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Moomintroll awoke, as he so commonly does, in the middle of winter. Moominvalley was covered in ice, freezing every plant it had worked so hard to grow. All water, except where Tooticky fished, was like stone. In this bleak midwinter, snow was only followed by the cold salute of more snow.
This winter called for a savior. Some creature who would bring the beautiful spring. The antithesis to the Groke, perhaps.
Moomin sat in his bed, unable to close his eyes, unable to think about anything other than the terrible weather—and maybe a certain someone. Now, now, he thought, Snufkin doesn’t literally bring spring into Moominvalley . The season existed before Moomin met Snufkin. But he had to admit to himself that spring without Snufkin never truly felt like spring, did it?
He rubbed his eyes, trying not to stay on the topic of Snufkin for very long—lest he desires to be miserable and lonely. Dramatically throwing his blanket on the ground, he stumbled out of bed. Out of, well, any warmth or comfort. He regretted it immediately. “Oh, silly troll. Every single year you say, ‘Moomin, you have to get a coat for winter!’” Moomin recounted, mocking himself. “Not even once have you done that. Why do you always forget to?” He didn’t give time to answer himself because he knew the answer before anything was asked. He’s always busy with Snufkin.
Shivering, he picked up his blanket and decided to wear it. A makeshift shawl for the cold. Snufkin would understand—and there he did it again! He had a sneaking suspicion that every thought he had somehow led him back to Snufkin!
“That is it!” he yelled. He covered his mouth, having remembered it was rude to wake others by yelling. “I am obviously delirious from waking up so restlessly. I should make some tea or coffee or… anything to stop his rambling thoughts.” He chugged his way downstairs, to the kettle.
He checked the cupboards for a drink mix after putting the kettle on the stove. There was no tea left, or coffee for that matter. The only thing left was a strange packet of colored powder Snufkin had brought back from a trip of his. The label described pouring the powder into a cup or so of water and mixing, no heating needed. It was called Tropical Punch, or perhaps the drink the powder would make was called that?
After mixing the drink and letting it chill, Moomin took a sip. Oh, well, that was strange. It was as if a juice was made from the powder, even though he saw no fruits in this process and could not imagine fruit could be made into such a dry substance like this and still taste like fruit. It also, as quite a surprise, was bubbly. What a peculiar liquid.
He drank all of it, though he was not in love with the experience. It stained his paws when it bubbled the first time, and it didn’t taste very good. “Maybe Snufkin would like my opinions on this,” he absently mumbled, washing his paws. He locked a tired route to Pappa’s study.
Getting to the door, he hesitated, attempting to knock before realizing, of course, that he didn’t need to knock. He sat down at the desk, paper and pen ready, and wrote a detailed review of Tropical Punch. Well, he would have if he hadn’t fallen asleep. He did dream of writing, though.
-
Snufkin,
The Tropical Punch was great! Or… wait… was it terrible? Oh, never mind that. Why would I be writing about some drink? I honestly don’t remember what I’m supposed to be writing about. Something to do with you, I believe. Quite a large amount of my letters are written for you or about you. I guess you’ve never gotten a letter about you, only for you. The ones about you go to Snorkmaiden if she’s willing to receive my endless writings.
If you must know, I write about our one-on-one adventures. Of course, it’s not an all-inclusive writing. I have refrained from mentioning any romance or softer aspects. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that to be detailed to her.
I hope we’ll talk soon.
Love you,
Moomintroll.
-
Moomintroll awoke, as he so commonly does, to the smell of his mother’s cooking. He couldn’t focus on the sweet smells she was creating, or how there were practically smell lines drawing him into the kitchen. He just had the strangest dream! What was he going on about, writing letters to Snorkmaiden about him and Snufkin having romance?! That just wasn’t true. He had not done anything of the sort! He would have laughed from the silliness if he wasn’t trying to process what his subconscious was telling him. What could it be saying?
Being saved from his dwelling on a dream, the door to the study creaked open.
“Moomintroll, my boy! Why are you in my study? You should be on the veranda, eating your mother’s delightful post-hibernation celebration provisions!” Moominpappa shouted, a little too loudly. He patted his son on the back. “Now, why are you here, again? Did you wake up early?”
Moomin sighed. “A little too early.” He turned to face his father, who hummed in understanding. “I had the strangest dream, Pappa. I was writing a letter and something about Snufkin and… and—oh, I can’t remember. I just know I should have learned something from it.”
“Sometimes, my Moomin son, dreams are just that. Dreams.”
Moomin looked back to the paper he had rested his head onto. It just read Snufkin. “Maybe,” Moomin said with an air of finality.
Pappa led Moomintroll downstairs, talking about something Moomin couldn’t be bothered to listen to at the moment. His attention was focused on the sweet, sticky aroma of Moominmamma’s spring oven pancakes.
As he walked, he noticed how much brighter the house seemed. Perhaps it was just the sun, but Moomin felt it was because creatures finally roamed in the valley again. He was less alone. Why, then, did he still feel lonely? He noticed his thoughts drop to a cold stand-still, losing the remaining focus he had on Mamma’s pancakes. Why was he lonely?
He sat at his place around the outside table, blinded by the illuminated flora of his garden. He only heard Mamma’s voice through a thick, muffling cloud. “Huh?” he managed to respond, still not acclimated to his surroundings.
“I said, dear, how was your hibernation? Pappa said you were asleep in the study, so I can only assume there were some interruptions.” Moominmamma was trying to get Moomin’s attention, but he was struggling to look up at her.
“I’m sorry, Mamma, I must still be tired.” He didn’t elaborate, which he knew would worry his parents.
“It’s alright. Take all the time you need, sweetie,” Mamma sweetly suggested. Moomin felt some of his coldness melt off.
This and that happened, but Moomin couldn’t be bothered to be involved. Little My did something devious, no surprise there. He may have or may not have agreed to attend a party. The thing that confused him the most was that it wasn’t that he was lost in thought, it was that he wasn’t truly thinking. He couldn’t hear his thoughts clearly, so everything was–more or less–unclear.
Suddenly, he could hear. It was a siren’s call, piercing through the solid clouds over the sea he was stuck in. It was endlessly revealing every faction of his person, keeping to one soothing melody. How could something that described his very own predicament come from so far away? He needed to meet it, almost instinctively. He needed to see its creator.
He looked up, at last, to Moominmamma, for the go-ahead to follow it. She gave him a nod that he would have never been able to see because the moment their met eyes, he bolted.
The grass was softer than he remembered; the air was warmer; the bridge was taller. He stood at the bridge’s apex, looking past the hill on the path, looking for any sign of the music’s origin.
His waiting lasted only a minute, as the music got louder and louder. When it was the loudest it had ever been, a green hat appeared behind the hill. Then a boy playing a harmonica. Moomin didn’t want to interrupt the beauty of spring that was ringing through the valley, but he could not stop himself.
“Snufkin!”
The music stopped. Moomintroll felt the stillness of the air, once again. But then, as to save the troll, Snufkin spoke. Tove, his voice was that of an angel’s. “Moomintroll,” he said, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve brought your family some gifts. Are they here?”
“Uh, well, yes! We, um, just woke up. From hibernation. Today. At least I did. I think they did.” Moomin stood there, feeling like a bumbling fool. “Well!” He turned sharply toward the veranda, to see his family gawking at him. They scattered, pretending not to be watching. “They are… just over there. Where… they, um… are.” He heard Snufkin laugh. Oh, that laugh. He wanted to thank him for laughing because of the treat of his voice. Of course, that would be awkward and heaven knows that Moomin has already made this that way.
Snufkin walked ahead of him, leaving Moomin to shuffle behind him.
Moomin decided to speak. “What did you get for them?”
“I’d rather wait until I give them their things before we discuss it.”
“Ah, yes. Very good.” Very good?! What! Am! I! Doing! Can I manage to talk to him without sounding like a babbling butler? Moomin thought. He felt needed to dunk his head in some water because he was showing very clear signs of heat exhaustion.
The two arrived shortly at the Moominhouse veranda, much to Little My’s dismay.
“If you’re going to start a story about your adventure, I’d rather take my gift now,” My groaned.
Snufkin, as patient as he always is with his sister, said, “You won’t get a gift if you’re always going to assume I’ve gotten one for you.” Not very patient, that is. He plopped his backpack off of himself–making quite a big bang on the wood–and took out four bags made of paper.
“Moominpappa, sir. I’d thought you appreciate the ingenuity of this creation,” Snufkin said, introducing Pappa’s gift. He always knew what to say. It was like every word was perfectly crafted for the occasion.
Pappa brought out of the bag a pencil-like, black invention. “Hmm, Snufkin lad, what is this?”
“Press the button.”
“If you say.” Pappa clicked the invention’s button, making it disappear. At the opposite end of the invention, a metal cone came out.
“It’s a pen, but the ink is on the inside .”
The Moomin family gasped, including bewildered Moomin. Who could have thought of such a device!
“The ink will run out eventually, I was told–and you can’t replace it, you just have to get a new pen,” Snufkin said, almost ashamed. “It’s quite wasteful, but perhaps you may find good use of it.”
“I do hope I will. Thank you very much, Snufkin,” Moominpappa said, eyes stuck on the pen.
Snufkin nodded, shifting the spotlight to Mamma. “Moominmamma, ma’am, I have acquired some dried, exotic fruits. This is a dried banana and a dried mango.”
Mamma took the tinier paper bags out of her bigger paper bag and took a bite of one of the yellow-orange ones–which Moomin accurately assumed were the mango ones. “Oh, yes! This will be delightful in some sort of recipe, I assure you. You have outdone yourself, Snufkin.”
Snufkin let out a tiny laugh, and held the third paper bag out of Little My’s reach, tauntingly. “This one, Mymble, is a device to used with caution.” My leaped at the bag and caught it in her teeth. The bag was torn to pieces in less than a second, revealing some sort of colorful gun.
Moomintroll felt weary, as a firearm in My’s hands was a risky action to take–she had no practice with such a thing before!
Snufkin met the eyes of the trolls, anxiously watching the Mymblechildren. “You don’t need to worry, she won’t hurt herself. It only shoots water. It can only go as fast as she can push this bar.” He pointed to a T-shape stick at the end of the machine. “Stick the tip into the water and pull it to load it. Everyone else, I am truly sorry for giving her this power.” He smiled jokingly and drew the last bag out of his backpack.
Moomin put his hand out to receive whatever his thoughtful, loving gift was going to be. He waited, but nothing happened. Snufkin wasn’t even looking in his direction. He seemed to be searching for something–someone, rather.
“You can give this to Sniff whenever you see him. Tell him it’s like a puzzle where every side needs to be the same color. If you can remember, it’s called a Rubik’s Cube.” Moomin felt his heart sink. His parents looked at him, concerned. He shook his head, not wanting them to say anything, so they looked away. Snufkin addressed the group one last time for a Snufkin-goodbye, “I’m going to set up my tent now.”
The Moomin family and Little My watched in awe as Snufkin picked his backpack up and set up his tent near the river bank.
Little My decided to make a joke at Moomin’s expense, although he had wished she wouldn’t, saying, “I would have he’d gotten you a gift the size of Moominhouse.” Moomin scowled at her, hurt in two respects.
Not only did he feel unvalued, but everyone else knew he felt that way, too. He laughed, trying to defuse the bomb of emotions set to go off any second, and marched into his kitchen. He looked out at the campsite. Snufkin had already put all of his things together–albeit, he didn’t have many things in the first place. Still, Moomin couldn’t help but be impressed. Snufkin was his best friend, after all. Even if he didn’t bring him a gift. Nor did he acknowledge the lack of the gift. Were… they not best friends? Moomin tried to stop that train of thoughts, but the bomb finally exploded. His insecurities that he attempted to push down into being tired and nothing else brought their dirty faces up from the gravel in his heart.
He ran up the stairs passing the study. Oh, Tove, what was that dream and why did he write Snufkin’s name on the paper before passing out? He got to his room and closed his curtains. He wanted to hide in his bed to hide for a while when he remembered that he forgot his blanket in the study. He didn’t have the time to go back down because he could feel his face become wet with tears.
He didn’t really know why he was crying. He knew he was upset, but why would he cry? But the more he sobbed, the more he thought about all of the emotions he had stuffed down in order to have one thought at a time. The answer became clear why he was crying. He was frustrated and sad and betrayed. He didn’t understand that weird dream–although he did not remember the contents, the emotions stayed with him. He was alone in the miserable winter and got a terrible hibernation because of it. He didn’t get a gift as everyone else had. Even Sniff got a gift! Snufkin could barely stand Sniff! Was Moomin lower on the friend scale of Snufkin than Sniff? What was happening?
Moomin felt like the world was upside down, and soon gravity would crush him. His wallowing, like most other things, was cut short by a tapping on his window.
Moomin knew the rhythm and little details of that specific tap belonged to Snufkin. He didn’t want Snufkin to see him like this. But maybe, as a last resort of rectifying their friendship, he’d let him in.
He flourished the curtains to expose his room after making sure he didn’t look like a complete mess. He jimmied the window open–it had gotten tougher over the harsh winters to move its hinges–and led Snufkin to his bed. He refrained from speaking lest he starts sobbing again.
Snufkin took a deep gulp and put his hat behind him. He looked nervous. Moomin’s face scrunched involuntarily. Snufkin was never nervous around just Moomintroll. Like… never. Why was everything changing so much?
“Moomintroll,” Snufkin whispered. He coughed to clear his throat. He said more firmly, in his honeyed voice, “Moomintroll.”
Moomin was lost. “Snufkin?”
“I just wanted to say that I had a stark revelation. A sudden grasp on something I had already known for… for awhile.”
Moomin didn’t want him to go on. Of course, Snufkin had realized that Moomin was acting too strangely to be friends with and he no longer wanted to visit Moomin anymore. Moomin sat, horrified in silence. He was preparing himself for the terrible thing Snufkin was going to say.
Snufkin took a deep breath and looked away from Moomin. “Moomintroll, I feel that–”
“Snufkin, wait, please! Before you do this, I just want to know why you didn’t bring me a present this year. Okay? Why?” Moomin was just buying time. He knew that something that would change everything was coming.
“Well, I did, dove. I just don’t think you would have appreciated it in front of your parents and Little My. They do love to be a part of everybody’s business, those silly creatures.” Snufkin looked concerned. He seemed to be trying to comfort Moomin, maybe to soften the blow.
Moomin needed to know. “What is it?” he squeaked. Snufkin could tell he was panicking.
“Everything is alright. I just wanted to give you this,” Snufkin said softly. He reached into a pocket in his smock. “Close your eyes.”
Moomintroll was worried that Snufkin would leave the second he closed his eyes. He slowly closed them and reached out his paw.
Snufkin tenderly held his paw, placing what felt like a rock in it. “There. You can open your eyes now.”
Moomin flashed open one of his eyes, almost wincing. He was surprised to see a gemstone. “How pretty! I don’t really know what to do with this, though.” Moomin almost forgot he was about to lose his friend. “Wait, why could you not give this to me out there?”
“Hmm. I suppose I could have. The explanation, though, is not something I would have felt comfortable saying.” Snufkin sighed, thinking. Moomin waited for him to speak. “It is jade. Jade is said to be a lot of good luck, which I thought you would appreciate. It might help with courage. I also liked that it was green… and white.”
Moomin was lost, again. “That is cool that you liked that color combination, but what does that have to do with me?”
Snufkin looked very troubled. “I did not realize that I was going to have to explain all of this.”
“Just humor me,” Moomin said, still confused.
“Moomin, you have white fur.”
“Very true.”
“I wear lots of green.”
“Also very true.”
“We are white and green.”
“That seems about right.” When Moomin said this, Snufkin looked just as confused as Moomin felt.
“Moomintroll,” Snufkin said with a little laugh. “I think that you would have liked a good luck charm that was colored like us. To be a symbol for us. To give us courage.”
“I think it’s a very nice gift.”
Snufkin looked like he did not know what to do. “What do you think is happening right now?”
“You have given me a gem and for some reason could tell my parents about it.” Moomintroll wasn’t missing anything that was said, so what could he possibly not be understanding?
“Are you trying to let me down easy?”
Moomintroll felt his face flush. He frantically said, “I would never–I didn’t–What is–When…?” What was happening? What was Snufkin trying to tell him?
“Moomintroll, I am trying to tell you that I want to… be with you,” Snufkin started strongly but then weakened.
Moomin refused to believe that Snufkin was asking what he thought Snufkin was asking. “You are currently in a room with me, yes?”
Snufkin’s face looked more dumbfounded than Moomin had ever seen anyone. “Moomintroll. I cannot believe I am about to be this direct with you. Are you ready to understand me?”
Moomin gulped. He was truly rejecting what Snufkin was saying. “Yes.”
“Moomintroll, I… I think we should be a couple. Romantically.” Snufkin looked like he couldn’t believe what he just said.
Moomin couldn’t believe it either. He also couldn’t believe the next words that came out of his mouth, “I do, too.” He and Snufkin looked at each other for a strangely long time, no words spoken. Moomin whispered, “What do we do now?” Moomin was relieved that he hadn’t lost a friend, yet he was confused as to why he said yes. Of course, everyone wants to date and be romantic with their best friend from time to time, but it doesn’t actually mean Moomintroll wants that for real, does it?
Snufkin shrugged, keeping his wide-eyed stare on Moomintroll. More silence. It was more a standstill than anything uncomfortable. Neither wanted to change this moment.
Moomintroll spoke again. “Do you want to know something? I thought you were about to say you hate me.”
Choking on air, Snufkin spouted, “How could you think that of me?”
“You gave everyone–but me–a gift. I thought you were going to rescind our friendship. I also, uh, was having another issue to do with you.”
“What was that,” Snufkin said, obviously curious but not trying to push.
“I had a dream where… well, I don’t remember! But I know I was writing a letter and you came up quite a few times and when I woke up, I had written your name on a piece of paper, and–I just remembered.” Moomin knew he was going beet red. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “I was writing you a letter. And I mentioned that in letters I wrote about you, I left out us being romantic. Which we haven’t been!”
“Have we not been? I mean, it’s not every day best friends make each other flower crowns with specific, meaningful flowers and kiss each other hands before dancing to the song they’ve picked to describe their relationship. I mean, I don’t do those things with anyone else. I couldn’t imagine it.” Moomin looked away from Snufkin when he finished his thoughts. He was right. Moomin couldn’t imagine it, either.
“It seems that we shouldn’t change much,” Moomintroll concluded.
“Oh, maybe we can add a few things.” Snufkin cordially placed his paw in Moomin’s. It felt like the bedsheets would catch on fire from the sparks. It was like their paws were meant to fit together.
Moomin had one final thing to clear up. “What exactly am I supposed to do with the gem?”
Snufkin had a proper laugh. “Silly troll. Do whatever you feel. There’s not much I know about what to do with it, asides from maybe holding it for comfort.”
Moomin felt the opportunity to strike with a romantic joke, as he had never made one with Snufkin before. “Why would I need comfort from it when I could be holding your paw instead?”
Snufkin snorted, making Moomin laugh, too. Soon, they couldn’t help be laugh from the hilarity of laughing. All of Moomin’s winter funk washed away in the waters, as well as his springtime worry. Snufkin truly did bring a proper spring to Moominvalley, and now every spring was destined to be better because they had each other.