Memento Mori

Yukari Takeba wiped off a single tear from her cheek.

It was shocking news – something they had heard just two nights ago. There had been an accident on Moonlight Bridge, two hours before midnight; a motorcycle collided head-on with a speeding car. It could have been any other motorcycle or any other car – and Yukari supposed she was horrible to wish it to have happened to someone else instead – but it hadn't been just any motorcycle. Or any car, for that matter. It had been just several days before graduation, and the two seniors in the dorm were excited to finally finish the second stage in their standard education. Mitsuru, of course, had been handed the reins to her father's company prematurely, so there was no doubt she would take man the company directly after high school. Akihiko planned on continuing his education and moving out of the dorm to a college in Tokyo. Needless to say, Mitsuru's plans were shattered the other night – as did Yukari's peaceful life – when the news reached the dorm residents' ears.

New head of the Kirijo Group dead on the spot due to accident.

It was a hard reality to accept for all of them, but none of them felt the pain and impact more than Yukari did. Carefully, she pushed open Mitsuru's dorm room door. Slowly and silently, as if to avoid waking up the dead.

Mitsuru's room was a mystery – it seemed larger inside than it did outside, and looked like it was more spacious than the lounge. Of course, being the only child and coming from a very rich and well-known family, she had been blessed with an easy life, so to speak. It reflected in her home space – a ring of sofas, a large, queen-sized bed, a walk-in closet, her portrait and even a chandelier. The door to her bathroom was made of frosted glass, decorated with carvings of white vines and flowers. Her schoolbooks were stacked neatly to one side, on a polished oak desk. A high-definition television was mounted on one wall, and a cabinet filled with her various gadgets stood beside the TV space. Mounted near the door to her walk-in closet was a gallery of her prized fencing sabers and rapiers, and Yukari recognized all of them as the swords Mitsuru had used often while they battled Shadows in Tartarus. To one side was an upright piano, which Mitsuru seldom played. But when she did – and Yukari had always been there when she did – she played beautifully.

Yukari remembered Shinjiro's room, it being left undisturbed since the young man's untimely demise at the hands of Takaya. She didn't wish to disturb Mitsuru's belongings, and wanted to leave them the way Mitsuru left them, but a powerful forced tugged at Yukari's heartstrings, and it had made her cross the hall to Mitsuru's door.

The room was just beautiful, and filled with memories they shared. Yukari sat gently on the bed, the clean sheets creaseless and unwrinkled until Yukari had put some pressure on it. Her cheeks colored as she remembered the memories she and Mitsuru had there. They weren't really… 'over the top', by any means, but the memories were all sweet and warm, just the same. Yukari could remember the numerous times when she couldn't sleep in her own room and Mitsuru had welcomed her eagerly in hers, the both of them sharing the bed and waking up to find themselves closer to each other than they were when they had fallen asleep. Those times, they found themselves turning away from each other awkwardly, cheeks red as tomatoes, words nothing more but stammers. Still, they were fine memories. Yukari's face colored madly as she considered the possibility of her senpai and her unconsciously cuddling in their sleep.

Mitsuru had a bedside table, where stood a large lamp that lit the whole room brightly when the lights were shut. Beside it was a portrait of her, when she was about thirteen years old. Once, Yukari had seen the portrait for the first time, and had teased Mitsuru and jabbed her with words, saying how cute and adorable Mitsuru had been. There were, of course, protests from the older girl, but she took them all lightly, anyway. Yukari was surprised to find a framed picture of the two of them standing beside the picture of young Mitsuru. She figured she had not visited Mitsuru's room for several days, that's why she saw their picture only now. Tears threatened to fall, but Yukari bit her lip in defiance.

Her gaze strayed to the piano, and she sighed, remembering the breathtaking pieces Mitsuru performed. Mitsuru had tried to teach Yukari how to play the piano once, but Yukari kept fumbling and failing, and Mitsuru gave up and decided instead to take Yukari out and eat the Wild Duck Burger. Yukari had been more than willing to give up the lesson – she wasn't a virtuoso, and she will never be.

But now, slowly, Yukari crossed the room, and lifted off the piano cover. The keys were clean and gleamed brightly in the chandelier's light. She pressed one of them, and a single note sounded and lingered in the room. She remembered Mitsuru's words and efforts all too well.

"Now this, Yukari," she began, pressing the second white key in an octave, "is 're', or D. And the next is E, then F, then G, then A, and finally B. 'mi', 'fa', 'sol', 'la', and 'ti', respectively."

Yukari remembered these well enough, and she pressed them, one by one, the names of the notes resounding in her head – spoken in Mitsuru's voice. She replaced the cover and sat on the piano bench rigidly, staring at Mitsuru's large portrait hanging on the wall above the black piano. Yukari curled her hands into fists. The tears fell – warm and plump down her red face.

"Why, Mitsuru-senpai?" She asked. She didn't expect an answer, but she very much wanted to hear what Mitsuru might say. What Mitsuru could have said.

"You promised never to hurt me," she murmured. "But you did. You are hurting me."

There was silence, broken only by the slow, steady hum of Mitsuru's room's airconditioner. There would be no answers, and questions would only be asked in vain. But it didn't stop Yukari from speaking, if only to make herself feel that somehow, Mitsuru was still listening to her.

"I've never told you everything, senpai," Yukari said, almost whispering. "I held everything back, and now I regret it."

She looked at the portrait, Mitsuru's painted, smiling face mocking her. She looked at the portrait, straight in the eye, and hoped to the gods that Mitsuru would hear what she had to say. Hear it, and know that Yukari meant it.

"I've lost everyone – my father, and my mother. And now you," Yukari said. "I've never had the chance to tell my father that I loved him. And I've never had the chance to tell you that I love you."

The words left her mouth easily and smoothly enough, and it surprised her that it had been that easy to admit it. To think that she admitted it too late… She slumped on the piano, sobbing. The hard wood cover prevented her from hitting the keys and possibly making a discordant sound that blended well with her mood. She cried, and sobbed, and felt hopeless and alone. She was alone. No matter what happened – no matter what she said and did and no matter how she groveled and pleaded and begged to the skies – Mitsuru Kirijo will never be back. All because of a chance accident.

The portrait of Mitsuru Kirijo smiled still, oblivious to everything else.

A/N: First fanfic in months! I chose to write about M/Y because I started playing P3P again. And, well, I can't really tell if this is AU or something, but one thing's for sure - it's sad. Real sad and depressing. Just needed to sate my thirst in writing. I had no idea what to call this oneshot, so I picked out a random title like that. Hopefully, you kids dug this. Anyway, thanks for reading!