Archive of Our Own ^beta

Generally, Snufkin liked himself. Why wouldn’t he? He was him, and he couldn’t be anyone else, so why bother fretting over any of it? He was the only way he knew how to be, and his life was good—he walked where his feet took him and enjoyed all the great beauties (of which there were many) of the world. He didn’t need for much; nature provided almost everything he could ever want. And the things it couldn’t? Well, who could blame Snufkin for a little slight of paw? He didn’t really believe in possessions, anyway. If he could see and touch it, then it belonged to him. He never took more than he needed and mostly only the necessities (although, who was to say pipe tobacco wasn’t a necessity anyway?).

Generally, he was happy.

Occasionally, though, the world became so very loud and overwhelming. When other creatures were involved, there were rules. Snufkin hated rules; oftentimes, they didn’t make sense and only succeeded in confusing and stressing him out. He tended to avoid cities where possible. Cities were the worst. So many people, all rushing to get where they’re going without a moment to pause and appreciate the sun on their faces. It made him feel claustrophobic as if they were swarming around him, dragging him down until he was trapped in their concrete lives, working a job he hated and living an exhausting life devoid of joy. It was a terrifying thought.

Snufkin wasn’t made for a job. He wasn’t made for responsibility. He was made to be free: to sleep under the stars, wade barefoot through streams and enjoy the moment because that was all one ever really got in life: moments. They were what you made them, and Snufkin intended to make all of his count.

Unfortunately, sometimes that was harder than others.

Life on the road meant that, on occasion, Snufkin would cross paths with other travellers. It could be fun, but equally, it could be exhausting, especially as Snufkin didn’t understand people. They were confusing and draining. They never meant what they said. He’d think he was getting along with someone, perhaps even be excited to have another conversation with them, only for them to turn against him. They would never explain what he’d done wrong, or if they did, it wouldn’t make any sense.  

Sometimes, Snufkin fared alright. Sometimes, he could meet strangers and share stories, and it went well. He’d learned not to linger, though. Sooner or later (usually sooner), they’d realise he wasn’t like them, and things would get uncomfortable. There’d be judgment, lectures, or pity, and Snufkin didn’t want any of it. So he shared his stories and split, never making any attachments and never meeting the same people twice.

Then he’d stumbled across Moominvalley, and everything had changed. He’d expected the Moomins to be like everyone else he met—polite until he ultimately said or did the wrong thing. They kept on surprising him, though.

The first time Moomintroll tried to hug him, Snufkin flinched away. The troll just apologised, smiled, and carried on as if nothing strange had happened. He didn’t try to do it again. He also listened to Snufkin’s rambles with fascination rather than annoyance, as if he truly found it all interesting and wasn’t just humouring an obsessive weirdo.

When Moominpappa got too enthusiastic in his interrogations of Snufkin’s travels, Moominmamma would seamlessly distract him, too often for it to be a coincidence. Besides, the little smile she’d sent Snufkin’s way suggested she knew exactly what she was doing. Snufkin appreciated her all the more for it.

Little My was loud and boisterous, but whenever she got too much for Snufkin, she’d suddenly stop, glare, and declare she was bored, stomping off. Snufkin, who hadn’t realised it was intentional initially, was hurt the first couple of times—was the cycle finally resuming?—but the next time he saw the tiny mymble, she was back to normal. In contrast, her older sister, Mymble Jr., was kind and patient, always offering a smile to Snufkin and a listening ear, even though Snufkin never took her up on it. Her partner, Too-Ticky, was good to fish with, only ever speaking necessary words and quite content in otherwise silent company.  

Mr Hemulen spoke to Snufkin only about flowers, then wandered off when the conversation was done.

Mrs Fillyjonk near enough ignored him completely, which suited Snufkin just fine.

Essentially, Moominvalley was like nowhere else Snufkin had ever travelled, and he had travelled all over. While Snufkin’s heart would always belong to the world, Moominvalley became a home of sorts. One he found himself returning to again and again when he’d rarely returned anywhere he’d been before.

It was a funny thing, being so wholly accepted when one was used to repeated rejection. Sometimes, Snufkin thought it had to be a trick. How could one valley be so different from the rest of the world? How could one family be so accepting when even Snufkin’s own family had abandoned him?  

The Moomins never judged. They never pried; they never forced Snufkin to do anything that made him uncomfortable. They understood that Snufkin was private, that he needed space. Sometimes, he needed a lot of space.

Snufkin got overwhelmed. Sometimes, he turned invisible. He knew how to handle that, though. He knew all he had to do was hide away in his tent for a few days, preferably in the middle of a forest, with only the critters for company. Eventually, the world started to become bearable again. Things made sense once more. The loudness in his head dialled down, becoming a quiet buzz instead of an inferno. Snufkin hadn’t told Moomintroll this happened; why would he need to when he’d learned how to handle it alone? After all, what his friend didn’t see couldn’t hurt him.

Except Moomintroll did get hurt, didn’t he? Snufkin may not have been messing up in the ways he was used to, but there were always new ways to hurt people. It was refreshing to understand (at least somewhat) where he was going wrong, but that knowledge did little to help when the thing that hurt his friend was Snufkin’s flighty nature, and that wasn’t something he could change. Snufkin had tried once, when he was younger, to be who others wanted him to be, but that was even more exhausting than trying to communicate with them naturally. Besides, he rather thought Moomintroll liked that Snufkin was unabashedly himself.

…Most of the time, anyway.

“You’re leaving?”

Snufkin had hoped to sneak away. His thoughts had tumbled within him like a tornado, growing louder until they almost howled as they turned, and Snufkin realised that his tail had grown quite invisible. A few days alone to quiet his mind would do the trick, so Snufkin had packed up his tent in the early hours, hoping he could get away before Moomintroll was up and about for the day. Snufkin should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky.

Trying to fix his expression before turning, Snufkin offered what he hoped was an apologetic smile. He hoped his friend wouldn’t notice the absence of his tail. In his pocket, he thumbed the comb of his harmonica, turning the cool metal over and over in his paw, the familiar movement relaxing him somewhat, though his heart had already picked up speed. “Just for a few days. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice you’re gone,” Moomintroll grumbled.

Snufkin wished he wouldn’t. He avoided looking into his friend’s eyes as he racked his mind for an appropriate response. “I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

“Unlikely.”

Oh no. That was the wrong thing to say. Snufkin was panicking, sure that his spreading invisibility would rapidly increase now that he’d upset Moomintroll. Why was it always so hard to find the correct words? No matter how hard Snufkin tried to pick carefully, it was never right. People would misinterpret and, often, wouldn’t give him the chance to explain. They’d make up their own mind about what he meant, and that would be that. If Snufkin tried to explain, he’d just dig himself in further.

Moomintroll wasn’t like that, though. Snufkin wouldn’t return to the valley year after year if he were.

Then again, Snufkin had been wrong before.

(Stars, he hoped he wasn’t wrong this time. There had never been anyone as important to him as Moomintroll before. Moomintroll was the one creature Snufkin could trust to always understand him… wasn’t he?)

His friend sighed, reading Snufkin like a book. “I understand that you need to go, but I’ll always miss you, Snuf. I just wish you’d tell me you’re leaving before you run away.”

“I leave a note,” Snufkin protested meekly, but he didn’t even always do that, and they both knew it. When Snufkin felt the need to run, he ran. No time to scrawl Cheerio when the world was too bright, too loud. What if those precious wasted seconds got him caught? Much like right now.

“Is saying goodbye really so hard?”

Snufkin still couldn’t look at him. “Yes.”

Perhaps Moomintroll hadn’t expected him to be honest, or maybe that answer really was just a surprise, for his expression dropped. “Oh,” he said, suddenly sounding sad. “I’m sorry, Snufkin.”

He was doing it again—upsetting Moomintroll. Snufkin could feel his paws begin to sweat as his heart raced. He needed to escape before he made things worse, but running was precisely the problem. Snufkin didn’t know what to do. His mind was jolting to a stop, his fight or flight frozen as if the Groke had brushed past without him noticing. This was too important to mess up, and yet, messing up was what Snufkin did best.

“Don’t—you don’t have to be sorry, Moomintroll,” he eventually settled on, his voice quiet, hesitant. “I’m sorry.” He went to wring his paws together and realised with horror that the fingers of his left one were starting to vanish. He quickly shoved them back into his pockets, seeking out his harmonica to fidget with as he willed his body to fight the invisibility for just a little bit longer. He couldn’t let Moomintroll see. If Moomintroll saw, it would lead to more questions that Snufkin simply couldn’t handle. Perhaps even judgment—Moomintroll thought him strong. What would he think when he found out Snufkin really, really wasn’t? Would it bother him? Would he suddenly find Snufkin less interesting? What if, like everyone else eventually did, Moomintroll pushed him away? It was likely all Snufkin deserved, but that didn’t mean he could handle the rejection. Not this time, not with someone so important. 

“Snufkin?” Moomintroll’s voice brought Snufkin back from his spiralling, and his alarm made Snufkin instantly aware that his panicked thought process had further spread his invisibility. “Snufkin, are you turning invisible?”

He was surprised to find the troll looking at him not with pity but with concern.

Snufkin sagged. He hadn’t managed to hide it, and now his secret was out, and everything would change. Snufkin hated change, especially if he wasn’t in control of it.

“It happens sometimes,” he confessed, eyes focused on Moomintroll’s chest so he didn’t have to see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes. “It’s okay. I just need to—”. What he just needed to do was cut off as Moomintoll stepped forward, arms held out in the offer of a hug. Even now, he was being considerate. Even now, he wouldn’t ignore Snufkin’s boundaries.

“Oh, Snufkin,” he said, arms not wavering, even as Snufkin did. “I’m so sorry I never noticed before.”

Snufkin met his eyes then. They glistened with sincerity. Moomintroll wasn’t mad, or ashamed or embarrassed. He didn’t pity Snufkin. He just… cared. Snufkin opened his own arms and practically fell into his embrace. Moomintroll was round and soft, and although Snufkin didn’t have much experience with hugs, he decided there and then that his friend gave the very best ones.

“Snufkin,” Moomintroll said eventually, pulling away. Snufkin was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by the lack of contact he hadn’t realised how much he’d needed. “When you said this happens sometimes…” He trailed off uncertainty, but Snufkin was fairly sure he knew what Moomintroll was asking.

“It’s not frequent,” Snufkin promised. “And it never lasts long. I just leave for a few days until I become visible again.”

“And that works?” Moomintroll sounded surprised.

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“Well,” Moomintroll wrung his paws together, “did I ever tell you about Ninny?”

“You did.”

“Feeling alone and trapped was one of the reasons she turned invisible in the first place.”

“Oh, Moomintroll,” Snufkin said, doing his best not to sigh. “I feel trapped when I’m not alone.”

“Do you feel trapped now?”

Snufkin thought about it. He had been feeling trapped, desperate to escape and run away from the world. That had been before Moomintroll discovered his secret, though. Now that secret was out in the open, did he still feel that way? No, he realised. If anything, it was a relief to have it out there. He was now certain that the niggling fear it would change things had been nothing more than his own mind bullying him.

“No,” he said. “I don’t feel trapped anymore.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Moomintroll said. “Snufkin, if I ever make you feel that way, please just tell me.”

Snufkin pulled his harmonica out, tapping it against his paws. He had no intention of playing it, but he needed something to keep his paws busy during this difficult conversation. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“So long as I understand it’s not personal, you won’t hurt me. Now that you’ve been honest, we’ve cleared that up, so we’re all good!” Were they? How was it so easy for Moomintroll? Snufkin’s mind was offering hundreds of different ways it could all go wrong.

He'd found a rhythm for rapping his harmonica against his palm. Tap, tap, tap into his paws as he struggled to find something appropriate to say. Moomintroll was being so understanding, and Snufkin felt like he was failing him. “It’s never personal,” was all he could manage.

Moomintroll thought about it for a moment. “Do you still need to leave? I can help you finish packing if you'd like. Or, I can just go, if you’d rather—?”

Oh, what had Snufkin done to deserve someone as splendid as Moomintroll? Certainly nothing he could think of, but he was going to cling on for dear life regardless. And yes, he’d still mess up sometimes, but he hoped his friend would always be this understanding. Snufkin never intentionally hurt him, and if Moomintroll understood that, maybe Snufkin wouldn’t have to run quite so often.

“I think I’ll stay,” Snufkin decided, tapping his harmonica one more time before dropping it back into his pocket. “…If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is! Whatever you need.”

Snufkin thought. What did he need? This was all very new after all—his usual fix for invisibility was to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone now, but he didn’t want to feel crowded, either. “Could we, perhaps, go to the beach?” he asked finally. “Just the two of us?” Snufkin loved the sea. He thought sitting there, staring out at its vastness with just Moomintroll for company, would help alleviate the overwhelming feeling. They could listen to the waves, and perhaps Snufkin would play some songs, and eventually, the world might start to make sense again. And if it didn’t, at least he would be with someone who understood. Someone willing to stay patiently by his side through it all.

Someone who loved him.

Moomintroll held out his arm. “The beach sounds perfect. If we leave now, nobody will realise we’ve gone for hours.”

Snufkin smiled and, after only the briefest hesitation, took Moomintroll’s arm.

The world could be loud and overwhelming, but Moominvalley was a safe haven.

And Moomintroll?

Well, Moomintroll was the lighthouse that guided Snufkin back to it—to him—time after time again.