Douma

I didn't have to look for long, Douma was sitting on the porch, looking at the winter night sky, watching the snowflakes falling. It was safe to say that this was the first time when Douma was not on his ears, waking everyone up with loud music from the speakers, then stomping and swearing, in an attempt to find the smartphone again, which Mudzan hid so that he would not be on the Internet all his time and would not torment the poor device with constant operation. He just sat quietly and was silent, holding a glass of mixed juice with sake in his hands, because drinking pure alcohol was traumatic for him, for his personal health and Kibutsuji nerves.