A/N: Here is the first of a set of seven one-shots revolving around the prompts set for Royai Week 2016: Warmth, Color, Stars, Forgotten, Music, Ignite, Choices. 6 or the 7 will be posted here, while 'Ignite,' a Rated 'M' work, will be posted separately.

Once this week is over I will get back to posting for my other fics, with 'Engraved' and 'Expect the Unexpected' at the top of my list. I hope you enjoy!

"Thank you again for letting me stay the night," Riza acknowledged as she stepped out of Roy's bathroom, wearing nothing but an oversized sweater of his and a loose pair of his shorts. "I still can't believe my building failed to notify me about the boiler breaking."

As she stepped into the kitchen to stir the pot of hot chocolate they had set on the sstove, Roy turned away from the fire he was building and shot her a sympathetic grin. "I know you've talked about moving out before. Do you think this is the final straw?"

"Probably," she replied with a mild huff. "They've already increased rent without informing me first and have taken issue with Hayate living there, despite the fact that he's been nothing but a model canine citizen. Though I'm sure if I break the lease early they won't hesitate to charge me a fortune."

"Well, you could always move into this building. The rates are still fairly reasonable. I heard a couple of apartments will be vacant in the next couple of months."

"I may have to consider that," she answered as she took the steaming pot off the stove and poured its contents into two mugs she had retrieved from a cupboard. Once she had filled them nearly to capacity, she opened another cupboard and produced a small bag of round, fluffy white balls. After taking a small handful of marshmallows from the bag, she sprinkled them into the two mugs before grabbing them each by the handles, lifting them carefully away from the counter.

Lightly stepping over a sleeping Black Hayate and a few of his favorite canine possessions, she padded over to Roy and offered him one of the two mugs in her hands. After he accepted it, she eased herself down beside him, taking care not to spill the piping hot beverage all over him or herself.

Leaning forward, he set his mug on the opposite side of him and grabbed the fire-poker, and proceeded to shift and prod the logs he had set inside the fireplace. Once they were in what she assumed was an optimal position for him, he dug an ignition glove out of his pocket and slid it over his hand. With one quick snap a spark sprang from his fingertips and danced through the air to the logs. A beat later the dry logs snatched it and began to smoke.

After pulling off the glove, Roy pocketed it and grabbed his steaming mug before leaning into Riza's side. She, in turn, nestled her head onto his shoulder and let out a content sigh.

She could barely remember the last time the two of them had a night like this. In fact, only time she could recall was when he had been her father's apprentice, during a particularly cold night where even their freestanding stove was not enough to warm her childhood home. Her father had retired to his room early that night, seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold. Riza remembers thinking that it was because he had 'fire in his blood,' resulting in him never having a cold spell. She knew that the notion was silly, but sometimes she truly believed it since she, as opposed to him, had difficulty getting warm. And because of that, she couldn't help but think that that was the reason she was never able to master her father's art…

Roy lit the fire that night despite her pleas not to, that her father discouraged the use of their home's fireplace when the stove was in use. He simply shook his head and said that if her father had any gripes that he would take the blame because he too was cold, though she knew it was a lie. Like her father, Roy seemed to have that fire running through his veins. Because while she was huddled on the floor with a comforter, he was content to sit next to her, close enough to where their shoulders just barely touched. And even then he still felt warmer than her.

Looking back, she should have realized then that he would be the one to inherit Flame Alchemy. But maybe she had realized it in the deepest depths of her mind and held onto the notion until the day he revealed his ambitions to her. Because thinking back to it, she had admitted readily that she carried the secrets of Flame Alchemy with her in front of her father's grave. As though she had made her decision long before their conversation…

She remembers how warm his fingers felt against her skin as they traced tepid lines over the marked secrets her father had left behind. How softly he had spoken to her and how gentle he had been, as though he were paying her his respects rather than the notes. Their time deciphering the notes ended too soon, and before she realized it he left, taking with him their dreams and aspirations for a better world. After that, however, she too found herself drawn to that path and in turn joined the military as well.

But then, just before she had been set to graduate, she was called to the front lines. And there she found herself disillusioned, realizing that everything they had been told about the Ishvalan War had been a lie. Because it was not just a war.

It was a massacre.

And amongst those responsible for the senseless slaughter of the Ishvalan people, as decreed by Order 3022, was the legendary 'Flame Alchemist.' Or as she had known him formally in her youth: 'Mr. Mustang.'

The moment their eyes met, she realized that the warmth that his eyes once held had dimmed and had become cold. Though she kept her expression impassive the moment their eyes met, on the inside her mind was reeling. Because like her, he too had lost his innocence… And dreams.

Or at least, so she had thought.

On one particularly painful night, she remembers leaving the 'comfort' of her tent to sit by the edge of their encampment to calm her mind. Once there, she discovered that she wasn't alone. Instead of the cold-eyed alchemist she had expected the moment she realized who it was, she was instead greeted by the eyes of a boy she had known a long time ago. A boy whose ideals matched her own.

A boy with fire in his veins.

Though she would not readily reveal it to him, she was relieved that the boy seated beside her was still there. That his warmth was still ever present in the man he had become.

The two of them remained there, seated just close enough for their shoulders to touch, for the rest of the cold desert night. And, like the times where he had been her father's apprentice, his warmth was palpable.

After that the war had ended, but their interconnected journey, their bond forged by flame, was far from over. From the moment he had asked her to follow him, Riza knew that her role was not simply to follow, but to preserve that warmth. To make sure that it remained, and that he stayed on the path and achieved dreams they had both dedicated their lives to.

And now, sitting beside the man she had given everything to, she couldn't help but notice that the chill that had settled in her bones had almost entirely been expunged. Though, then again, she shouldn't have been too surprised. After all, he was a man with fire in his veins.

"What are you thinking about," Roy asked softly, breaking through her thoughts as he draped his free arm around her hip and pulled her closer to himself.

She hummed contently, lifting the cup of hot cocoa to her lips to hide behind it the faint flush that found its way onto her cheeks. "Just thinking about how warm you are."