He's only in Central to take his state alchemist exam, but as he walks around the hustle and bustle of the city, Denki can't help but think he'd like to stay here forever. Something about the hum of the streets here beats the safety of his home back in Resembool.

It is a bit overwhelming, though, seeing so many people. He knows his father came here for the same purpose when he was a kid, and he can't imagine what that must've been like, being so young. He was definitely not mature enough to travel so far by himself at age 12.

Even now, he supposes his maturity is...questionable. Luckily he isn't entirely on his own—Dad apparently has a lot of friends in high places—something that he's always nonchalantly mentioned in passing—and Denki can't help but be excited because he'll get to spend time at the Havocs. Fuhrer Mustang's rather busy these days trying to run the country (and he's heard from his father there's already another boy who's been a temporary-turned-semi-permanent guest at their home). While it would've been cool to live at the Fuhrer's estate for a few days, Denki knows he'd feel out of place somewhere so grand and regal as that.

Besides, he really likes Uncle Jean. Uncle Jean is down to earth and from the country much like himself and always has a lot of advice to offer him.

Especially when it comes to women.

"How did you and Aunt Becca meet, anyway?" He asks his first night there. He's realized that, although he's known the both of them for most of his life, there are still a lot of questions about them that have been left unanswered.

The aforementioned woman sets dinner on the table and pulls out her chair to find her husband's legs comfortably propped up on it. She doesn't hesitate to push them aside, taking a seat as she giving the man a sidelong glance.

"Military," he smirks, gazing back at his wife.

"Your Uncle Jean and I had a thing when we were both stationed in East City," she responds, shifting her attention to him as she passes him the vegetables. Denki carefully spoons some onto his plate as she continues. "Then, of course, Mustang decided to transfer his entire unit with him to Central so that was the end of that."

"But fast forward a few years, and Becky was transferred to Central as well," Jean adds, pausing to take a long sip of his coffee and leaned in closer to Denki. "I suspect she pulled some strings to come here, in hopes of rekindling things between us," he whispers nondiscreetly.

"Don't flatter yourself!" Rebecca retorts, punching him in the shoulder. "No self-respecting woman would be crazy enough to follow a man halfway across the country in the name of love!" She huffs as she crosses her arms.

Uncle Jean almost chokes on his water in his attempt to hold back a laugh. " Really? You can't think of anyone crazy enough to do that?"

She sighs. "They're a special case, ok?!"

"Who's a special case?" Denki asks curiously as he brings a forkful of food up to his mouth.

The man chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, kiddo."

Aunt Becca shakes her head as well, gesturing with her fork as she talks. "If anything, you should thank Grumman for transferring his whole unit over when he moved to Central. He's the real reason we're together."

The grimace on Uncle Jean's face makes Denki choke on his food. "Yeah, I think I'll stick to my version of the story. Sounds more romantic than what you just suggested."

"As if Grumman isn't Amestris' secret matchmaker," his wife mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Denki to hear. He contemplates asking what she means by that as well, but as the two of them continue their lover's spat while he silently looks on, he decides that maybe there are some things he's better off not knowing.

The certification exam is still a few days away. Denki had made sure to come a bit early—he's been to Central before, but in the past it's always been with his family and for "important matters" which have left little time for sightseeing. And Central is quite a big city—especially compared to the likes of Resembool—so there's a lot to see.

While he could very well explore all of Central by himself, he's glad when Uncle Jean offers to take him around the city. It is the weekend, after all.

Denki's up surprisingly early on a Sunday, excited for what the day has in store. His personal guide is already by the door, and he approaches him with a spring in his step. "Good morning, Uncle Jean! Where are we going first?"

He's a bit perturbed when the man hands him a large box. It's heavier than he expects and he staggers backwards from the weight.

The man hoists an identical-looking box into his own arms with no problem, and Denki's face heats up from embarrassment at his own lack of upper body strength. He's always been on the skinnier side, but to have a man several years his senior be clearly stronger than him certainly isn't helping his self-esteem.

"We've got to run a quick errand—then we can do whatever you want, kid." He grins. "Gotta drop these off at the bar. It's not far from here—just a few blocks."

"Oh—ok, sure!" Denki responds, groaning inwardly. He hopes he can still feel his arms by the time they make it there.

Their destination is actually closer than he expected. He follows Uncle Jean up the stairs to the back entrance of the building. The door opens up to a well-furnished bedroom, and he watches as he walks to the foot of the bed and sets his box down.

"You can set the box down anywhere, Denki," he grins. "Thanks for the help!"

"Ok, great!" He can feel the relief in his muscles when the weight in his arms is finally transferred to the ground. Uncle Jean gestures for him to follow him, and walks out through another door that leads out to a walkway overlooking the 1st floor of the bar. He excitedly leans forward on the railing to take a good look at the place. It is quite a sight to behold. He was expecting some run-of-the-mill establishment, but everything from the expensive-looking tablecloths to the chandeliers delicately draped with crystals to the sound of jazzy piano music proves that is not the case. The entirety of Resembool doesn't have any place even close to this. "Wow! Everything's so fancy. How did you guys end up with a place like this?"

"It was bought by Fuhrer Mustang awhile back," the man responds, crossing his arms. "A gift for his foster mother. She's not as spry as she used to be, and since Becks and I had been helping her run the place already she had us take over for her."

"By the Fuhrer himself?! Whoa." Denki marvels at the idea that the man would do something so generous. His own interactions with Fuhrer Mustang hadn't been very telling, but his father had given him the impression he was a stingy old man who had once demanded he pay back 520 cens.

His eyes suddenly lock on the grand piano from which the jazzy piano music is emanating. More specifically, that there's actually someone there playing said music. And that the person playing is a girl.

And while the piano's on the other side of the room and he can only see a profile of her face from his current position, Denki can't help but think that she's...kind of cute. And, of course, the music she's playing sounds magnificent.

"Hey Uncle Jean, who's that?"

The older man glances at the young woman seated at the piano.

"Oh, her?" He looks back at the boy with a good-natured smirk and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "She's the daughter of our bar's pianist. Girl takes after her mother in talent, but since they don't have space for a piano in their apartment, your Aunt Becca agreed to let her practice here during the day before opening hours. She's here from time to time." He gently nudges the boy with his elbow, eyebrows raised. "I think she's around your age, actually."

"Huh."

Uncle Jean starts walking back towards the door to the bedroom. "I'm going to put this stuff away, but why don't you take a look around? Maybe start a conversation with Miss Jirou, if you're up to it."

"Miss Jirou…?" Oh, the girl.

Right.

"Mmhmm. Be cool, be yourself. Meet me by the front when you're done."

He nods in response, but the man's already turned his attention to the boxes. Denki quietly makes his way down the stairs, taking a passing glance at the flower arrangements atop purple tablecloths as he walks around the tables towards the piano. As he draws closer, he notices that her hair, which had looked black from far away, is actually tinged with purple, a stark contrast to her porcelain white skin. It's decidedly short for a girl, but the asymmetrical slant of her bangs frame her face well. What strikes him the most, though, is how tiny and doll-like the girl looks next to the grand piano she's playing. Uncle Jean had suggested they were around the same age, but he thinks she could pass for a child if she wanted to.

He hovers at the peripheral of her vision and listens intently as her fingers fly across the keys, not wanting to interrupt her current piece.

She glances over and finally notices him standing there and the music ends abruptly. The silence is deafening and Denki grins nervously in response. He hadn't meant to startle her and isn't sure what to say now.

Fortunately, she speaks first, and with a surprising amount of calm.

"Uh... what are you doing here?"

His brain starts functioning again after a few seconds and he's glad words finally make their way out of his mouth. "I'm here with a certain Mr. Jean Havoc," he says, walking forward to lean on the edge of the piano in what he hopes is a cool pose. "You could say we're pretty close."

"Oh." She nods, a hint of recognition in her voice. Her eyes narrow at him. "Aren't you a little young to be loitering at an establishment like this?" She takes her hands off the keys and crosses them defiantly across her chest.

He scowls at her. People tend to assume he's younger than he actually is since he's...not particularly tall. Much like his father, his height has always been a sore spot for him.

"First of all, this place isn't even open yet. Second of all, speak for yourself," he shoots back.

She seems unfazed by his comeback, bringing a hand up to play with the ends of her hair. "How old are you anyway?"

"Almost 18."

She snorts, and he retorts rather defensively, "How old are you?"

"15." Her eyes flick up to the top of his head. "What's with the weird lightning bolt in your hair?"

"Oh, this? It's stylish, obviously," he grins back, puffing his chest out proudly as he strokes the streak of black amongst his otherwise golden hair. He's glad she could tell it was a lightning bolt. The symbol had kind of become his signature ever since he had chosen to specialize in lightning alchemy. Aside from that, a lot of his current outfit had been inspired by his Dad when he was around the same age. Denki had admired the all-black attire and more or less mirrored his outfit. With the addition of white lightning bolts. He wasn't a fan of his father's trademark red coat, though. Red had never really been his color.

She stares at the streak of hair, blinking incredulously. "...where did you say you were from, again?"

"I...didn't?" Is his perturbed response, and she gives him a pointed look in return. " Oh. Resembool."

"Ahhh, I see. Country boy, huh?"

"Excuse you."

She shrugs. "I didn't say that was a bad thing."

"Oh. Uh..."

While he's a bit surprised by this girl's demeanor, there's something about it he finds kind of charming. Of course, he's quite the charmer himself. His Dad would probably be upset if he told him that hearing about the suave and popular with the ladies Flame-Alchemist-turned-Fuhrer Roy Mustang was what inspired him to go into alchemy in the first place, but that's at least partiallytrue. Denki clears his throat and attempts to make his voice sound deeper. "So it seems you know a bit about me now, and I hardly know your name. The law of equivalent exchange would dictate that—"

"Ahhh, you're one of them," she says, fingers pensively at her chin, seemingly unaffected by his attempt at flirting. Evidently she gets where he's coming from, but he's not sure what her disposition towards alchemists is based on that reaction. Still, he's glad when she extends her hand to him. "I'm Kyouka Jirou."

He blinks back stupidly before extending his own hand to shake hers. "Denki Elric."

"Oh!" Her eyes widen as she draws her hand back and gives him another once over. "You're an Elric? As in, Edward Elric?"

He grins. "Yup! I'm his son! So you've heard of me, then?"

"Something like that," she chuckles, then mumbles under her breath, "More like, that explains why you're so short."

"HEY!"

She waves her hands in front of her. "Sorry, sorry, I'll stop now." She clears her throat. "Your family is close to Fuhrer Mustang's, right? I'm good friends with his daughter so I've spent quite some time at their place. The name Elric comes up from time to time."

"Fuhrer's daughter...you mean Momo?" It's a stupid question given Fuhrer Mustang only has one child, but it's too late to take it back now. Luckily, this time she doesn't respond with a sassy comeback.

"Yeah. You know her?" She asks, genuinely curious.

"Uh, yeah!" It's been awhile since he'd last seen her but it was almost a given that the Elric family would visit the Fuhrer's estate anytime they were in Central. He wasn't sure if he could say he and Momo were friends, but they were on friendly terms, at least. He always tried his best not to make enemies out of anyone he met—his mother had always placed a lot of emphasis on that.

She leans back on the piano bench. "Wow. What a small world."

They settle into a momentary silence that is just the slightest bit awkward. This time, he's the one to break it.

"The music you were playing was really beautiful. I just wanted to tell you that." In retrospect, he should've started this whole conversation off with that, but it's too late to think about that now.

"Oh, uh…" For the first time since they started talking, she actually looks flustered. "Thanks, I guess…"

The look she gives him makes him feel slightly bolder. "May I listen to you play something?"

She swallows. "Well…"

"Whatever you want. Your favorite song or something," he continues excitedly, then falters when she seems to shrink into herself. "O-or not! you don't have to if you don't want to."

"No it's fine, just, uh..." She takes a deep breath and gracefully places her hands upon the keys, rolling her shoulders back. "Act like you're not there."

He's...not really sure how to do that, but resolves to stand as still as possible as she presses down on the first note.

Miss Jirou starts off slowly, hesitantly, and Denki isn't sure if that's the nature of the piece she's playing or her feelings about the current situation seeping into the keys. There is no sheet music in sight and part of him wonders if this is someone else's work or something she composed herself. The tempo picks up as does the overall tone of the song, and he is once again blown away at how quickly her fingers fly across the keys yet maintains an air of gracefulness.

He gets so lost in the music that he just stands in stunned silence as she plays the last note. She looks up at him expectantly and he tilts his head to the side as he hums in approval. " That was great! Thanks for letting me listen."

"Thanks for listening," she says, looking away as her hand comes up to tug at the ends of her hair yet again. He notices the slight dusting of pink on her cheeks and feels heat rush to his own face. Denki looks away. Perhaps now would be a good time to make his exit.

"I have to head out, but uh...you said you spend a lot of time at the Mustang residence, right?" He smiles. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah," she says, shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, maybe."

He gives her a funny little half-bow. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Jirou."

"Likewise," she responds with a half-smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And for future reference, Kyouka's fine."

He nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

He gives a final wave. She returns her attention to the piano as he slowly makes his way to the front entrance, mind on the events that had just transpired more than his current destination. Luckily, he doesn't do anything so stupid as tripping over one of the tables on the way there.

Denki pushes open the door, and is blinded by the brightness of the sun outside. He blinks repeatedly as his eyes adjust, searching for a familiar-looking tuft of dark blonde hair.

"Miss Jirou usually doesn't play in front of strangers, y'know."

He turns to find Uncle Jean leaning against the wall, lighter flicked open near the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. The man gives him a curious look. "Sounds like it ended on a high note?"

Denki glances back into the bar and makes eye contact with Kyouka who had apparently just finished playing. She looks away, but he catches the smile playing at the edge of her lips, and feels his own face stretch into a grin.

"Yeah."

While I typically only write for my OTPs, I have to admit~the Havolina and KamiJirou dynamics are fun. (I see some loose parallels, as well...?)

Was initially going to make Denki Jean's actual nephew, but given he has golden hair and golden eyes, I don't know how I'd justify him not being Xerxian in this universe.

Thanks for reading!