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If one cared much about seasons passing, then Moominpappa would say he's come to truly look forward to an early spring. A bright and colorful meadow was one to be appreciated. He found that his bones did not ache nearly as much after a long and well rested hibernation. An unfortunate reality he'd learned, is that Moomin's being large and heavy creatures means that they are prone to be weighed down by it all. He'd thought at first that perhaps it was just because he'd been an adventurer, and it was all catching up to him, but even Moominmamma complained sometimes that her back was feeling stiff.
In recent memory, springs and summers had grown different. While he wouldn't say this was a bad different, it was… Different.
Like, for example, that one could expect the Joxter to arrive some seasons. Which he'd once thought impossible. After he'd vanished so many years ago, he'd thought him never to return. And then he did, just as a Mumrik would, with striking casualness and not a concern about where he'd been. That was some winters ago, and what a tense summer that was, by the Booble, he'd never seen Snufkin look so put off. Nerves were high all the way into the winter.
But it worked itself out, it always does, with a little advice of course, which Moominpappa was more than happy to give. And now he could suspect that the Joxter may return for a visit in the summer. He'd promised to return at least once every midsummer, and then he hadn't come back for two full cycles, only to show up again and find it confusing that anyone expected him to remember what he'd promised.
This summer he returned and it was quite a surprise. Infact, Moominpappa hadn't even known he was in the valley at first. They hadn't had a moment to speak yet that day, so when the Joxter had wandered up onto the Veranda, he'd been quite pleased to see him.
“Is that you, Joxter?!’ He exclaimed, grinning.
“Hello Moominpappa.” The Joxter tipped his hat, he finished the last step onto the veranda and then turned to look out over the valley. Somewhere quite distant, the children were playing.
“It's good to see you, old friend.” Moominpappa said.
He held his guitar in one paw, absentmindedly tapping his claw against the side. It was rather beaten up, surely standing the test of time, but it had beautiful engravings of trees and leaves and feathers along its edges. He wondered if the Joxter did that himself, or if he'd found it that way.
“I didn't think you were going to visit this summer.” Though he'd heard wind of his arrival already, for whatever reason he just didn't think the Joxter would make the time to say hello to him. “Have you come to play me some tunes now?” Moominpappa looked up from his poems.
The Joxter turned to him with a smirk. “Of course not.” He said. “Your poor ears, they couldn't take much more.”
Moominpappa scoffed, and pulled off his hat. His ears pointed straight up, thankful to be granted some fresh air. His hearing was not that poor, and besides he actually thought the Joxter played quite well. If it was the one thing he was going to devote some time to, he'd done a good job of it.
The Joxter inched around the table, dropping the guitar down to lean against one of the chairs. He hopped up onto the railing, catching himself with his claws, and settled leaning against one of the pillars. His tail flickered back and forth absentmindedly, and he once again cast his gaze to watch the children far off in the meadows.
“When did you start, anyway?” Moominpappa asked. “You didn't play when you were young.”
“I couldn't possibly remember.” The Joxter admitted, he rested his hands over his knees.
“You couldn't remember much of anything.” Moominpappa gruffly reminded him. It's true, he's not one to save an important date.
The Joxter turned his head a bit to glance his way, and there was something off in the way that he regarded him. For a moment, Moominpappa thought he'd offended him somehow. Is it really offensive to point out a truth? Not everyone must have a wonderful memory, not everyone can. Though his memory is quite good if he must say so himself.
The Joxter always remembered the little things, but never the big ones. Small details, worldly things, things that one might have said to him, or things he's set his mind on, but if he promised you one important thing he'd never recall doing so. But perhaps it was an act, just another fib of his that Moominpappa had fallen for. It is quite easy to get away with something if you just forget about it.
The Joxter looked down at him from his perch. “One chooses to forget some things.” He says.
“I'd never.” Moominpappa replied.
“Of course not.” He smirked. “You'd like to have them all in writing.”
Moominpappa scoffed. “Really, you don't remember when you picked it up?”
The Joxter scratched himself behind his ear, a little thing he did when he was deep in thought. “Some decade ago.” He spoke, uncertain.
“Decade?” Moominpappa exclaimed. A decade? Truly? That couldn't be right…
But the Joxter simply nodded. “Yes, it must be close to a decade.” He turned to Moominpappa with a wry smile. “As I said, I truly can't remember.”
“It can't have been that long—” Moominpappa muttered. The Joxter didn't play guitar when they were young, he didn't play when Snufkin was born either—and with a start, he realized something. How had time passed so fast?
By the Booble—they hadn't spoken for nearly a decade! Perhaps even longer. And admittedly, he had hardly noticed the time coming along. Till he thought of it now, a decade is so much time to miss, and so much time to be uncertain of.
A quiet guilt had begun to form, settling in his stomach and making a home there. Perhaps he could have made a better effort to remain in touch, but now that he thinks of it, there must be so much that he no longer knows about Joxter. Is he still illiterate? Is that why he never sent a letter? Or was there just no interest in doing so? Much has changed, much that they've not found time to talk about. Much to do with the past, how Hodgkins had stopped returning his letters long ago, the fact that neither of them have heard of the Muddler for even longer.
He supposed in a way, they've stood the test of time. Which is quite a turn of fate, because he'd never have thought It would be the Joxter who stuck around, who returned to him all these years later. Maybe he should have, or maybe he should have thought deeper on their connection.
“Ah, and there you were boasting about your memory.” the Joxter chuckled. “I'd think you would have kept track of time?”
Moominpappa huffed. “Well, much changes in a decade—”
“You've forgotten!” The Joxter exclaimed, teasing. Moominpappa groaned.
“Forgotten, what?”
The Joxter eases his tone, but Moominpappa swears his laugh sounded somewhat bitter as he spoke again. “You've forgotten me a bit, for one.” He says.
“Goodness, Joxter, I’d never!” Moominpappa raised his voice. “Why—I wouldn't forget you, you're rather important.”
He'd not forget one of his close friends, and what a fool he'd be if he did. There were only four of them on that ship, to think, he'd forget the Joxter of all people? Ridiculous! Perhaps he would have had the man not been wrapped around his tail every other moment, quite a nuisance, he was. He'd sooner forget himself than forget someone so memorable. Even if for all the wrong reasons.
“Am I?” The Joxter purred.
“What has gotten into you?” Moominpappa asked. To accuse him of such things, well it's rather unlike him. He'd thought he wouldn't have cared even if he had forgotten him.
The Joxter relented, his voice evened out and he simply smirked before looking away. “Oh, no, you're right, Moominpappa. I suppose I am talking nonsense.”
Moominpappa knew that tone very well, and it meant the exact opposite of what he'd said. He's speaking sarcastically, and he used to do it quite often on the Oshun Oxtra. If one doubted his forebodings, or misunderstood his wisdom, he'd turn and say ‘oh you're so right, I must be a fool’ but it meant anything but. And he loved doing it to Hodgkins and Moominpappa in particular because it always wound them up.
“Is there a reason for you to talk nonsense?” Moominpappa dares to ask.
The Joxter looks back at him, but the smile on his face is gone. Left behind is nothing but vacant eyes. “You do have a tendency to forget the little things.”
Moominpappa feels an unusual tension in that. It settles over the veranda like a fresh blanket of snow. Or maybe more like heavy rain, with the way it lingers and seeps into the floorboards. What could that mean, what could he have said to offend him so much?
Oddly, he thinks he knows, but he'd not give it a single thought if he can help it. He thinks this isn't truly about forgetting, because he doesn't forget anything. But, well, it's like the Joxter just said, one chooses to forget some things. That doesn't mean that one will never remember them again.
“And what am I forgetting?”
It feels like stepping on a loose stone when he asks, and the Joxter's reply may decide if he plunges into freezing waters.
“I've mentioned it.” The Joxter says.
“You—” Moominpappa chokes on his own words, and he thinks he knows what this is about. “Goodness, Joxter, must you?”
He's not sure he wants to talk about the past, at least not that past, not when he's living in the future now. He hasn't thought about it in a decade, but it almost makes sense, they've spoken so scarcely in this time together, it was bound to find its way to them eventually.
“We were children back then.” Moominpappa murmurs.
“But we were not stupid.” The Joxter replies, uncharacteristically solemn sounding.
He has one knee up and he grips his claws into it as if it may slip away at any moment. That guilt comes back tenfold, along with some frustration. The Joxter is right, one should forget some things, some things that don't need to be brought up.
The Joxter seems to notice his turmoil. “Moominmamma is a lovely woman.” He says.
“She is.”
“It's wonderful that she has someone such as yourself, you know.” The Joxter just keeps talking. “And for you as well.”
Moominpappa settles into his chair, feeling rather dejected. But he must say something.
“As is the Mymble.” He murmurs back, but this does not elicit what he'd expected from the Joxter, he looks taken aback. He frowns, and casts his face away just as quickly.
“I'm sorry, did I—?”
The Joxter shakes his head. As if he thinks he can will this conversation to stop. He started it, how is it ever supposed to end?
“I thought—” Moominpappa begins, and cuts himself off again. “Don’t you still love her?”
Perhaps they'd had a falling out, he hadn't taken the time to check in all this time. He'd hate to think he may have brought up something sore when he intended to lighten the tone.
“I love her everyday.” The Joxter smiled, tilting his head back to look at Moominpappa. “But you know how we are.”
That hits him like ice down his pelt. Yes of course he knows but it's almost striking to hear in this context. The Mymble has loved so many before the Joxter and will surely continue to love more after him. Truly he doesn't know how she does it, keeping her heart full for all those children and all those passing lovers. Moomins are not that way, he could never do that. And that thought is somewhat stabilizing in an unfortunate way. He's certain, he could never live that life.
He swears there's an implication behind that, one that he knows he couldn't fulfill. Way back then the Joxter and the Mymble seemed so in love they were like children who'd never seen the sun before. She was always looking at him like he was so wonderful, and he too was trailing after her nearly all the time. They frolicked in fields and whispered into each other’s ears. The Joxter could curl up perfectly in her huge lap and he always seemed so comfortable there.
But at the same time he'd flee from her, run so many miles away for months or years and eventually he didn't come back anymore. Maybe Moominpappa misunderstood, perhaps he misread the situation. Did he not want to just be one of the Mymbles lovers? He'd clearly longed for more, longed for his freedom, longed for something.
And—goodness, had the Joxter longed for him?
He'd not noticed until—well he'd not noticed. And that thought made him feel quite remorseful. Was it wrong of him to not think anything of it? When the Joxter looked at him the way he did, when he snuck through his window, or called his name. All the times he sought him out. Was he wrong to think it meant nothing?
And was it horrible of him, then, after that night they'd had together. To still think it meant nothing?
It was a king’s party, not the first one on that day they arrived, this was another some months later. That king quite liked to throw a party, with Hodgkins as his royal inventor of some sort, whatever he was, Moomin was quite annoyed with him at the time. But because of that, the whole of the Oshun Oxtra's crew were expected to attend. But he hadn't wanted to really be there.
Moomin was frustrated, to say the very least. He felt something cold in him that wouldn't let him rest, it chilled him to his bones and then some. He felt very lonely in a way that's very odd, for having lived on a ship with three other fellows for so many seasons, he never thought he'd find himself alone again. And Hodgkins ruffled him up quite a bit, being so busy and not finding time for them. He missed him terribly.
Even at the party he wouldn't spare some time for Moomin. He'd had to grab his arm to get him to say hello, and even then he’d merely brushed him off.
“You seem well, Moomin.” Hodgkins had said. Already looking away as if he wanted to be leave.
“Not quite.” Moomin wanted to tell him that he'd been feeling so lonely.
“Enjoying the King's party?” Hodgkins had asked quickly, with some underlying bitterness. He didn't like parties, he liked to work.
“Yes, but—”
“Great. Excuse me, I must be going now, Moomin.” And then he'd turned and fled so fast that Moomin couldn't chase after him. Did he dislike him? Was he so important now that he couldn't spare time for a little Moomin like him?
No of course not, he's just busy and Moomin was perhaps being too clingy. But that didn't stop him from sulking all throughout the night. He sat at the nearest table he could find and pouted with his snout in his paws. The Muddler left him to dance with a maiden, a tall short furred creature that he'd been very enamored by. And the Joxter was probably taking a nap on the Mymble somewhere.
He's not jealous, of course. He just—well he misses the ship, he misses adventuring together with his friends. Now that the Oshun Oxtra has been taken onto shore and it's being repurposed, it all truly feels over. He's not sure what to do with himself then.
But he was wrong about the Joxter, for he was not with the Mymble, or atleast, she was not there when he arrived. He found Moomin moping and overthinking and looking quite sorry for himself, and smiled in that way that he always does.
“Moomin?” He'd called out.
Moomin dragged his eyes over to look at the Joxter, who was standing very close to him. Light on his paws, that one, he hadn't even heard him coming.
“Hello, Joxter.” Moomin sighed.
“What are you looking so sad for?” The Joxter asked.
“I've got quite a bit to be sad about, thank you.” Moomin huffed, and the Joxter just smiled wider.
“well you’re not very busy then, are you?”
“I’m not in the mood for you right now, Joxter.” Moomin pointed his snout all the way away from him.
But he just kept standing there and looking at him, really, he was acting so needy, what could he possible want that was so important? Moomin went on ignoring him. Abruptly, he reached out his paw as if he were offering something up, but his palm was empty. Moomin found it quite strange and confusing, but he figured it may just be a trick, so he didn't respond.
“Will you dance with me?” The Joxter asked.
Moomin swore he was hearing things, he swiveled his ears back and then forward again and blinked a few times. Shouldn't he dance with the Mymble? But he didn't ask that question, because the Joxter seemed like the type who didn't care.
“Your dancing is very poor.” Moomin simply replied, looking away.
He wasn't wrong! The Joxter had only ever danced in front of him once at the first Kings party, with the Mymble and then by himself, he's very clumsy and he's very uncoordinated.
“Yes, you said I embarrass myself.” The Joxter said, his arm going slack.
Had he said that? Well he'd probably meant it at the time.
“And you'll trample my tail, knowing you.” Moomin huffed.
“I will take off my boots.” He offered.
What a strange thing to be set on. He didn't usually push things this far if it wasn't worth the effort. Now it certainly felt like a nasty trick was underway.
“Must you bother me, I'm very sad.” Moomin complained. He did not have the patience to feel betrayed by Hodgkins and then fall for one of Joxter's tricks all in one night.
“Are you?”
“Yes!”
“If you're sad, shouldn't you want to do something other than this?” He gestured vaguely to how Moomin was slouching on the table.
By the booble, he is so dreadfully obnoxious sometimes! Acting as if he'd understand a thing, Moomin had quite a good reason to be unhappy. Perhaps he wanted to be miserable forever, just because he can. He didn't want to dance with the Joxter, a scruffy fellow like him was doomed to be a dreadful dance partner. Yet, it was this, or he stayed sulking until the night was over. Did he really want to spend the whole night thinking about why Hodgkins had so rudely ditched him earlier? The answer is likely no, but he was very stubborn all the same, so he made sure to look very angry about it as he gave in.
“Fine, Joxter.” Moomin groaned. He reached out his paw and the Joxter entangled his sharp fingers with Moomins soft rounded ones. So tightly wound that he nearly squeaked.
And he made the Joxter strip off his shoes as well, just to ensure he wouldn't get any sharp heels stabbing his tail or his foot. He made sure to seem quite displeased as the Joxter led him out into the clearing.
The Kings party was held in a large yard, out beneath the wide open sky. The floor was hard dirt and spanned out very far. All around them were trees, but he could see the lights of attractions shining through the horizon, and the shape of Ferris wheels and carousels sticking out over the trees. There were not many other creatures in the clearing, but it was very dark here so perhaps he just couldn't see the littler ones. He kept an eye out for the Muddler and his maiden, but they were nowhere to be found.
“I think the Muddler's found someone.” Moomin absentmindedly spoke, feeling quite solemn about the whole thing.
The Joxter slowed his walking and looked back at him. His eyes were frightening in the dark, they stood out against the night and nearly glowed. The only colorful thing left after the night has settled, and he always stares like his full attention was on Moomin.
“Who is she?” He curiously asks.
Moomin shrugs. “She's a short furred creature, she looks like a mouse.” He frowned. “She's pretty.”
“Is that so wrong? It would seem the Muddler likes her.” The Joxter pulled him further along, speeding up.
“Of course it's not wrong.” Moomin mutters. “Just—I’m not sure—don't you think everyone is moving forward so fast.”
The Joxter, as if on cue, skidded to a stop and spun around to face him, still holding his paw very tight.
“Yes, sometimes.” He says.
Thats quite surprising, he didn't think the Joxter worried about these things at all. He'd have assumed he was too busy thinking about sleeping, and eating, and climbing trees, and the Mymble, to ever have a very deep thought.
“But the Muddler is happy, what is there to worry for?” The Joxter pressed his side very close to him, their arms flattened between them.
They were nearly the same height now, if the Joxter took off his hat then Moomin's ears would probably just barely stand taller than him. After so long being the tiniest he was quite thankful to find himself growing taller than him. But the Joxter had a strange way of making one feel small, even for a shorter creature like him.
Moomin felt his fur growing hot. “Nothing, I suppose.” He grumbled.
“Love hits one suddenly.” The Joxter says. “I'd say let him have it.”
“Must you stand so close?” Moomin asked, irritated.
Moomin glared over at him, but he just grinned back. His scruffy hair pressed up against Moomin's ear and it was rather an unpleasant and itchy feeling. Then he readjusted his hat and pulled away, letting go of his paw as he did so. He took a few steps away and put his arms behind his back, it looked rather silly for him, acting like he knows what he's doing.
“Shall we begin?” Moomin asked, feeling rather disinterested.
“Are you not the expert?” The Joxter leaned forward, arms behind his back.
Moomin gawked. “You asked me!”
"Did I?"
"Yes you did." Moomin huffed. Joxter didn't reply for a moment so he went on. "And when you invite someone to do something, you're supposed to take charge of it."
Joxter came toward him quite fast, too quick for Moomin to react. He swiftly took hold of his paws and leaned in very close to him.
“Oh, but I wouldn't want to embarrass myself, you know you're so much better than me at this.”
Now he knows what his trick was. He intends to humiliate him. The Joxter never has any reason to stroke his ego except for when he finds it funny to do so. He thinks him quite pompous, of course. Well, it's not his fault if he knows what he's good at.
“You're making fun of me.” He grumbled. Yet he still tightened his grip on the Joxter's paws.
“Am I?” The Joxter averted his gaze, shifty eyes flickering back and forth. But he couldn't hold back a smile, nor the fondness in his tone.
“Yes you are, you don't really think I'm a good dancer.”
Moomin tried to pry his paws away, but wound up just pulling them down a bit , now nose to nose with Joxter. He was practically purring the more irritable he became, and it got on his nerves all too quickly.
"Oh? Are you very terrible at it?" Joxter replied with faux innocence.
"Well you'd like to think so." Moomin muttered back.
Joxter just kept smiling at him, like this was the most amusing thing in the world. Or as if they were playing a game of cards and he was on a winning streak.
"Hm, would I?"
"Quit it already!" Moomin groaned. And he ought to stop making that dreadful purring sound before he really loses his temper. "Goodness, you would make a terrible date."
Poor Mymble must be so frustrated with him all the time! Moomin is certain that he would be, if he were in her position.
Joxter paused for a moment, his mouth settled into a confused little frown and his eye twitched. Moomin swore that his face had turned a little pink, but just as quickly he was shaking out his hair and grinning as if nothing had come over him. His tail began swaying, very quickly, it could not possibly be stopped.
"A date? Oh You're right, what a horrible date I am." Joxter shook his head.
"Huh?" Moomin hadn't quite been thinking about what he'd said.
"How dreadfully unromantic this is." Joxter went on.
"I didn't mean---"
"No, Moomin, you're very right once again. I suppose I ought to sweep you off your feet." He teased, or at least, It felt like a tease to Moomin.“Then I suppose I should start us off.” The Joxter tilted his head, and his tail flicked mischievously.
Moomin was still trying to understand it all when he realized quite quickly what was wrong. That look! Oh dear, he was up to something. “Well—” Moomin began.
But all too suddenly the Joxter reeled back, pulling Moomin with him as he tripped backwards. Moomin found his snout slamming into the Joxter's chest and his arms flew around his middle to ground himself. The Joxter laughed, a horrible wheezing sound, and Moomin thought he may growl if only he was able to.
“Joxter!” He gritted out through his teeth, positively furious.
This was not a dance, he was just throwing him around! He wouldn't put up with such a foolish display, really, that was so childish. He wouldn't let him get away with teasing him like that any longer.
The Joxter had nearly doubled over with laughter, and Moomin felt his snout turning pink, he pushed himself up away from him and stood at attention. Paws on his hips and looking rather upset.
"Joxter, what's the matter with you! " Moomin complained.
"I stepped wrong." The Joxter purred back, still giggling, and his sense of joy at Moomin's misfortune got him quite riled up.
“Ugh. Fine! I'll take the lead!” Moomin huffed. “Goodness, Joxter, you can't take a single thing seriously in your life!”
“Is this so serious?” The Joxter purred, still giggling as he readjusted his hat.
“Yes it is!” He narrowed his eyes and glared at him. “Now, give me your paws.”
The Joxter finally stood up straight, curiosity evident in his wide eyes. He offered up one of his paws for Moomin to take. Moomin stepped up to him, raising their entangled paws up, and very carefully putting his other paw on the Joxter's hip. Then quickly he slid it up to his side, upon feeling embarrassed about holding him that way. The Joxter threw his free arm over Moomin's shoulder and leaned in close, Moomin reeled back, bending his spine uncomfortably.
The Joxter was not very good at it, as expected, but he seemed to be having fun regardless, which is so terribly odd. He followed along Moomin's footsteps, always one step too close or too far and he kept nearly tripping him with his tail.
“I was right, you're an awful dance partner.” Moomin complained.
“I am trying my best.” The Joxter smiled, and once again stepped on his tail.
“Certainly not, you're making a joke of it.”
“Isn't everything a joke in itself?” The Joxter pushed his paw back, leaning in closer.
“No.”
“Oh, should you show me what to do, then?” His eyes narrowed, they were so bright, so interested in him at this moment—and for a second, Moomin thinks something very alarming.
The Joxter always spoke as if he were telling riddles, everything is a question, everything urges one to think deeply about what he's said. It’s always very confusing, not because he's not smart enough to get it, it's because the Joxter's brain is full of nonsense.
Then he suddenly let go of his paw and wrapped his arms around Moomin. He had to take a few steps back, and in an instant, the Joxter had taken control over the dance, spinning the two of them around. Moomin hardly noticed that their tails had slotted together. He felt… strangely flustered, entranced. He knew he was probably pink all the way to his ears, his fur felt hot and he swore he may start sweating. But he had to get the upper paw back, lest the Joxter make fun of him for it.
“Hey now! I-I was showing you—” Moomin stutters, goodness, the Joxter had won if his intention truly was to embarrass him.
But the Joxter doesn't laugh, he doesn't tease, he doesn't flash his teeth and ask confusing questions that wrap around Moomin's brain and make him feel stupid. He just looks…genuinely like he's enjoying this, he looks pleased with himself.
“Of course, do show me, Moomin.” The Joxter loosens his hold on him, he'd practically wrapped himself around Moomin.
He can't help but think that this is exactly what the Mymble does, when she folds the Joxter up in her big arms and squeezes the life out of him like he's her favorite stuffed toy. And now he's all over Moomin in the same way, he finds himself quite unsure how to think about it. There's something new and different to this.
"I will." Moomin declares, quite confidently.
Then he shuts his mouth and stands up tall, the sudden urge to prove himself is overwhelming. He holds a stern look on his face, and pushes the Joxter back a bit. He seems confused, not quite catching on yet, because he's never seriously danced a day in his life. Moomin gets into position, both paws entwined, he takes a step back.
"One step back." Moomin says, and Joxter complies. "Don't tred on my tail."
"I promise I won't."
"I haven't a reason to believe you." Moomin murmurs. "forward, Joxter!"
Joxter stumbles after him, nearly twisting his legs as he does, so terribly clumsy he is, for someone so nimble, he truly can't dance to save his life. It's honestly quite amusing, Moomin might even say he likes it.
Well, only because he gets to be in control, of course. And nothing to do with clumsy Joxter smiling like that and bumping into him. Nothing at all.
He follows the beat about as well as he can--- tripping over Moomin's tail at every opportunity and then laughing about it each time he tells him to be careful. Yet still, he quite obediently moves where Moomin tells him to, even if he isn't very good at it. So over all its gone quite smoothly.
"Very thrilling." Joxter absentmindedly comments. He'd been staring Moomin right in the eyes for a while, and seemed almost entranced.
"Well this is how it is." Moomin replies. "This is a slow type of music, so you have to dance this way."
"Oh, I'm sure."
He could sweep him off his feet, if he really wanted to. He could show him something fun. Then he wonders why he thought of that at all, what they're doing now is calm and pleasant, it's quite alright.
But, he knows a few impressive moves, not that he's danced with many others before---and that's not because no one wants to dance with him, he's just not had the time---but Joxter is quite clueless about the whole thing, so if anyone was to be surprised it would be him. The thought of surprising him back for once was quite a fun one.
"I'll show you something." Moomin gripped his paws very tight.
Then he pulled away, and now they were held together with only one paw each, he pulled back far. Then he moved ahead, raising their paws up over the Joxter’s head, and with haste he dove forward and spun him around.
The Joxter immediately laughed, but he cuts off into silence as Moomin quickly caught him. He's a little heavy, but he's strong enough to keep him steady with only one paw around his waist.
One of the Joxter’s paws hovers over where Moomin's rests firmly on his hip, and the other entangled with Moomins paw, gripping it like a lifeline. Even the Joxter, for a second, is breathless. Moomin relishes in having flustered him, before he even realizes why he's proud of it.
Their paws come apart, and the Joxter slides his arm over his shoulder. Something about the way he's watching him is very different, as if daring him to come closer, but Moomin feels too put off to do such a thing. Had he meant to be so romantic about it? There wasn't any denying that this is perhaps a very compromising position.
Joxter continues to stare, catching Moomin in a trance that makes him feel quite lost. The night feels deathly silent now, had there been music before? Voices? Now it feels like the two of them are the only ones who occupy this space. His eyes still seem to glow in the moonlight, like just a few more stars in the night sky. But now, Moomin swears he's seeing it differently. He thinks they may be beautiful.
The Joxter’s eyes narrow with a sly grin, then he slinks back up toward him, and wraps both his arms around Moomin's neck. He’s slow about it and Moomin hardly notices it happening, his paws hesitated in the air as the Joxter pressed so impossibly close to his body, pushing himself to the tips of his feet and staring right into Moomin’s eyes.
Bright, blue, unyielding. It's like staring into the shifting ocean, so deep and big and impossible to understand.
Moomin doesn't risk a single word, lest he break whatever spell they're under. And the Joxter—he aims for his mouth.
It's nearly impossible for them to kiss, because the Joxter is a Mumrik and he's a Moomin, he couldn't get under his big snout far enough to do it properly. He gets about as close as he can, and Moomin finds himself tipping his head to the side to try and make it work. It doesn't, but the Joxter still grips both paws into the fur of his cheeks and presses a firm kiss to the side of his snout, just short of where his mouth is. He holds on so tight, as if he fears Moomin will disappear from him. But he doesn't think that he will, he doesn't think he'd like to move from here at all.
The Joxter then buries his nose in the thick fur around his neck, which is far more puffed out than it should be. Moomin can't believe that just happened. And at the same time, finds that he's settled his paws on the Joxter's waist and pulled him in.
That was something. Is all he can think for a moment, his skin beneath his fur is burning hot. That wasnt what he expected.
It's inappropriate, is what it really is, it's strange, he's never even thought of this before. He hadn't even conceived the thought of it being possible.
The Joxter was scruffy, he was shifty eyed and lazy and did nothing but sleep and lay around all day. He always reeked like dirt and filth, never ever washed himself properly. He ate animals in the woods, for goodness sake, he was practically wild!
And he didn't care for intellectual things, didn't know how to read or write and wouldn't have learned even if one begged him to. Moomin didn't think him to be very smart, because he didn't aspire for anything, he lived every moment in the present. He was always speaking in circles that made him dizzy with confusion and dread. They were nothing alike, really, the Joxter was a strange little creature, maybe even a nasty one. Had someone told him this may happen, he'd say that were out of their mind.
He'd never thought of him to be his type. He's nothing like Moominmamma, who is kind and beautiful and always knew how to make him see straight when he was acting a fool. She was so smart and so loving, smelled like roses and all things one might find pleasant.
But then if he wasn't? Why did he pull him in, why did he return his affections to begin with? He didn't think he'd ever know, but something overtook him that night, something came over them both.
They were young, is what he keeps telling himself. Moomin was nineteen and the Joxter was whatever age he is. He looked different then than he does now, clean faced and a bit younger. There was still a boyish look to him, his eyes were still too big and his jaw wasn't nearly as defined as it is now. And Moominpappa was somehow even rounder and even fluffier, he didn't use to comb his fur back then, so it always stuck up in odd places. Not always pristine and white, sometimes he was stained because he was still awkward with how he moved and he'd slip in puddles.
But they weren't stupid. He realizes that. This wasn't their usual childish fooling around, it meant something.
He remembered feeling a sudden flood of shame, when the mesmerizing fog of the night finally stilled and he could suddenly hear everything again. And he realized where he was and who he was with. The Joxter, he'd just done something very strange with him, hadn't he? He felt utterly ashamed and embarrassed. His fur bristled and his paws shook for a moment.
His paws, that held the Joxter pressed up against him. That were gripping the others hips like they may vanish at any moment. His paws which had never wandered there before.
He didn't think, he just shoved him away as far as he could and reeled back. He nearly tripped, stumbling over his own tail in his attempt to escape, and he threw his paws over his chest just to have control of them again.
The Joxter stood up straight, a little thrown off from being so harshly pushed. His expression was unreadable, wide eyed and completely vacant. His eyes were no longer beautiful, they felt like they had him pinned in place.
“W-well this party was wonderful.” Moomin sputtered, crossing his arms, lest they wander to dangerous places again. He was so ashamed, the Joxter should be furious with him for touching him like that. It was terribly inappropriate. “Really, but, uhm—”
“…I think—I think I really should be going now.” He tried to avoid looking at him, but he couldn't stop sneaking glances.
The Joxter's tail had begun to twitch, and so did one of his eyes. His expression soured, with merely a slight downward turn of his eyes, now he was glaring at him.
What he didn't know then, he knows now, and what he saw in his eyes that night was not really anger, it was hurt. Maybe Joxter thought it to be repulsion, but it was not, it was dreadfully the opposite. Moomin couldn't have faced whatever he'd just done, he couldn't acknowledge whatever he'd just felt. Couldn't explain why he'd liked it.
Moomin fled before he could think on it any longer, he ran from the party and he ran from the Joxter. From that endless suffocating night, and the music and the lights. From Hodgkins, and his fears, and all the things he hated to think about. All the way back home and then he put himself to bed and tried not to let his mind wander ever again.
He'd felt so horribly guilty about it afterwards, that the next time he saw the Joxter he'd actually apologized to him. Granted it was a rather poor one. His pride wouldn't let him really admit to whatever he'd been thinking that night, so he just said he was sorry. Genuinely, he was.
But it seemed like the last thing that the Joxter had wanted to hear. For he'd never seen him look so crestfallen, he'd seemed so disappointed, but he couldn't have noticed then, too caught up in convincing himself that he'd done something wrong. Joxter complied, he just pushed it off, said something rather cryptic that he didn't quite remember, but it sounded like Forgiveness. And then they never spoke of it again.
To say he didn't think about it again would be untrue, he did, a few times. He wondered what overcame him that night, and he found himself looking differently at his friend. Some nights, when he was alone, he let himself think about it in a deeper sense. Sometimes he found that he wouldn't mind it happening again. If only there were another Kings party, if only they found an excuse to dance again. Maybe he could have talked about it, perhaps he could have understood it better. But nothing of the sort ever came in time, and by the time it did they'd already both been pretending it never happened.
Moominpappa had chosen to forget that night, after a few passing months he went right back to fretting over Hodgkins and feeling very lonely. Then he was married, loved someone new, and his feelings had dropped back to how they should be. He stopped thinking of it all together, now he just wished he'd come by again only just to know he's still alive. Only just to have a friend to chat with on warm summer evenings, someone to sit by on the veranda who knew him all those years ago.
“I'm not that way.” Moominpappa finally replied after a prolonged silence.
“I would never expect you to be.” The Joxter proclaimed.
Moominpappa felt that the quiet intervals between speech were suffocating, just a heavy weight that bore down on him. It was like he was there again, so lost and confused, and so very small.
“...I don't forget very much.” Moominpappa finally spoke. “Not even the details, no, I remember them quite well.”
The Joxter scoffed. “Yes, of course, your memory is rather brilliant.”
But that's not what he meant by it and he dreads the thought of being misunderstood again, especially not in such a dire context.
“No, Joxter.” He turns to look right at him. “I remember. Even the little things, I remember them.”
The Joxter looked away, something solemn crossed his face, the tip of his tail flicked back and then forward again. He risked a glance back at the valley, but the children were long gone by now. There was nothing more to look at.
“Even the little things?” He murmurs back, so quiet and so very unlike him.
“You're talking about the King's party?” Moominpappa finally exclaims.
“Was it a King's party?” The Joxter looks at him, he's always so quick to change up his expression.
“Yes, it was.” He says, rather matter-of-factly, because he knows it to be true.
“All I remember was that we danced.” The Joxter smiled fondly as he spoke. There was a casual air to his tone but Moominpappa felt anything but.
“And?”
“And what, Moominpappa?” The Joxter tilted his head to the side, curious eyes trained only on him. “Nothing came of it.”
Moominpappa tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but can't quite get rid of that unsettling feeling. He's never typically been one to watch his words, but one can never know what the right words are in this situation. He's not young anymore, he can't speak with confidence and ignore everyone else because if they didn't get it then they were the fools. He doesn't think the Joxter to be a fool, he thinks him to be quite clever and quite attentive. And more importantly, not someone that he wants to hurt.
“Had you…” Moominpappa begins, swallowing again when the words don't come out. “...Wanted something to come of it?”
The Joxter regards him curiously, as if this conversation were just like any other. Any sense of bitterness that Moominpappa may have sensed is gone. Now he just seems, strangely, quite content.
“It was enough for me.” He says.
“You're telling me a fib, aren't you?” Moominpappa solemnly asks.
“A fib? Are we children?”
“Well you quite like to lie like one.” He snaps.
“...You are utterly and entirely the same.” The Joxter purrs, a small laugh rumbling up from his throat.
Moominpappa finds himself smiling, if only a little bit. “And you are completely different.”
The Joxter seems to take a moment to think on that. “…I suppose that's why we never worked out, is it?”
Moominpappa stumbles into silence, tries to think up a retort, but finds that he can not speak. So much for being eloquent, it fails him now when he needs it.
“Ah…” Moominpappa looks away. “That was my fault, was it?”
The Joxter tilts his head again, and smirks, which to him reads as; ‘yes it is your fault but let's not point fingers now’. But how could one not point blame after how he'd reacted?
“I am sorry for that.” He fidgets with a pen on the table. “To leave you at that party by yourself, after—… What a horrible thing to do to a friend.”
The Joxter doesn't respond, not for a few seconds, and then not for a while. In fact he's silent so long that Moominpappa grows concerned that he may have fled, and he lifts his head up quickly—but he is still sitting there, he's just…Not looking his way anymore.
“Can't you forgive me?” Moominpappa stares at him, and finds that he actually cares quite a lot about this whole thing.
“If I hadn't forgiven you a long time ago, Moomin, would I be here now?” The Joxter still doesn't look at him, his head is pointed down and he can't see his eyes between the tip of his hat and his dense bangs.
“I suppose not.” Moominpappa huffs.
Finally, the Joxter looks at him again, there's a look in his eye that he's not familiar with. Something a little sad but not nearly as miserable as what he'd expected.
“One can't help but regret, though.” Moominpappa says, still so mesmerized in trying to read his eyes that he hardly notices his own voice.
The Joxter looks genuinely alarmed for a second, his tail swings sharply to one side and twitches quite dramatically. Then he calms himself again all the same, but that nerve doesn't let go.
“You've a wonderful life here, Moominpappa.” The Joxter tells him. “You’ve a beautiful home and a family.”
“I know this.” Moominpappa blinks.
“And you've always wanted this life.”
Moominpappa tipped his head down, staring at the table before him, and the Veranda, the one that he'd built with his own paws. If he never loved Moominmamma he would not have gone wild building an entire house for her. Goodness, he'd been quite a lovesick fool, but she'd deserved all the love that one could give.
In a way, it feels like a different life has stepped up in front of him and settled down right beside the life he already has. Perhaps a life where he sought after a lazy ship cat. But that was not the path he'd followed, and the one he'd lead himself down had been quite fulfilling all the same. Yet with him here, on the veranda, his veranda, it's as if he came from a completely different world. Crossed a barrier when he came up those steps, straight from that warm night at a king's party, and right into the comfortable world that was his home. He was a memory in every sense of the word, and now he is a real man before him.
Solemnly, Moominpappa nodded. Because he's right, either way. He'd not thought about all of this until it walked right up to him, he'd never trade his love and his home for something he isn't even quite sure he wanted in the first place.
“You mustn't dwell on the past.” The Joxter said, his voice light once more. “Really, Moomin, don't look so sad that you couldn't get into my pants.”
“Joxter!” Moominpappa gawked, completely thrown out of his sulking, he felt his fur grow warm and no doubt he's sure his snout was turning pink. “What is the matter with you!? What a wretched thing to say.”
The Joxter laughed, folding his arms over his chest. His tail flipped up to curl over his lap. “Is it so wrong?”
“Yes!” He exclaimed at once. “I'd never once thought such a thing.”
“I have.” The Joxter purred in reply.
“I don't want to hear a word of it.” Moominpappa stared at him, unblinking. “Really, what a dreadfully strange fellow you are.”
The Joxter didn't stop giggling for a whole minute, as it seemed, this about him had still not changed. Even far back in their youth, he very much loved to tease and get on one's nerves. And it was always a joke to him no matter how upset they got, and Moominpappa was always by far his favorite to mess with. He loved to tell a fib and he loved to make him stutter. The Joxter could spin his brain around in dizzy circles, and of anyone in his life, he was the only one who managed to make him feel utterly clueless.
“Nevermind it.” The Joxter said, waving his paw. “That's in the past, too.”
He kept saying that, don't dwell on it—it was a long time ago, let's not speak of it any longer. Moominpappa found it odd. “...Do you really hate the past so much?”
“Only when it involves Kings parties.” The Joxter said.
“Well certainly when it involves Kings parties, then it's rather important?”
“Rather important indeed.” The Joxter leaned back against the pillar, paw over his eyes. “As are most things, to you.”
“Be serious for a moment.” Moominpappa pleaded. “Without being crude, really, It is important to me. One should regret causing hurt to his friend, for any reason.”
“I am well and fine.” The Joxter said. “What more is there to say?”
That we kissed while dancing at a Kings party. Moominpappa thought helplessly. That isn't something that most friends do.
“You liked me.” Moominpappa quietly announced. Such an odd thing to say aloud, to a fellow like him no less.
The Joxter falls silent for a moment, then he sighs, heavy, as if he hadn't breathed in years. “Yes, Moomin, I liked you.”
Neither of them looked at eachother, Moominpappa’s paw dug deep into the fur of his snout as he watched the clouds mindlessly pass over the valley.
“...Not anymore?” Moominpappa asks.
“Not anymore.” The Joxter pauses for a moment before he says it, but even then he thinks It sounded rather certain.
With that comes a guilt, that the Joxter liked him and he'd pushed him away all the same. It had been so unexpected, he'd kept that hidden very far down, for however long he'd been feeling it. Then Moominpappa threw it right back at him like it had meant nothing. He'd been so aggressive about it too, he hadn't even thought about how harsh that was. It's not like it was so dire, for goodness sake, he'd leaned right into it.
Then all he can really feel is content. And he thinks of Moominmamma and Moomintroll and what on earth a life without them could have entailed, and finds that he doesn't even want to entertain the thought. One shouldn't dwell, not when he has everything he needs right here.
A soft knock sounds from the doorway, and they both quickly twist their heads to see. And Moominmamma stands there. That warm smile on her face, that makes her eyes narrow and her fur push up on her cheeks. And Moominpappa smiles right back, just at the sight of her.
“Oh, Joxter, I hardly said hello to you, did I?” Moominmamma spoke.
“It's nothing to worry for, Moominmamma.” the Joxter tipped his hat to her.
“Well it's lovely to see you again.” She said. “We really are glad to have you back.”
The Joxter smiled back, rather polite, for someone like him. “As am I glad to be back.”
Moominmamma watched the two of them thoughtfully, a fond look in her eyes. “Well I hate to interrupt a pair like you.” She said. “But Moomintroll and I have made some lovely sugar cookies, and it would be quite a waste if no one ate them.”
“Moomintroll made them, did he?” Moominpappa muttered, and the Joxter held in a chuckle.
“He helped.” Moominmamma sternly spoke. “He's quite an eager little chef.”
“Well then, I can't wait to give them a try.” Moominpappa replied.
She was pleased with that answer, turning to step back through the door. “Well then, I'll leave you for now.” She looked between them both. “But do hurry inside, before the pair of you catch a cold.”
“Of course, dear.”
He hadn't noticed that it was growing later into the evening, but now that he thought of it, the air was becoming rather chill. He glanced off at the darkening sky, the clouds had turned pale grey and the horizon was fading into a dull yellow. It was rather a peaceful sight, the valley in the afternoon, when all the flowers stood out stark and colorful against the shadows in the grass. What a pleasant place to live, he momentarily thought. Quiet and beautiful, existing in it's own serene corner of the world. He couldn't have asked for better.
He heard the sound of the Joxter's boots hit the floorboards before he even noticed him jumping down off the railing. He turned to watch him, as he stretched his arms out very far above his head, letting out a quiet trill sound as he did.
“You're off so soon.” Moominpappa said.
He sighed and dropped his arms, readjusting his hat without even a mere glance at Moominpappa. “I am off wherever food has been offered.” The Joxter purred. “You know this.”
“Oh, all too well.” Moominpappa muttered.
The Joxter his paws deep into his pockets, and started for the door. “Well, aren't you coming along?”
Moominpappa blinked, still watching him very intently. He risked another glance at the valley, at the vast Meadows and the forests beyond and the mountains even further. Then he looked back at the doorway, where the Joxter stood.
“You mustn't keep that woman waiting.” the Joxter turned to him.
Moominpappa began to fold up his poems, along with his pen, and he placed his hat firmly back on his head. Then he stood up off his chair and reached for his cane.
“I suppose you're right. Let's be quick, then.”