'Don't.' Pain demanded himself, keeping his hands in fists and his eyes shut

tight. 'Not three days in a row, don't you even try.' He lay eerily still on the

mattress.

Silence blanketed the room and truthfully, it grew more and more

uncomfortable with each passing second. With a mix of reluctance and defeat,

Pain's eyes shot open. Revealed to him was the apartment bedroom he'd seen

countless times before. The king sized mattress stood by the far wall, 'the only

way it looked normal', he liked to think. It was quite a small bedroom, but what else

could you expect from a middle class apartment? There was a singular closet, a

wooden wardrobe, and a recliner among the room, but other than the stereotypical

apartment furniture, the room was barren.

To Pain's left was the masses of his table's belongings;

an opened box of Aspirin, a glass of water, three blunt pencils, and an

alarm clock that has certainly seen better days. Pain's eyes flicked to the rest

of the room as it often would upon waking up, but a sense of alarm hit him as he realized three things. One, he himself had never placed a glass of water on the

night stand. Two, the cup's ice had yet to melt, despite supposedly being there

all night. Three, there was a pink sticky note attached to the side of the cup.

Pain lived alone. Single, family free, and lacking a steady social life, these

sort of irrational observations were practically unheard of.

The almost too neat handwriting, 'Certainly a girl's.' Pain thought, was luckily

still legible, despite the glass's condensation smudging the blue ink slightly.

It read:

"Hey Pain! I didn't mean to use such extreme methods to get this message

across. But you've disabled all means of contacting you, so I absolutely had to!

Anyhow, Happiness says there'll be a meeting today around 10:32am! And you know

what she gets like. The other Gifts have already flown in from all across the

country! We're only missing you now! Please don't skip out this time, Pain! We

need you here!"

Pain paused, trying to make out the smudged handwriting.

"Oh... Happiness says you have no choice. Don't be late!"

Pain inwardly shuddered at the girliness of the post-it. The note was lacking a

signature but, regardless, it had Anger's cliche wording, girly habits, and

uncanny ability to irritate written all over it. No name needed.

The only thing still unexplained was Anger's careful wording. "Extreme

methods"- oh. Pain's eyes met the empty window pane in a whirlwind of already pent up anger towards his peer. If there was anything Anger was

especially good at, it was being unpredictable. The removed window glass to

his right had gone unnoticed up until now, but Pain had not even a shadow of a

doubt as to who was responsible. His only thought: he sure wasn't paying for it.

After rubbing his temples in frustration, Pain stood. He ignored the glass

completely; it wasn't in shards, it was actually removed entirely from the window, so Pain

saw no reason to retrieve it immediately. He began to dress himself in "socially

acceptable attire" as Happiness liked to put it. Whatever that means. After a

century or two, looks aren't the most important thing in the world, per se.

Still, Pain wasn't bad looking. He had good practice at adapting to trends every

few years, and now he could easily pick out which styles were passing... and

which actually looked good.

His hair was sandy blonde, his skin milky and moderately clear. He possessed a

too-calm face, it was allegedly quite unnerving. Pain's demeanor is

what set people at ease about him though, it was the only thing that could. He

kept his spine straight and upright, no exceptions. Except he wasn't sticking

his chest out like a bird (though that was amusing to see on both boys and girls

alike.) Pain's posture was nearly regal... in the most adequate way.

His arms fell loosely at his side, for the most part, completely relaxed. Pain

had a hardened face, as a result of centuries of meeting naive people left and

right. To say they were a nuisance was the understatement of the century.

His eyes, though. Prize winners, they were. Not exactly the color (though the

nice shade of piercing gray was appealing) rather it was the undertone to his

eyes. It was the very same haziness girls strived for through sticks of

eyeliner. His, however, was completely natural. And as girls put it, so damn

sexy.

Pain's stomach growled to no avail. And he ignored his own body's request with

a roll of his eyes. It was already 10:25am which gave him barely enough time to

reach his destination. The only perk, Pain realized, of living in Philadelphia

was how close it was to the Gifts' meeting place. Right in West Chester,1633

Green Gate Lane to be exact, there was an old pizza parlor they met at every

time something urgent enough arose (and only then would they ever meet.)

Truthfully, the Gifts didn't enjoy each other's company all that much.

The walk-in freezer of the parlor was unnaturally massive, and since it no

longer froze anything, the Feelings' meetings took place with the door tightly

shut and locked. The freezer was (obviously) cleared out, with the exception of an out-of place metallic table, surrounded by eight chairs.

"Renovations" is the best answer to keep the stray morons out and away since every now and again people spot the Gifts freely opening the restaurant's doors

and they try and enter, as well.

At any rate, since there's a crusty karaoke bar just around the bend, the only

"customers" who ever show themselves are leggy girls in too tight tops and high heels. No wonder the pizza parlor closed. It wasn't exactly a thriving neighborhood.

Pain grabbed only his wallet, keys, and the cell phone he kept secret from seven out of eight of the Gifts. Some things were better kept away from the imposing minds of his peers.

This meeting could not go well... he felt that right down to his blood cells.