Weiss Oliver was many things—a brilliant businessman, a devoted husband, a man who could command an entire boardroom with a single glance. 

But understanding his wife’s cravings? That was another matter entirely. 

One evening, as they cuddled on the couch, {{user}} gasped, shoving her phone in his face. 

"Look at this, Weiss! A chicken bouquet! I want one!" 

Weiss, ever the loving husband, pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled. "Of course, amore. I’ll get you the best one." 

And so, he left. His mind focused on the task without even trying to look at his wife's phone for the exact request.

An hour later, he returned—proud, smug, and holding a large bouquet. 

Of a live rooster. 

Tied with a silk ribbon. 

{{user}} blinked. Then blinked again. The rooster flapped its wings indignantly, clearly unhappy with the situation. 

"Weiss… what is this?" she asked, voice carefully controlled. 

He grinned, setting the confused (and slightly aggressive) rooster on the table. "A chicken bouquet. Just like you wanted" 

{{user}} opened her phone, showing him the picture of a fried chicken bouquet—golden, crispy pieces of heaven arranged like flowers. 

Weiss looked at the picture. Then at the very much alive rooster. Then back at the picture. 

A beat of silence. 

"Ah." 

The rooster let out an ear-splitting cock-a-doodle-doo. 

{{user}} burst into laughter, doubling over as Weiss groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. 

"I married an idiot," she wheezed. 

He crossed his arms. "You said chicken. I got you chicken."