The snow reaches a lull in the early afternoon, the flakes spinning in dizzy trajectories to the ground instead of slamming at full force into walls and drifts and the wind humming instead of howling. It’s not any warmer, but it’s most likely the best they’ll see all day, and it doesn’t take much convincing on Masako’s part to get Alex to come out with her (getting her to wear enough layers, on the other hand, is a battle, and really Alex is lucky she lives in such a warm climate because she’d have frozen to death by now otherwise).
The snow sinks and crunches beneath their boots, but even that sound dies quickly under the still-falling snow. The clouds are a heavy grey, as if they’re somehow still full to the bursting despite the half-meter of snow already on the ground, and the orange-yellow glow of the streetlights is a better illumination than the hidden sun. Alex’s gloved hand squeezes Masako’s. They’re the only ones out here, alone in the almost apocalyptic scene of the snow.
It covers everything, the cars parked on the street and the fire hydrants and garbage cans, the curbs and the grates and all the delineations of the border between the sidewalk and the street; everything is encased in the uneven white coat, like the result of a seven-year-old’s attempt at giving someone a manicure.
“It’s beautiful,” Alex says, quietly enough that the words almost die on her lips.
Masako wants to tell her that you get used to it, that you get sick of it, that you begin to hope all the landlords remember to put out salt and sand so it melts enough that you don’t have to wade through drifts trying to get to the convenience store when you’re all out of milk and you begin to daydream about the oppressive humidity of the summer because at least it’s not this. But the way Alex is scanning the scene over again, taking every drift and footprint in, it’s not worth it. And even though Masako’s gotten enough fresh air, she waits.
Eventually, Alex sees all she needs to and they go back inside; after the bitter bite of the cold air even the unreliable radiator in Masako’s apartment is nice. The snowflakes that had landed in Alex’s hair are melting; she hadn’t bothered to wear a hat and it looks a little ridiculous, as if she’s just gotten out of the shower. Her glasses are fogged up, too; she keeps rubbing the lenses but they just won’t cooperate and in the end she just puts them on the kitchen table and closes her eyes.
Masako puts the electric kettle on for tea and sits down next to her. Alex's cheeks are flushed from the cold; her nose is red too, and so are the tops of her ears.
“Do you like it?” says Alex.
“Like what?”
“The snow.”
“It’s…snow,” Masako says. “Not really. But I don’t mind going out there with you.”
“That’s good,” says Alex.
The kettle’s hot; Masako busies herself with pouring the water and when she turns back Alex is wearing her now-transparent glasses again. They wait for the tea to steep in comfortable silence; the storm outside has picked up again and is hurling snowflakes against the kitchen window, and the wind sounds almost like a cracking whip. The tea is good; more importantly it’s warm, and Masako can feel the stiffness fall from her face and fingertips and she can see the rosy color start to fade from Alex’s face and ears. Her hair is drying, curling at the ends like paper near a fire. She leans her head on Masako’s shoulder when she’s done with her tea, pushing her mug toward the center of the table.
“You were very cute, you know,” Masako says.
“Huh?”
“When we were out in the snow, and you kept looking at everything.”
Alex makes a strangled, half-startled sound and even from this angle Masako can see her cheeks are bright red all over again. And she knows she’s easily embarrassed herself, but Alex is so used to dishing out this kind of remark that she doesn’t know how to take it when it comes back to her. And, in and of itself, that’s pretty cute (but Masako knows when to stop pushing, and so she’s not going to say anything about that right now).
Masako sips her own tea; on the table one of Alex’s hands finds her free one but neither of them says anything. Right now it’s enough to watch the randomness of the snowflakes, the rattling window, the white void that swallows everything beyond a meter or so outside. Alex’s eyes are closed and she’s begun to hum some old American song that was popular when Masako was in high school. Outside the window, the snow continues to pour through the sky, as if the clouds are pipes cut straight through the bottom and are now draining like sieves. It’s fast and messy, and the whipping of the wind muffles the sound of the grinding snowplows. Above it all, the largely-ineffective radiator hisses. Alex lifts her head and opens her eyes.
“You know,” she says.
“Yes?” says Masako.
“Even though we’re trapped inside, it’s not like we’re out of options.”
She nudges Masako’s foot with her own, even though she doesn’t need to. The want is entirely transparent in her eyes, and even though Masako’s immediate reaction is equal parts wanting to roll her eyes and wanting to grab Alex and kiss her (because considering the circumstances, her idea isn’t terrible) the former looks exponentially less appealing with every passing second, and then Alex makes the decision for her.
Her lips are soft and she tastes like peppermint tea and she’s already sucking on Masako’s bottom lip and sliding her hand up Masako’s side.
“Greedy,” Masako murmurs, but the only response that gets is a smile pressed against her mouth.
And she supposes that’s as fair as anything.