And I'm totally expecting hatemail for the year-long hiatus I took… I'm sorry! I moved to a new town, and the inspiration just left me for the longest time. However, it's back with a vengeance!
To fans of In the Rough: Yes, there are updates in the somewhat-near future. I still love that story, but I'm going to be working on other projects for the time being.
That said, I really hope you'll enjoy what I'm writing now. I've wanted to devote a story to Yamato for the longest time, and I finally have the drive to do so. I'm seriously planning on writing this over his entire life, from kindergarten to midlife crisis. (Haha…) This is not going to be a happy little yaoi story. Just warning you now.
Full Summary: The early life of controversial J-Rocker Ishida "Matt" Yamato was far from perfect. Between scrambling to keep up with his schoolwork, looking after his workaholic father, and hiding a near-obsessive love for his best friend, it's a wonder Yamato never went through with his constant suicidal thoughts. (Yamachi-Taiora-Jyoumi-Daikenyako)
Rating: Will change to M eventually, for language, drug use, self-mutilation, and sexual content.
Disclaimer: I am earning no profit from writing this fanfiction. I am not affiliated with the Digimon franchise. This story is for entertainment purposes only. I did, however, create the original characters Kawate Hiroko (oh, boy) and Yuuki.
The days were growing chillier in Tokyo. On her commute from Nerima to Shinagawa, Hiroko found herself hunched over, covering her icy face with mitten-clad hands. The heating system had a glitch that particular morning, and as such, the other Tokyoites aboard the train looked about ready to trek across arctic wilderness.
To Hiroko, it was all worth it. Never in her forty years of living could the journalist have guessed she'd receive an opportunity like this one: to interview Japan's most infamous rock star. He had never allowed other interviews, preferring to keep his private life just that… or at least as private as it could be, with his face constantly plastered on tabloids.
Hiroko smiled, and wiped at her stuffy nose. Yes, the cold was definitely worth an hour with someone as mysterious, as loved, and as hated as Ishida Yamato, the former lead singer of the Wolves.
She nearly jumped out of her parka as the train screeched to a halt.
Thankfully, it was only a short walk to Ishida's house. Much to Hiroko's surprise, it was a very modest home, no different in any way from the other whitewash duplexes around it. There was an empty, terra cotta pot on the porch, next to a muddy welcome mat and a beat-up pair of running shoes. Nothing at all to suggest a life like Ishida's.
Hiroko glanced down at the address written on the paper in her hands. She wiped a bit of frost off of it and squinted. No, this was it. With a sigh, she raised her fist and rapped upon the door three times.
There was a thundering of footsteps, and then the door swung open. Hiroko hastily moved back to avoid being hit in the face- as was the exuberance of the teenager who had opened it.
"Hi!" the girl chirped. She was very good-looking, in a classical Japanese way, with thick brows and an enormous smile. Her hair was pulled back messily. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
Hiroko blinked. "Ah… yes, thank you. I have an appointment today with Ishida Yamato-san. Is he at home right now?"
The girl nodded energetically. "Mm-hm, yep! You must be Kawate-san. Come on in. I'll go get my dad."
"O-jama shimasu," Hiroko murmured respectfully as she stepped inside. She accepted the pair of slippers the young girl offered her and removed her own shoes, then waited patiently by the door.
"Dad!" the girl hollered, disappearing down a hallway. "Dad, Kawate-san's here!"
"Kawate-san?" Hiroko heard the murmur of a deep, silky voice. "Who's that?"
The girl heaved a sigh. "For the interview, Dad. Remember? Geez, you're getting senile in your old age!"
Hiroko then picked up on a soft whap she assumed to be a playful cuff to the girl's head.
"I'm not old, brat," the male voice chuckled.
There was a sound of shuffling, and then Hiroko sucked in a quick breath as the former idol himself emerged from the hallway, followed by his smiling daughter.
Hiroko hastily performed a bow so deep her nose nearly bumped her knees. "Ha-hajimemashite! My name is Kawate Hiroko, with En-Page. Thank you so much for granting us an interview!"
Ishida smirked. "Well, apparently you already know me." He bowed anyway. "Ishida Yamato."
"Yuuki desu!" the girl chirped, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Yoroshiku!"
Hiroko was led to the sofa, where she faced Ishida as he settled into a comfortable-looking armchair. The journalist could not help but wonder how Ishida was just as gorgeous as he had been in his prime, if not moreso. He still had the same bright, catlike eyes, the same Romanesque facial features, and though his hair was no longer its signature bleached-blonde, it still framed his face in layers that were artfully shaggy. He had matured, but there was a telltale glint in his eye that told of a rebel within.
"So," the man started, uncrossing his legs, "where would you like me to begin, Kawate-san?"
Hiroko pulled out her pen and clicked it open, turning to a fresh page in her notebook. "Well, your fans have always wondered about your early years. What exactly shaped Ishida Yamato into the idol you were as a young man, and the very influential activist you are today?"
Ishida raised an eyebrow, then turned to his daughter. "Yuu-chan, would you mind making us some tea? This is going to take a while."
Yuuki rolled her eyes. "'Course not, but I'll probably make a mess."
"Clean it up, then!" Ishida barked after her. The girl laughed and waved him off, going into the kitchen.
Hiroko giggled into her fist. Ishida turned back to the interview, once more with his carefree smirk.
"I guess we'll start at the very beginning, then."
Well, I guess those are already at the top, aren't they? Oh, well.