Work Text:
The hands that had once cooked meals for Mankai Company were now lined with age, but they still moved with the same care as he poured himself a cup of black tea.
The house in the suburbs of Veludo was peaceful. At sixty three, it had been decades since Omi took his final bow on the Mankai Company stage. His hair, once a warm, thick brown, was now entirely silver, and his towering frame had softened, though he still carried the presence of the man he used to be.
The ring of the landline cut through the kitchen.
Omi set his mug down before picking up the receiver. "Hello? Fushimi speaking."
"Fushimi."
The voice on the other end was rough by age. It took Omi a second to place it.
"Sakyo-san?" Omi asked, his brow furrowing. "Is everything alright?"
There was a long silence on the line. The sound of a shaky breath being drawn in.
"It's Izumi," Sakyo finally rasped, his voice cracking. "She... passed away last night. Peacefully. In her sleep."
The world completely stopped spinning.
Omi didn't drop the phone. He didn't gasp. He just stood there, frozen. For a moment, he felt like he was detached from his own body. He heard himself ask for the details. When the funeral was, how the rest of the troupe was holding up.
"I've been making calls all morning," Sakyo replied. "I'm calling everyone, one by one. I couldn't just send a message. Not for this. Everyone deserved to hear what happened to our precious Director directly.”
He held it together until the line went dead.
Then, the phone slipped from his grip.
Omi gripped the edge of the marble island, his shoulders bowing as his legs suddenly refused to support his weight. He sank onto a wooden barstool, his hands coming up to cover his face.
Izumi was gone. The realization didn't hit suddenly, it crept in slowly, drowning him from the inside out. He pushed himself up, his movements stiff and slow, and walked down the hallway to his study. The room was lined with hundreds of photo albums, a meticulously cataloged history of the Mankai Company.
He pulled down a specific album. He sat at his desk, flipping past the memories of their youth, until he found the very last page.
It was a candid shot. His favorite shot. Izumi was standing in the courtyard, entirely bathed in the warm, golden hour light of the setting sun. Her eyes bright, her smile so breathtaking it made his chest ache.
“She’s so beautiful”, Omi traced the edge of the photograph with a weathered thumb.
He had spent his entire life keeping a distance, and buried his feelings so deeply. He thought as long as he just stayed by her side, it would be enough.
How many times had he tested the waters? He would deliver a line so sweet, just to watch her breath hitch and her cheeks flush. And how many times had he immediately pulled back? Forcefully pulling himself back before she could even respond? He would mask his desperation with a gentle smile, brushing off his own heart by adding a soft, "Just kidding."
It was always the easiest when he was hiding behind his camera lens. He would ask her to model for his test shots, maybe an excuse just to have her all to himself. He would lower the camera just enough to meet her eyes, telling her earnestly how much he loved her smile, entirely addicted to the beautiful, embarrassed reaction she gave him every time he complimented her.
There’s a reason why he was holding back. Omi just watched as he had seen the way Sakyo looked at her. Omi knew their history. He noticed the softness in Sakyo’s eyes whenever Izumi was near. Sakyo was his family, a man who had bled for Mankai Company. So, Omi had done what he always did: he swallowed his own desires and stepped aside, letting go before he ever even tried, convincing himself that giving Sakyo a clear path was the right choice.
He should have just told her anyway, he thought. Even if he was entirely convinced he didn't stand a chance. Even if he thinks she would gently turn him down to protect their dynamic. The sting of rejection back then would have been a mercy compared to the endless agony of this unspoken "what if." For a man who had spent his life taking care of everyone else, always stepping aside so his found family could find their happiness, he realized that he should have been selfish. Just once. Even just a little bit. He should have fought for his own heart instead of playing the martyr. He should have just let her know, if only so she could have walked through her life knowing exactly how completely and utterly she was loved.
He had always promised himself that someday he would find the courage. Someday, when the time was perfectly right, he would finally tell her everything. But he had been a fool to think time was a luxury they had an endless supply of. That someday never came.
"I love you, Izumi." He whispered the words. He had swallowed it down every single day for decades.
A single tear slipped free, tracking down the deep lines of his face and landing on the old photo. He had captured thousands of moments through his camera lens, preserving those precious moments perfectly in time. But staring at the photograph now, Omi realized the cruelest truth of all.
He had spent his entire life looking at her through a lens, but he had never actually stepped into the frame with her. And now, he was out of time.
Closing his eyes, Omi made one final promise. If there was another life after this one, a world where they could meet again, he wouldn't be a coward. He would find her sooner. He wouldn't step aside, and he wouldn't hide.
In that next life, he would finally put the camera down, take her hand, and step into the frame with her.