The Nights We Stay Awake (TemperancexReader)

20. "Time goes by"

Temperance pov

My heart feels like i've been shattered into a thousand fragile pieces, each fragment sharp and jagged. The once-familiar rhythm of its beats has turned erratic and uneven, as though it's struggling to hold itself together amid the storm of emotions crashing through me. Each pulse sends a painful throb through my chest, a constant reminder of the void that has taken root where love used to dwell.

When all i see reminds me of Y/n - an old photograph, a song we used to listen to, even the scent of her perfume - the pain becomes almost unbearable. It's a sudden, piercing reminder of the space she once filled in my life. My heart clenches, a painful spams that makes me feel as though i'm being torn apart from the inside out.

The days bleed into one another, each one indistinguishable from the last. Time seems to lose its meaning as i navigate through a haze of numbness and detachment. The world outside carries on with its usual rhythm, but i am stuck in a perpetual twilight, where nothing feels real or significant. I am moving through life like a ghost, invisible and untethered, my once-vibrant existence reduced to a series of mechanical motions.

Each morning begins with a groan of resignation as i drag myself out of bed. The sunlight filtering through the blinds feels harsh, an unwelcome reminder of the world i'm no longer a part of. Of whose world i'll no longer be that part of.

I shuffle into the kitchen, mechanically preparing a cup of coffee that i rarely drink, it's bitterness matching the emptiness inside me. The aroma, once comforting, now feels like a cruel joke.

I go through the motions of the day without really living. At the Jeffersonian, i'm a shadow of my former self. My colleagues glance at me with concern, their faces a blur or worried expression and muted conversation. They try to engage me, to draw me out of my shell, bu their efforts only seem to intensify my isolation.

I perform my work with precision, but my mind is miles away, lost in a sea of fog that refuse to life. Just as i refuse to even think the name of that fog. The fog whose text is still the only thing opened on my untouched phone.

Penelope's visits are rare but impactful. She comes by, brining a semblance of warmth to my otherwise desolate days. She's concerned, i can tell, but her attempts to connect are met with my stony silence. I appreciate her concern but can't seem to muster the energy to explain. The topic of her sister remains unspoken between us, a silent agreement that the subject is too painful to address.

One morning, Penelope arrives with a hesitant smile, her eyes carrying a wight of unsaid things. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the coffee i've barely touched.

"Hey, Tempe," She begins softly. "I brought you some pastries. I thought you might like them."

I look a the box of pastries with indifference, my fingers tracing the edge of the lid without real interest. "Thanks," i murmur, my voice lacing it usual warmth. I did not realise that my life would become so empty with her love beside me.

Penelope sits down across from me, her gaze never leaving my face. "You know, everyone's really worried about you. They keep asking me if you're okay."

I shrug, unable to summon the energy to offer a more detailed response. "I'm fine. Just... dealing with things."

Penelope's expression tightens, her frustration barely concealed. "You've bene saying that for almost a month. I know you're hurting, but this isn't helping anyone. Not you, not your friends, not... Y/n."

The mention of Y/n sends a jolt through me, a sharp pang of pain that i've been trying to avoid. I focus on the pastries, trying to push the hurt away. "I don't want to talk about it."

Penelope's sigh is heavy, her frustration evident. "It's not just about talking. It's about living, Temperance. You're isolating yourself, and it's affecting everyone around you. Even she's acting... we all care about you, but you have to start showing it. You have to start caring about yourself."

Her words cut through my fog, but only momentarily. The guilt and pain are too overwhelming. I nod vaguely, not trusting myself to speak. Penelope's eyes search mine, a mixture of sadness and resolve in her gaze.

"I'm going to give you some space," she says finally, her voice softer but still firm. "But please, try to take care of yourself. For us. For you."

She stands up, leaving me with the untouched pastries and the weight of her words. I watch her leave, the door closing behind her with a soft click. The silence that follows is both a comfort and a torment. I sit alone, the pastries growing stale, the coffee turning cold.

The days continue to pass in a blur. My routine remains unchanged: work, eat, sleep, repeat. I drift through conversations with colleagues, offering polite smiles and brief responses. The topic of her is avoided, and while i'm grateful for the reprieve, it alose leaves me feeling more isolated. I know i'm missing something, but i can't bring myself to confront it.

I can see the concern in my friends' eyes, the way they look at me with a mix of pity and worry. They try to offer comfort in their own ways- small gestures, kind words- but it all feels distant and out of reach. The silence surrounding her is deafening, ac instant reminder of the unresolved feelings that i'm unable to address.

The Jeffersonian is quieter without me fully participation. The work continues without me, my absence a noticeable gap in the daily operations. I catch snippets of conversations about me- concerned murmurs, occasional updates about my well-being - but it's all background noise, a distant echo of a world i now longer fell a part of.

I'm trapped in this cycle of unfeeling, where every day is a repeat of the last, each one a grey blur of monotony. I long for a breakthrough, for a moment where the fog might lift, but it feels like an unreachable dream. The pain of her absence is a constant ache, a reminder of a love that was never meant to be.

As the weeks stretches on, i try to remember what it was like to feel alive. To experience joy, to laugh, to love. But those memories seem distant, like fragments of a dream that i can't fully grasp. The world moves on, vibrant and full of life, but i am adrift in a sea of grey, waiting for a moment when i might find my way back to the person i used to be.

If i can even remember who i was before i met Y/n. I don't think anyone can, except my brother and father. And i'm not even sure that they count.

For now, i remain a spectator in my own life, watching as the days pass by in a blur of rey, waiting for something - anything - to break through the numbness that holds me captive.