Chapter Text
Do you know about such a thing as "Groundhog Day"?
In short, it feels like you're living the same day over and over again.
You can wonder why it's even called Groundhog Day? Do groundhogs really live their lives this way?
Does it ever happen that a groundhog feels imprisoned in an absurd comedy show?
Does it happen that he seems to be surrounded only by cardboards, brightly colored only by one character trait?
Or will such a phenomenon have another name?
Fumiya didn't know. In fact, he didn't have a single idea. At first, this obsessive thought appeared in his dreams and was presented by in a veiled way, but the more time passed, the more clearly the inner voice insisted that everything around him was not real.
And, of course, Ito just had to become more observant. There was no choice. When someone literally pokes your nose into something, willy-nilly you begin to pay attention to all sorts of small details and wonder if it's true.
In the house where seven charismatic guys lived, every day was full of surprises. For real. Everyday life was full of different incidents, whether it's breakfast or evening get-togethers in front of a newly purchased TV.
That's why Fumiya thought at first that life in such chaos would never become boring for him. It was as if in the minds of his neighbors was a built-in generator of ideas, working non-stop. You know, that feeling that you already know these people, but it's hard to imagine what they will shock you with today.
And so, Ito, as always, woke up closer to lunchtime. In fact, of all the residents of this strange place, he usually was the last to get up. Rikai, as the Charisma of Order, was naturally the first. He was followed by Iori, who was busy with enourmous amount of housework from early morning until nighttime. The others had no particular reason to wake up early, but they were still out of their rooms by ten o'clock. Fumiya, on the other hand, slept until eleven. Sometimes he even don't wake up until two o'clock in the afternoon.
- Oretachi wa mechamecha karisuma~ - the self-proclaimed slave hummed in the kitchen from the very morning, scrubbing the floors to a shine. Fumiya walked past him, trying not to step on clean floor: Iori would wash it again, of course, but the huge circles under his eyes said, no, even screamed that if this unfortunate man will get some more work, he would not will remain conscious long and was about to faint.
Ito grabbed a can of chocolate paste that belonged to someone else from the fridge and went to make sandwiches, nearly tripping over a bucket of water along the way. For some reason, goosebumps ran down his spine, but when he turned to look at Motohashi again, Fumiya saw that he continued to work as if nothing had happened.
On the couch in the living room Amahiko was lying with a tablet on his lap, apparently watching either "Top 10 Funny Pole Dancers" or even uncensored porn, judging by his ambiguous smile. Ohse sat on the floor with a plastic bag on his head, someway managing to see his new drawing in the sketchbook through the bag. What an idyll! Which, unfortunately, was still a little ruined by the conflict that unfolded nearby.
"Put away your smartphone and have a normal breakfast" Kusanagi said, trying to take Terra's phone away. In response, Charisma of Self-love sent the overly caring "Rikai-onii-san" away and demanded to leave him alone.
"Shut the fuck up, you're testing my patience" Sarukawa, who was sitting nearby, couldn't stand it, and, without thinking twice, climbed on Rikai with his fists.
"Sarukawa-san, you're so sexy when you're angry~," came from the side of the couch.
"Shut up," Kei said, but he stopped the act of violence against Rikai for a moment. Terra sighed in displeasure and moved away from both of them, still staring at the phone screen.
"You could have kill me instead of Rikai-onii-san" Ohse muttered faintly
"As usual," Fumiya thought looking at this, and then mentally pulled himself back.
Usual?
Since when could anything in this house be described by such a strange word?
It was on that day that Fumiya suddenly realized something for himself. The unfamiliar word stuck tightly in his head and has been trying to slip off his tongue ever since.
A usual day.
Awfully usual.
What else to call the day when Saru punched Amahiko for putting on a pole dance show right on the dinner table?
A usual day.
Absolutely usual.
There is no other way to describe the day when Terra almost burned down the house by looking at his beautiful reflection in thousand mirrors
A usual day.
Terribly usual.
How else can the day when Rikai simultaneously carried Iori, who had fainted from exhaustion, and took Ohse, who had made an unsuccessful attempt to leave this world, from a tree, be summarized?
A usual day.
Yes. That's the only option.
Fumiya now felt a little tired from interacting with each of them. Fatigue was followed by irritation, which, of course, he did not want to show to anyone, which is why he sat in his room, spending all his free time in thought.
What is unique about those whom he once called his friends?
What do these people even bring into his life?
Iori - eternal requests to order him?
Terra - constant expression of narcissism?
Rikai - non-stop lecturing?
Saru - endless protests?
Ohse - never-ending whining about how bored he is with his life?
Amahiko - an infinite stream of vulgarities for every taste and color?
And the main question. Did he choose the right people? Didn't he make a mistake by giving his hand to each of these six that one day?
Why, it can't be.
But with each passing day, Fumiya became more and more convinced of the opposite.
They are his mistake, which cannot be easily gotten rid of. A silly comedy program that he will have to watch for the rest of his life, squeezing out a smile and approval.
They are written according to outdated templates, collecting tons of clichés.
They are predictable and uninteresting.
They are just a hyperbole.
And it's not as fun as it used to be.
The door of the place which once was called "home" slammed; its most mysterious resident disappeared without a trace.