Five had always been a relatively dull number. Bitchy sometimes, but aside from him lashing out when he needed to, he was unbearably bland. Sure, he read books and did art every once and awhile, but that’s nothing. Nothing he did was… unique. Or special. He was just dull. And likewise, his pocket dimension mirrored his emotions and what he was.

Dull.

A library. Dusty and worn out. Everything felt out of place. Books scattered on the floor in strange places while the rest had been perfectly organized. No matter what book he picked up, they were all blank. And the ones that weren’t had some of their pages torn out, like it was hiding something from him. What was it hiding? What was he hiding from himself?

He couldn’t bear to even breathe, everywhere he walked it was the same. Books were something he loved. But it felt off. He was surrounded by things he loved and yet he couldn’t help but feel hatred. He couldn’t help but feel… nothing. It was an endless loop of his own emotions he himself could not figure out.

His legs felt heavy, mind woozy and dazed. What had he longed to figure out from this? He looked up. The library had become no more, and instead a labyrinth of mirrors plastered dark walls, almost looking like an abyss. He had no choice but to see himself, though it was not the face he had recognized. His knees buckled, he had come so far to remove himself from the person he was. So far to pick his brain apart and rewire it. And in the end, it always came back to him having to accept who he had been. And who he was now.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes, trembling hands had come to set on his knees as he stared at what looked to be the void beneath him. This was how it was always going to be. Everything he had done was all for nothing. No matter how much he tried to forget, none of it mattered. He will always be stuck in this labyrinth of his own feelings and mind.