A mother's laugh, an apple pie, and the heart-warming smell of sheep.

Perhaps this is Resembool to the naked eyes; an iris that has not seen, has not comprehended, has not looked; for surely one could not miss something so blatantly obvious.

Resembool is color.

The uncanny, soul piercing blue of the sky.

The deep, rich earth tones of a freshly-ploughed pasture.

The dark, flowing red of a coat painted out in stark contrast to the browning, dying grass at his mismatched feet.

This is Resembool, he thinks; watching Ed stand there upon a hill at the ruins of a place.

Home.

It was an idea- something he'd cared for briefly. Something he recognized, and surely longed for at times- yet altogether not fundamental. Still, he'd cared for it, once.

Once.

He detects the slightest hint of soot and ash on the fair breeze that flitted across his face. He wishes, for Fullmetal's sake, that the reminders could blow away like this wind and allow an ambling soul to find his peace.

The tortured silence of the child shook Roy deep inside his being, inside the place where a soul would reside if a monster such as Mustang were to possess one. He knew nothing other than he had to get the golden boy on a train, to soak up the color, before he lost it.

He thinks the color is why he's held on this long.

It brandished itself on the walls of Headquarters the day he arrived. To accompany it, he'd splattered hope, love, and a raging internal fire to right his wrongs. And help everyone else along the way.

Such is the Elric way.

He observes Fullmetal from afar often. This time is no different; nor is the nagging sensation that he needed to hold him close, to protect him, so that he might accomplish his goals quickly and flee, taking all of his life with him.

Before he ended up like Roy.

Sure, he has a 'home', a flat above a skanky bar in intercity Central. The furnishings are sparse; bare; a mattress in the corner and a crooked lamp beside it.

It lacks love, like these ruins hold for the boy; and Roy envies him.

Said boy returns a short while later, tears brimming over the edge of guarded eyes. He doesn't speak; only sits down with a protest from his metal parts and begins to watch Roy.

"What're you thinking, Colonel?" He asks after a time; drawing flamels in the dirt with an automail digit. "You're so quiet."

"You were lucky to grow up in such a quaint place," the man answers instead, craning an alabaster neck back to be caressed by gentle touches of the sun. Fullmetal smiles softly at him, almost caringly, almost like he knows Roy is on the cusp of losing it; the fibers of his being spun around the tanned skin of his fingers.

"Yeah."

A pause.

"Everything sings here. The trees, the streams- Hell, even the ash does." A weary look passes across his face, dimming its radiance and Roy curses himself for allowing that color to fade. "Do you hear it?"

Roy strains to listen, and indeed; the world blends and howls like a melancholic melody, sending sharp pains of sadness at his heart and for a moment, Roy is tempted to hum along in its bitterness.

"When we burned down Mom's house, the singing stopped. All you heard was flames licking, clawing, begging to be incorporated into the rhythm and the whole world froze in disappointment- at me, the greediness of the fire- I'll never know. Perhaps that's why I remember; the core of the Earth knew I sinned and it took away my song. I can't let that happen again."

Roy glances quietly at the young boy, seeing pain and hope mixed in those terrifying eyes of his. He yearned to help him; to ease the burden on his over encumbered shoulders- but he senses it is not his place, so he watches. Like always.

"Mustang," the boy says, his voice quavering with an emotion Roy failed to decipher. "You- you won't let me forget, will you? Please?"

Roy nods his head minutely, onyx eyes whispering tones of encouragement and comfort that his pride kept him from saying.

"Forever."

"Never forget?"

The emotion changed frequencies to a higher, happier one- a tone that causes a spark of happiness to rise up in Roy's chest and take root. He thinks, with blood-stained, tired, soulless eyes like his, that he can see into forever-

And from here, everything is so bloody beautiful.

"Never."

The two, mismatched pair sit and watch the sun struggle in its descent through the horizon, reveling in the song nature sung to open, fragile ears, neither perched on the cusp of survival any longer.

The world had color, and they were a fragment of it; swept away to be ingrained into history and future alike. No iris that sought to see could forget them; the red and black and pigment of the universe stained their existance.

They would remember, because they could not forget; lest the past repeat and the Earth hush once more.

Forever is not a word to be taken lightly.

Never Forget- October 3rd, 1911.