Closer
It was a simple room. Four smooth grey walls, complete with no windows and an automatic sliding door on the southern wall leading to the outside. A closet and shelf were shoved up against the most right wall and in that right corner, farthest from the entrance, was a comfortable-looking futon nestling beneath neatly folded blankets. Towards the middle-left stood a small table, glossy mahogany in color but steely in smell. Near a wall where there should have been a window was a pale vase with a single flower, and on the table where the vase should have been was an archaic Japanese-styled tea set. The set's center consisted of a teapot, painted entirely black—save for the ruby-trimmed handle—from the base all the way to its slender neck and elegantly curved swan's mouth. Spaced beside the teapot were two small ebony cups, empty of drink and design, and next to the table was a slim young man wrapped in a kimono.
"Older brother."
A short beep and the automatic door behind the voice slid to a close. The ruffling of clothes followed soon after, a sound that indicated approaching movement. Then a small black-eyed girl, to which both the voice and movement belonged, made her way across from the front of the door to the table's side before the young man was even able to take in a breath.
"Older brother…"
She spoke even more softly this time and bowed her head sideways in a slightly apologetic manner.
Her brother gave no response and no visible acknowledgement of her entrance. He sat still, his back straight, his hands folded, and his eyes closed, feigning a position for prayer. The sleeves of his traditional kimono, swathed in patterned blacks and reds, rippled past his elbows and dipped straight to the ground, matching quaintly with his sister's attire, a simple charcoal colored kimono sprinkled with faceless flowers and a light red obi fastened at the waist.
Slowly, the young girl looked up into her brother's face, passing over his small chin, traveling up the bridge of his nose, and arriving straight into his eyes. Upon seeing him return her gaze without any reserve and with equal intent, the girl felt the corners of her mouth curve into a small smile. However, her smile wasn't reciprocated in her brother's face so she stilled herself in an attempt to emulate. When she moved again it was when he finally spoke.
"The tea is getting cold."
His voice was neither impatient nor patient, neither gentle nor gruff. Immediately she nodded, breaking the bond between their eyes as she lowered her head and delicately raised her arms upwards so that the sleeves would roll back onto themselves and out of her way, gathering in folds above her elbows like several petals of a satin rose. Her fingers reached for the teapot, carefully tracing the smooth handle before asserting a grip and, with the utmost grace and precision, she lifted the pot and tilted it towards one of the cups.
An amber stream poured out from the sprout's mouth, steadily filling the cup's insides. Into the air, a small puff of steam stretched and dissipated. As silence settled over the room, all that could be heard were the rustlings of cloth rubbing cloth and the sound of the tea raining lightly against black ceramic.
Then, when the cup was finally filled, the girl put the teapot aside. With both hands, she clasped the cup and offered it to her brother, setting it down in front of him. But before she could remove her hands from the cup and return to the teapot in order to pour for herself, she found her brother's hands hovering over her own, almost touching, in a sure attempt to stay them. She raised her face towards his, questioningly. For a few moments they remained as though frozen, waiting unwittingly as the minutes lapsed, and then suddenly:
"Older…brother…"
Without looking away, she brushed her hand up and down against his in a way that he knew could only be hers alone, not quite lingering and not quite leaving, but simply moving with and against, pulling closer and closer as to an ocean's current, seeking only the stillness and the loving calm.