attention to Snufkin. There is considerably less blood on him than before and Moomin realises where it must’ve gone. He winces. ‘Oh, Booble’s wept! That’s disgusting.’
‘Sorry,’ Snufkin says though he doesn’t sound it and Moomin can’t find it in him to even pretend to be cross. ‘Do you want my scarf?’
‘Your mangey scarf that’s already covered in the half of this blood I didn’t get on my face?’
‘Suits you,’ Snufkin says, both hands back to Moomin’s cheeks and he looks at Moomin from beneath his eyelashes. A dirty trick, Moomin thinks, for how is he to resist such a thing? ‘You look very tough and daring. Like a ruffian.’
‘Do you fancy a ruffian?’
‘I fancy you.’
‘Then I’ll be a ruffian,’ Moomin replies, trying to sound bold but it sounds so very silly. All of this is really so very silly and they both start laughing again. Silly as it is though, they really ought to find a stream or such to clean up before someone sees them.
A thought crosses Moomin’s mind then.
‘We have to get this off before Little My sees it,’ Moomin says, sure of that. ‘I don’t think I could live down that I gave you a nosebleed the same day I finally got the courage to kiss you.’
‘Well, that just wouldn’t be true,’ Snufkin says, very prim for someone who has blood starting to crust off the end of their nose. ‘As you haven’t actually kissed me yet. I kissed you.’
Moomin grins and Snufkin is probably the most handsome, lovely thing he’s ever seen.
‘Better fix that then, hadn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Snufkin says, in the same breathless way he says they ought to sneak out in the night or push the boat out in the rain. ‘You had.’