Day two baby, home

Years ago, when Moomin first met Snufkin, he had asked him where his home was.

Snufkin had told him his home was everywhere and nowhere, shrugging while saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world to him. And Moomin had been impressed, more than anything. Because right then it had sounded almost magical.

But in reality, it also had made him kind of sad.

He couldn't put his finger on why. Some things are just too complicated to put into words, even if you sit around for a very long time and ponder on them. But he supposed it had something to do with the blue house on the hill, with the cozy rooms and the family dinners, and the way Mamma hugged him when something upset him.

"Will you come back?" He had asked, that first autumn, clenching his hands in front of himself. He didn't want Snufkin to know how distressed he felt. It was an inconsiderate thing, really.

Snufkin tipped back his hat a little and smiled. That easy, carefree smiling he did sometimes. It made Moomin's heart skip a beat. "I'll be back in spring." He said.

"You promise?" Moomin hadn't meant for it to slip out. Because a promise was like an obligation, a rope that bound you to your word irrevocably, and which you could either get out of by following through with it or breaking it.

Snufkin hated obligations.

"I promise." Came the answer, with no trace of hesitance. "I'll come back to the valley."

Moomin swallowed and nodded, obstinate in not letting anything else escape him. Part of him wanted to cry still.

"The weather is quite dreadful." Moominmamma commented, setting the table for dinner while Moomin lay on the couch, pretending to read a book. "Perhaps the worst storm we had all season."

He didn't answer, turning another page he hadn't actually read. The rain was coming down by the buckets, slamming against the windows with none of the comforting sounds a spring shower normally brought with it. When lightning cracked the sky, Moomin thought of Snufkin, all by himself in his tent, and ached. There came a knock at the door and he jumped up, grateful for a reprise from his worrying.

He was very surprised to see the very subject of his contemplations standing on their doorstep.

"I do not mean to impose," Snufkin began uneasily. "But if it's not too much trouble, perhaps I could uh- Stay inside your house for a little while."

He had taken off his hat, hanging sodden and limp in his grip. His hair was similarly soaked, darker in color than usual, and there was already a small puddle forming around his feet. Moomin stepped aside hastily.

"Of course," He watched as Snufkin gingerly wiped his feet on their doormat, though it did little to remedy all the mud clinging to it. "I was just thinking about you."

Snufkin looked up in surprise and Moomin almost physically clamped a hand over his mouth at his own lack of tact. Why was it so hard for him to keep his mouth in check?

But his friend just smiled, something much like amusement caught on his face. He seemed about to say something, but Moominmamma chooses this exact moment to join them at the door, wiping her paws on a kitchen towel.

"Snufkin," She said, voice warm. "Come to take refuge from this horrible weather have you?"

"Only if it doesn't trouble you too badly," He explained, holding up his drenched hat with one hand. "It seems my tent has a bit of a leaking problem. I won't stay long."

"Nonsense," She ushered him further into the house eagerly, either not noticing or not caring at the mess he left in his wake. "We were just about to have dinner, I'll set you a plate."

"Really, I don't w-" Snufkin started to protest feebly, sputtering a bit but naturally he went completely ignored by Moominmamma.

"You are always welcome in our home." She said fondly, and Moomin could see the statement made Snufkin tense up slightly, uncomfortable at the obvious display of sentiment maybe.

Or at the fact that it was a guarantee, a promise.

"There's really no need," He said quickly, gazing at his feet. "Sorry about your floor."

Moominmamma ignored that too, fussing over him in her usual manner, and Moomin thoughtfully didn't tell Snufkin how glad he was that he was there.

"Why can't I come with you?"

He hated himself almost before the words had left his tongue. It tasted vile, like bile rising up in his throat but getting stuck halfway.

He had even promised never to ask again. He really was selfish.

Snufkin didn't answer immediately. Moomin hoped he hadn't heard him, that he could play it off as something else maybe. That he could pretend he hadn't said anything and they could go back to five minutes before, when things were still easy.

But of course Snufkin had heard.

"Go home, Moomintroll."

It stung. He blinked back tears he didn't want to ever be there. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologize, but Snufkin didn't let him.

"I have to leave now," He wasn't even looking at him anymore. "Just go home."

Moomin watched his best friend's back disappear between the trees, without asking him again if he would be coming back.

You just don't make promises you can't keep.

"I didn't know where else to go."

Snufkin had his eyes closed, his voice barely above a whisper, and as Moomin felt his forehead with one paw, he noticed it was still rather warm, but nowhere near the disconcerting temperature it had been yesterday.

"It's good that you did." He said, trying not to sound too reproachful.

Snufkin inched his eyelids open, his eyes were dark and kind of far away. Like he wasn't really completely there. Moomin wondered if he would recall this conversation in the morning.

"Remember what I told you when we met?" He asked suddenly. Moomin had to lean in real close to understand him, pressing his paws into the mattress. They brushed against Snufkin's side lightly. "About my home being nowhere and everywhere?"

"I remember."

"I lied," Snufkin admitted quietly, frowning just a little bit. "I don't think I have a home at all."

Moomin bit his tongue. It hurt, in a lot of ways. It hurt very much. But he didn't want to say something selfish again. He didn't want to say something bad.

So he pressed their foreheads together instead, felt the heat radiating from Snufkin's skin and well, odds are Snufkin isn't going to remember in the morning either way. He can say something a little selfish.

"You do now."

Some promises were sacred and could't be broken. Only splintering them both into tiny pieces, shattered at every corner, could undo what they've made.

The worst kind of obligation.

Snufkin sighed, his exhale tickled against Moomin's fur, and he was still whispering but Moomin could hear him clear as day.

"I'm glad."

Moomin had yet to find a way to make summer last forever.

He had been searching for it, for the longest time. For a way to not need promises at all, fragile as they are. To just keep Snufkin with him forever and ever and never let go.

Selfish.

"Will you come back?"

Snufkin laughed, light and easy, as he throws his backpack over one shoulder. It sounded like music to Moomin's ears. "I'll be back in spring."

"You promise?"

Reaching out, intertwining their fingers together for a brief moment, Snufkin looked as if he was seriously needing to consider it, but Moomin knew he was just teasing.

"I promise." He said at length, letting go reluctantly. "I'll come home, as always."

And at the end of the day that's the only promise Moomin needed.