Author's Notes:
Helloooo! Long time, no see (ish). I have been a gigantic Fullmetal Alchemist fan for the last ten years and recently, I have rediscovered my love for Royai after reading the manga and watching Brotherhood… Again. So here I am to present another fanfiction for you. ;)

It might be out of character (I'm super rusty lol), but this is my personal take on how Royai come to be. Sniff. I'm using a writing prompt, which might be all over the place. Mostly I'll just be using each of the subjects for certain settings and "flashbacks" for Roy and Riza, chronicling their past and future and whatever (FMA events included). So there's that; I'm sure that there are a million better fanfictions about this, but hey, I'll give it my best. Most of the chapters hopefully won't be too long, just substantial excerpts; I'll be going back and forth depending on the prompt.

I'll also be giving my own input on Roy's parentage and whatever, since none of that has been confirmed. Most of this will be my shitty headcanons. I'm sorry if this ends badly on my behalf, eep.

Ever And A Day

Chapter I – Dance

"Now Mustang, what makes magma?"

It was so late. The Hawkeye household in the outskirts of West city felt stuffier than ever, so dry like a desert in the home that harbored such few neighbors. Rubbing his forehead as sweat began to plant itself across his skin, Roy Mustang gave a feeble sigh. He glanced at his teacher within the study that belonged to him. The shirt he wore stuck against his skin, especially the longer that he remained sitting down in the same place across from his Alchemic teacher. Erstwhile, it was his final test for the evening, and he couldn't wait for it to be over. Especially if it meant being free from the hot room, which resided on the top floor of the Hawkeye home.

Regardless, the young Roy Mustang lifted his gaze to meet the gray eyes of the man. Master Hawkeye was a grungy individual who hadn't shaved his neckbeard since Roy had arrived three weeks prior. His face was thin, cheeks sinking in ever so slightly around the edges of his long, narrow jaw. But without a doubt, the most disappointing feature of the man was his eyes. They were small, beady, and pale, constantly scrutinizing his only student – clearly expecting him to fail secondly; Roy could interpret that Berthold hoped that he would. Sometimes it was difficult for Roy to fathom that Master Hawkeye was so popular as a brilliant uncertified Alchemist and philosopher in the Western region of Amestris.

The young man licked his lips while he squared his shoulders proudly, staring hard into the dead eyes of Hawkeye who anticipated nonfulfillment from him.

"Magma is a natural mixture of four parts; it is both a molten and semi-molten medley, of which components are liquid base, crystallized minerals, solidified rocks, and dissipated gases." The words that came from Roy's mouth oozed with his own egotism. Momentarily, Hawkeye appeared impressed - but Roy knew that it wouldn't last for long.

The flames from the fireplace danced across Master Hawkeye's pallid, gaunt face. It took Roy all of his self-restraint not to smirk at the man. Berthold watched him with great intent, as though he had transformed into a snake about to coil its way around the middle of a plump rat. It was not a difficult scenario to imagine, considering that the room was unbelievably humid. Regardless, the thought caused Roy to swallow hard, becoming nervous. His mouth was getting drier than ever as the heat in the room rose and doubled in just the few seconds that silence captivated the pair.

Finally, Hawkeye tilted his head with the finality of the test. His thin lips barely touched when he handed out another chance to impress him.

"And do you suppose that it would be achievable, should Alchemic sources obtain it?"

"No." Roy inserted heavily, reaching up with his hand to rub his chin with conclusive thought. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Hawkeye's eyebrows raise slightly – clearly waiting for his student to explain his hypothesis. "The appropriate Alchemic process of Magma is purely deconstruction– there is no control, no reconstruction."

In just that one moment, Roy was purged from his former anxiety. Berthold appeared mildly impressed by the quick response as he nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he peered hard at the young man. But even his body language alone gave Roy the feeling that the man did not respect him, and likely never would.

"Very well." Hawkeye answered gruffly, nodding towards the closed door of the study. "You pass for now, Mustang. Get some sleep."

Breathing outwards heavily, Roy stood up too quickly to free himself from the room. It was the middle of summer and every day since his arrival, Master Hawkeye had lit the fireplace in his study without giving a reason for such behavior. Normally Roy wouldn't have dared ask, but just as his fingers gripped around the bronze knob of the door, he slowly peeked over his shoulder with bravery. Berthold was now moving the Alchemic books they had used that evening back over to his fine cabinets, not saying a word or making any sound of his own. In fact, Roy could barely hear his movement whatsoever.

Frowning, Roy's hand dropped from evacuated the study. It was taking all of his effort not to begin panting from the unbearable high temperature. "May I ask a question, master?"

"Always." Berthold breathed knowingly. However, he did not turn around to face his pupil when the words had spoken, causing Roy to clear his throat.

"Why do you keep the fire lit during our practices?"

It was clear to Roy that this inquiry was a frequent one, and he instantly regretted asking as soon as the Flame Alchemist turned around. There was a flare of greed in his pale gaze then, tilting his head sideways with the barest inch of a smile residing tenderly against the corners of his mouth.

"I will answer your query with another question… How do you expect to learn Flame Alchemy when you cannot tolerate the heat, young Mustang?"

It was another test, and one that he had no answer for. Roy mentally told himself this, feeling utmost foolish. But he would not allow Hawkeye to know of his private shame – instead, he focused his attention back on the door, forcing it forward when he clicked the handle.

"I see." He remarked, not daring to look back at the man again – especially if it meant that he would change his mind. "Goodnight, sir."

Trudging down the stairs as he went, exhaustion poured into every sense that fourteen-year-old Roy Mustang inhabited by the time that he arrived on the first floor. The home of the Hawkeye family was bleak and dusty, but well-kempt all things considered. Rubbing his eyes, Roy was grateful to finally be away from the heat of the fireplace. He made his way into the kitchen in hopes of retrieving a drink, but his footsteps fell short in the corridor. A faint sound of music filled his ears, causing Roy to pause as he slunk forward curiously. When he peeked around the corner of the kitchen, it did not surprise him to find Master Hawkeye's daughter sitting at the table doing schoolwork.

Berthold Hawkeye's daughter was a silent, polite girl of few words; a quietude of non-existent pride that the middle-aged father never spoke about. And even after three weeks, Roy had barely spoken ten different words to Riza Hawkeye, and even fewer in return. She was either eleven or twelve– he couldn't remember precisely then, but was curious by her consistent sheltering. Subsequently, not enough to make any action about it until now.

Nonchalantly, Roy sauntered into the kitchen where Riza sat at the table studying Mathematics. She only glanced up at him some, but did not say a word. Frowning, Roy watched her from the corner of his vision while he reached into the cupboard to find a glass and pour himself some water. The music was coming from an old radio resting in the corner of the table. It was instrumental and unlike anything he had heard before back at Aunt Chris' home. But of course, that was to be expected when his only living relative and legal guardian worked in a bar…

When Riza caught him staring, Roy did the first thing that came to mind. He lifted his brows teasingly at her, casting a sardonic drawl her way just as he had a few times before since his arrival at the Hawkeye establishment.

"Would you like to dance?" He jested, casting her a cheekish grin. Riza Hawkeye did not appear enthused by what he had to say – she didn't even smile. Instead, the young blonde girl rolled her amber eyes at him. They quickly retracted back to her homework.

"No." She countered bluntly. "But you look like you could use a glass of water, if you can manage that on your own."

Eyebrows raising with conclusive surprise at her retort, Roy chuckled. In his opinion, that gave him enough right of his own to sit with her at the table after he had finished his third glass of water. The music from the radio continued to waft through the dining area, before Roy finally felt hydrated enough to speak again. But Riza did not look at him much, even when he sat across from her at the table when the chair made a sharp scraping noise against the floor.

"Tell me, does your father ever stop using his fireplace?" Roy asked lamely, running a hand through his damp bangs. Riza looked up, nodding only once while considering him thoroughly.

"Yes, whenever one of his pupils give up." She said softly. Judging by the fact that Roy had wantonly asked her to dance, she made no effort not to cause him to deadpan by her last response of the evening. "You would be number nine."

"Great… Good to know." He mumbled in response, before wishing the girl a farewell and slinking back into the hallway of the home.

It had taken months to receive Berthold Hawkeye's answer to become his student. The Flame Alchemist had claimed repeatedly that he was too young, too inexperienced, too immature and obnoxious to take his sciences seriously… But finally, there he was, living under the roof of the reclusive man. Roy didn't know who was more unpleasant – it seemed like neither Berthold nor Riza Hawkeye were particularly positive individuals, and clearly neither of them wanted him to succeed…

As his feet padded against the wooden flooring of the home to reach the guest room he was using, Riza's head emerged shyly from outside of the wall where she had been sitting.

"Goodnight, Mister Mustang." She called out, offering him the slightest smile of all time. "And good luck tomorrow."

Pausing while he rubbed the back of his neck, Roy returned the sentiments with surprise - he wondered if she meant the finality of her words, and hoped that she did.

Ergo, the boy that Colonel Roy Mustang had been back then never would have guessed the sort of future he would hold with Berthold Hawkeye's daughter; not on his life.