Work Text:
It was a perfect early August afternoon. Not too hot, not too humid, a refreshing breeze carrying the salty scent of the ocean blew over the valley. The songs of birds provided a cheerful ambiance and butterflies danced between flowers in the meadow. The sun peeked out from puffball clouds, casting dappled rays onto the valley. Nothing seemed out of place or amiss.
A harmonica filled the air with a serene melody. Snufkin sat up against the gnarled trunk of a very large, very old linden tree with Moomintroll’s chin resting upon his lap with his legs tucked neatly underneath him. Together they were in a meditative calm, not needing any more or any less from the other, contentment personified.
The Moomin listened intently to his lover’s song and admired how he could come up with such a catchy hook on the spot. Snufkin was so adept at not just playing the harmonica, but every aspect of music, from composition, to performing not only by himself, but with others as well. He knew it took a lot of dedication and practice, and Snufkin surely devoted himself to the art, but it seemed to come so naturally to him. He knew the commitment his lover displayed to music was all in service to the ultimate muse: nature itself.
The song came to an end.
“That was very good, darling,” Moomintroll said.
Snufkin gave an affirming grunt, and Moomintroll felt an arm come to rest on the back of his neck and fingers lightly entangling themselves in his fur. His lover’s touch was light, yet grounding.
“Y’know, I was thinking, you had a guitar for a couple of years. Then one spring, you came back without it. What happened to it?” Moomintroll asked.
“Well, I’m not quite sure, to be honest. It may have been stolen,” Snufkin replied.
Moomintroll felt his ears droop and tail curl in towards his body. “Doesn’t that make you upset?”
Snufkin shrugged. “Such is the way of things.” So nonchalant in a way that Moomintroll found both confusing yet endearingly admirable.
He always used to enjoy his guitar, and Moomintroll loved listening to him play. What a shame it was gone. Snufkin’s fingers gently massaged behind his ear, such a relaxing gesture that Moomintroll couldn’t help but let out a sigh. Then, the touch was gone and his lover continued playing his harmonica.
Moomintroll was suddenly struck with an epiphany.
—
That evening, after dinner, Moomintroll snuck away. He had an idea and it simply couldn’t wait. He would need the assistance of someone with woodworking and design expertise. Someone with a natural aptitude for building. And there was only one person in the valley who fit that description.
“Hello, Moomintroll.”
“How are you, Snork?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
“How is Snorkmaiden doing?” Moomintroll asked, a tinge of guilt laced within his voice.
“When she writes to me, she says she is doing good.”
“That’s fantastic! Hopefully she’s seeing many neat things out there,” Moomintroll said as he walked into the Snork’s workshop, taking a look around to admire his latest contraptions.
Since they had broken up, Snorkmaiden left the valley on her own, saying something about needing to go off to explore the world now that she was not tied down. It’d been around a year since she’d left, and Moomintroll hadn’t heard a word from her. While it was nice to have time away from her after the breakup, especially since it meant he was now free to give as much of his attention as he’d like to Snufkin, he still considered her a dear friend. Thankfully, Snork seemed to hold no ill will against Moomintroll.
“Say, Snork,” Moomintroll started as he toyed with a screwdriver from the workbench, “I have a favor to ask of you. What do you say?”
Snork lifted an eyebrow, glancing at the screwdriver then back to Moomintroll. “What do I say? I suppose it depends on the favor.”
“I’m thinking about a gift for someone very special. I may need you to help me with the gift. You’re so good at building things, and of course I’ll help out in any way you need me to,” Moomintroll realized he sounded as though he was pleading, but Snork didn’t seem to need much convincing.
“Yes I can help you build something. What is it you want to build?” He asked.
“A guitar.”
“A guitar? No.”
Moomintroll’s fur on his neck stood up. “What? Why not?”
“I am an inventor, not a luthier. A guitar is much too finicky and precise to build without proper blueprints,” Snork explained.
Of course. Moomintroll’s fur flattened out a bit, but this was traded instead for drooping ears.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he conceded. Defeat.
He thanked the Snork for his time and, regrettably, returned to Moominhouse with no real plan. It was dark out by now, and the family would be getting ready for bed, but he was far from tired. He needed to figure something out; his own pride wouldn’t allow him to stop now.
As he came into the house, he heard the clacking keys of a typewriter. That’s it! Papa’s study had many books, perhaps he’d have something that would at the very least help Moomintroll figure out how to bring his idea into reality. He knocked on the door.
“Come in, son,” Moominpapa announced, “Inspiration has struck me, I mustn’t squander this opportunity with sleep.”
He would try to do this without bothering his father too much, then. He scoured the bookshelves as papa typed away, every now and then pulling out a book and flipping through its pages before returning it to where he found it. His frustration was quickly growing; nothing seemed to be even close to what he was looking for. His gift idea was being thwarted by logistics and practicalities, something he simply couldn’t bear.
“Looking for something in particular, son?”
Moominpapa’s voice pulled him out of his head. He spun around to face his father grasping a mug of beer, eyeing him suspiciously. “Yes actually.”
“Well then, do tell.”
“Remember how Snufkin used to have a guitar?”
Moominpapa leaned back into his chair. “Ah yes of course. He was quite the guitarist.”
“Well, I want to make him another one. So I asked the Snork for help, but he needs blueprints to build it,” Moomintroll explained.
“I see.” Moominpapa’s tail thumped against the floorboards. “Well my boy, I think you may be in luck!”
Moomintroll’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course.” Moominpapa stood from his chair. Curiosity tugged at his fur when he watched his father head the opposite direction of the bookshelves and instead towards the corner of the room, where a table with a lamp and one of Moominmamma’s paintings stood. Underneath the table sat a dusty old trunk, tucked away and barely noticeable. It was made of brown, wrinkled leather, with brass clasps touting a deep patina.
“It’s been a while since I’ve gone through this old thing,” he heard his father muse as he carefully slid the trunk out from under the table.
Moomintroll took a few steps toward his father. He wanted so desperately to see the contents of the trunk for himself, but his father was leaning over it, blocking his view. Compared to most trunks he had seen, this one was rather small. He heard his father sift through papers, cloth, until he bobbed up with a triumphant ‘ah-ha’ and a book in his paw.
“This, my son,” Moominpapa started, handing Moomintroll the book, “this belongs to an old friend of mine who was also quite fond of the guitar. Have a look.”
Moomintroll opened the worn cover of the book and flipped through its pages. It was filled with information about the history of guitars, chords, scales, and, most importantly, a diagram of the instrument’s anatomy and how one was built. It was perfect.
“Oh papa, this is brilliant!” Moomintroll gushed.
Moominpapa gave a hearty laugh. “Old Joxter, saving the day again, my friend.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to give this Joxter fellow my thanks, if I ever meet him,” Moomintroll said with a small chuckle that faded into a grin.
There was nothing more he could do to advance his idea tonight, as it was simply too late. But in the morning, he figured he’d get up extra early and make a mad dash for the Snork’s workshop.
And that was exactly what he did. Forgoing breakfast, forgoing coffee, even forgoing an admittedly rather tempting offer for some quality time with Snufkin (he always told himself he was a Moomin of resolve), he ran across the knapweed meadows, book in paw, to see the Snork.
“I’ve got it!” He exclaimed, bursting through the Snork’s door otherwise unannounced and completely out of breath.
Snork appeared rather vexed. “I would’ve rather you knocked.”
Moomintroll, embarrassed that his enthusiasm overtook his manners, straightened himself up. “Right, I apologize. May I show you something?”
“Yes you may,” Snork conceded, his tense-appearing shoulders falling a bit.
Moomintroll handed him the book and watched with eager eyes and a wide smile as the Snork scoured its contents. Every now and then he gave a contemplative hum, making the Moomin’s ears twitch with excitement.
“Yes, this should suffice,” Snork finally said, looking up at Moomintroll and adjusting his glasses.
“Oh that’s wonderful–“
“Let’s see, we could use spruce for the body, and, oh dear, rosewood is not native to this region, that certainly would be hard to find. However, it says here that maple is sometimes used for the fretboard, so we could substitute. I just sharpened the blade of my bandsaw, so all of this should be a breeze.” Snork snapped the book shut. “Right. Let’s get to work.”
The two worked diligently through the day. Moomintroll assigned himself the role of assistant, giving his very best guesses whenever Snork shouted across the workshop what specific tools he was in need of. Every now and then, his guess was wrong, and Snork would send him back to hunt through his drawers for the correct tool. Moomintroll counted his lucky stars that his friend was being patient with him.
Before he knew it, the day was through. They had made some progress, though not nearly as much as Moomintroll had hoped for.
“How long do you think this will take?” He asked, looking at the various pieces of the guitar that, at this present moment, more closely resembled a scrap wood pile than an instrument.
The Snork dusted a few woodchips off his shoulder. “At least a week, but that’s only an estimate.”
Moomintroll felt a pit in his stomach at that answer. When he was a child, a week felt impossibly long, but with every passing year, time seemed to pick up its pace, unrelenting. He was a fully grown Moomin now, well into his early twenties, and at this age, a week passed so quickly. A week that, if he were to keep his promise to the Snork, he would be away from Snufkin. He wanted so desperately to spend as much of what was left of their time together with his beloved, as Snufkin was sand in his paws, and he would blink and the valley would be blanketed in white and his lover would be reduced to footprints in the snow.
“O-oh,” was all he managed to say.
“I appreciated your help today. Tomorrow I will start on the headstock. We’ll install the truss rod as well. For the bridge…”
Moomintroll stopped paying attention as the gravity of how much work he’d gotten himself into settled in. But this was to see Snufkin smile, to hear him play once again, to show his lover just how much he was worth it to Moomintroll. There was no giving up now.
He thanked his friend for going along with his plan, and once again, dipped away into the night. This time, however, he made a beeline for Snufkin’s camp.
“Knock knock,” he whispered, low and sweet.
The tent came unzipped and Snufkin poked his head out. “Yes, dove?”
Golden light from his lantern backlit his silhouette in a way that Moomintroll found utterly irresistible. Gently yet with firm intent, he cupped Snufkin’s face with one paw and pulled him in close against his body with the other and nuzzled into his neck and up his jawline. Snufkin seemed all too pleased at his forthright spontaneity, which he took satisfaction in. He laid his lover back onto the bedroll before zipping the tent closed behind him.
—
Unyielding songs of skylarks and marsh warblers woke Moomintroll. It had been an uncharacteristically cool night, all the better for encouraging closeness. His nose was nestled deep into auburn hair, the familiar scent giving him a gush of affection. His arm was wrapped loosely around Snufkin’s chest, paw settled over his heart, its slow steady beating keeping time with his own. The other was clearly not yet awake.
The mornings where the Moomin awoke first were ones he cherished. There was a level of vulnerability to a sleeping Snufkin that simply wasn’t present when he was awake, his muscles slightly more relaxed to the touch, his breaths slower and deeper, his hair completely unkempt and sticking out every which way. It was in these moments Moomintroll made an effort to pay attention. He wanted to engrave the ins and outs of Snufkin into his mind — in what position he preferred to lay, how his breaths grew languid when he was deep in a dreamless sleep versus how they quickened when his mind was alight, how he was all too easy to wake, though quick to return to his slumber. He wanted to know it all.
Perhaps sensing the way Moomintroll’s arm subtly flexed to hold him tighter, or maybe the way his nose burrowed deeper into his hair, Snufkin slowly woke.
“Hey, darling,” Moomintroll whispered.
Snufkin gave a hum that he felt more than heard. A hand came to rest over his paw and gave a gentle squeeze.
“Good morning, dove.”
The two laid this way for a few moments, breaths synced and bodies warm despite the crisp air. Simply a perfect morning, in Moomintroll’s humble opinion.
This was soon interrupted by his memory of his commitment to the guitar. As much as he didn’t want this morning to end, he knew he would soon need to head over to the Snork’s workshop to get started for the day. A tinge of sadness at needing to be away started creeping its way into his heart, before he shrugged it off by remembering the beautiful soul in his arms, who this was all for. He knew Snufkin wouldn’t mind the alone time. Having known him for a decade, he knew very well that his lover needed his space from time to time and that it was certainly not personal. Though his need for space seemed less since getting together, something Moomintroll certainly didn’t mind, it was only a matter of time before his lover would need to step away to recharge.
“Dove,” Snufkin’s sleepy voice was all too alluring to poor Moomintroll’s ears, “I read the cards yesterday.”
And there it was. The Moomin knew exactly what was coming next.
“What did they tell you?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s proper to phrase it that way. The cards are a ship, of sorts, that carry unconscious cargo to the port of conscious mind.”
Semantics, Moomintroll thought, though also endeared by Snufkin’s explanation.
“Yes, yes. Anyways.”
“I realized I must go away—for a short while, of course—to be on my own.” Snufkin’s voice was quiet, and Moomintroll knew he was expecting a theatrical response to his statement. He wasn’t going to be given one. Although a bit sad, the Moomin gave the back of Snufkin’s neck a gentle nuzzle.
“Well, if that is what you need, it’s what you must do. Your happiness makes me happy,” Moomintroll said softly.
Snufkin twisted his torso to meet Moomintroll’s eyes, as if he were shocked at the lack of melodramatic pleads for him to stay. His eyes were wide and lips parted. Moomintroll threw him a little smile to reinforce his sincerity, and Snufkin’s eyes softened. His surprised expression melted into an unmistakably loving one; one that radiated such warmth it could thaw even the Groke’s frozen heart. It was palpably sweet, like fine maple syrup. It was a shame Moomintroll couldn’t capture a picture of the sight to have forever.
Snufkin flipped his body to face Moomintroll, though not once unlocking their eyes. A hand rested on his bicep, gripping ever so slightly. With a reaction like that, any sadness he felt about his lover leaving washed away. It was clear to Moomintroll that what he said was impactful, and that gave him a little twitch of pride. He would do anything to see this awestruck, lovesick expression again. It was fuel for his commitment to that guitar.
—
Snufkin made them both coffee. He always sweetened it exactly to Moomintroll’s liking, something that didn’t go unnoticed. But after finishing their cups, he assisted Snufkin with tear down, then it was time to part ways. They shared a long embrace, and Snufkin reassured he would be back in one week.
One week. Moomintroll remembered Snork’s words. Perfect.
“You’re late.” The Snork scoffed as he opened the door for Moomintroll.
“I’m sorry, I had… things to attend to,” he retorted. “I really am, but I made us your favorite sandwiches today.”
“Oh, lingonberry jam sandwiches? How thoughtful!”
“I couldn’t just not make it up to you, now could I?” Moomintroll asked with a chuckle.
“You certainly could have not, but it was nice of you to anyways,” Snork said. “Alright, let’s get to work, again.”
They had quickly gotten into a rhythm with their work. It was something of a dance, even, Moomintroll would think to himself, the way they flowed seamlessly from task to task. It was rather amazing to watch the Snork work, as well. Every cut, every placement of wood held intention, all without mistakes that Moomintroll could notice. Even the analytical types were capable of artistry, he realized.
Moomintroll was barely cognizant of the passage of time, and the Snork seemed even less so, if that were possible. He’d only eaten one sandwich after Moomintroll insisted his friend have some sort of sustenance. Every now and then, Moomintroll would need a break for fresh air, however, not that the Snork even seemed to realize his absence most of the time. The changing position of the sun was his only confirmation that time was passing at all.
They worked late into the night this time, and Moomintroll began to feel his eyelids growing heavy. Thoughts of Snufkin danced around in his loopy head, his charming, smart, not to mention incredibly attractive Snufkin. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he finally received his gift. They had made quite a lot of progress today, and he found himself thoroughly exhausted. Even Snork was beginning to grow bags under his eyes. He offered Moomintroll to stay the night, an incredibly generous suggestion that the Moomin gladly obliged.
—
One night turned into two, then three, then four. They worked throughout each day, and let glue set over the nights. The final day was spent allowing the stain to dry. In that time, Snork quickly fashioned a capo and a handful of picks. He also made sure he had plenty of extra strings to cover for their inevitable snapping.
“We’ve done a marvelous job!” Moomintroll beamed as he admired the guitar, now free from its clamps and sitting on the desktop in its completed glory.
“I am quite proud of it,” Snork confessed.
Moomintroll turned to his friend. “Thank you for all your help. Really. It means the world to me, Snork.”
“It was nice to make something different, I suppose,” the Snork replied, adjusting his crooked glasses.
Moomintroll was proud to be done. In fact, he’d felt so accomplished, he was keen on a celebration. “I’ve been thinking, when Snufkin gets back, why don’t we all have a little get together? A nice lowkey one. We’d be honored to have you, Snork.”
The Snork did not answer right away. The first time his friend attended one of his parties, it was a total bust. But that was a few years ago, and since then, everyone had gladly learned how to make the Snork comfortable.
Then, the Snork spoke. “I will certainly attend.”
Moomintroll grinned back at his friend. How perfect!
It was nearing evening by the time Moomintroll started back for the Moominhouse. Every now and then, he scoured over every little detail of the creation he carried in his arms. Altogether, it wasn’t the most ornate of guitars, it was rather simple in fact. Almost too simple. Not that Snufkin wouldn’t love it, of course, but Moomintroll was feeling rather self-indulgent. It was a perfect blank canvas, and his mother had become quite the painter over the years. Even if Snufkin would enjoy it as it was, Moomintroll felt it needed some finishing touches.
So when he returned to the Moominhouse, he immediately made a mad dash for the kitchen, where mamma was cleaning dishes from that night’s meal.
“Moomin, dear, you’re back earlier than expected!” She exclaimed, turning to greet him, and letting out a delightful gasp at the guitar cradled in his arms. “My, it’s more wonderful than I imagined!”
Moomintroll felt his ears heat up. “Yeah, it really is.”
“Snufkin is going to love it, I’m sure!”
He suddenly felt quite bashful over what he was about to ask of his mother, and kicked an invisible pebble or dust bunny or whatever other plausible small object may be on the floor.
“Yes yes, I’m sure he will. But it’s rather plain. I was wondering if you’d– well, if you’d like to paint something on it.”
Moominmamma held her hands up to her face, a big grin appearing on her face. “Oh of course!”
She got to work right away. Moominpapa came to see what the fuss was about and chuckled merrily to himself upon seeing his wife painting. She seemed to find his laugh contagious, and did so as well. Wordlessly, he made his way over to the record player, and put on an upbeat, folky album.
He elbowed Moomintroll, who was sitting at the kitchen table, on the shoulder. “Isn’t she just wonderful when she paints? I’m sure you know by now, my son, that bearing witness to a partner in the throes of creativity, it can drive you just as wild as seeing them in the throes of–“
“Not in front of our son, dear,” Moominmamma thankfully interjected. Though despite that unsettling imagery creeping into his brain, Moomintroll supposed it was an auspicious thing to see his parents’ flame still burning strong after all these years, something he could only hope he would experience at their age.
Moominmamma’s paintbrush swayed across the stained wood canvas to the infectious rhythm of the music, every now and then twisting in a pirouette before continuing on its path. It really was entrancing to watch his mother paint, if for no other reason than it made her happy. She always did so much to make everyone else happy, was always the last to serve herself at meals, was always the first one up and last one to sleep, always drying the tears of loved ones, and all without complaint. How she had that much room for others in her psyche was a mystery to him. Painting the lighthouse was the first time Moomintroll recounted ever see her doing something for no one’s benefit but her own, because she could, and because it made her happy to do so.
It was awfully sad to consider that perhaps, before painting, she had no outlet that served her and her alone. But in the years since the lighthouse, the Moominhouse was gradually filling with her paintings. Moominpapa hoarded away a good chunk in his study, hanging them on the walls and setting them up on desks and tables and bookshelves. And now, as she laid the final touches of paint on the guitar he had helped make for his musical partner, so that he may revel in the joy of experiencing his beloved create, he finally understood why his father kept so many of mamma’s paintings in his study.
She’d barely had a chance to step away from the table before Moomintroll was hovering over the guitar to see what she’d painted. He could barely contain his excitement at the sight of wildflowers, in varying degrees of familiarity to Moomintroll, adorning the lower half of the guitar top. The upper half was free of paint so that Snufkin’s picking arm wouldn’t threaten to wear it off. It was simply beautiful. There wasn’t anything Moomintroll could possibly think up of to bring it closer to perfection than it already was.
“Oh Mamma, you’ve outdone yourself, really. The flowers are so beautiful they– this is perfect, it really is,” he babbled.
“Oh thank you, dear,” Moominmamma replied, a little pink showing through the fur of her cheeks.
Moominpapa nearly shoved Moomintroll out of the way to get a closer look, but he couldn’t hold it against his father.
“Oh, Moominmamma,” he exclaimed, “what I wouldn’t give to hang this masterpiece up in my study. Oh the work it would inspire!”
Mamma set a firm paw on papa’s shoulder. “Oh but dear, Moomintroll put many hours of work into making it for Snufkin! I fear this is one you won’t be able to keep!”
—
After giving it some thought, Moomintroll decided he didn’t want to reveal the guitar right away. He wanted everyone who took part in its creation to be present for it so that they all could see how their hard work paid off. Snufkin was coming back today, so everyone would be at the Moominhouse that evening for its unveiling.
Every now and then, while waiting, Moomintroll would try to play the guitar, but it sounded completely out of tune. His fingers were far too large and stubby to play chords properly and the fur on his paws made the strings buzz. Snufkin’s hands were small and dexterous compared to his, practically made for guitar playing.
He spent what felt like hours pacing back and forth around the house. Moominmamma had fashioned a strap for the guitar that perfectly suited it: embroidered with wonderful pops of color that complimented the painted flowers. It was simply wonderful.
Moomintroll ran out to the bridge as soon as he heard the beginnings of a harmonica melody carried by the wind. He stumbled over uneven ground, but never failed to catch himself. Snufkin approached the bridge with confident, rhythmic strides that fell to the beat of his song. Moomintroll’s desire to send both of them hurtling into the grass clashed with his desire to take in the wonderful sight and sound of his lover in the midst of creation. He stood expectantly on the bridge’s span, deciding on the latter.
Snufkin didn’t bother to finish his song, however. Moomintroll was almost saddened by the fact, but sadness quickly turned into joy when arms wrapped around his waist, and he promptly returned the contact.
“I’ve missed you, Snuf,” he murmured.
“Likewise.”
Moomintroll pulled away slightly to get a better look at his beloved. “Do you feel refreshed?”
Snufkin met his eyes. “As right as ever.”
Moomintroll nudged against his face, and Snufkin retuned the favor by caressing the fur on his nose.
“What all did you do? Did you find anywhere interesting to stay?” Moomintroll asked as they stepped away from each other so Snufkin could unload his pack onto the grass.
“I’ll tell you in due time,” he said, digging a jar of worms out of his pack, “for now, I’m going to see if the fish are biting.”
Moomintroll glanced at Snufkin’s pack, then to Snufkin, feeling a bit befuddled. Usually the very first order of business was setting up camp. “Don’t you want to pitch the tent first?”
Snufkin shrugged, then sat down on the zenith of the bridge’s arch, wound his pole back and cast his line into the creek. He motioned for Moomintroll to join him at his side, who was almost embarrassed by how quickly he obeyed. He nearly collapsed at his lover’s side, eager to be near him after so long apart. He was practically bursting at the seams with excitement for his lover’s return. Yet, Snufkin’s unwaveringly cool brand of contentment was grounding, and better yet, not the least bit judgemental.
“I don’t feel up to it at the moment,” he finally offered.
Moomintroll’s ears began to droop. “Oh, do you feel sick?” As he spoke, he placed the back of his paw onto Snufkin’s forehead, practically knocking off his hat, searching for any signs of a fever.
The other gave a chuckle. “I assure you I feel perfectly fine. I’d just rather fish for now.”
Moomintroll hummed to himself, then resigned to quiet contemplation.
“Perhaps I won’t set up my tent at all today,” Snufkin said in a tone of voice Moomintroll couldn’t pinpoint a name for. Oh. Perhaps the time away reminded Snufkin of how freeing it was to be without ties. Maybe everything between them was simply a summer fling, and he’d had his fill. Was this a mistake?
A hand on his thigh stopped those thoughts in their tracks. He gulped, face hot, and turned his wide-eyed gaze at Snufkin, who was looking back at him with half-lidded eyes.
“You are such a silly troll,” he teased coquettishly.
Moomintroll’s anxiety must’ve been all too evident on his face to garner such a reaction from his partner.
Snufkin’s fishing pole lurched, pulling them out of the moment. He quickly tugged and reeled in a tiny trout. Its scales shimmered in the sunlight as it flopped from side to side on the line. He tutted.
“Much too small. Another season of growing for this one,” Snufkin said as he handed Moomintroll the line so he could wet his hands. The Moomin, fascinated by the small creature, reached to touch it and quickly regretted his decision when a spine poked his paw.
“Careful, now,” Snufkin cautioned, though much too late. He grabbed the fish by the base of the tail and carefully unhooked the line from its mouth. He quickly made his way down to the creek bank and let the fish go.
Moomintroll’s face grew hot again, though this time with embarrassment. Snufkin’s laugh only made it worse.
“You really are a silly troll. Are you alright?”
Moomintroll’s ears fell. “Yeah, it’s not bad. Surprised me more than anything.”
Snufkin glanced at his paw, probably just to be sure, and then back up at Moomintroll.
“I figured I’d stay with you tonight instead, dove.”
The statement caught Moomintroll by surprise. Snufkin was not one to stay inside unless he absolutely had to. He’d said before that it was much too stifling for his liking. Moomintroll couldn’t empathize with that feeling, but he did still try his best to understand and never push the idea. All this made Snufkin’s statement all the more exciting. He threw a glance over at Snufkin, who was sticking a worm onto his fishing hook.
“Tha– That would be lovely,” he finally muttered, “only if you want to, though.”
“I’m offering, aren’t I?”
“Yes, yes.”
Moomintroll’s cheeks were burning at the idea of him spending the night in his cozy bed, and quite thankfully, two floors above everyone else. But thinking about that evening also brought to mind the gift, and the little party that would be going along with it. It crossed Moomintroll’s mind that he hadn’t even thought to tell Snufkin about what would be happening tonight. He had been so caught up in the moment he’d nearly forgotten all his hard work. Yet, there was something about the way Snufkin could always make him feel as though nothing but the present mattered that made Moomintroll love him even more.
“Snufkin?” Moomintroll started, his voice wavering with nerves a bit.
“Yes, dove?”
“There’s going to be a bit of a get together at the house tonight. There’s something we’ll be giving you. Something we worked very hard on,” Moomintroll said as he wrung his paws together.
There was an uncomfortably long silence. Of course Snufkin wouldn’t want to be burdened with more possessions. All this effort was in vain, clearly.
Snufkin finally turned his head to meet the Moomin’s gaze. “Something you’re giving me?”
“Yeah, you’ll see what it is.”
A small smile formed on Snufkin’s face and relief flooded over Moomintroll.
—
The Snork arrived after the sun set. Little My was already helping herself to Moominpapa’s keg in the cellar, even though Moomintroll had told her multiple times that it would not be that kind of party. Though after Moominpapa, Snufkin, and even Moominmama filled their mugs, he could only hope it wouldn’t become too overwhelming for Snork.
“Alright everyone,” Moominpapa announced, “I’d like to make a toast. To Snufkin and Moomin, may they always find peace and happiness in each other’s company!”
A chorus of cheers followed, then the clinking of glass.
Moomintroll took a look at Snufkin, who was hiding his clearly pink cheeks with his hat. He feared the attention was too much for his lover to handle, but upon seeing his lips twitch into a small smile, his worries were eased.
With that confirmation out of the way, Moomintroll figured it was the appropriate time to unveil the guitar. Best to do it early in the night anyways, before the party became too rowdy.
He stepped away from Snufkin’s side and over to Moominmamma, who was bringing out plates of fruit tarts, and whispered that it was time. She nodded, and went up the stairs to Papa’s study. Moomintroll, wanting everything to be perfect, had given his parents the rundown of how he wanted the guitar’s unveiling to go.
His stomach began to twist, practically wringing out any level of confidence he had. What if this was too much and Snufkin ran away, never to be seen again? What if he didn’t have the reaction Moomintroll was hoping for, potentially embarrassing them both in front of all their friends? But it was too late to go back now. Everything was already set in motion, and the cards would fall where they may.
He gathered himself enough to clear his throat. “Excuse me, everyone. Um, I don’t mean to interrupt, but, uh. Oh dear,” he gulped, everyone had their eyes on him and nerves were hitting him like a brick, “we’re gonna go on with the main event here, uh…” he was fumbling.
A warm, reassuring paw rested on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Mamma giving him an encouraging grin. Her other paw was tucked behind her back, hiding the guitar from Snufkin’s view.
“Well, get on with it. It’s painful to watch you stumble over your words like this, y’know?” Little My nagged.
Moomintroll chose not to dignify her with a response.
“Right. Now, Snufkin,” Moomintroll started, “I think you know by now, we all care for you deeply. So we made something special for you. We all pitched in, in some way or another. Well– most of us!” He shot Little My a glance, who harrumphed and crossed her arms, though a playful smile gave away her pleased disposition.
“Anyways. Here, this is for you,” he motioned as Moominmamma revealed the guitar from behind her back. There were ‘oohs and ahs’ from the little group.
His eyes immediately darted to Snufkin, whose face was fully flushed, though he didn’t appear as uneasy as Moomintroll feared he would.
“Herregud,” he heard his lover gasp under his breath, “Det är vackert.”
It was incredibly rare to hear Snufkin speak his other language. How Moomintroll needed to hear it more. His face was burning up, but he pushed on.
“Snork and I built this for you, Mamma painted it and made the strap for it. I hope, well, I uh, I hope it works.”
He handed the guitar to Snufkin, who slung the strap over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and misty as his right hand ran over the guitar’s body and his left hand cradled the neck. After a few moments, he strummed the strings. One by one, he tuned them. Moomintroll was unsure how he knew what notes to tune the guitar to, or how he even knew he was tuning to the note he intended to. It was yet another wondrous mystery.
Snufkin began fingerpicking a tune, the chords beautiful and complex, yet the melody simple and graceful. Moomintroll was absolutely enamored. He could drink in the sight and the sounds of his lover playing the guitar for hours and still never be quenched.
Snufkin paused, then looked around at the crowd. “Förlåt, I, well, I don’t quite have the words,” he said with a slight chuckle, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes to clear away the tears that were forming.
He grabbed Moomintroll’s paws, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles with stars in his eyes. The sight made Moomintroll melt; it was everything he’d hoped for. “Well, other than thank you, my love. All of you, as well.”
“It was rather enjoyable to build something different this time,” the Snork replied, “If you have issues with it, please come to me about them.”
“I appreciate it, my friend,” Snufkin said back.
“It was a joy to be a part of the process, Snufkin!” Moominmamma said with a wide smile.
“It’s beautiful, Mamma,” he replied.
Moomintroll felt as though he were glowing. Snufkin loved his gift. His mind was racing, but instead of anxiety, it was rushing thoughts of adoration, love, and of the simple moments he was yet to experience with his lover. He could barely contain himself.
“Ugh, this is getting disgusting,” Little My’s sneer cut through the atmosphere, “Just play the thing more. Give the man his space everyone.”
Snufkin’s fingers squeezed Moomintroll’s paws one last time before he ended the touch. Mamma, Papa, Snork, and himself all sat to listen.
Snufkin’s fingers danced around the fretboard in a mesmerizing way. It was nearly as entertaining to watch as it was to listen. Sure, he missed a few notes here and there, but as he kept going, his playing became cleaner and cleaner, as if all he needed to do was wipe the dust off. Every chord seemed intentional, every arpeggio perfectly in time. It had Moomintroll in a trance. Simply calling Snufkin an artist working in his preferred medium was an understatement.
As the last chord of the song rang out, Little My tutted. “Alright alright, you damn showboater.”
“I have a friend from back in the day who had quite the talent for the guitar, y’know,” Moominpapa started, “Looked an awful lot like yourself, son. But unlike you, he lacked the drive needed to fully master his craft.”
Snufkin shrugged, “I just really enjoy playing, is all.”
Of course Moomintroll knew how much he practiced back when he had his first guitar. He’d seen it firsthand. Snufkin was a dedicated guitarist.
“Well, why don’t we all get refills on our drinks?” Snufkin announced, likely trying to draw the attention off of him, Moomintroll figured.
No one seemed to argue with more beer.
—
As the night drew to a close, the party wound down. The Snork had left a while ago, and after lots of drinking and dancing, Mamma, Pappa, and My had tuckered themselves out and retired to their chambers.
Moomintroll and Snufkin were the only ones left awake. They sat together on the couch, Snufkin lazily plucking away a quiet tune, and Moomintroll enjoying the tipsiness from the beer and his partner’s company.
“You really like the guitar?” Moomintroll asked.
“Of course,” Snufkin replied, continuing to play, “I’d have to count it among the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received.”
Snufkin looked so wonderful, guitar on his lap, body outstretched on the couch, the golden glow from the lamp illuminating the side of his face and his fingers gliding around the fretboard. Moomintroll couldn’t keep himself from staring, he didn’t want to.
Snufkin glanced up Moomintroll for a brief moment.
“What?” He asked finally, though with a decidedly playful tone.
“I can’t help it, you look so good,” Moomintroll replied, resting his head in his paw.
Snufkin laughed quietly. “You’re quite direct under the influence, aren’t you?”
“I’m a decisive Moomin, thank you very much,” Moomintroll retorted, “and I’ve decided you’re quite the catch.”
“Oh yeah?” Snufkin vampishly crooned. He had stopped playing by now and was leaning in towards Moomintroll. “I supposed I should thank you properly for this gift, shouldn’t I?”
Moomintroll’s face was heating up. “If you’d like.”
The two stood up and headed towards the stairs. As they walked, Moomintroll asked, “Would I be so lucky as to hear you speak your other language tonight?”
Snufkin paused, an eyebrow raised. Then he giggled and shook his head. Moomintroll’s ears drooped. Had he said something wrong?
“Du är så rolig, my dove. Vara snäll och följ med mig då,” Snufkin said, holding his hand out for Moomintroll to take. Despite not understanding, he was giddy. He gladly accepted his lover’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Together they walked up the stairs, whispering to each other as they went.