SEVENTEEN

Okay, so killing himself wasn't going to work. If an blessed weapon didn't do the trick of sending him to the void, nothing would.

Fuck him with a jackhammer, Blitzø was stuck between a cock rock and a hard place. Acting out this piss-terrible day ad infinium, or until some 80s movie cliché got him out of here, was hardly any more appealing than trying to go splat one more time.

Holing up in his room was still an option… except for the fact that Loona would eventually check in on him, and Moxxie would insistently text him to ask where he was. If he stayed on radio silence they might even contact Stolas, and he really couldn't stomach seeing the horny owl who only wanted him for a thrust.

Blitzø shivered and huddled tighter under the blanket.

He could call in sick. In a way, he was. "Living-through-the-same-day-itis". Terrible, mysterious disease; no known cure.

So that's what Blitzø did this time. He preemptively texted Millie & Moxxie the client's request, he told them he couldn't come in. Moxxie's replied "Take care of yourself, sir," seemed curt and fake-polite.

He spent the day in bed, staring alternately at the ceiling, the walls, and the pillow.

EIGHTEEN

With nothing else to distract him, Blitzø's masochistic emotional tendencies, as it turned out, had a productive outlet: overanalyzing what went the first time he lived through this day.

So he still called in sick, but this time he spent his day scribbling everything he could remember down. He may be a dumbass, but never say that Blitzø hasn't got a good memory. How else would he torture himself emotionally with his past, on his bad days?

By the end of the day his floor looked like a conspiracist's pinboard. He had also drawn several horses for moral support. And gotten out 'Mareajuana'. And smoked some weed. Aannd had a lot of coffee – the black kind, like a detective probably would, instead of his usual iced concoctions.

…There was a lot of stuff revolving around Stolas and their phony date. Fuck, he didn't want to do any of that just yet. Didn't know if he could maintain the mask around the owl prince.

M&M, though… yeah. He could start with them. Probably could be less of an intrusive dick on their anniversary (much as he still resented yet yearned for what they had). Not going to Ozzie's either (and avoiding both his bitter ex's) seemed like a good idea too. Let Moxxie embarrass himself with a sappy song in the wrong place if that's what gets him off.

Right, Plan A: Don't be so insistent on inviting the lovebirds for drinks or joining them at Ozzie's. Go for drinks by himself. Get completely shitfaced. Return home. Pass out. That's what he should have done the first time around, right?

NINETEEN

Welp, that didn't go so swimmingly.

Of course, Moxxie would notice when he fumbled and slipped on their lumberjack hit job. (He was three weeks out of practice, c'mon). Of course, he'd give his boss shit for it. And of course, Blitzø's stupid mouth would snap back instinctively, and they'd part on pissed-off terms. So he stayed at this new bar all night, alone and angry and not really aware of his surroundings.

Drunkenly, as he stumbled through the door and fell onto his sofa, he almost hoped that there'd be a 'take two'.

TWENTY

Oh goodie, there was.

This time, Plan A went to plan. He woke up, he got the text from the client, he picked up M&M from their apartment, drove the van to their fat fucking parking space, fuck you Verosika, got Loona to open the portal, and slaughtered the bunch of buff loggers no problem-o.

Moxxie seemed a little curious that his boss wasn't pestering for a threesome, but trust Millie to distract him well and proper with a little sexy hip sway and purring.

Blitzø went to the dive down the street; drank the paint-thinner hootch on tap, cackled at Velvet dissecting some ex-boomer on TV, and tried to ignore the familiar loneliness in his gut.

He was enjoying himself, Blitzø told himself. This is the part where I wake up tomorrow, and shit goes back to its usual crappy normal.

TWENTY-ONE

No.

No, no, no.

It was the same fucking morning again. Fucking COME ON!

Loona growled something through the walls, and Blitzø belatedly realized he must have screamed that last bit, but seriously? He'd really started to think he could have moved on from today yesterday… well, you know what I mean. Way to teach himself not to get his hopes up.

The urge to put a bullet in his head reared its ugly head again. The awareness of Loona's grumpy, sleep-deprived presence in the next room fought it back down. Even if he offed himself and reset the day again, what kind of father would he be to leave his daughter finding his dead body in this multiverse? He'd already done that several times too many.

Okay, um, so merely being less clingy with M&M hadn't done the trick. What else could he do differently?