Favoritism

Favoritism

By Maggie's Revenge

Neil sat, tapping his foot impatiently, in Garfiel's Studio. After months, it seemed, of being attended to by the less than appealing Garfiel, Winry was finally returning. A flower sat by him and he hoped desperately as he waited that she liked tulips.

The man behind the desk set down the phone with a soft click. "She should be here soon; they just got off the train."

And just like that, his heart was sent aflutter with anticipation. In minutes, he would see her beautiful, smiling face with her smooth, sunny hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She would be bent over his automail hand working diligently, and he could hardly wait. Even if she reprimanded him for destroying it in his factory's machinery (again), it was worth it.

Until he saw her walking up the road with her head on the shoulder of the young alchemist who she'd left Rush Valley to be with. She had her fingers entwined with his and he was looking at her so softly, so tenderly, that Neil had to turn away from the painfully sweet moment. The tulip beside him now looked disgustingly limp: it could never compare to anything the alchemist gave her.

And just like that, his heart was turned into a cold, hard lump in his chest.

Fin

Word count: 218 (Oh dear, I was hoping to never make a drabble longer than 200 words!)

A/N: Sorry I'm posting this so late (or considering the posting hours, so early), I was at a wedding today! So fun, so sweet. It was a theater couple, self proclaimed weirdos, so everyone was joking around and everyone had a good time. Oddly enough, I whipped this up before I left, thinking that Neil was a good name until I got to the ceremony and the groom's brother was named… Neil. By the way, this is sad! How did that happen? I didn't mean for it… And this is inspired by a tank top ad. Question mark?

Winry, I believe, would lightly scold her customers. Ed, being Ed, would be hung from his toenails or something insane like that. Oh, their squabbles. How they amuse me.

I read in an interview with the lovely Ms. Arakawa that the FMA world takes place pretty much in England's industrial revolution. That's right, people; they don't eat sushi or speak Japanese, because they're European. I don't know why this is so hard to comprehend.