Author's Notes:

This is NOT the anime where Snufkin is bald and has a gun. That's "Mūmin," the bizarre 1969-1970 Japanese show that Tove Jansson hated. "Shin Mūmin" is the 1970 series, which served as a reboot in terms of tone and content, but also as a sequel in terms of story, with the time between series also having passed in-universe. In this fic, I do acknowledge the series as a sequel for a couple of reasons:
1. Several episodes make more sense in this context. For example, it establishes that this Snufkin does not return regularly in the spring, and has actually been absent for a fairly long time.
2. The idea of Snufkin having a major glow-up in-universe is too funny to ignore.

"Snufkiiiiin!"
Despite hearing the yell, the vagabond continued strumming his guitar. After two long years, Snufkin was finally back in Moominvalley. He had arrived to find Moomin in quite a bit of trouble; the troll somehow managed to break Mr. Hemulen's horn, and was subjecting himself to grueling chores in order to pay for a new one. Feeling bad for his friend, Snufkin slipped Moomin a basket of fruit as he worked, and then finished chopping the firewood while the troll was away. The vagabond decided Moomin had worked enough when he got hurt hauling the wood back to town. After delivering a branch of feverberries to Moominhouse, he retrieved the old horn and repaired it himself, playing his usual tune for a bit before leaving it on Mr. Hemulen's doorstep. Snufkin supposed he could have just helped Moomin without all the secrecy, but he could never resist an opportunity for a little mischief—especially not when Moomin was involved.
"Snufkiiiiin!"
Moomin's shouts had gotten louder. Snufkin smiled to himself; it wouldn't be long now.
"Snufkin!"
"Hey. It's been awhile, Mumi."
Sure enough, Moomin had found the vagabond. The troll rushed over and grabbed Snufkin from behind, wrapping him in a tight hug.
"Welcome back, Snufkin."
After explaining his actions to Moomin and allowing the troll to twirl him around—it seemed he hadn't gotten any less excitable in Snufkin's absence—the two friends walked back to town.
"You haven't changed a bit, Mumi, except I seem to remember you being a little rounder."
Moomin swatted his arm.
"Hey, trolls are supposed to be nice and rounded! Though I suppose you're right—I'm all muscle now!"
He attempted to flex like a circus strongman, making Snufkin chuckle. "I've also grown a little taller," continued Moomin. "Not that can tell, considering your head is practically in the clouds!"
It was Snufkin's turn to look embarrassed. He had left Moominvalley only a few inches taller than Moomin, and returned almost double the other boy's height. The ridiculous growth spurt forced him to break in a whole new set of old clothes, a rather irritating experience. The only items he got to keep were his scarf and hat, the latter of which Moomin was currently trying to snatch off his head.
"And you're not bald anymore, either!" Moomin giggled. "Oh, please let me see what you look like with hair!"
"I wasn't bald, I shaved my head." Snufkin grumbled. Nevertheless, he obliged, removing his hat to reveal his scruffy black hair.
Moomin froze in his tracks. His baby blue eyes went wide, and Snufkin shifted uncomfortably under his friend's gaze.
"Is something wrong, Mumi?"
"N-no! No, of course not," Moomin stuttered. "Uh, come on, let's hurry up and get back to town! I'm sure the others want to see you too!"
As the troll sprinted ahead, Snufkin could have sworn he saw a blush coloring his snout. Plopping his hat back on his head, the vagabond dismissed the thought. It was probably just the evening light.

Snufkin had a problem.
During the few weeks he had been back, he kept catching Moomin acting strange. At first, he could explain away all the seemingly accidental touches, all the stares, all the odd little sighs. But as time wore on and Moomin continued his bizarre behavior, Snufkin ran out of excuses for the troll. The vagabond was emotionally distant, certainly, but he wasn't oblivious.
Moomin had a crush on him.
Even in the privacy of his tent, Snufkin felt the need to cover his face with his hat as he considered the whole situation. Moomin, while not as young as he seemed at times, was still terribly naïve. The vagabond supposed it wasn't too surprising that Moomin would develop a crush on one of the few people he knew from outside the sheltered valley. In the troll's mind, Snufkin was probably some kind of folktale hero, the mysterious wanderer who seemed to know all the answers.
Of course, he was really just an awkward teenager who happened to pick up some useful skills during his travels. Surely Moomin would figure that out eventually.
Snufkin took a deep breath to calm himself. Yes, Moomin would figure it out once he grew up a little more. His silly crush would fade, and then their friendship could go back to normal.
Or he'll just forget about you, hissed the snide little voice in his head. He'll realize you're just a worthless tramp, and he'll never bother giving you another glance.
Snufkin did his best to shake off the nasty thought. Either way, he supposed, he should just enjoy Moomin's friendship for as long as he could.

Spring turned into summer, and summer turned into autumn, and yet the issue of Moomin's crush still wasn't resolved. Sure, the troll calmed down about it, becoming much less obvious with his affections, but Snufkin could still feel it there, permeating every moment they spent together.
It was terrifying.
The vagabond was actually relieved when the cold north wind began blowing and the clouds warned of snow. If he could just grin and bear it for the rest of the season, he'd be able to leave the valley on pleasant terms with Moomin. Snufkin planned on a long journey, far away from the mountains and the snow and the choking feelings that hung in the air, and he didn't intend on coming back until he could be sure this problem was gone.
Hell, he might stay away until Moomin finds someone else and gets married. Snorkmaiden seemed willing enough, so perhaps it wouldn't be a horribly long wait.
Snufkin mused over this plan as he approached his tent. Suddenly, he froze; a sound was coming from inside. It was the strum of a guitar. His guitar.
Wordlessly, he crept into the tent. Moomin sat in the corner, lightly plucking the strings. Snufkin silently reached out and seized the instrument by the bridge, cutting off the sound.
"Hi Snufkin!" Moomin greeted him. Snufkin gave no reply, nor even an indication he had heard it; he just walked across the tent and propped the guitar up against the opposite wall. Without even looking at Moomin, he turned to the woodpile and started a new stack.
1...2...3...4...
"Hey, why do you have a guitar? Everyone was talking about how many memories that guitar must hold."
Snufkin focused solely on counting the logs, letting the rhythm keep him calm. He couldn't let himself get angry. He had to keep his cool.
5...6...7...
Moomin made a small sound, trying to prompt an answer from Snufkin, but the vagabond remained silent.
Wasn't it enough that Moomin and his damn feelings were always hanging around, occupying his every waking moment? Why did the troll have to poke his way into every little facet of Snufkin's life?
8...9...
Moomin opened his mouth as if to speak, but couldn't find any words. Snufkin's coldness seemed to fall over him like a shadow.
Why did Moomin want to be so close?!
10...
"I hate you, Snufkin!"
SMASH!
Snufkin finally looked up. His guitar lay mangled on the ground, and Moomin ran out of his tent sobbing.
Eventually, the sound of Moomin's wails and footsteps faded. Snufkin wanted to cry, himself; he wished he would scream, or sob, anything but this terrible freezing numbness. Try as he might, all he could do was kneel there on the ground, a hollow feeling in his chest. The hateful voice in his head snickered.
Well, he definitely doesn't like you anymore.

Author's Notes: the episodes referenced in this chapter are "Snufkin's Back" (episode 4) and "I Hate You, Snufkin" (episode 51).