Snowfall in Nagano – Part 2: Steam and Snow

The outdoor bath was carved into the rocks at the edge of the forest, a steaming pool of pale water with snow piled high along the stone rim. The night was black and silent, the sky thick with stars, and every breath came out as a soft white cloud.

Yuki sank into the water with a groan of pure pleasure. Ren, on the far side of the pool, leaned back against a rock and closed his eyes.

"You're not taking photographs," she said.

"Not tonight," said Ren, without opening his eyes. "I'd like to just be here."

They stayed quiet for a long time. The water lapped gently against the rocks. Somewhere in the trees, an owl called once, and then the snow began to fall again, soft and slow, settling on their hair and shoulders.

"Can I ask you something?" said Yuki.

"Yes."

"What did your father photograph? Before he died?"

Ren was silent for a while. "Old things," he said at last. "Temples. Bridges. People who had lived in one place for their whole lives. He said he was looking for the moment when someone stops being afraid to be seen."

"Did he find it?"

"Once," said Ren. "In a photograph of my mother, laughing at a train station, the day before she left him. He never forgave himself for not asking her to stay."

Yuki swam slowly across the pool, the water warm around her, until she was close enough to see the drops on his lashes.

"Can I ask you something else?" she said.

"Yes."

"Would you like to stop being afraid of being seen? Just for tonight. With me, here, in the steam?"

Ren opened his eyes. They were dark and steady, and there was something raw and grateful in them.

"Yes," he said quietly. "But I'd like to ask you the same."

"Then ask."

"Would you like to be seen by me? Not as a writer, or a stranger in a ryokan. As the woman who laughs at my bad jokes and stays in the snow to finish her book."

Yuki's breath caught, and it came out in a white cloud. "Yes," she said. "I'd like that very much."

He came across the pool, slowly, his hand resting on the rock beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him in the water.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. "Here, under the snow?"

"Yes," said Yuki. "And if I want you to stop, I'll say so, and then we'll both get out before we turn into icicles."

He leaned in and kissed her, slowly, his cold hand coming up to rest against her cheek while the warm water moved around them. The kiss was quiet and steady, tasting of tea and winter air. Snow settled on their hair. Somewhere far below, the inn's lanterns glowed gold along the path.

When they parted, they were both breathing unevenly and smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Yuki. "Very green. Now let's go back inside before the inn sends a search party."

"Let them come," said Ren. "They'll find us in the snow, looking at each other like idiots."

"That," said Yuki, laughing, "is a very good way to be found."

The next morning, the snow had stopped. The mountains stood sharp and blue against a pale sky, and the bridge over the stream glittered with frost. The taxi was waiting at the gate, its engine running, and Yuki stood on the step with her bag on her shoulder and her notebook under her arm.

Ren came out after her, his camera slung over his shoulder.

"You're leaving," he said.

"I'm going back to Tokyo to finish my book," said Yuki. "Then I'm coming back in the spring. If you're still here, with your camera and your lonely photographs."

"I'll be here," said Ren. "And I'll take one of you, in the spring, laughing in the sun. Only if you say yes."

"Yes," said Yuki. "And then I'll take one of you."

He smiled, slow and certain, and kissed her once more on the step, quick and warm, before she climbed into the taxi and watched the ryokan shrink in the mirror, its lanterns still glowing against the snow.