Five years of marriage, and the days between Lu Ze and me had gone as bland as a cup of plain water left to cool. We shared a bed, yet we were more like roommates. I refused to accept it, so I booked a hot-spring suite up in the mountains — one with a private bath, with a couples’ spa. Right before we set out I even felt a flicker of dread: what if not even the steam could warm us back to life?
The private bath sat out on the terrace, steam curling up thick, mountain fog drifting past the railing. We soaked first. It had been so long since we had looked at each other’s bodies from this close, this openly. “It has been so long since I looked at you like this,” Lu Ze said suddenly, gazing at me through the pale white haze. Somewhere inside me, something stirred, ever so faintly.
After the soak, the spa attendant came in for a couples’ massage, the two beds set up before the window with its view of the mountains. She showed us how we could knead each other’s shoulders too. When Lu Ze’s hand settled onto my shoulder, I froze — his palm was scalding, hotter even than the spring water. “Your shoulders are so tight,” he said, and in his voice there was something I had not heard in a long time, something that ached for me.
“So are yours.” I brought my hand back to press against the nape of his neck. Five years, and it had been far too long since we lingered over each other’s bodies like this. Outside the window the mountain fog drifted; inside, the steam hung thick, and two pairs of hands, across all these years of distance, clumsily found each other again.