Archive of Our Own

Moomintroll stuck his nose out his window, gazing at the party taking place down below, loud and lively. He'd left it on a mission, having sworn he'd seen Snufkin sneak his way into the house only minutes ago, but Moomintroll had searched every room on every floor and found no trace of him. He was beginning to think it had been a fool's errand after all. Likelihood was that he'd long gone out the back door and retreated into the woods, though Moomintroll wanted to believe he'd still find him.

"Where is he…?" he sighed.

"If you're looking for the Hobgoblin," came joking an unexpected voice, "I'm afraid I haven't seen him."

"Snufkin!" gasped Moomintroll, nearly tumbling out in surprise.

He looked up above him and there he found a pair of scuffed boots dangling from the dormer. A mane of orange soon swung down, and with it, the brim of a hat held securely with one paw, and a face all too familiar. It smiled down at him.

"Hullo, Moomintroll," he greeted, his heels kicking happily in time with the music—a jaunty, jazzy tune. Moomintroll felt compelled to catch one, though he feared he might pull Snufkin off his perch if he did.

"So this is where you've been? I've been looking all over for you."

Snufkin's eyes crinkled for a moment, before he straightened up and disappeared out of sight with all but his legs. "Come join me."

Moomintroll didn't need much convincing as he climbed out onto the first rung of his ladder. From there, he carefully moved his paws up the sides of the window frame until he could safely take hold of the overhang, just beside Snufkin's knee. Snufkin's boot brushed his fur playfully, before his legs swung away from the edge to give him space. Moomintroll heaved himself up. As soon as he was half atop the dormer, Snufkin took hold of his arm and helped him the rest of the way up.

"You haven't any wine with you," Snufkin remarked with disappointment once Moomintroll had found stable footing.

As though he ought to have known to bring it. He didn't even know where Snufkin had gone, much less what he was getting up to! "What do I look like to you? Bring it yourself," he grumbled as he scooted further in, steadying himself on the incline. "How would I even climb up here with a bottle?"

"You'd send me back down there?" Snufkin asked him, playing up the act without real hurt.

Oh, he's feeling silly, Moomintroll took note. A Snufkin in such a mood always made for good company.

"Better without if you're spending time up here," he returned the banter while examining his spot for any messes the birds might have left. "What would Mrs Fillyjonk say if a Snufkin were to fall into her food?"

"That he must love it terribly."

He grinned as Moomintroll finally settled next to him, the both of them on either side of the pointed edge where the cedar shakes met. The paint was faded and chipping there, damaged from years of rain and snow and, on a few occasions, Moomin paws trying to keep themselves out of flood waters.

Snufkin leaned across that divide. "But between you and I, it's not to jump off a roof for."

"Thank the Booble," Moomintroll said as he stood very still, wary that if he moved at all he would slide right off.

He'd been up here many a time before, of course. Moomintroll likened himself to someone brave enough to climb just anything. But still, as his mamma said, one could never be too careful. Moomintroll was quite a bit larger than when he'd last been up on the roof, and that left him with considerably less space to navigate—especially when a Snufkin had hoarded half of it and seemed intent on taking even more.

Why ever had he come here? The roof did not offer quite the privacy one would want if attempting to escape, nor did it offer any particularly enjoyable experience of the festivities. Moomintroll looked down below at the crowd of guests. One could see everyone's heads from here, he supposed. Snufkin did like simply to watch people go about. He was odd that way.

"Well," Snufkin said suddenly, drawing his attention back, and Moomintroll's ears swivelled. "I suppose this shall have to do."

As Moomintroll looked over at him, so too did Snufkin turn his head with a little smile which made Moomintroll, for a moment, think him quite up to no good. He promptly found out why that was when Snufkin reached under his smock to procure a bottle of Moominpappa's palm wine.

"You had some!" Moomintroll gasped in disbelief, wondering how he'd even fit it under there without him noticing. What a strange thing, to have clothes and hide such things as bottles in one's layers. "Scoundrel, asking me for wine when you were already hiding it."

Snufkin only smiled wider. "Of course. This would be terribly dull without drink. Though not much left of it, I'm afraid. It wouldn't do to share it with just anyone."

Moomintroll watched him shake the bottle, swinging with a telltale hollowness. The light from the lanterns below was weak, but just enough to strike the glass, reflecting in the bottom to hint at the milky liquid swishing about, a good three fingers worth at most—four, if they were Snufkin's.

"Did you drink all that by yourself?" was the first thing Moomintroll thought to ask.

"Don't be silly. I took one which had already been opened."

That said nothing of how much Snufkin might or might not have drank. Moomintroll eyed him suspiciously.

"Took it when?"

Snufkin only fiddled with the cork, not looking at him. "Does that matter?" he asked. Moomintroll knew him well enough to tell that meant he had stolen it at the first opportunity he'd gotten. He hadn't paid too close en eye on him until he'd caught him leaving or he might have noticed. Perhaps he should have.

"I suppose not." Moomintroll didn't ask further, partially out of shame, and partially out of politeness. It was not such a big matter. "They could do without a bottle," he said, as he turned his gaze back to the party.

His pappa certainly wouldn't be minding a missing bottle. He was acting silly, swinging madly about in the crowd like a hattifattener in a tornado. Guests side-stepped to avoid being struck along the way. Mamma, on the edge, bustled about, stacking forgotten glasses in her paw. Moomintroll watched as Pappa caught her on his path—her clumsy swiftness in steadying the glasses before they could fall, and his complete lack of care for the task she had to abandon on the table as he pulled her along into the center of the festivities.

"Look at them," Moomintroll commented. "I've already tired just watching."

Snufkin hummed in agreement, and pulled the cork off the bottle with a dull pop. The sweet smell burst out, tickling their noses, and Moomintroll turned towards it.

"At least we have the wine," Snufkin said as he stuffed the cork into his pocket. Moomintroll wondered if he would be making a float of it.

"At least we have the wine," he echoed in agreement, and watched Snufkin take the first swing with an impressive adeptness.

Moomintroll did like sharing a bottle between them—liked sharing anything between them, truthfully, but a bottle was especially nice. It let him watch Snufkin slowly loosen, shed the restraint he'd come to grow. If lucky, it meant the potential to see a different side of him altogether. When he drank, Moomintroll got emotional and embarrassing, and then quickly drowsy. Snufkin got many things—at times silly, and vibrant, and bold, and at times intensely contemplative in that way which no one else could quite follow. It drew Moomintroll right in with an itch to know exactly what was swimming in that head of his.

He could not yet tell how Snufkin would be later, although at that moment he seemed jolly enough. And rather greedy. Moomintroll stared at him expectantly, until Snufkin met his eye and lowered the bottle with a sheepish smile, passing it to him.

He took it eagerly, the scent filling his nostrils as he pulled it in under his snout, and even more eagerly pressed his mouth where Snufkin's had been, tilting it back. The wine hit his tongue—sour, and then bittersweet. It stung just a bit at the back of his throat as he swallowed too fast, and then his cheeks warmed. Smacking the taste off his lips, he handed it back.

Snufkin's fingers wrapped over his on the neck of it as he gently took it, startling Moomintroll for a moment, whose fur puffed up all along his arm. As the touch slid away, his fur settled, and he thought he'd felt that gulp of wine go right up to his head.

Snufkin's eyelids twitched when he drank, Moomintroll noticed as he watched him bring the bottle to his lips again. Like butterfly wings, he thought, and his chest fluttered in response. He followed the deep, dark shadows curving from his eye down to his cheekbone and across the bridge of his nose, the point of it upturned into the colourful lights. Even lower, a streak of orange had caught his jaw, and he found himself admiring the shape his chin formed when tilted back, the soft curve that went down and disappeared into his scarf. How lovely he could seem, even up on a roof at night.

Moomintroll flinched, catching himself. He felt his fur once more rise on end, and averted his gaze quickly to his paws.

Goodness. For a moment, he had wanted to reach out and trace the edges of every one of those shadows and highlights which had fallen on his features. How silly he was being, staring at him for so long. He knew well where that led him, and yet there he was, doing it anyhow. He couldn't help it.

Snufkin was a handsome creature always, but an even finer creature when one looked close enough to catch all the fine wisps of an otherwise nature-hardy appearance. He was delicate beneath it all—delicate in his round contours, in his shapely nose, in the fine ribbons of dishevelled hair, in the small bones of his paws… Delicate in his manner even, and in his touch, and in his voice, and in every other part of him which he might have taken offense to being called delicate.

It made Moomintroll ache to see it. For as rough as Snufkin had made himself, he would never wear away all the tenderness beneath the grime and calluses. For as strong as he had made himself, he could hurt in all the same ways that Moomintroll could.

"Look," Snufkin's voice broke through his thoughts after a moment. "The first stars of the season."

Moomin lifted his nose and indeed, there they were, little pinpricks across the blue-grey sky. Had they been there a moment ago? He hadn't noticed. How quickly such things could come, Moomintroll thought, and felt a gloom fall upon him.

"A shame it's tonight," he said.

It was all too soon for summer to come to an end. He was used to enjoying the first stars alone with Snufkin every year, in quiet contemplation, far from the lights of the house. Not that he did not like the party, of course, certainly he did, but, well… it simply wasn't right for it. Not right for thinking of goodbyes at all. The lanterns were colourful and the music was loud and the atmosphere vivacious, and Moomintroll would have rather the stars wait another night.

He needed that time, when the weather changed, to simply be with Snufkin without disruption. It was the only way he could enjoy his presence to its full extent and store those little memories to last him over the winter. He did not want parties, and lights, and music, and chatter.

He only wanted Snufkin.

"A shame or a sign," Snufkin said, grinning wide, not at all bothered like he was, it seemed. Moomintroll threw an exasperated glance his way but did not ask him what load of nonsense he was onto this time.

Snufkin, of course, did not offer any insight into what he'd meant of his own volition. Instead, his dark paw stretched out into his field of view, pointed, just above the orange-streaked horizon. "Aquila, the eagle." His finger moved lower, and to the left. "Capricorn. They'll both be out of sight soon."

Moomintroll frowned. It was always like this. Those stars would only just start to come in, and Snufkin would already be able to identify them. Moomintroll, for his part, could hardly see them, much less recognise any forms. How Snufkin knew them, he wasn't sure. One couple of stars could just as easily have been mistaken for another.

"I don't remember the constellations like you do," he lamented.

"It takes practice," Snufkin told him, like many times before.

Moomintroll had done his best to try and learn them once, without much success. Whenever he'd asked Snufkin to teach him, all he did was point a few of them out, and was not much more help than that. Truthfully, it had only made it seem more hopeless. It was impossible to keep up with him.

"I feel like you know everything about everything, sometimes."

Snufkin, beside him, chuckled, and the sound seemed to resonate through Moomintroll's ears. "One cannot know everything. That is impossible."

"Maybe," Moomintroll agreed, for of course Snufkin would think that. He looked down at his paws, tired of squinting at what seemed to him more akin to a haphazardous scattering of salt, rather than something he could follow. Downtrodden, he mumbled, "I'd feel better if I knew at least that much."

Snufkin shifted in his spot, for a moment saying nothing. The song from the party died down, and though the chattering from below went on, that pause which has found them stretched on for what felt like an eternity before the record kicked up again into another tune.

Slowly, with deliberate care, Snufkin scooted closer, the sound of his clothing brushing against the shingles. He came to perch right onto the edge which had previously divided them, and Moomintroll chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye. Snufkin stood unusually taller, sitting there. His legs, laid one over the other, extended down his side of the dormer. The bottle, still in his paw, came to rest on his knee.

His arm bumped Moomintroll's when he reached out again, pointed at another cluster. "The vendace," then a little to the left, as he pressed closer to reach, "the hikers."

"Nonsense," Moomintroll scoffed. He might not have known the constellations, but he knew a fib when he heard it. "I don't remember those. You're pulling my tail."

"Surely you see it," Snufkin insisted, and oh Moomintroll could tell in his voice that he was having great fun with it. "Right there." His finger traced a winding path. "Like two friends climbing up a mountain."

"Stop," Moomintroll said, truly not all that upset as he quickly picked up on what Snufkin was saying. "Don't try to make me feel better."

Snufkin lowered his arm, and Moomintroll did not have to look to feel the delight radiating off of him.

"There really is a Moomintroll constellation, do you know?" Snufkin told him.

"No there isn't."

Moomintroll turned to look right at him—a mistake, as Snufkin's smile was bright and toothy. He was stunning, the lantern bouncing pinks and oranges into his wide pupils. They rarely ever found themselves at eye level in this way. Seeing that genuine joy in him was enough for Moomintroll to doubt himself.

"Is there?"

With a giddiness, Snufkin reached for his paw. His slim fingers slid along his wrist, shifting the fur until they rounded to his palm. His index pushed Moomintroll's own out—a dual pointer. He led him up, and up, right above them, to where Moomintroll had to crane his neck.

"Right there, in the center. At Cygnus' tail," Snufkin told him, right by his ear, and Moomintroll realised he was terribly close. Their arms were crossed together, touching all along the insides. "A troll much like you, resting for hibernation."

Moomintroll squinted, but it was no use. Though Snufkin had marked it clearly, he still could not parse what he was meant to be looking at.

"Do you see it?" Snufkin asked, and his head tilted towards him, just bumping his own. Moomintroll's ear flicked.

"Yes, I see it," he lied, unsure if Snufkin himself was telling the truth this time, or still fibbing.

The small paw tightened around his. "They are very far away."

Moomintroll kept staring, trying, despite better judgement, to see it, but the more he tried the more the clusters of stars blurred into each other. He might have been a fool right then, but it was hard to think with the warmth pressed up against him.

"Is this true?" he asked quietly. "Is there really a Moomintroll constellation? I think I would have heard of it."

Snufkin's head moved away then, and he dropped their paws between them, though did not release his. Instead, he gave another squeeze. Moomintroll lowered his nose, glanced at him.

"No," Snufkin admitted, face unreadable. "I've only made it up just now."

Moomintroll's ears pulled back with a huff, a mixture of anger and embarrassment coming over him. Of course there wasn't a Moomintroll constellation! What a silly thought. Pappa would never have stopped talking of it, if there were. How gullible he could be.

Snufkin, unconcerned for how wickedly he had played him, tilted his chin even further back. "But do you see?" he asked. "It is not any different from clouds, only that stars already have names. But who's to say that we must follow them?"

Moomintroll looked back up at the sky as Snufkin continued.

"People must have imagined those pictures first. Nature shows no pictures, only what it is. One makes of it what they see in it."

Moomintroll stared for a while longer, before, finally, he pointed to a pair of weak stars closer to the horizon.

"There," he said. "That one's you then, right there. The most rotten one."

Snufkin laughed, bright and pleased. When Moomintroll turned to look, Snufkin did the same. His crinkled eyes shimmered beautifully. What he'd said did make some sense. Stars could be whatever—or wherever—one wished.

"But you won't see it anymore come winter," Snufkin pointed out, sounding no less happy for it.

"I don't have to," Moomintroll told him. "I'm not likely to forget its games."

Snufkin huffed out another chuckle, and turned back to the sky. Moomintroll watched his profile cut through the tapestry of it.

"You'll regret it, when the time comes."

"Not regret," Moomintroll denied confidently, and then, having said this much, allowed himself to fall back into familiar ache. "Though I will miss it, certainly."

Snufkin's expression dropped, looking suddenly serious and contemplative. He stood quiet for a beat, before he said, "I suppose it can't be helped."

Moomintroll should have expected it when he'd let those words out. He did not need to ask Snufkin what he meant. It was always like this—a script so familiar that it was frustrating. But he'd said it, and there it was, and when Snufkin pulled his paw away, he could not find it in himself to be surprised by that either.

That paw, now freed, hooked itself into Snufkin's tattered old scarf, and shimmied it loose. It slid from beneath his hair, slowly and temptingly. Moomintroll stared transfixed at the bare expanse of his neck, so rarely exposed, followed the twist of it as Snufkin turned to the bottle and lifted it off his knee like he'd only just remembered.

He shook it, brought it up and took a sip. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, like the sharp edge of a stone hiding beneath his skin, and Moomintroll felt the great urge to press his thumb there and see if it would cut him, or if even Snufkin's sharpness was dulled by his softness.

Moomintroll's eyes moved up his chin and to the bottle as it pulled away from his lips. For a moment, he debated reaching for it, though to do so would have meant deliberately crossing into Snufkin's space—a bold move, but one not unfamiliar to him when he had the courage. He did not have that now. Though the wall which Snufkin had erected between them was nothing more than a fragile film, Moomintroll could only anxiously wait for Snufkin to reach through first.

So instead, he asked, "Won't you share that? You had the last sip."

At that, Snufkin chuckled, bringing pure relief to Moomintroll's ears, and pressed the bottle into his chest. He took it gratefully.

"I truly am beginning to think you ought to have brought more," Snufkin commented as he watched him.

Moomin swallowed, scoffed. "You and your drinking. And how was I to know you were waiting up here for me to deliver you your wine?"

"You still found me, did you not? You could have easily found a bottle into your paws as well."

Moomintroll blew an exasperated sound through his nose. "Oh go and take a tumble," he told him, and went in for another gulp. The wine was much needed.

"Don't get tetchy," Snufkin scolded with amusement. "You are lucky that I've shared at all, see you how quickly it's going. This may hardly be enough for us, with you so large a creature."

Moomintroll shot him a look. "And you are so small I cannot figure out where all that drink goes."

Snufkin laughed again, drawing his legs in. As he did so, their knees bumped against each other and there it was, the invitation. Moomintroll leaned closer. He held the bottle in a nervous paw, hovering with intent to graze against him as he passed it into Snufkin's own.

He did not get any further, however, as Snufkin spoke.

"I fear it goes to the heart."

"What?" Moomintroll asked, not understanding. Looking at his face, he found that smile drooping lopsidedly into something more akin to a grimace.

"The wine," Snufkin explained. He was looking far out. "I believe it goes to the heart."

"That's silly. You are silly," Moomintroll told him, terribly curious and baffled by the earnesty with which he claimed it. "What makes you say that?"

Snufkin sat quiet and unmoving for a long while—perhaps too long, enough for one to think he must have forgotten the question, though Moomintroll knew better. Snufkin was avoiding it. He would get no response.

Then, Snufkin stood up.

Moomintroll's paw shot out in panic, with intent to catch him if needed, though Snufkin did not seem to notice.

"Were are you going?"

Snufkin looked up at the sky, and then down at him, eyes full of mirth. "To the stars, where else?"

Moomintroll followed the clinking of his boots as he walked up the roof, a knot in his throat for fear that the heels were to catch on one of the shingles and trip him. Snufkin, of course, had no such incident—as adept on an incline as he was on any other manner of ground. Moomintroll rolled over onto his knees, steadying himself with one paw as he clutched the other to his chest. Snufkin raised a leg to test his footing on the roof.

If Moomintroll had known quite what he intended to do, he might have taken his chance to stop him right then. But as it was, he did not.

His heart jumped in his throat as Snufkin lunged, propelling himself high enough up the incline to just catch the finial extending from the very tip of the roof.

"Be careful!" Moomintroll pleaded. He didn't know how secure that was anymore. It had been a long time since it had been installed, and though the roof itself had seen much repair, the finial had never seemed to need it. That, of course, did not mean that it didn't, but most people did not go around hanging from it, so it had been of little concern up until now. Without repair, there was no telling how much longer it would last.

Snufkin, paying him no mind, hiked himself all the way up until he'd stuck his boot at the very base of it, and stood surveying the world.

He thinks he's a pirate atop a mast, Moomintroll thought incredulously as a light gust of wind came and blew Snufkin's hair. An absolutely loony pirate who will get himself hurt. Don't move, he pleaded, having half a mind to scale up there himself just to bring him down. What in Booble's name was he thinking?

"Are they not impressive?" Snufkin asked, voice louder up there. "So far, and yet it feels you could pluck them right out of the sky." 

Moomintroll hardly got the chance to respond, though how he would have managed it through the fear, he didn't know. Snufkin only kept on acting foolish, as next he let his weight go forwards, tilted precariously, and then, with it, swung all the way around the finial.

"Snufkin!" Moomintroll cried with distress, careful to keep his voice just quiet enough so as not to alert anyone below.

"To pluck them, think of it!" Snufkin laughed to himself, not even listening it seemed, "I shouldn't like any for myself!" And there he did it again.

He'd gone mad! Did he not know what he was doing to Moomintroll's poor heart? His smock swished after him without a care, his hair was thrown about into his face, and he only kept laughing as he swung around and around, not a care in the world.

"Snufkin, come down!" Moomintroll pleaded, finally drawing his attention.

Snufkin stopped laughing and let himself slow. His eyes glinted as they met his own, and then he came to a stop.

"What are you thinking!" Moomintroll scolded. "Come down."

"It's quite alright, Moomintroll," Snufkin assured him.

"Come down!" Moomintroll begged again, and Snufkin, thankfully complied that time, though unhurried and in a no less worrisome manner as he stepped a ways down and then let go and slid the remaining distance. 

Moomintroll scrambled to him, perhaps to help him up, or simply to make sure he was well, but Snufkin only brushed him off, making it quite clear that he did not need the help. He walked himself all the way back to the edge of the dormer where he had been before, and stopped, staring out.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, no more the reckless giddiness of a moment ago. "One can't pluck a star anyhow, you'd see," he continued his conversation to himself as he lowered himself into a sit. "They don't want to be plucked. They'd sooner leave your paws burnt. A star does as a star does."

Moomintroll could not even conceive of anything to say, more upset with him than anything. He had little patience for his nonsense in that moment, hoping only that his heart could calm down now.

It certainly couldn't. Snufkin hadn't sat himself there to rest, it seemed, as he pressed his paws by his sides, and slipped himself right off the edge.

Moomintroll jumped, nearly sliding off the side in his haste as he came up to that edge himself. He peered down just in time to see him effortlessly slipping in through his window.

"Don't leave me here with this bottle!" he cried.

A whistle followed right after, inviting him to join, and with it a paw reached out and Moomintroll laid himself flat so that he could pass it down to him. Once that was done, he turned, and slowly lowered himself after.

"Are we going back down?" Moomintroll asked as he ducked under the top of the window frame, and hopped on into his bedroom.

"There?" Snufkin asked incredulously, glancing behind him as he walked to the center of the room, kicking his heels against the floorboards. "Goodness, do you want to so badly?"

Moomintroll frowned. Snufkin was without a single concern. He couldn't help a flare of irritation. Don't do that again, he thought but did not say. He ought to replace that finial himself. That way he would be sure it was safe.

"I only thought you would. You love a good party."

And you've put yourself in enough danger for a night.

"I certainly do enjoy a good party," Snufkin agreed. He did not elaborate on why he was not there if that was the case.

Moomintroll watched him take a swing of the last mouthful in the bottle, then hold it upside-down a while to get any remaining drops. When nothing more came, he placed it gently down onto the floor and straightened out.

Paws behind his back, he began strolling aimlessly around the dark bedroom, admiring everything about it with interest, as though he had not seen it all countless times. Moomintroll watched him go about with a strange little suspicion.

"I thought you wouldn't want to be cooped up in here."

"I don't," Snufkin agreed, but made no move to leave.

He stopped in front of the desk and began absentmindedly shuffling the papers scattered over it into a stack. 

Don't look through them, Moomintroll mentally pleaded. Snufkin, thankfully, did not seem to pay too close attention, or he might have noticed Moomintroll's many attempts at poetry.

When he was finished, he stepped back, looked around again, and then right at him, and said, "One really ought to have more wine in here."

Oh Moomintroll had just about had it with hearing that. "I'll get you your damned wine," he huffed, finally acquiescing. "Just don't go up on the roof again."

For safe measure, he turned and shut the window behind him, dampening the sound of the music from outside, though it still filtered up from the stairs.

He angrily grabbed the empty bottle on his way and tried to ignore Snufkin's smile as he passed him.

Why does he do this? Moomintroll asked himself as he went down the stairs. All the time he manages to worry me. Couldn't he see how terribly frightened I was?

Moomintroll knew well that Snufkin was competent, and experienced, and agile, and knowledgeable, and clever, but none of that helped. In truth, it only made it worse. Snufkin was all of those things which made it easy to think oneself invincible. He did not like to believe that he would ever need help. He did not like to believe that Moomintroll's concern could be well founded.

What was Moomintroll to do? He could not keep him safe when he was away, and it seemed neither could he keep him safe when he was right there, for Snufkin simply ignored him.

If only he understood why I needed him safe. If only he would listen for me, if not for himself.

When Moomintroll reached the bottom of the stairs, all that anger melted down, and he found himself so horribly sad that he could not take another step. He stood right there, staring at his toes. The guests buzzed around the drawing room, but Moomintroll was entirely elsewhere.

What would I do if he were hurt?

At that thought, his eyes began to sting, and he clutched the bottle very close.

"Hey!" came a call, and then again, "hey!"

Moomintroll blinked through the tears, his eyes adjusting, and frowned down at the speck of red near his feet.

"What do you want, Little My?" He did not want to deal with her right now.

"What are you standing around blocking the stairs for? Have the last of your brains finally died off?"

Moomintroll snorted angrily, and finally found his feet. He stepped right over her.

"Hey!" she cried after him, and scampered after his heels. "What's wrong with you?"

"Leave me alone!" he told her, and nearly bumped into a guest.

The hemulen began to say something to him, but Moomintroll wasn't listening, purposefully walking past. He was tired of everything, tired of everyone. He wished they all would go back to their own homes and let him mope in peace.

"Where are you going?" Little My called.

Moomintroll slammed the cellar door in her face.

As soon as he was safely inside, he pressed up against the door and let all the irritation burst right out of him, growing and growing into a long, exasperated outcry.

Little my yelled after him, pounding her little fists against the wood.

"Go away!" Moomintroll screeched, and then it stopped.

All had gone quiet on the other side but for the record player. Moomintroll stared at his feet, where the gap under the door let the light through. Slowly, the little shadow beside his right foot pulled back as she left him in peace.

Moomintroll's nose twitched with a sob.

Pull yourself together, Moomintroll.

Steadily, he pushed off the door and stepped down the stairs, one at a time, with his paw out to catch himself. He only needed a bottle of wine, and then he could go back and make sure Snufkin was where he'd left him.

His paws landed onto the cold floor of the cellar, and he stopped in front of the boxes of wine, setting the empty bottle on a shelf beside him. He was in no mood to go into the kitchen now.

He crouched down, and went to pull another bottle of the same palm wine Snufkin had stolen, but paused. They had ample palm wine, certainly, and one was best to drink it quickly before it turned to vinegar. No one would be missing a bottle or two. They had plenty of the red wine Moominpappa had made as well.

Still, Moomintroll wasn't sold on either. Snufkin always reminded him that there was no excitement in stealing what one was welcome to in abundance. And Moomintroll, though only rarely prone to agreeing with Snufkin's most troublesome inclinations, thought to himself, quite right! Why not, if they were already indulging, to go a little further? He'd come all this way, and he was upset, and if he did not want palm wine then he would not have palm wine.

Slowly, he moved the loose bottles away, and then the boxes. The sounds of clinking of glass and scraping of wood filled the cellar as he reached the very back.

From behind the wall of homebrewed wines he pulled a dusty old bottle with a label which he could not read. It was a red wine, that much he could tell, hidden at the back for possibly many years. Moomintroll was free to take any of the drinks, but he was not sure if his parents even remembered that this one existed. He didn't know where it had come from. The only reason he knew of it at all was from the time he'd dropped Snufkin's letter off the window ledge and had to go fishing for it in the dust and cobwebs.

He'd meant to try it someday, just for the curiosity, though had never found a worthwhile moment for it, and he was beginning to think he might never find one if he kept looking for it. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

Snufkin would enjoy it, surely. That, for Moomintroll, was enough to convince him.

He scooped the bottle under his arm and made haste, hoping no one would notice that it differed from the others. Not that Moomintroll thought he'd be scolded for taking it, but Snufkin had made a fair example—one should hide what one did not wish to share.

He opened the door a crack, checking for any little Mymbles that might have been waiting around to pounce, but the coast was clear. A few guests on the couch stopped their conversation, and eyed him.

Moomintroll waved nervously, stepped out, lifted a foot against the first stair, then stopped and turned.

"Do um… Are there any glasses left?"

—

Thankfully, true to his promise, Snufkin was still in the room when he returned. He found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, arranging shells and rocks in front of him. Moomintroll closed the door behind him, thought for a moment to lock it, but that would have only worried Snufkin and incited Little My to try and come in.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he shuffled towards his now tidy desk and set the bottle down, as well as the two mismatched coffee cups he'd been given. He pulled the oil lamp closer.

"I thought I would show you, since you couldn't see it."

"Show me what?" He popped the chimney off, placing it aside.

"Your constellation."

Moomintroll scoffed, patting around for his matchbox. Where had Snufkin put it? It had been right there. "Why not just draw it?"

"You won't memorise it with a map. Better to keep such things in your mind."

"Where are my matches?" Moomintroll asked him, growing frustrated.

"Little to the left," Snufkin told him without missing a beat, and Moomintroll's fingers wrapped around the little box right where he'd said.

He pulled one out and struck it, the little flame sparking between his fingers before calming, and lit the wick. It caught quickly, black smoke rising, and Moomintroll turned it down just enough to be comfortable, before placing the chimney back on.

Finally able to see properly, he turned to the room, warmly aglow, and Snufkin's hunched form on the floor. The unsteady flame moved the shadows across him, but Moomintroll did not adjust it, liking the swaying atmosphere that it brought.

He stared down at the clutter across his floor, watching Snufkin carefully place the shells and small rocks to form the intricate portrait. Most of those Moomintroll had picked himself, some gifted from Snorkmaiden, the rest given to him by Snufkin himself. He had kept them in little bowls on his shelves, and his favourites sitting out in neat little rows. Snufkin hadn't touched those, it seemed.

"You're putting the time of your age and health into this joke."

Snufkin looked up at him as though he'd said something quite strange. When he spoke, his voice was very soft. "It's no joke."

Moomintroll, unconvinced and unsure of what to say, picked up the bottle and cups and walked closer.

Snufkin extended his paw. "Give it here."

He took the bottle and said nothing of the dustiness or water-damaged label. Moomintroll took a seat as Snufkin began rummaging through his pockets and retrieved his knife.

He flipped it open, and steadied the bottle between his thighs as he stuck the blade into the cork and began wiggling it loose. The cork crumbled, bits of it falling out onto his lap but he persisted. When one placed a bottle in front of Snufkin, nothing got between him and his determination to open it.

It took a moment, but finally it popped free, and Snufkin made a delighted little sound, closing his knife and putting it away. The cork was too damaged to be of much use, so he left the crumbs of it on the floor.

He raised the bottle to his lips without asking for a cup, and Moomintroll leaned forward, hanging onto any reaction. He was terribly curious to know if it was any good.

The lip of the bottle came away from Snufkin's stained mouth with a bead of red rolling down to his chin. Moomintroll felt the urge to catch it before it fell—in what way, he was not yet sure.

Snufkin said nothing, and Moomintroll contented himself with the bottle that was passed to him. He pressed his lips where Snufkin's had been, not tipping the drink back, only feeling the slight damp against the glass, thinking of how Snufkin's upper lip had been pressed soft against the rim, unlike his—differently shaped mouths, differently sized, different in every manner, even in how they drank.

This wouldn't do.

Moomintroll pulled it away and poured two even portions into the cups, not quite to the brim, but close.

Setting the bottle down, he picked one up—the most worn of the two, with its pattern faded and a hairline crack running down the side, as he knew Snufkin would like—and extended it to him. Snufkin took it gratefully by the handle, their fingers brushing.

Moomintroll picked up his own as Snufkin lifted his in a toast, and took a drink.

The wine was at first watery and almost flavourless until it turned bittersweet, drier than he was used to. He swallowed it down and that bitterness settled warmly at the back of his throat. Moomintroll liked it, he thought. How far had this wine come to land in his paws? It made him feel a wee bit couth, a wee bit more worldly.

"What do you think?" he asked, nervously hopeful.

Snufkin glanced at him. "What of?"

"The wine. It's a um…" He picked up the bottle and turned it in his paw, searching the label for anything to help. "Alc vol," he finally said, for it was the only part he could decipher. He had not the slightest clue what the number meant.

Snufkin hummed, took another sip, and then declared, "It is nice. All wines are nice."

"Yes," Moomintroll agreed, setting the bottle back down, "but it's different."

"It's a red," Snufkin said, blinking at him as though he were not understanding.

"But I thought there were different ones," Moomintroll insisted. He'd heard as much, at least. He was trying very hard to seem knowledgeable, though truly he hardly knew the first thing about wines.

Snufkin's brow pinched. "It's all the same."

Moomintroll, feeling just a little downtrodden, dropped the subject. He would have hoped Snufkin would have taken better notice that it was special, but it seemed not. Quite alright, he supposed. It wasn't all that good after all…

Snufkin drank, and when he was done, he set his cup down and went back to his portrait. Moomintroll quietly refilled it and watched him go about, keeping carefully out of the way.

The portrait was… Well, it was fine, truthfully. Such things were not one of Snufkin's strengths. But it was him. Moomintroll supposed he was a simple enough creature. It had his nose, and his ears, and even his tail in a row of stones with a starburst at the end. It was round in the body, curled up comfortably. Though the limbs, that was where Moomintroll lost track—a seemingly haphazardous scattering of shells which gave little hint of where one limb began and another ended. Moomintroll supposed that was meant to be his leg there. He wasn't going to ask.

Still, how much attention one could put into stars. Snufkin travelled the world with those stars.

"Do you always let them guide you?"

Snufkin stopped and looked at him again. The expression on his face was unplaceable, but Moomintroll felt he'd said the wrong thing. It was like that with Snufkin, at times. One would say something and be met with a terrible silence and no hint of what he was thinking, and start to overthink at once.

Snufkin looked back down, examining his work. He reached for the pile of shells, spreading them across the floor, picked up two large round ones and placed his eyes. Then, apparently unsatisfied, he promptly took them away and began combing through the pile for the smaller ones.

By the time he deigned to answer, Moomintroll had forgotten to even expect it.

"Stars don't guide," he said as he set a few aside. "They need not decide where you go, and they don't care much anyhow. They want only to twinkle in the sky and be looked at by you and I." A smile. No doubt he would be writing that down in his little notebook later. "I imagine, should a star choose to guide you, it would pick somewhere very far away, with no air, and very cold. Stars have different ideas of what is nice. They don't understand us very much."

"I don't think I can reach a place like that."

"No," Snufkin agreed. "It'd be impossibly far."

Moomintroll kept quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he'd gotten enough, Snufkin arranged the little shells in two sleepy curves, and above them, two long horn shells for the eyebrows. They were a little uneven. Moomintroll touched his own, worried for a moment that his were like that.

"Navigating by stars is no different from following any marker," Snufkin reminded him. "They help to orient yourself in the direction you want to go. Where you know a star is, you know that if you keep walking, somewhere down the line you'll find what you want."

Moomintroll supposed that might have been somewhat right. He supposed one could find what they didn't want also, or walk so far that they went right past their destination.

Snufkin absentmindedly arranged a few more shells, and then, having deemed his work complete, he leaned back and picked up his cup without a word. Moomintroll finished his own, and filled it anew.

They sat drinking in silence for a while. The sounds of the party were faint to them. The flickering and swaying of the lamplight wrapped them up cozily, and Moomintroll could almost imagine them sat around Snufkin's campfire, watching the night.

Or, in this case, shells arranged in the shape of Moomintrolls.

He let his legs stretch out. They just about reached it. If he slid just a little ways further, he'd be able to touch one of the stones.

Curious, and just a little bit bored, he dared, stretching until he poked the nearest one with the very tip of his foot.

Moomintroll felt Snufkin's eyes on him instantly, a sudden pressure, and found himself at once a little playful. He nudged the stone out of place, and Snufkin's paw flashed forward, placing it neatly back. Moomintroll waited until it retracted, and then did it again. Snufkin, huffing, put it back.

Moomintroll chuckled, moved a different one at his ear. Snufkin corrected that one as well, and quickly they had made a game of it, Moomintroll gently rolling stones and shells away under his foot, and Snufkin promptly fixing them.

"You are killing him," Snufkin scolded.

"Well what if that star was over here?" Moomintroll feigned innocence. "What if you got it wrong?"

Snufkin kicked him, the hard toe of his boot into his thigh, and Moomintroll started laughing. He finally stopped, retracting his leg.

Snufkin scoffed, smiling, and lowered himself until he had fully reclined on his side. When Moomintroll's laughter died down, he met his eye.

And then they both burst into laughter again, and Moomintroll's chest bloomed. He was warm, and at ease. The wine had left an almost honey-like scent lingering, something fragrant, lightly fruity, and it made him feel very nice.

Quieting his chuckles, he took a last sip and set his empty cup beside him. Snufkin, however, beckoned for the bottle again. Moomintroll passed it without much question, watched him pour himself another cup.

How many had it been now? It was hard to think of such things when he was beginning to feel just a little disoriented.

He'd had too much to drink. This was becoming increasingly obvious as he must have been staring at Snufkin for who knew how long now, and he intended to do so until the night was over. He was beginning to see the effects of it, the limp form of him sinking against the wooden floor, the way his eyes closed contently as he sipped, basking in the calm. The dip of his waist was just inviting Moomintroll to lay his head there.

Snufkin hummed. "Better that you're not a constellation," he seemed to decide out of the blue, speaking against the rim of his cup. "Or someone might choose to move your pieces around."

"I'm not moving real stars," Moomintroll pointed out. "Just your silly portrait. Which I doubt is highly accurate."

"No," Snufkin agreed, "I believe the real one is nicer." He met his eye. "The real Moomintroll, I mean."

Moomintroll, flattered and knowing not how to respond to the sudden compliment, looked down at the floor. His fingers traced the grain there. "Well I don't know…" he said nervously. "I should wish to be a constellation."

"Why ever? It is so pleasant being a Moomintroll," Snufkin argued, rising onto an elbow. "You need only worry about what time supper is ready, or about the little creeps who have hidden away in your warm winter socks and won't come out to let you don them."

Now then, Moomintroll felt struck rather abruptly, and began to get a tad upset again.

"I don't care much if there are little creeps in my socks."

Snufkin blinked at him. "Moomintroll—"

"I'd rather be worrying about you."

Snufkin sprung into a sit very suddenly then, so much so that Moomintroll was not ready. The constellation scattered at their feet. He froze.

Their noses had stopped just shy of each other, no more than a thread between them, so close that Moomintroll swore the very tips of his fur were tickling Snufkin's.

Snufkin stared very intensely at him, quite unreadable. He could feel his breath. Moomintroll jittered and his nose brushed, for only the briefest of moments, against Snufkin's, heart jumping in his throat.

"Your paws would catch cold," Snufkin told him very softly.

"Don't mock me."

"I am not," Snufkin answered sincerely, but Moomintroll found it hard to believe.

He pulled away.

"You don't think much of me, do you?" he asked then.

Snufkin's face twitched, a flickering of some appalled emotion—a disapproval, most of all. There went yet another thing, Moomintroll supposed. Always more fodder for the pile of things which Snufkin had reason to look down on him for. Moomintroll could not even hurt without making a fool of himself.

"Of course I do," Snufkin answered, not unpredictable, and Moomintroll knew that he truly did mean it, which only made it worse, only made him angrier, for then Snufkin did not even see himself capable of unfairness.

"But you think me daft," Moomintroll argued. "You have to worry about my socks, and put my papers in tidy little piles, and make up constellations because I don't see them, and when you leave you hide from me so I won't know you're going."

Moomintroll found himself shaking, his fingers digging into his palm. He held the tears back as best as he could. The last thing he needed was for Snufkin to think him childish too. Though he could not help it, and was not sure why. It had come on so suddenly.

"You won't bother with me when you think it goes over my dandruff. Yet you swing from the finial, and slide off the roof, and drink until you're quite silly and bound to fall into the bushes, and you do not care a fig for if there's a Moomintroll watching you and worrying and worrying—" Moomintroll took a deep gasping breath— "and guidance from stars doesn't seem enough when I don't know what those stars are leading you into, if they're even leading you right, and I would—I would if I were a star but you don't want me."

"Moomintroll," Snufkin tried to stop him, a pinch in his brow—the charming little indent of a very sour emotion. It only made Moomintroll want to yell.

"No," he said, for Snufkin was still not understanding and he was not finished. "No, I know how you're being. When I tell you, you get very upset, like I've done you wrong to let you know. And you don't talk to me, you just smoke and smoke and smoke until you're happy again, or until you've forgotten, or until you've gone very far away and left it all behind and you can bury your feet in the sand, or maybe your head, for you won't hear any of it."

Moomintroll felt as soon as he looked at him that he'd stepped on his tail. He watched Snufkin's mouth turn into a thin line, and a dreadful flush overtake his face—and not from the drink. He went very quiet. His first impulse, of course, was to take it all back. Moomintroll ate his words far too often around Snufkin, for it was all too easy to stumble into his many prickly hedges.

In Snufkin's paw, he watched the drink tip eagerly and make a lip against the thin rim, hesitating for only a moment, in much the same way Moomintroll had brought himself right up to the edge. It would have been safer to tip it all back, contain it again. But Moomintroll also felt bold, and angry, and tired most of all, and for once he thought he quite deserved to keep those words right there.

The wine sloshed right over and so did Moomintroll's bravery. Colour bloomed on Snufkin's knee and a puddle red like poppy ran out between the cracks in the floorboards.

"I told you," Moomintroll said, almost strangely proud of himself. "I told you you get upset and now you've gotten upset. It's predictable."

"I am not upset," Snufkin argued bitterly between his teeth. "And I am not predictable."

"Let me hear that again when you've gone and disappeared overnight."

It would have been the perfect moment for a strong departure, to leave Snufkin behind to stew while he walked away with dignity. Instead, all of that fell flat when Moomintroll attempted to stand and promptly laid his paw right in the spill. He let out an aggravated sound.

But before he even had the chance to retract it, Snufkin's soiled knee fell into the puddle beside it.

Moomintroll froze, staying very still as the smaller body pressed itself up into his chest. His breath came to hover over his neck.

"You'll hear it," Snufkin said to him. "I am not predictable."

Moomintroll swallowed, tried not to breathe. The frayed brim of his hat folded along the side of his face, dragging against his fur with the slightest movement.

When Snufkin dipped for a moment, his hat was dislodged off his head. He set his glass down with a small clink, and straightened back up. The hat slipped.

Moomintroll caught it before it could land in the wine. He hadn't even thought, only done it, an impulse which, in his haste, had forced him forward—forced him, instinctively, to catch Snufkin as well, right around the waist.

Moomintroll's heart pounded in his ears, deafening. He didn't know if the drink had done it, though everything had narrowed to a point. Snufkin moved in his hold, enough to feel the fabric shift, to feel the soft, warm body beneath compress itself against his paw, tempting further pressure. Moomintroll, weaker than the urge, squeezed him even tighter.

It was only then, as his eyes focused and his grip on the hat loosened, that Moomintroll took note of the very red fur where he clutched it. He only stared for a moment at that vibrant point of contrast under his thumb, the way it left dark, tiny beads against the worn fibers.

When Moomintroll's mind caught up to him, it crashed with a force into that moment, and he gasped, horrified. The hat was thrown across the floor, landing safely far from the puddle and his own stained paw.

In that moment of panic, Snufkin contorted in his grasp, more insistent than before, and Moomintroll feared that he had noticed, that he had gone and upset him further.

Snufkin only gripped the fur at his sides, and when Moomintroll realised what was happening—when he felt moving, up along his neck, the point of a nose—it was with an even greater shock.

Moomintroll shivered abruptly, violently, his fur rising on end. He nearly dropped him.

"Your hat—" he tried to say.

"It is wool," Snufkin only reassured him in a hot puff of air, any attempt at slowing him unsuccessful. His nose came to a dragging stop at his jaw, and then made way for Snufkin's lips.

Though it explained nothing, and that ball of guilt and worry twisted itself up inside of him, Moomintroll had no mind to question what was happening as Snufkin's mouth began its trek, searching along, it seemed. Seeking its way beneath his snout, he soon realised.

Moomintroll did nothing—knew not what to do. He could feel those lips through his pelt any time it was pushed inverse, strange and bare on every line of exposed skin. The sparse hairs on his face prickled wherever they sank through his own. The quiet snap of lips parting was the only sound Moomintroll could hear beside the thrum of blood in his ears.

He was desperate—that was how he'd found himself. For what, he did not know. For Snufkin, that was all. In any manner, in any form. His mind was jumbled with the thought of him, a want both terribly familiar and shockingly intense, of which he could not rid himself, for it had tangled itself up in every part of him and sat there for horribly, achingly long.

His breathing came unsteady, nerves and nostrils flaring both. For all the times he'd wished for opportunities to pull Snufkin closer, he hadn't truly ever prepared himself for it—certainly not with it coming upon him by surprise. Snufkin was a flighty creature, rare to initiate, easy to scathe. One wrong movement was all it would have taken to ruin it, and Moomintroll had not the wits about him to think clearly in that moment on how best to act. The indecision locked him in place.

"Tell that Moomintroll to stop worrying about me," Snufkin spoke against him, warm and breathy, as though able to read him. "Stop worrying about all parts of me."

Moomintroll could not follow what he meant, suspicion growing that what Snufkin was attempting—and failing—to do was to reach the corner of his own mouth, for reasons which made little sense to Moomintroll, but which he still understood, just enough, as a very big thing. His fur rippled.

Snufkin, it seemed, meant to kiss him quite deliberately.

A small paw unlatched from his side and slid up his chest, combing the puffed fur inverse between his narrow fingers in a way which sent a tingling, delightful wave coursing through Moomintroll.

And then the paw landed on the swell of his nose, and pushed with the palm. Moomintroll's free paw flailed in confusion, before it grasped Snufkin's smock, twisting his body perfectly into the embrace.

Snufkin snuck under his snout and into his blind spot with a swift, snaking ease which thrilled Moomintroll immensely. He trusted him with everything there, loved to know where he was even when he could not see him, loved the exhilarating proximity of him in such a place.

When Snufkin found his mouth, it confirmed every suspicion Moomintroll had. His tail sprung up, startled by the strange sensation, even as he'd known to expect it.

It was clumsy at first, their lips brushing against each other, not quite slotting. Snufkin stretched, trying to find a better angle. Moomintroll had gripped tightly onto him, limiting how far he could go, but he could not think to release him.

Snufkin struggled for a moment longer, and then stopped. He drew away, just a bit, not leaving entirely but rather hovering in wait. Moomintroll could feel his every breath. He knew this game. It was the same one they always played. Moomintroll was expected to chase, to initiate what Snufkin had led them to.

And he did.

Moomintroll caught his lip, the damp underside of it between his own. He tasted the wine on him, smelled the bits of fish stuck in his teeth as Snufkin sighed into him—the sour lingering of an old dinner. Moomintroll couldn't mind it. He went for him, famished, for though it was nothing like what he'd expected, it was real.

He angled his head and pushed down the rest of the way to deepen it. Snufkin made a sound—perhaps the only thing he'd ever heard from him of the sorts—soft with surprise.

Moomintroll knew not what he was doing, but it hardly mattered. He was not left to guess long. Snufkin led, meeting him in the slotting and drawing away, a repeated, molten ebb and flow, muffling Moomintroll's own sounds whenever one escaped him into the fissure of their lips. Moomintroll chased, again and again, every time Snufkin left him, forever closing the distance.

He didn't know about stars, couldn't form that awe into recognisable patterns that he would recall, but this connection he could learn, embed its memory into the very shape of his mouth. This connection he could taste, he could feel, close as it was. Distance was a language Moomintroll forever struggled to understand. Proximity was the very one he spoke in.

This manner of proximity might not have been one natural to him, but it was one he cared to know. Snufkin had introduced him to a headiness entirely unlike the chasteness of a Moomin kiss—a depth of want which he'd been hopelessly seeking, an exploration into some part of Snufkin which he hadn't known himself permitted to. Being wanted—needed—by Snufkin was more intoxicating than anything Moomintroll might have drank. He breathed it in, this dense, fluttering thing which worked itself down into his chest and stifled his lungs with warmth.

He stroked along the shape of his back with wonder, the tattered old clothes, the tangible realness, rounded and moldable under his paws, searching for a stronger grasp of him. He squeezed under his shoulder blade, in the dip of his waist, anywhere, and Snufkin kissed him—kissed him madly, kissed him with little regard for anything else.

Doing this with him, tipsy as they were, was akin to wrangling a persistent creature which had it out for only one thing. He did not account for Moomintroll's need for air—Moomintroll, who had so quickly forgotten to breathe.

Predictably, it did not last long before the wooziness overtook him. Moomintroll gasped as he retreated, the ceiling swimming, his neck sore. He lowered his nose to the side quickly, ducking out of Snufkin's next lurch forward. Snufkin's nose buried instead into the fur at his jaw, and stopped there.

He turned his head slightly into the softness, and waited as Moomintroll panted, waited as the paws ran along his sides with a care much different from the desperation of just a moment ago. Moomintroll found himself thinking very many delicate things very quickly.

As his vision adjusted, he found he could just meet his eye in that position. Snufkin, where he had sank, watched him intently. His eyes, dark and glassy, shimmered in the lamplight. Moomintroll clutched at his waist in such a way to move him, and thankfully Snufkin complied, sitting back on his haunches.

What Moomintroll had revealed in him doing so was a beautiful, pleased little smile, curled at the corners in such a tempting way that—were Moomintroll able to—he might have kissed him again, if only to feel the satisfaction which emanated off of him.

Instead, his paw came up, reaching for his face. When Snufkin did not flinch, Moomintroll tucked the smallest of strands behind his ear, and allowed himself to trace the round shell of it slowly and greedily on his way. Snufkin tilted his head just slightly into the touch, and Moomintroll found it so strange how amenable he was being.

How had they gotten here? Moomintroll was utterly scrambled.

"What—what were we talking about?" he asked, managing to find his voice.

Snufkin chuckled, little tremors against his paw, and then pulled out of the touch. Moomintroll missed it already.

"You were angry with me," he responded, a giddy little laugh beneath his voice.

Moomintroll's mind was blank, unable to quite recall and even further unable to understand what was so funny.

"Was I?"

Snufkin's smile widened, trembled, and then split as a chortle broke out of him. "Now I've surprised you!" he exclaimed, seeming to find it very funny indeed. "Now you mustn't find me quite so predictable!"

Moomintroll, confused, opened his mouth to ask him what in the Booble's name he was going on about, but he did not get far before Snufkin rose back up on his knees and tried to kiss him again.

Moomintroll jerked away, his senses coming back flooding. "You are drunk!" he claimed as it struck him. "What has gotten into you?"

"I am fit as a whistle," Snufkun argued, and tried again.

Moomintroll pushed him down. "You are drunk!" he repeated more forcefully. "Look at you!"

Snufkin's smile fell off his face as he sat back down. "I would have certainly done this were I sober," he insisted, then frowned when he caught himself, "which I am."

"I highly doubt that."

Moomintroll looked at him. He was a sight without his hat. Beautiful, but still clearly gone too far. His eyes were still dilated, he noted. And he seemed suddenly none too happy about being stopped.

"You are prone to presumptions, Moomintroll. Accusations, even."

"Prone to—" Moomintroll faltered, taken aback. His paws slipped away from him. "What?"

"You believe yourself to understand."

"I most certainly do not understand anything," Moomintroll told him, still evidently lost. "Not about you."

"You believe enough to scold me for things I've not done to hurt you."

"And how am I to know!" Moomintroll began getting upset again. "How am I to know what you are thinking? You never tell me!"

"What is there to tell?" Snufkin asked, and Moomintroll's heart sank. He seemed to mean it quite genuinely. "I tell you all you need to know."

Moomintroll took a deep breath, feeling as though all of him had gone stiff. His fists balled in his lap.

"Well maybe that's where you went wrong, in assuming there are things I don't need to know."

Snufkin was very quiet then. Moomintroll did not meet his eye, but he knew Snufkin was staring at him. Sometimes he wished he indeed had a way of knowing exactly what he was thinking, as Snufkin seemed to believe. To say such things, to get him so upset, to kiss him…

Oh goodness, to kiss him.

"You were buttoning me up," he realised. "You just didn't like hearing all I'd said."

Snufkin did not deny it, and Moomintroll did not know what to do with that. He lifted his nose, facing him again. Snufkin's expression was indecipherable. If he'd still had his hat, he would have likely been hidden under it.

"Well I still think it," Moomintroll told him.

Snufkin's brow furrowed. "I do not need a Moomintroll to watch over me—constellation or otherwise."

"And what if a Moomintroll needs a Snufkin to watch over?" he argued, leaning forward with the insistence.

Snufkin turned his head away. "Then he should find another creature. Snufkins are not suited to it."

"Not suited to being loved?"

Snufkin's head whipped back, eyes wide with animal agitation. There it was. Now he would see. Moomintroll knew what he'd done, knew what he'd said, and it had gotten him exactly the reaction he'd expected. If Snufkin was willing to play with his feelings, so could he.

"Who said anything of love?" Snufkin spoke quickly, his voice squeezed in.

"I did."

Snufkin averted his gaze again, frantic eyes sweeping around him until they settled on his spilled cup. His paw shot out quickly, picked it up with only the slightest rattle, and brought it to his mouth. Even like this, he still held his pinky out against the base, Moomintroll noticed.

The beads of wine which had run down the painted sides of the cup dripped onto his lap as he sipped what remained. Moomintroll watched him swallow, watched him attempt to tip the last drop, and his cheeks coloured behind the rim with the struggle before he finally gave up and lowered it. He watched him still as he swung the empty cup by its handle, biding his time.

"Hold that in your mouth a while longer," Snufkin told him, and Moomintroll knew he did not mean the wine.

"I've held it."

"Longer."

"How long do you expect me to do that?" Moomintroll complained, brow furrowing.

"Until it's turned sour."

"It'll never sour." This wasn't palm wine, this was his heart. And Moomintroll knew his heart.

"Until we're looking at different stars," Snufkin insisted. He still would not meet his eye.

"I'm always looking at different stars when I'm with you. Especially as you're making them up."

Snufkin's eyes squeezed shut in frustration.

"Until you've grown some sense, then."

"You didn't kiss me for no reason," Moomintroll shot back. It was a bold weapon on his side, but he knew himself to be right. Snufkin could go around in circles all he wished by the fact of the matter was: he had kissed him. And not only that, but he had kissed him with enough ardentness behind it to knock Moomintroll off his feet. That had to say something, if it didn't say it all.

Snufkin's eyes opened slowly, gazing at the floor ahead of him. Moomintroll, in that moment, thought him defeated. And then Snufkin glanced up and met his gaze with the same fiery defiance he should have expected. "No," he agreed. "You thought me predictable. I made myself unpredictable."

Moomintroll opened his mouth but was stopped just as Snufkin set his cup back down and rose up on shaky legs.

"I believe I've indeed had quite enough to drink. I should like to go now."

"Snufkin—" Moomintroll tried.

Snufkin turned to retrieve his hat, and Moomintroll was promptly stopped in his intention of chasing after him upon seeing the array of dark paw prints and smears on his back. He gasped. Oh goodness.

"Your—" he tried to say.

Snufkin placed his hat back atop his head. Without turning back, he said, "Goodnight, Moomintroll."

"Wait!" Moomintroll called out, but as he tried to stand his legs failed him and he fell back into the puddle, soaking both his paws. He looked up just in time to catch a flash of green slipping out the door.

"Your coat…" Moomintroll lamented regretfully, but Snufkin had gone.

Somehow, not even giving him the time to fuss over his mess made it hurt more. Now Moomintroll would be fretting over it endlessly with no way of making it right, and likely no way of knowing if it had been salvaged either, as he had the strong suspicion he would not find Snufkin's tent come morning.

He'd told him it would be this way. Snufkin was proving him right. He couldn't win a bet about his tendencies. When it came down to it, Snufkin always ran, and left him in tatters.

Moomintroll wondered why he even fought him. He never seemed to win. Snufkin made him regret his words even when he truly did mean them. Even when he truly needed to say them.

He pushed himself up much more carefully, balancing himself on shaky legs as the numbness faded slowly out of his limbs. His wet paw raised, touching to his lips.

It had been so nice to have him there in that moment, and to forget everything. Would Snufkin have kissed him if the circumstances had been nicer? He'd waited so long for anything from him, season after season of patience and bottled feelings, and had only gotten it when drunk and angry. Moomintroll wished it hadn't been so. He wished Snufkin would have been brave enough to kiss him before. He wished he'd be brave enough to kiss him again after—after he returned, after they made up again.

He took a step. A crunch under his paw, and he lifted it quickly to find one of his snail shells crushed.

Oh, he thought. He had a lot to clean up.