Haru was in the middle of making dinner – green curry, Makoto's favorite. He'd made mackerel several times already that week, and although Makoto had never complained, Haru knew that he was getting really sick of it.

He wanted to make that night's dinner special. It was their sixth month anniversary of being married, and it had been the happiest six months of Haru's life. He was the owner of a small seafood restaurant and Makoto was a firefighter, so they made enough to live in a small house. Haru was absolutely fine with that – in fact, he liked having a small home. It was comforting, in a way. And it was only a few minutes away from the beach.

He'd known Makoto his entire life, so when they married he didn't think it would be that different. It was the practical decision, given that they spent all their time together, they may as well live together. But it turned out to be so much more than he had ever imagined.

Coming home to Makoto's smiling face, being the one to greet him with a kiss at the door, cuddling every night, it was wonderful – but what Haru loved most of all was being able to say that Makoto was his. This sweet, amazing, gentle, brave, beautiful man was his.

To be honest, Haru had been worried when Makoto got the job as a firefighter. Makoto had always been a bit of a scaredy-cat, and while his fear of the ocean had decreased over the years, he was still frightened very easily.

But his desire to help people was stronger than his fear. At least, that's what he told Haru.

Haru didn't notice time slipping by as he immersed himself in perfecting the curry. It was only when he ladled some into the bowls that he let himself look at the clock.

Makoto's late…

He was only a few minutes late, so Haru told himself to stop worrying. But ten minutes turned into twenty, then thirty, then an hour and Makoto still wasn't home and the curry that Haru had worked so hard on was cold.

He was about to slip on his shoes and head out the door to search for his husband when the door opened suddenly. Makoto stepped over the threshold slowly and closed the door behind him. Then, without looking at Haru, he leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees and head in between them, like a child.

Haru could see him shaking.

He crossed the room in one swift motion, pulling Makoto into his arms. The man released a shaky breath before reciprocating the hug, pulling Haru into his chest and stroking his hair. He smelled like smoke and was covered in black soot.

After a few minutes like that, Haru slowly pulled away, looking his husband in the face. He reached up to caress his cheek, sliding it down his neck and onto his shoulder, cause Makoto to wince.

Haru quickly pulled away. "I'm sorry! Are you hurt, Makoto?"

Makoto's eyes suddenly dulled. "I'm fine," he said, trying to stand up. Haru helped him, but Makoto gasped in pain when Haru grabbed his arm.

"You are hurt," Haru murmured quietly. Makoto only looked away, clenching his teeth. Haru, in turn, hardened his gaze before leading Makoto to the table and sitting him down firmly. Then, a bit more gently, he helped Makoto out of his jacket and shirt.

"Fuck, Makoto…"

There were large burns on his left shoulder traveling up his neck and down his arm, along with a few long, shallow lacerations down his back that had ripped through his uniform.

"I didn't want to go to the hospital," Makoto said, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. "I just wanted to come home to Haru."

The injuries weren't major, so Haru didn't press the issue. He knew how much Makoto hated hospitals.

The next hour was spent in silence as Haru dressed Makoto's wounds, the only sounds being the occasional hiss of pain from Makoto. Finally, all his wounds were dressed, and Haru gave Makoto a couple pain meds before pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. Makoto took the pills before leaning back in his chair, exhausted.

Haru felt horrible for what he was about to do, but he knew it had to be done. If Makoto didn't tell him what had happened, he would tear himself apart with guilt. Haru had seen it happen before, and he wouldn't let it happen again.

"Makoto," he said, sitting up straight in his chair. "You need to tell me what happened. How did you get those injuries?"

Makoto looked at him with cloudy eyes. Even for Haru, it was hard to tell what he was feeling at the moment. A few minutes passed in silence as the two gazed at each other, but Haru's gaze never wavered. Eventually, Makoto sighed and gave in, not looking at Haru when he finally spoke.

"Two kids died today."

Haru's heart skipped a beat. He had expected it to be bad, but…

"They'd been playing in their basement," Makoto went on. "The fire cut off all the exits. We were able to get the rest of the family out, but when I went back in for those kids, I…oh god, it was my fault, I didn't get there fast enough…"

Even though Makoto was covering his face with his hands, Haru could see the tears leaking out fast between his fingers.

"Makoto, no, it's not-"

"I wasn't fast enough and a support beam fell and crushed the little boy, I picked up the girl and she was screaming his name – his name was Kai – she just kept screaming and screaming and by the time I got her out she had inhaled too much smoke and I tried resuscitating her, we all tried, but she wouldn't…she couldn't wake up, Haru, she didn't wake up, she died right in my arms and I couldn't do anything..!" He choked right there, wasn't able to go any further, and Haru watched in helpless horror as his husband gripped his hair and curled down toward his knees.

"I'm not cut out for this, Haru, I'm not," he choked out. "I thought I would be helping people, but what good am I doing?"

Haru was filled to the brim with uncertainty. Was there anything he could say to make this situation any better?

"You saved the rest of the family," he blurted out, inwardly punching himself when Makoto flinched.

"Yeah, I did, and they hate me for that," he whispered, finally looking Haru in the eye. "You didn't hear them scream when I had to tell them their kids were dead."

They sat in silence a while longer, Haru rubbing Makoto's back until the latter had no tears left. Then Haru helped his exhausted husband to bed, lying next to him until his breathing evened out and the soft sounds of sleep were the only thing heard. Carefully, Haru untangled himself from Makoto and slipped out of bed, making his way downstairs.

He had something important to do.

Makoto woke with a start at the alarm clock that he'd forgotten to turn off. It was the ungodly hour of 6:30 a.m., and the sun had just barely started to peek over the horizon. Groaning, Makoto turned over to hug Haru, only to have his arms hit empty air.

Haru's side of the bed was empty and cold, sheets barely rumpled. He knew Haru was an early riser, but this was ridiculous.

Groaning once more, Makoto lifted himself out of bed, swaying slightly when he stood up. Last night hadn't been his most peaceful night's sleep, to say the least. He kept on seeing their faces in his dreams.

He made his way downstairs, yawning as he tied his robe. "Haru, are you in there?" he asked as he turned into the kitchen, then stopped as he took in the sight.

Haru was sitting at the table, head resting in his arms on top of a book as he slept. Soft snores escaped him and Makoto couldn't help but smile at the sight. He walked over to Haru and shook his shoulder gently.

"Haru," he whispered in his husband's ear, "It's time to wake up." He had to shake Haru's shoulders a few more times before the smaller man slowly blinked his eyes open.

"Good morning, Haru," Makoto said before kissing him lightly on the lips. Haru smiled up at his husband, then stood up and stretched. He made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, pulling out some eggs.

"Does an omelet sound good, Makoto?" he asked as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

"Anything made by Haru sounds good," Makoto answered. His voice sounded different than usual, Haru thought. It was deeper. Sadder.

Makoto sat down in his usual spot and looked over to where Haru had been sleeping. The book was still there, plain-looking with its unassuming brown, blank cover. Still, Makoto found that his curiosity was peaked.

"Haru," he called. "What's that book for?"

Haru finished whisking the eggs before answering. "It's for you."

Raising his eyebrows, Makoto reached over and pulled the book toward him. It was heavy, with thick pages. He opened to the first page and, in neat, slanted handwriting, read the words: For Makoto.

Ah. It was a scrapbook.

The next page was filled with pictures and newspaper clippings. All of them recent, all of them of and about Makoto.

Headlines reading, "Heroic Firefighter Saves Child" and "Firefighter Makoto Tachibana: Iwatobi's New Hero" filled up the pages. In between them, pictures of Makoto in his uniform, pulling cats from trees and saving dogs from rivers and steep ditches. The last few pages were full of pictures of Makoto with several different families, all hugging him.

People he had saved.

Makoto didn't realize he was crying until a few drops fell onto the page he was staring at. Quickly, he wiped it off and wiped his hand across his face, smearing snot and tears on his robe. But he didn't care at the moment. Had Haru stayed up the whole night making this for him…?

He heard the clanking of two plates being set on the table, the scratching of a chair being pulled out. Haru sat down next to him, placing his hands on top of Makoto's. Makoto looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks before quickly shutting the book and lunging forward, kissing the man he loved almost desperately.

They kissed passionately until both their lungs were screaming for air. When they finally broke apart, Haru led Makoto over to the couch and they both shamelessly cuddled, breakfast forgotten. It was a few minutes until Makoto found his voice again.

"Haru…" he tried, but Haru shushed him.

"Makoto, it's ok. You don't have to say anything."

A few more minutes of silence followed. Then, Haru spoke, his voice close to a whisper.

"Makoto," he started, seeming slightly hesitant. Makoto looked up at him, nodding in encouragement. He took a deep breath and continued.

"I need you to make a promise. For me. Can you do that?" He took another breath. "Promise me that you won't tear yourself apart over what happened. It's not your fault, none of it was your fault. You did your best, you always do your best, but sometimes there's nothing you can do, Makoto."

Makoto once again had tears in his eyes, and Haru had to look away before he continued. "You've saved so many people, Makoto. So many families and so many kids. Your best is good enough, it's more than good enough. Those people wouldn't be here without you." He pulled Makoto closer into his chest, which became damp with tears.

"Don't let this stop you. Let those kids make you stronger. I know they will, if you let them," he said, tapering off into a whisper. The larger man trembled in his arms.

"Thank you, Haruka," Makoto murmured into Haru's neck, eliciting an involuntary shudder. Makoto hadn't used his full name in a long time; it sounded sweet on his tongue.

Both called in sick to work that soon after, spending the day wrapped up in each other. Later, they glued two new pictures into the scrapbook of the two kids. A few small lines of writing scrawled underneath them.

Hisako and Kai

Your strength lives on

And I will not give up

Thank you.