"You know how to snap, don't you?" She asks the boy standing in front of her as he carefully pulls on white gloves with familiar-looking red markings. Momo supposes she should feel guilty for stealing a pair of them from her father. He is the Fuhrer, after all. But he is more doting father than Fuhrer to her so she figures she can probably get away with it.

Just like she's gotten away with all these late nights spent with him.

"Of course," he says, looking over his shoulder. Her heart jumps as his eyes meet hers but she still smirks back in reply.

Shouto Todoroki.

Soldiers in the North had found him buried in the snow near Fort Briggs. Once her father had learned from General Olivier Armstrong that he was just a kid and didn't have anyone to look after him, he had insisted on taking him in despite all warnings and precautions. Fuhrer Roy Mustang had, after all, been orphaned from a young age. He couldn't help but empathize with those who had lost their parents.

That was more or less how the boy had found himself a semi-permanent guest at the Mustang residence in Central. Momo was exceedingly grateful for his presence—there was no one else her age on the premises. He had made the last couple months of her life so much more exciting . She wasn't sure if it was necessarily him that made it so, or just the newness of it all.

She had always thought Uncle Edward and Alphonse were unique with their golden hair and golden eyes, shining bright as the sun—trademarks of the ancient civilization of Xerxes. Never has she encountered anyone with hair as pale as the moon. Or beautifully bright red—the same red as the philosopher stone that restored her father's sight—or so she's been told.

Let alone both colors simultaneously. There has never been any accounts of anyone with dual-colored hair split halfway down the middle, as far as she knows. That in itself is quite the curiosity.

And his eyes—Heterochromia. It's something she'd read about in books but had never seen for herself before him. She remembers the first time she looked into his eyes—one stormy grey, the other a brilliant turquoise—and how she thought she'd never seen anything so curious—or beautiful—in her life.

Within the first month of his stay, they discovered he had an affinity for ice alchemy. She herself had been nicknamed the fledgling Creation Alchemist by the general public due to her wide knowledge of formulas and complex transmutations. But not of the same magnitude as his.

That day was one of the few times her mother hadn't been at her father's side out in public. The crowd had made it hard to see much of anything. It had all happened so quickly. The man who had attempted to assassinate Fuhrer Mustang had been in reach of his goal—and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

It took a moment for them to realize Shouto had grabbed his arm and frozen him solid.

It didn't look like he had even used a transmutation circle.

Something about the boy makes her think he'd be a prodigy at this as well. He is everything she's not in terms of raw power and ability. Momo wants to believe that she, too, can learn to use flame alchemy—her father is the Flame Alchemist of the past, after all—but the countless hours spent with Shouto poring over alchemical texts has proven that he just seems to intuitively get these things. She can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with the curious color of his hair—white for ice and red for fire? But there is no logical reason that should be the case.

"Okay…" she takes a deep breath, training her eyes on the candlestick she had placed a few feet in front of them. They had done their best to clear away anything flammable. In retrospect it probably would have been best to try this somewhere outside, but they'd run a higher risk of getting caught. That and the heavy drumming of rain on the window confirms that the environment would not be conducive to their activities at this moment.

"...try to concentrate the oxygen into a narrow stream leading to the candle wick," she says, double checking the notes in the leather-bound book she is holding. "All you need is a spark to start the reaction."

"Got it." He straightens his stance as she looks on. She can't help but notice the heroic way his chest puffs out, head held high and arm outstretched, eyes fixated on the candle. The look of determination he has reminds her vaguely of a certain photo she's seen of her father; the one taken when he was promoted to General. It's one of the few photos her parents have together from their younger days. Her mother was still dutifully following behind him even back then, always watching his back.

She also can't help but think there's congruity in their own positions right now; her watching his back as they attempt this.

He snaps.

A burst of flames engulf the space in front of them and Momo yelps in surprise. They both jump back, Shouto instinctively raising an arm up to shield her. His head whips around to look at hers.

"Are you okay?"

Her shoulder burns from where his hand had gently brushed against her skin. His concern has brought his face dangerously close to hers. The room feels warmer, probably due to the flames he had just created. She nods.

"I'm fine."

She didn't mean to lean in, but somehow their foreheads are almost touching. It feels a bit harder to breathe—maybe he had used up a bit too much oxygen in that transmutation. His face is red, too, and there's beads of sweat dripping off his brow. The scar on the left side of his face seems brighter, and without thinking she reaches up to touch it, gently brushing aside some of the bangs covering his turquoise eye.

He lets her.

It occurs to her that it smells like something is burning.

She pulls her attention away from him to assess the space in front of them and he does the same. Momo chides herself for getting distracted from doing this first—they very well could have burned the entire building down with their recklessness.

Luckily, there's no obvious damage, and despite the initial ferocity of the flame he had created…

...the candle is lit, small flame flickering but burning all the same.

It worked.

"You're amazing, Shouto," she breathes in awe, looking up into his eyes.

The smile he gives her could have melted all the snow in the North.

Momo leaves that night with a skip in her step and a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was the look he gave her just before they had parted ways. Or maybe it's guilt over what she and Shouto had just done. Her parents had always warned her about the destructive power of fire, after all.

She knew better than to be playing with it.

A/N: Short concept piece for now, but this was the other multi-chapter fic idea I had. Royai is my OTP of OTPs and Todomomo is currently a close second so I thought it'd be cool to tie the two together. I have so many ideas for where to go with this asdfjkl;

Somewhat inspired by that one post saying Momo looks like she could be Roy and Riza's child? XD

And yes, the photo she's referring to is the infamous mustache pic from the FMAB epilogue (or the corresponding manga pic~you decide)