Chapter Text
Moomintroll’s eyes fluttered open from a deep sleep. They took in the wall of green in front of him. He registered the choir of summer frogs and leaves gently rustling in the wind. The weight of his body and hardness of the ground only separated by a thin bedroll. The air had a slight chill to it, but nothing too biting. As his mind began to emerge from the grips of sleep, it dawned on him that he was in Snufkin’s tent.
And then he remembered what had happened earlier in the night. He was positively glowing.
It had been a month to the day since they confessed their feelings for each other at the Midsummer’s Eve party. Ever since that night, Moomintroll had been in a euphoria unlike anything he’d experienced before. Snorkmaiden, the seahorse, both gave him blissful memories, but neither could compare to how he’d felt with Snufkin. No, with Snufkin, it’s like he’d come home after an impossibly long, treacherous journey. He was weightless. Each day gave way to a newfound elated optimism about life and the world and everyone in it. If all that he’d been through was leading to now, everything was well worth it.
They’d spent quite a bit of time together recently, going about their days doing this or that — it didn’t really matter much to Moomintroll. What mattered was that Snufkin was with him throughout. All of this culminated into the intimate moment that took place that evening. It was a sweet, playfully awkward, though nonetheless vulnerable and earnest experience. Perhaps a bit mind boggling. Again, no fooling around he’d done with Snorkmaiden compared to how fulfilling it had felt with Snufkin — at least, not in the emotional sense. It was as if their souls had joined, intertwining with one another like the threads of braided rope. Never before had he considered that this kind of activity could actually feel spiritual.
The memories put a giddy smile on his face. Heavens be damned, he could reach all the stars and planets and whatever other celestial bodies Snufkin rambled on about that he couldn’t wrap his head around, as long as his lover was by his side.
Moomintroll flipped to his other side with the intention of gazing at Snufkin, only to find nothing but a rumpled blanket. A pit formed in Moomintroll’s stomach. There was no way he’d just leave after that. No, surely he was just out to relieve himself or something. He’d be back soon.
But as the minutes passed, the despairing reality grew too obvious to deny: Snufkin was gone.
Moomintroll curled into himself, hugging his tail, wide eyed with disbelief. He felt a horrible sadness clench his chest and breathing became difficult. Did he make Snufkin uncomfortable? He received consent any time he tried something different, and Snufkin wasn’t afraid to speak his mind during, so it probably wasn’t that. The thought that perhaps he’d regretted doing it altogether crossed Moomintroll’s mind, and suddenly what little he could make out within the tent was distorted and wavering from the tears in his eyes.
But is that why he’d leave? Maybe he did enjoy it, but it just didn’t mean as much to him as it did to Moomintroll. Maybe it was a mixture of both. Either way, Moomintroll felt stripped bare, exposed, torn apart. His body quivered with silent sobs, and it took everything he had not to scream into the pillow. He berated himself for not following the age old adage that some things are too good to be true, and cursed Snufkin for up and leaving like this as if he were nothing more than some cheap thrill.
He cried until he was too exhausted — and perhaps dehydrated — to make any more tears. His thoughts began to jumble together until they formed into incomprehensible slop. His body had become lead, and his eyes were too swollen shut to even bother attempting to open. The droning chorus of frogs lulled him into sleep.
He awoke to cold. It was all encompassing. Inside, he felt empty; a distinct lack of positive affect. Even the world was dull. But he needed out of Snufkin’s tent. He heaved himself off the ground, stumbling backwards a bit before steadying himself. He took an agonizing step forward but tripped. There was a reedy honk, then he was on the ground again. Oh yeah, he left his accordion on the bedroll. No matter.
He zipped open the tent and crawled out onto the veranda of the Moominhouse. Perched on the railing was a magpie. Its iridescent black and white feathers shimmered in the light of the candle next to it. The bird was singing a remorseful, disjointed, ugly song.
“Oh, it’s you,” Moomintroll scoffed.
The bird continued its singing.
“You have to mock me, filthy pigeon?”
It did not react.
“Grown tired of me, had you? Do you even see me?”
The magpie cawed, then squeaked, then squeaked again, this time labored and distressed. It appeared to be choking.
“Yeah. I knew you had, Snufkin.”
His lover sat on the railing in its place. He looked stunning, auburn hair streaked with flickering gold in the candlelight. Two more magpies landed upon the eaves of the veranda. Snufkin’s eyes were half lidded, ardent.
“Am I yours, dove?”
His body was casting golden rays as hot as the Midsummer’s Eve bonfire. With how cold Moomintroll felt, this heat was magnetic. A little smile even broke through the cracks in his skin. How he needed it. Moomintroll inched forward.
“I think you know by now, darling.”
He felt as though Snufkin had cast a line, hooked him, and was reeling him in with that sultry expression. His steam radiator warmth was thawing Moomintroll’s joints and allowing him to move freely.
There was a crack after Moomintroll took a step. Snufkin was gone, replaced by a magpie in desperate flight, cawing out as it disappeared into the night. Cold.
Moomintroll looked down. Shards of a broken mirror. Staring back up at him was a familiar pair of bulging, mournful, sickly yellow eyes. The Groke. Terror gripped him and he fell backwards onto his tail.
Moomintroll jolted awake, gasping and sweaty. He was in Snufkin’s tent still, and it was morning. What a horrid dream that had been, but thankfully, only that. Still, it left him with a shudder under his skin and a nagging headache. He sat up and looked to his side, still no Snufkin. Of course. Why would he be here?
When they were younger, Snufkin always set the rules of their friendship it seemed, always being the one to pick and choose when to come and when to go, when to keep going and when he’d had enough. Moomintroll had made attempts to flip the script as he got older. It had been working quite well, actually. However, it seems that this newly added romantic dynamic to their relationship complicated things. Maybe Moomintroll had regressed back into old habits a bit, sure, but Snufkin had always been a commitment-phobe.
Moomintroll rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided he would not stay around to wait for the chance to beg for affection. No Moomin should stoop so low. Out of the tent he stomped. On the bank of the creek lay Snufkin, hat over head, fast asleep. Two competing emotions immediately smacked Moomintroll over the head: adoration for Snufkin being so cute, and offense, for it must be so terrible sleeping next to someone after something like that, that he’d rather forgo all comforts of blankets and pillows to sleep outside on the dirt instead. The nerve.
Moomintroll stormed back to the Moominhouse in a huff. He wasn’t about to wake Snufkin from his oh so important sleep. No point. He was certain things would only get worse. He felt like a fool. Sweet, patient Snufkin. Sure. An act, no doubt, and he had fallen for it. What he needed to do was think.
He probably shouldn’t have slammed the front door open as hard as he did, but he was hurt, and it was a big deal, so he’d allow himself this one indulgence.
“Oh, Moomintroll! Good morning, darling! Come from breakfast?”
Moominmamma popped her head into the living room. She probably noticed his furrowed brow or the bags under his eyes or just maybe, the way the door slammed against the wall so hard the clock on the spandrel wall was knocked crooked. She was too good at knowing when Moomintroll was upset.
“Coffee, maybe?”
“I’m fine, mamma.”
“If you need to talk—“
“You heard me.”
Not like this was a subject that can easily be broached to one’s mother. Thankfully, he knew his mother wouldn’t press if he didn’t want to talk. A tinge of guilt tugged at him for a moment over how he’d spoken to his mother.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk right now.”
He wasn’t even sure if she heard, as she was back in the kitchen and didn’t respond. So he continued up to his room to do some proper sulking.
He sat down at his desk and grabbed frame holding the picture of Snufkin and him sitting together on the bridge. They looked so happy together, so carefree. He angled the glass to see his reflection now. He looked a wreck, eyes swollen and red accentuated by dark circles underneath, fur disheveled. What a joke.
“Who am I kidding? I’m too much for him.”
He set the frame face down on the desk and sighed into his paws.
There was a clatter and a snicker and his ear and eye twitched in sync.
“Trouble in paradise?”
Of course, the universe’s own goon for hire. Little My popped her head out of her teapot. Moomintroll’s tail swished and thumped the floor.
“Why? Why! Why.”
He wanted to slam his fist into the table.
“I’m assuming my brother did something to get under your skin and now you’ve come to me to set you straight.”
Little My jumped out of her teapot, a spoon over her shoulder. Her matter-of-fact tone only added insult to injury.
“I don’t want your advice.”
“Don’t care.”
Moomintroll gave an exasperated groan.
“I know exactly what your problem is: you think too much,” Little My explained. “It’s so painfully obvious you’re an only child, thinking everything is about you and all.”
Moomintroll glared in her direction. “What are you getting on about?”
“Might as well start calling you lead for how dense you are,” she chided before shoveling sugar cubes from the bowl by her teapot into her mouth with her spoon.
Moomintroll practically snorted.
She continued, mouth half-full.
“My brother likes to think he’s so mysterious and cool, prattling on about The Conquest of Bread and Marx and things of that ilk. He’s not. He’s boring. He sits there and reads books by old guys who had nothing better to do with themselves but think and were haughty enough to assume whatever it was they were thinking about was so important it had to be published.
“Sure he’s good at music but he’s too proud of himself for it. Thinks his compositions are the be all end all of his existence. He’s a right pompous ass sometimes if you ask me. Not to mention how downright lazy he is. He’s got all these lofty philosophical ideas but I’ve never seen him work a hard day in his life. Have you seen him sitting there picking his nose while he fishes? He’s an embarrassment, really.”
Moomintroll was fuming. “I’m not asking you to sit there and insult him! I still love him, y’know.”
She jumped onto his desk, and before he could react, whacked him over the head with her spoon. Moomintroll yelped.
“What is your problem?!”
“Hush. I’m knocking him down a peg in your mind. You can’t go around thinking he’s without flaws.”
“I don’t—
“But you do, clearly. You think way too highly of him. And maybe you need a reality check: not everyone thinks like you do. He definitely does not. You’re too soft and sentimental.”
This made Moomintroll’s heart drop to his knees. If Little My was right, it meant last night really didn’t mean anything to Snufkin. Maybe the whole month had no meaning to him. Although Snufkin had told him he was in love, it wouldn’t be so out of character for him to be unprepared for the reality of what that entailed, being so shy of responsibility, and loving someone is certainly a huge one. Maybe he was just looking for the perfect opportunity to dip out. Maybe Moomintroll just needed to open the door for him.
“Thank you, Little My. I think I get it now.”
“You think you do, eh?”
“Yeah. Most certainly.”
Little My gave a satisfied grunt. “Well, that’s all the advice I got for ya. Maybe you’re not hopeless after all.”
With that, she disappeared back into her teapot.
Moomintroll groaned, mulling over Little My’s words in his head. This needed to be addressed with Snufkin, of course. If this was how he felt, it wasn’t fair to either of them. Things needed to be sorted out and lines of communication needed to be open, whether Snufkin liked it or not.
Outside, a harmonica melody filled the air. Snufkin was awake. What better time to hash this out than right now, before Moomintroll’s resentment could dig itself even deeper into his soul. Maybe then, things can go back to being normal, and they’ll have a nice picnic and go fly fishing in the creek and plan a hiking trip or something, whatever. He just wanted to be at ease again.
Moomintroll didn’t want to be stopped by his parents, so he descended the ladder that still hung from this window after all these years. It was warn down, but still intact enough to hold his weight. He reached the ground and made his way down to Snufkin’s camp.
“Good morning, dove! I’m brewing some coffee right now, if you’d like.”
Snufkin’s sing-song tone nearly had Moomintroll in a chokehold. He was suddenly hit with a forceful wave of anxiety, and his paws felt sweaty.
“Uhm, yeah, yeah. I haven’t had any yet, I’ll take some.”
As he made his way over to the charred percolator on the fire, Snufkin gently wrapped his fingers around Moomintroll’s wrist and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before moving on to pour coffee into two mugs. How much Moomintroll wanted to drop everything and pretend like he was never hurt in the first place if it meant getting more where that came from. But no, he was a Moomin of resolve. He knew he’d regret not voicing his concerns.
“I have no milk, but I added two teaspoons of sugar. That’s how you like it, right?” Snufkin said as he handed Moomintroll his cup.
“Yeah.”
Snufkin sat down next to him. So close their knees touched. Moomintroll gulped. His lover’s hand was on his back. He wanted to relax, but couldn’t, knowing what was coming.
“What would you like to do today, dove?”
Moomintroll’s mind was racing. Did he ask the question now? Maybe it was a good time. How could Snufkin not even bring up what happened last night? Was it fair to even expect him to yet? How would he phrase this? Maybe he should give up now and just let it go, but then his resentment would surely only grow. It needed to be let out while it was still small or this relationship would never work.
“Moomintroll?”
“Snufkin, does it always mean something to you when you get physically involved with someone?”
Maybe the way he said it was a bit too snappy, and maybe the question came out a little too loaded, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t like how he worded it, either, but it was too late to take it back now.
“What?” Snufkin gasped, shrinking back and increasing the distance between them.
“Does it?”
Snufkin’s eyes fell to the ground and his face appeared white like a ghost. Guilty.
“I’m— I guess, no.”
“No? I knew it.”
Moomintroll turned away from Snufkin, arms crossed. A moment passed without the other saying anything. Moomintroll felt an avalanche of shame crush him. It really wasn’t right to put Snufkin on the spot like that. Definitely not a productive way to open this conversation.
“Snufkin, I— I’m sorry. That was a knee jerk reaction. I didn’t mean to upset—“
As he turned to face his lover, he quickly found it was too late. Snufkin was already gone.