They never spoke the name that lingered between them, although it was there, moving between the lines of everything they said, etched into every movement of their bodies. Al's uncharacteristic, charismatic smile and the way Roy ran his fingers through the boy's hair (down his spine, across his hips) when he flashed it.
No, they never said it aloud because they never needed to.
Winry had punched Roy across the mouth when he told them, a stern set to her jaw and a fire burning in her blue eyes. Al had simply watched them, Roy's head tilted in shame and Winry's hands on her hips. And he wondered...
He wondered if this was how Roy had treated his brother- delicately, like a piece of glass or fine porcelain in his bed, something exquisite and expensive, something clearly marked: "look, don't touch." Somehow he doubted it. Edward wasn't the sort of person who would stand for that sort of worship- that sort of raw, open affection.
Although sometimes Al wondered...
He had no illusions that he was anyone but Edward Elric in these arms, but Roy too knew that he was nothing more than another piece to place in Al's jigsaw puzzle shrine to his brother.