When dawn rays awoke on him, and the soft knocking grew impatient, He drifted towards the door, glaring down and the short plump door man quivering at him that he was requested down stairs in half an hour. Tai's eyes widened, he threw himself in the shower, dressed grabbed his laptop and ran towards the hotel foyer. The door man hailed a black cab for him, and he set off down the crowded Chicago streets.

-

Takeru Ishida sat in a small coffee shop on the out skirts of Chicago, and sipped his perfectly creamy, perfectly sweet, green tea. He knew that the reporter was late, but he didn't mind, it just gave him more time to relax, and plan out what exactly he would say.

Here from Tokyo He noted in his head. At least I'll have someone to talk to. When the coffee shop door swung open with a sad crick, and quickly place footsteps headed his way, Takeru knew that "The Reporter" was here. He turned and beckoned the reporter over.

"Hey Tai, its nice seeing you again." He began pleasantly.

"Been too long Tk, to long. How's your family?"

"Father and mother are fine, Matt is, well, who doesn't know what Matt is doing?," He added with a tinge of bitter resentment.

"…But anyway, how is Kari-chan?" He smiled sweetly again regaining the calm appearance.

"Excellent, her photography is coming along exquisitely. She's working her way up the photo journalism latter at TW. People seem to just adore, and love her." He smirked slightly at the last comment.

They began to lapse into silence as TK sipped his cold green tea.

"So, what are we doing today, Mr. Up-and-coming-high-paid-business-man?"

"Well. Today's a quiet day. It is mostly meeting that start at twelve, it should be over by uh, say, six?" Tai choked, a six hour meeting? How that fuck did Takeru survive all this shit.

"Tai? You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Hey lets order some food and then head over to the meeting alright?"

"Sure, sure whatever you say…"

The lunch was average, noting special. The car ride back was bumpy, and pot-hole filled. Rain had occurred somewhere, and was now pouring down on them in figurative buckets. Thunder began making its call in the west, and the car slipped and slid without much resistance to the water. Nothing was said in-between the car ride and there arrival. As Takeru pushed open the silver platted doors, and stepped into the lavishly antiquity covered foyer, he warned Tai not to say a word, and just sit the corner. Ask him about the meeting when it was over, or whatever other shit the reporter wanted to know.

They enter the blandly decorated room, Takeru taking his place at the end of the table, left side Taichi took his place sitting in a hard back chair near the door. The rain still hit the windows giving off an annoying, pitter, pattering noise. The old, sage looking men waddled into the room together and sat their respective seats, all giving Taichi the evil eye. And so the meeting began.

-

"…You don't know me,

I don't know you.

You follow me around, hoping for a clue

But all I can say

Is GET THE FUCK AWAY"

He threw his head back on the last chord, and ripped with a sudden anger at the applause, he threw his band stand and microphone into the drum set, sending the drummer flying. His guitar was still attached and he broke that off his back, and threw it violently at the cinematographer, who only ducked in time, as the camera shattered like glass. He turned heel first, and stomped into the back stage, growling. He slumped into a pile near the backdoor and began to properly beat his head against the door. Sitting in the shadows he could see his tour manager looking around for him frantically. The show wasn't technically over yet, but he couldn't go on anymore. For tonight, the show was over. He slipped quietly out the back door, and walked solemnly down the dark alleyway into the Detroit street way.

A game of kick the can began as he marched down the street way. Lost in thoughts, he turned into a nearly empty diner and sat the counter. A Middle age woman sauntered up to him and asked him for his order.

"Macaroni and cheese. With a sprite." He put his hands in his hair again and threaded them through. Pulling slightly at the roots. A small TV showed the ten o'clock news.

When his food arrived Matt devoured the cheese goodness. His eyes flickered over towards the Television.

"…and so this is the first violent outrage from the lead singer of Not Another Band. Band members were apparently stunned as the leader began to slam and smash his equipment with the show only half way though. His manager is declining comment, and only saying that Ishida '… is just tired and over worked.' So far none of the remaining tour dates have been canceled. Their last tour-date is scheduled for a New York appearance, this Friday. And now to John with the weath-…" Matt turned her out and took a swig from his drink. The bustrious woman appeared again asking him is he needed anything. He kept his head down and asked for the check, making his way towards the counter to pay properly.

"Such a shame…" the old woman began

"What?" he snapped suddenly.

"The Ishida boy, such talent such beauty. Its so obvious he needs someone! That poor poor boy, so young too…$7.68, please. Thank you" he handed over his Visa card, 'Yamato Ishida' clearly written on the front, but the woman never gave the card a second look, and only slid it through the machine.

"Here you go deary, have a nice night." She smiled at him, and he mumble a short "you too" and walked out the door.

--

[Flashback- 1 ½ years earlier]

The American tour had just begun and he was back in New York, it hadn't changed. Not that he had expected the city to move, or evolve in a matter of days, but still, It was a refreshing internal differ. Yamato paused on the corner long enough to pull the hoddie over his head tighter and walk through the sea of people. Tourist he thought bitterly. He was near Rockefeller square, near St. Patrick, and with the doors open, he could hear the ushers yelling at people that no photos were allowed during Mass. He pondered how on earth the people of NYC could condense and live under a microscope of Tourist pretending to be scientist, examining, copying, and decimating their lives. He could never do it. He would never do it. He would snap, however, there was a strong possibly that he was already snapping.

The tree was lit, and the flags flew glamorously in the wind, sparking the façade of American life. Every Ice skater skated beautifully alone. He wasn't far now from the Barnes and Noble that was about four blocks from Grand Central. He didn't truly have a purpose of going there, he had never actually been, but he found that if the coffee shops were open, they would have a little band music sometimes.

They weren't revolving doors, possibly the only in NYC. He wandered through the store, if your could call it that. Seeing various wish-list books. Yes, it was true, Yamato Ishida, lead singer of the grunge-rock band NAB, loved reading, poetry, and solute. All the books were wrapped, mostly soft-covered. Yamato had been wondering the upper and lower floor for an hour now, until he came upon the leather bound journal set. His eyes glazed over looking at it. It was in a Christmas-type box, With a brown leather journal, and black-tipped pen. It was similar to the old one he had had since he started High School. Only, his was cheaper, and had multiple more sentimental values. The first thought was what made him buy it.

[End Flashback-Back to the present]

-

Snowflakes had begun to flitter down fifth-avenue, and Taichi was walking slowly behind Takeru, on the gray streets of New York. As it was only about six-forty-five, only the truly New York at heart walked. His story was coming along slowly for once. He couldn't even resort to making something up, he had to face it, and this would be the most boring story he ever did. Which, in turn would hurt his ability credibility on making something dull, and turn it as interesting as breaking news—that's why he was Tokyo's most prestigious author, His ability to glorify the simplest things.

They were on their way down to Rockefeller square, for the Morning show studios. Armed only with a Starbucks and a laptop, he was ready for the long wait.

He felt like a child back in Odiba as he constantly blew away the quickly accumulating snow from his face.

-

They were walking through the hallways now, tour guides just ahead, and as they turned and went through the doors to the green room, Takeru's cell phone broke the ebbing silence, and he gestured for the guide to show him out again. Taichi, tired of walking, sat down in a fluffy chair, and promptly dozed off.

Rudely awakened a-half-an-hour later by Takeru's grim face, Taichi was felling dread.

"What's wrong?" he asked fearing the answer.

"God-damn, Chicagoist investors fearing for their fucking money, think that the companies not fucking good enough. I've got to fly back now to reassure them, or else I'll lost there trading. Fuck, Taichi, you can do whatever you want today, I'll be back tomorrow morning, tell the people I'm sorry 'bout this. Godda-go, Ja " Takeru left the room in a swivel of a cloak, leaving Taichi momentary impaired. As one door closed, a moment latter, another opened.

"Yagami? Where's Takeru?!" A young blond demanded.

"He left, Business emergency. Says he's sorry. Well, uh, bye now." Taichi reached for the door, but was dragged back to his seat by the blond.

"Oh-no, you're going to fill his spot. You're a writer or columnist or some shit right?" A nod confirmed the blondes.

"Great, off to make-up with you!" she patted his bottom through the door way and directed him, with a wink to a door. The Make-up lady tuned out to be a 40-something woman with to much eye-shadow and cover-up. But she was a jolly woman all the same. He hardly noticed the difference between when he went in, and when he went out.

The set was just as he thought, it was similar to the same ones in Tokyo. Same type of people, actors and crew on opposite sides of the world. Donuts and coffee lined a wall on the far right. Burley men conversed in a corner, and the annoying woman who had bothered him earlier was chatting away to some other blond on the other side of the room, the blond didn't seem to care too much, and was looking for an escape. His thoughts of the blond were dragged away when he was dragged away to the side door, ready to make his dramatic conference.

"Ok, listen for the clapping, wait a second and then go, got it? …Oh god, what the hell is she doing now, fucking hell, JORDAN!" the girl-blond in the corner looked up and frowned, the boy-blond began sneaking back into the greenroom.

He fell out of place the people watching when his name was called the American way and the applause started, he marched out, a man and a woman smiled brightly. He walked out and sat in a stiff back chair.

"So, Tiachi, what exactly do you do?" The man asked.

"Well, I'm a writer, in all essence, for the world. I do columns and sell them privately to magazines across the world."

"Wow, you rich then?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty well off." Tai laughed, the man was quiet personable.

"So, tell me, Have you got a girlfriend?" The woman giggled at him, eyes fluttering.

"Uh, right now I'm not seeing anyone…" he said hesitant, he didn't think much of announcing on national Television that he was gay. The woman continued her muffled giggles.

"So, what do you think of America?"

"Its nice, the people seem nice, at least. I have never really been here, here, on vacation only on business. Right now I'm on business."

"Oh! What are you doing?"

"Uh, I'm doing a story about an old friend from Japan right now. Sorry, that all I can really give away currently…"

"What's your favorite aspect of your job."

"Travel, I love traveling, this summer I stayed in Beirut with friends, it was a culture-Emerson thing"

"Have you tried Starbucks yet?"

"EH? Oh yes, we have that in Tokyo." Taichi smiled slightly as the director swung his arms in a fashion that says "Cut!"

"Well that's all we have time for today. Tiashi, it's a pleasure meeting you. ON tomorrows show…" Taichi drained him out as he made his way thought the room and back into the green room. His laptop and coat still by their place on the coffee table. He could see throughout the window that the snow was coming down harder now. Cold radiated from the pains, and Jack Frost had put his touch on them, decorating them in icy beauty. He adjusted his coat, gapped his laptop and made for the door. AS he turned to face the exit, a hand gabbed his arm and turned him about face. Rough hands shook him, deep blue eyes search his, and a click of recognition in both of them, a smirking smile, and a familiar face.

Authors Note: I hope this came out Ok, it's changing slowly. But the next chapter has nothing recognizable in it, not really anyway.