Eye of the Storm

With fists flying up

Chester had been quiet during the cab ride home, in a sort of daze after his conversation with Mike Shinoda---if it could even be called such. His exchange with Brad had only confused him further. What everyone seemed to be telling him was that it was dangerous and that he shouldn't be there. Still, none of it seemed to dampen the magnetic pull he felt towards the Phoenix bar.

Everyone said he should stay away, but no one told him who they were or what it was. No one gave him answers.

He proceeded the next few days in a stupor, only going through the motions of his daily life. He went to work during the day, played small sets to bored audiences at night, and went home after, but his head was elsewhere. His thoughts were filled with a dream of life with these enigmatic people that he had met. He felt some unknown attraction of sorts to them, specifically Mike Shinoda. His wife decided to just ignore him most of the time, not that he did anything anyway. Nights were spent on the couch, buried in his imagination.

Eventually his unrelenting thoughts prompted him to return, no matter what he had been told during his last visit. He wanted to know, and understand; he wanted to be a part of it.

Things for Mike seemed to go back to normal again, as they always did, after the pesky outsider was discouraged. He spent most nights at the Phoenix as usual, his friends there too. The days were busy with work, hardly a break in between. Monday, he worked right up to the time Brad came in, dragged him out of the office, and practically threw him in the car and drove him to the airport to pick up his brother

There, he waited impatiently at the arrival gate for the younger man to exit, not that he was looking when he finally did come walking down the carpeted walkway, bags in hand. The elder was staring at his phone, fingers flying furiously over the screen as he attempted to continue working. He was leaning against a wall, frowning at the device in his hand, when the youth came up to him, waving wildly and making faces at his side.

"Yes, I see you," the older man bit out at him. After finishing what he was doing, he looked up into the goofy grin of his flesh and blood. "Jason," he greeted, speaking formally, "I trust your flight was okay." He pocketed the phone and reached out to shake the other man's hand.

The younger Asian laughed, bumping away the outstretched arm. "That's no way to greet your brother!" He dropped his bags and attacked his kin in a huge hug.

Slower, the elder put his arms around the youth, beginning to loosen from his business mode. "Hey Jay," his mouth started to quirk up. "How've you been?"

When they pulled away, nearly identical smiles on their similar faces, each picked up one of the dropped bags and they headed out of the terminal side by side to the drop off and pickup zone.

Brad was there, leaning against the door of the Mercedes in his jeans and cotton dress shirt, smirking at them as he ignored the other cars honking at him to move. He pushed off the vehicle to step towards the two half-Japanese men. "Bradford!" the younger called happily as they approached. They met in a brotherly hug, while the elder started putting bags in the trunk. "Now that's a proper greeting, Mike," Jason snickered, giving the curly-haired man a friendly slap on the back. They parted, the older man rolling his eyes at them. He shut the trunk and walked around to the side of the car where he opened the back door for his sibling.

"C'mon, bro. I've been on a long-ass plane ride and you're gonna stick me in the backseat?" he teased.

"Oh give me a break, Jay. It's only about an hour from San Francisco. My car, I'm calling seniority," the older Asian stuck his tongue out with a sneer, shutting the door on the youth and getting in the passenger seat up front. Brad shook his head at them, sliding in behind the wheel and starting up the engine.