[there's something that's a little bit like wish fulfillment for him here, too — the sort of thoughts he had sitting against one of those big oak trees, catching a hint of a cool breeze in the unforgiving August sun. the ones where he thought about what he'd show his friends if they ever inexplicably wound up in Houston. the places he'd take them, the food they'd probably be interested in trying, if he'd saved up the money.]

[and maybe it doesn't get more inexplicable than lying on a towel on an observation deck, just existing among pictures of Houston instead of actually being there. he goes ahead and accepts that invitation, though, scooting closer and resting his head on Ryuji's arm, right up at his shoulder, leaving exactly zero space between the sides of their bodies.]

Yeah, I get you. Houston's called Texas' scrotum for a reason.

But, it doesn't really have anything like tsuyu. [Dave repeats the word back slowly, sounding it out like he did the occasional troll words back home. moirail. mwah rail... something like that.]

There wasn't like. The usual spread of seasons like the shit you'd see in the movies or anything. It was mostly just shooting fireballs out of your asshole hot, or shooting fireballs out of your asshole hot while raining, or slightly less hot during the last few months of the year.

[and there's something to be said about the connection between remixing and talking about his home, too. like looking at the memories he enjoyed the most, and arranging them so they were the melody, the pieces of him that he wanted Ryuji to hear the most. that's not to say that the things he liked less weren't there — and dissonance has its uses in music, too.]

I never really thought much about the oak trees, though, aside from all the goddamn acorns and the shade. I guess they changed colors, too, but it never was enough for me to notice.