Blood Runs Thicker than Water

       The sleet had settled in for the day, washing away the first night snow, tearing down the last leaves, putting a stop to any gardening or walking plans. But by afternoon, Sniff and Snorkmaiden arrived, filling the house with noise and laughter. The kitchen was soon a disaster of flour and melted chocolate, but the payoff in the form of raisin-studded biscuits and endless tea was worth it. They played cards, danced to the gramophone (and Snufkin’s harmonica when the records ran out), and carried on well into the evening. Moomintroll hadn’t had such great fun for a long time. It felt so much like their summer feasts. He partnered with Snorkmaiden for a few dances, and it was easy. Just friends, no complications. He glanced occasionally at Snufkin, checking for signs of exhaustion, but his friend seemed content. Sniff was the first to leave (once the biscuits disappeared), and Snorkmaiden lingered only to help tidy before pulling on her raincoat. "Well?" Little My asked her as Snorkmaiden fastened her buttons. The latter surveyed the room with Moomintroll holding a lantern ready for her, the archway to the dining room and kitchen, where soft clinks and thumps came as Snufkin was drying dishes, and shrugged. "Next spring. A blueberry cake." With that, she stepped into the soggy dark, lantern in paw. The Muskrat volunteered to accompany her (ostensibly to return to his winter den, though Little My muttered, "More like he’s jealous Snufkin stole his spot as the house invalid"). "Before winter!" Little My called after her. "Ten glass pebbles on my end!" Moomintroll blinked. "What’s this about?" Little My hopped onto the table, peering into her teapot. "Oh, just taking bets. How many years your melodrama will drag on before one of you cracks." "Bets?!" His ears shot up. Who else—? Had others noticed? Were they laughing behind his back? Would Snufkin bolt if he found out? Moomintroll snatched Little My by the scruff (well out of biting range) and hissed, "Who knows?", hoping that nothing was heard in the kitchen, half across the floor. Little My grinned. "Relax. Just your ex. And Moominmamma. And half of the Dire Straits clan." "You blabbermouth!" He shook her lightly. "We don’t need to say anything. It’s fine as it is!" "Oh? But without talking, you won’t proceed further. Do you bet your room that you don’t itch to drop those three words or kiss him, or—" Moomintroll clamped her face and was bitten immediately. As he yelped, she sprang free, cackling. "Bet’s on! And say goodbye to your room, it’s now as good as mine. I’ll hibernate in your bed. You won’t need it anyway.” With that, she vanished upstairs, leaving Moomintroll to glare at the ceiling and very pointedly not in direction of the kitchen. A shuffling and thumping sound announced Snufkin's return from the kitchen on crutches. Moomintroll's ears burned instantly, and he thanked his lucky stars that blushes didn't show through fur. Odd, really. He had always assumed his discomfort came from the teapot's occupant, but with Little My gone, the awkwardness remained. For a moment, he remembered how much easier things had become with the Snorkmaiden after they had talked things through. The resolve to spare Snufkin any discomfort wavered but held. "Little My terrorising you again?" Snufkin asked, leaving his hat, which he now only wore outdoors or around guests, on the table. "Mm," Moomintroll sighed, backing toward the sofa and plopping down onto something small and hard. A broken spring? Then— "Careful," Snufkin warned, stepping closer. "I left my harmonica there somewhere..." Panic launched Moomintroll straight back up. "OhnoI'msosorryIdidn'tmean—" He pawed frantically at the blanket. Clumsy, clumsy oaf! The one thing his best friend treasured! He jumped again when Snufkin touched his side, settling onto the sofa and leaning his crutch against the armrest. They reached for the harmonica in the folds at the same time. Moomintroll yanked his paw back as if scalded, but Snufkin just turned the instrument over in his hands, then patted the seat beside him. Moomintroll sat gingerly, like on a hedgehog, and dared to look up. No anger, no distress, just Snufkin offering the seemingly unharmed harmonica. "Don't fret. You couldn't break this even if you tried," Snufkin said. "Steel and boxwood. I've dropped it, sat on it, fallen onto it—a rib would crack first." Moomintroll's relief over the harmonica lasted precisely until the ribpart. No, he must join the travel South next year to see that the vagabond didn’t break anything else. But Snufkin continued, deadpan: "And it’s hard to break anything wedged between two soft things, anyway." He poked first the sofa, then—oh—Moomintroll's side. The contact sent a jolt through Moomintroll, like static from a Hattifattener—not pain or tickle, but fizzy, glowing warmth. Before he could think, he ruffled a wild tuft of hair atop Snufkin's head in retaliation. Hatless, scarf loose, Snufkin looked so fragile, so soft like this that Moomintroll had to swallow the ridiculous urge to bundle him up and shield him from the entire world. Little My was obnoxiously right. But no, no smothering, remember? Best keep away from temptation, Moomintroll told himself, standing abruptly. "Right. Goodnight, then," he sighed. "I’m off to reclaim my bed from that gremlin." "Wait." So quiet he almost thought he'd imagined it. But no, Snufkin sat upright, hand half-reaching before hesitating. Then he patted the sofa again. Moomintroll sank back down, wary. "Stay still." Snufkin tugged him against the sofa back, then slumped against his shoulder, arm draped loosely across Moomintroll's chest. Oh. "Testing something." Moomintroll froze. Even breathing seemed dangerous. The position jarred a memory of Snufkin limp and unconscious in the plane. He tried glancing down, but saw only russet-brown hair tickling his snout through the fur. "Turns out Joxter was right," Snufkin mused after an eternity, voice light. "Me and him, we both fancy round, soft creatures." Moomintroll's heart stuttered. Fancy? In… what sense? "W-what's Joxter got to do with it?" he blurted, abandoning caution. "Lots of folks like cuddly sorts! Judging by the sheer number of kids, Mymble Sr. had hordes of suitors! And Pappa chose Mamma, didn't he? I-I thought I'd want someone like Mamma, too, when I met Snorkmaiden—" Snufkin stiffened. "—but that was just... expectations," Moomintroll rushed on, swinging an arm around his shoulders against the order to sit still. "For both of us. Playing at being a couple. Living together properly didn't work because, well, it was never real. We were living in the clouds. The truth is," he turned flat to Snufkin, seizing his hands, "I like slender, cute mumriks. Well. One in particular." “Ah… but Snorkmaiden?” Snufkin asked almost plaintively, finally lifting his eyes to meet Moomintroll’s. And how adorably he flushed! “She knows, of course! She figured it out before I did, even. When I first set off after you to the King’s Island, she made me promise to count how many times I’d think of her during the journey. It came to six or seven, and that was only on the way there. After that, well… I had other things on my mind. And when I got back, she told me that during the three days me and her had spent together before all that—Harvest Festival in the next valley, remember? The one you didn’t go to—so, I had mentioned you aloud at least twenty times and hobgoblin knows how much more times in my head. So, in the end, we decided to part as friends, and now we get on splendid.” Truth be told, he’d already said so much that staying quiet now would be pointless, and the feeling inside him swelled like porridge lifting a pot lid. The urge to hug Snufkin tightly surged anew, but that would definitely be an overkill. Just in case, Moomintroll loosened his grip on Snufkin’s hands, holding only onto his pinkies. “I love you impossibly much!” Then he straightened up at once, folded his paws prim in his lap like some well-mannered fillyjonk kid, and peeked into those wide, startled brown eyes before adding in haste, “That’s just—I only want you to know. You needn’t say anything back.” “But—” Snufkin looked away, flushing even deeper. “That wouldn’t be fair. On my part. It’s just… I’m always thinking of you, missing you when you’re not there, and you’re terribly dear to me, but I—I don’t know what to call it…” “You don’t have to. This is enough for me. I’m already so happy.” Moomintroll only dared to turn to him. “Whatever you feel is fine with me because it’s you.” Snufkin mirrored his pose, and for a minute they sat in silence, playing a quiet game of stare-and-dare before dissolving into muffled giggles in perfect unison. “Though I have no idea where you got ‘cute’ from,” Snufkin said first, his voice teasing. “Usually I hear just ‘scruffy’.” Moomintroll blinked. Was he joking or serious? “You…” He paused, hunting for words, then decided honesty was safest. “When was the last time you looked in a proper mirror, and not some grubby, rippled brook? You’re perfectly cute!” “Oh?” Snufkin pouted, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. “I fancied ‘handsome’, at the very least.” Again, they both laughed softly. No need to wake the whole house with their silliness. “Nope, just cute. Ask me in ten or twenty years, though, and I might change my mind.” “Oh, I will!” Moomintroll nearly laughed aloud because Snufkin had just all but promised them a long future together. The present moment glowed even brighter, though he’d have sworn it couldn’t get any lovelier. Unless, perhaps, he took Snufkin’s hands, pulled him closer, gazed properly into those laughing eyes… “So… you wouldn’t mind if I…” Moomintroll trailed off, hoping Snufkin might guess. No such luck. “If what?” “Well…” “No idea what you’re about.” He was teasing! Snufkin leaned in, grinning with such smugness he almost resembled Little My. Moomintroll had once thought no two creatures could be more different, and then his thoughts skittered further, tangling in the logistics of species diversity… and promptly hit a fork in the road. “By the groke!” he whispered in half-genuine despair and bumped his forehead against Snufkin’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to kiss you! We moomin-trolls and snorks—maybe hemulens too, but I refuse to dwell on that—rub noses, but in Snorkmaiden’s books, flat-faced folk like humans or mymbles do it in some different manner…” “Hmm, quite the dilemma,” Snufkin mused softly by his ear, then gently freed his hands—only to cradle Moomintroll’s snout between his palms, tilting it up to meet his gaze. “Like this?” He brushed his narrow nose against Moomintroll’s broad one. “Guess I don’t have preferences yet.” Moomintroll froze, every hair from ear to tail-tip prickling as if charged by a Hattifattener. No, this needed repeating, if Snufkin didn’t mind! Tentatively, he nudged back, lingering this time, then again, nosing along the smooth curve of Snufkin’s cheek toward his ear, half-convinced he’d wake from the dream any second. And it was nothing like with Snorkmaiden. Back then, he had been preoccupied with picturing himself as a dashing romantic, the proper grown moomin with a beautiful sweetheart. Now, every coherent thought had dissolved into a haze of Snufkin-Snufkin-Snufkin and a fizzy warmth that pooled behind his ears and tingled in his paws, making it impossible not to pull him closer, to feel the lean curve of his waist through the fabric— “Steady on,” Snufkin chuckled when Moomintroll buried his snout in the crook of his neck. Only then did Moomintroll realise he was looming so eagerly he’d nearly pinned him to the sofa. Too much? Would the mumrik feel trapped? Suddenly, Snufkin went rigid. He pushed against Moomintroll’s chest, sending him into panic: had he done something wrong? But Snufkin was staring away, toward the front door. “Quiet,” he whispered, sitting straight. “Someone’s outside. More than one.” His hand slipped to his pocket, emerging with the jackknife Moomintroll had gifted him. “Go. Warn your father.” “No!” Moomintroll hissed back. Over the drumming sleet, he heard nothing, and the idea of danger here, now, seemed absurd. “I’m not leaving you!” “Don’t be silly! Where are you—?!” But Moomintroll was already striding to the door. If there really was anyone, he’d give these intruders a piece of his mind for ruining a perfect evening! Probably just a fillyjonk on a midnight errand for sugar. But even if it were the Chancellor’s agents, well, the coat stand by the door was rather hefty… Now he caught it too: the creak of steps on the porch. He flung the unlocked door open before they could knock. Lamplight spilled onto the porch, illuminating the— “Mamma!” He threw his arms around Moominmamma—the very best mamma in all the world, on the very best autumn night, under the very best wet snow storm! *** Before Moomintroll cried “Mamma!”, Snufkin glimpsed familiar ears, familiar red-and-white stripes, and slumped back on the sofa, folding the knife to take it away. Tension of getting ready for a dash was gnawing at his ankle, but he couldn’t care less. “Mamma, are you staying long? Oh no, Sniff has eaten all the chocolate biscuits!” Moomintroll was already babbling away in excitement. “We baked them ourselves, can you believe it? But I’ll put the kettle on. Everything’s been fine, really!” He glanced at Snufkin. Oh yes, it was, truly and really. “Only we couldn’t find any copper sulphate for the apple trees, or the whisk for the cream—” Moominmamma nudged her son inside to let the other guests enter. Behind her, a drenched Hodgkins came, then one of her brothers (Gunnar, perhaps? but definitely not the shady Gugo) and a pair of pirates… no, vikings from the Dire Straits clan, shouldering heavy craters. Little My came sliding down the banister, scissors at the ready, but seeing the commotion was friendly, she went to high-five the pir—vikings, alright. And Moominpappa was already bounding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “I’ve come home for good,” Moominmamma announced, once Moominpappa had finished crushing her in a hug and nuzzling her cheek. Snufkin’s ears hot flushed from remembering what he’d been doing just moments ago, and sneaked a look at Moomintroll, who remained blissfully white and serene, save for his twitching tail tuft. The whole family erupted into cheers at the wonderful news. Snufkin couldn’t contain a broad grin as well. “And you have your lad here to thank for it, brother-in-law,” Probably-Gunnar said, nearly toppling Moominpappa by a hefty clap on the back, and came closer to pat Snufkin on the hatless head, much to his embarrassment. “Blood’s got nothing to do with family, see? Our little Moominlass stayed with us of her own will, but not ‘cause she couldn’t live without us or the ancestral business. It was for you dorks. So we thought…” He scratched his head, uncharacteristically bashful. “Well, keeping her there when her heart’s here wasn’t right. She’s our sister. We want her happy.” “And I am happy!” Moominmamma assured him. “Now, who’s tired? Tea? Coffee? I’ll whip up an apple charlotte. Moomin, dear, there are apples in the kitchen? Gunnar, boys, you must stay for a day or two with us! You’re not going to unload the plane in such weather, aren’t you?” Chaos ensued. Moomintroll tried in vain to spare his mom from cooking, but she insisted she’d missed her own kitchen terribly, for the citadel had its own chef, and “a ship’s galley can only have one captain.” And off she cruised, apron like a red-and-white sail, with Moominpappa, Gunnar, and Hodgkins as her eager crew. Well, Moominpappa and his brother-in-law got engrossed in a discussion of book-publishing matters, so Snufkin doubted they’d be of much help. Little My herded the remaining Vikings out to the pantry to stack the craters. The moomins said there would be more containers in the Ocean Orchestra,with jars of jam and olives, dried cod, fish oil, and pasta enough to keep two younglings fed, clothed, and warm until spring. Moomintroll, looking absolutely dazed, sank onto the sofa. “Oh my,” he murmured, casting a sly glance at Snufkin. “I don’t think we’ll get another quiet evening to ourselves for ages.” “Doesn’t matter,” Snufkin smiled. Actually, he was a bit glad of the interruption. The sweet little moment after the confession, it was a bit too fast for him. He trusted Moomintroll and enjoyed hat velvety touch, but irrational, instinctive part of him was alarmed by an intruder in the personal space. And now there will be more time to tame that wild part, to teach it to feel safe. “Winter’s coming. Everyone else will be asleep except us.” Everything worth having was back, and the promise of healing was palpable. He squeezed Moomintroll’s paw. “I’m glad Moominmamma is home too. One less weight on the heart.” Moomintroll nodded, then frowned. “What did Uncle Gunnar mean about thanking you?” “Oh.” Snufkin watched his toes in sudden awkwardness. “That was without you, when I spoke with… Joxter. I said quite a lot to him, and your uncles took some words to their own account, apparently. That family is about choice, not blood.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he laced their fingers together and didn’t let go, even when Little My kicked the front door open and stomped by, fixing them with a withering look, and rolled her eyes with a dramatic “Oh, finally! But y’know, I’d miss teasing you.” Outside, the sleet toned down to a rainy whisper against the windows, and the lamp glow pooled like honey on the parlour floorboards. In the kitchen, Moominmamma hummed through chatter of other moomins about royalties and in-quarto formats, and the scent of cinnamon and apples began to curl through the house. Snufkin inhaled it, and that air, so unlike the winds from a sea or mountain tops, still smelled of freedom and of home at the same time, a place—no, not a place, not just a place, but also people and ties between them, actions—hands held tight, potatoes peeled, jokes laughed at, melodies played, glances exchanged; choices made. A place you could leave at any moment only to come back.