A/n: I tried to imply shulk is a synthete. It may or may not have worked out.

I miss you.

Every single day I wake up alone, in this cold bed, with nothing but the sheets and memories to keep me company.

"Sounds colorful."

"Oh! Shulk! Do you play an instrument?"

"No, I'm afraid not..."

"Sit by me, I'll teach you the piano!"

It's gathering dust, I'm afraid. I can't really bear to look at it, go near it, or even listen to music. It reminds me too much of you.

It's still here, you know. Your smell clings to everything no matter how much I try to clean it out.

I don't want to forget anything about you, but I'm afraid to remember, too. Everything feels muted now, dull and gray, like I've suddenly gone colorblind.

Now, the music seems the same way, too. I used to see vivid colors of violet shades and turquoise hues whenever you played. I remember smelling sharp bits of rain and citrus.

"See, this is an octave, with thirteen different notes, and each octave produces a different pitch."

"Okay, 'Mr. Lowell'."

"And here, these are the keys: C, D, E, F, G, A, and B!"

"But you said there were thirteen, and you didn't say anything about the black keys."

"Patience!"

Your laugh was so easygoing and sweet. Clear as a crystal, powerful as steel. It plucked at my nerves like an archer plucks a bowstring. It gave me a sensation of tingling and dizziness.

I wanted to play the piano the day after the funeral, so I wouldn't forget that citrus-turquoise mix.

But all I could think of was the ashen smell of everyone's black funeral clothing.

I am terrified that I've forgotten forever, that my memories of you are tarnished by the disrepair I've fallen into.

"Marth, does this sound alright?"

"Why, of course! You're doing great, so what's wrong?"

"I dunno, it doesn't feel...vivid enough..."

"Hehe, you're doing fine, silly!"

If I tried to play again, would it still sound alright to you? I'm scared it wouldn't smell as natural as it should, or I won't see the colors that I should be seeing.

What if I forgot completely?

What if I can't even hear?

What if I wake up tomorrow and didn't ever know you?

What if, what if, what if...!?

My mind is running in circles, in a concrete, neverending trap. Everything somehow connects back to you or memories of you, and I simply can't help but break down and cry silver tears.

I keep fighting against myself, a struggle to touch those ivory and ebony keys with sadness on my shirt, or to keep avoiding those polished bits of soft, dusty wood.

What would the you of yesterday say to the me of tomorrow? Would you turn away, disheartened at the mess I became?

Would you still love me?

"Marth?"

"Mm?"

"Uhm...I just wanted to say good night."

"Don't be that shy, Shulk! I love you, too."

I don't think I'll forget you ever.

Regardless of what happens after I die, I won't be dying sad.

"Oh, am I really that shy?"

"Yes, dummy. Now come sit over here."

"Aw, Marth...I love you."

I'm already walking to the piano, duster in hand and sheets under my arm.

A/n i wrote this spontaneously while attempting to fall asleep. I also was listening to c418's volume beta while writing this, which is actually why pianos/music/synthesia has such a strong influence on this.

What is it with my best writing being fueled with sleeplessness and VGM?!