Stuck in rubble with the Enemy - Dabi x Male reader

Final: Met me in the Forest After the World has Started - Yellow Tulip -

"In every end, there is also a beginning."
― Libba Bray, A Great and Terrible Beauty 

-------------(Timeskip)-----------

The Skaala family were mostly accounted for as they left the cemetery. Bypassing the large gate, Kiuta huffed, looking back over his shoulder up at the hill, shielding his eyes from the sun. The glowing star was still high in the sky, but it had rained that morning so the air held that calming scent of petrichor. 

Uult's favorite smell, next to fresh cinnamon rolls.

"Why do we keep visiting? It's not like the dead can speak, and if their body is not even there to begin with, there's no point!"

"Sh, Kiuta," Mrs. Skaala looked up at the trees near them covered the sight of the cemetery that lay beyond, "you know he loves visits; dead or living. It calms him."

"...It still hurts..."

Fuin and their younger sister, Jenna, wrapped their arma around their eldest brother, sharing the sentiment. "At least we're still 'ere."

"It's not the same..."

-----(A bit further away...)-----

Up on that hill, there was a man with blue hair. He was alone, not expecting anything, but subtly hoping for a miracle. 

The sun was high up, but still coudy enough to make mist on the far outskirts of Tokyo. From where he was standing, it was far enough a distance away that only the bare glimmer of city-glass can be seen over top of the trees. Down below, there was a road that curved through numerous pale stones and out past a temple, and into the small surrounding town. Zentsuji Temple in the Rain, the art piece, is the nearest thing that described the area, except brighter. 

But turquoise eyes were not paying attention to any of that; they were glued to the remains of a rock at his feet. It had writing, but was worn by moss and rain. Nothing fancy, nothing even remotely official. But just enough.

It doesn't matter. He's gone.

The blue-aired man stood there, still as a statue, wondering if he could burn the rock or freeze it, until he hear a rustling of pebbles coming from his right.

"...number 69. Of course they moved the rock to that number. Of course. No one could just leave it in spot 48, no. Too nice. Ugh! Why are these paths not paved?"

Half startled by the mumbling and strange-paced footsteps coming his way, the man turned, ready to fight, only to freeze.

He was finally there.

My sources were correct.

In crutches, another man was looking around with confusion and doubt. Eyes greyed and face more worn, looking at the headstones and a paper in his hand, faint scars that look like cracks scattered all over his tanned skin making him look like he's under water. His brown hair was shorter, his cheeks more full, but his form more defined. He no longer was a boy, but that wouldn't stop the onlooker from calling him that. The other was mumbling, slowly getting closer to where the blue-haired man was standing. 

But what got to the man who was standing there first was the complete and unreal fact that the boy was alive. As alive as he was wobbling with that crutch under his left arm, at least.