Work Text:
The morning sun over Wai-O-Tapu hits the geothermal mist just right, casting a soft, surreal glow across the kitchen of the small cottage they are sharing. The crisp spring air of New Zealand is trying its best to creep through the window cracks. Inside, however, the atmosphere is entirely warm. Spyro stands by the counter, leaning back with a mug of tea in his gloved hand. He sports his signature flame-resistant vest over a dark tank top, his spiky purple hair leaning into that signature cocky mess. But his brow furrows as he looks down at his boyfriend. Kirby is sitting on a stool, swinging his legs back and forth. He's wrapped in an oversized, bright pink hoodie that hits midway down his thighs. He looks exceptionally soft, a stark contrast to Spyro’s sharp, edgy demeanor.
"Hey," Spyro says, gesturing with his chin toward Kirby's torso. "Isn't that my black tee under there? The one with the faded gold trim?"
Kirby doesn't even blink. He takes a huge bite of a strawberry pastry, chews happily, and offers a brilliant, gap-toothed smile. "Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too," Kirby declares, his voice bright and entirely matter-of-fact. He tugs at the hem of the dark shirt peeking out from beneath his massive pink hoodie. "Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt."
Spyro blinks, a faint blush creeping up his neck beneath his dragon scale charm necklace. He tries to maintain his tough-guy persona, crossing his arms and letting out a huff that almost carries a spark of his pyrokinesis. He looks at Kirby’s feet, noticing the thick, fluffy pink socks bunched up right above those oversized red boots.
"Fine," Spyro grumbles, though a sharp, affectionate smirk breaks through his stubborn expression. "But when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks, I don't want to hear shit."
Kirby’s eyes light up into perfect, joyful crescents. A soft giggle bubbles out of him, an excited noise that fills the small kitchen. He is absolutely happy with this arrangement. The thought of Spyro—with his tough-looking leather boots, fingerless gloves, and fiery attitude—stomping around in a pair of pastel pink, ridiculously soft fuzzy socks is the best thing he has ever imagined. He loves knowing that his boyfriend is wearing his fuzzy socks, just as he loves sharing them. It feels grounding, a physical reminder of the sweet, effortless bond they are building.
"Deal!" Kirby cheers, bouncing off the stool.
With the morning still young, the boys head out for a walk around the town they’ve taken to calling "Dream Land." The sulfurous, sweet scent of the nearby hot springs wafts through the crisp air. It’s a quiet day, but neither of them is particularly good at staying still. They walk side by side, looking for an adventure, eyes peeled for anything that breaks the monotony of a sleepy Wednesday.
As they stroll past a row of quaint shops, Kirby’s attention is instantly snagged by a brilliantly vibrant, eclectic structure at the edge of the square. It’s painted in bold, swirling colors that look like a kaleidoscope. Without a second thought, Kirby wanders into the colorful building, drawn by pure, carefree curiosity. Spyro sighs, a fond, dramatic roll of his eyes accompanying a grin. He indulges him, walking in right after. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, his sturdy boots clicking against the floorboards as he follows the trail of messy pink hair.
Inside, the space opens up into a high-ceilinged, historic terminal. There are brass railings, vintage schedules tacked to the walls, and a massive, gleaming locomotive idling on the tracks just beyond the open back platform.
Kirby gasps, his face lighting up as he points a finger toward the massive iron engine. "Oooh, a train!"
Spyro chuckles, stepping up beside him and lightly nudging Kirby's shoulder with his own. "We’re in a train station, Kirby."
"It's an excellent train," Kirby murmurs, completely unbothered by the correction, peering through the glass doors at the steam rising from the tracks.
Before Spyro can tease him further, his sharp ears catch the urgent murmurs of two railway workers standing near a ticket booth a few feet away. They are huddled over a morning newspaper, talking in hushed, worried tones.
"...cleaned the whole place out last night," one worker says, shaking his head. "Every single precious gemstone in the Castle Hill display. The police are baffled, but word is they're looking for that old hot air balloonist. Feathers, or whatever his name was. Disappeared right into the clouds."
Spyro’s entire demeanor shifts instantly. The relaxed, cocky slouch vanishes, replaced by a rigid, electric excitement. His inner flame flares, his eyes widening with the thrill of a real challenge. He grabs Kirby by the shoulders, turning him around with an intensity that almost makes his spiky purple hair stand on end.
"Did you hear?" Spyro whispers fiercely, his voice vibrating with adrenaline. "Castle Hill! Do you know where Castle Hill is?"
Kirby blinks his big blue eyes, tilting his head as he tries to recall his geography. "Canterbury?"
"It's the Dragon Realms, Kirb!" Spyro insists, his grip tightening excitedly as he references the massive, dramatic limestone rock formations. "It's Kura Tawhiti!"
Kirby scratches his cheek, looking a little confused by Spyro's sudden burst of geographical passion. "I thought it was in the Southern Alps."
"Doesn't matter, it's an adventure!" Spyro snaps, a brilliant, fearless grin breaking across his face. He checks his fingerless gloves, adjusting his vest as if preparing for a full-on sprint. "Let's go!"
Without waiting for a formal plan, Spyro excitedly rushes into danger, practically vibrating with the urge to hunt down a gemstone thief and leap across limestone cliffs. He is bold, impulsive, and entirely in his element. Kirby happily follows along, his pink backpack bouncing against his shoulders as he jogs to keep up with Spyro's long, hurried strides. But as they pass the threshold of the station and head toward the main road, a sweet, savory aroma hits Kirby's nose. His stomach lets out a loud, demanding growl—the classic warning sign of his bottomless appetite.
He tugs gently on the back of Spyro’s flame-resistant vest. "Can we stop by a food truck for a snack first?"
Spyro skids to a halt, groaning dramatically as he looks back. "Kirb, we're tracking a jewel thief! The trail is gonna get cold!"
"But I'm hungry," Kirby says, executing a flawless, wide-eyed look of pure innocence that he knows Spyro cannot resist.
Spyro reluctantly does so, letting out a sharp sigh as he steers them toward a brightly painted food truck parked on the corner, selling fresh hot chips and meat pies. Spyro crosses his arms, leaning against a nearby lamppost, trying his absolute best to act cool and unbothered despite the impatient tapping of his heavy boot. He adjusts his dragon scale charm, trying to look like a hardened adventurer who is merely tolerating a brief intermission.
Kirby receives a massive, steaming paper cone filled to the brim with thick-cut fries. He takes a blissful bite, completely satisfied, before looking up at Spyro.
"You look really cool when you're thinking about fighting bad guys," Kirby says earnestly, a bright, completely genuine compliment cutting straight through Spyro's carefully manufactured tough exterior.
Spyro's cheeks instantly flush a bright crimson, his cocky smirk faltering into a genuinely flustered smile. "Yeah, well... someone's gotta keep us on track."
Kirby smiles warmly. With a practiced, surprisingly deft coordination, he shuffles his heavy snack entirely into one hand, balancing the massive cone of food effortlessly. He extends his newly freed hand, reaching out to firmly grasp Spyro's gloved hand with his own. He gives it a tight, reassuring squeeze.
"Okay," Kirby beams, his blue eyes flashing with his own brand of sweet, fearless determination. "Now we can run into danger."
Spyro grips his hand back, his thumb rubbing over the back of Kirby's knuckles. The heat in his chest has nothing to do with his pyrokinesis and everything to do with the boy holding his hand. With a shared, adventurous grin, the two of them take off down the street together, ready to face whatever awaits them in the hills.