When Dimitri comes home with an apple pie in hand, she thinks the gesture is pretty sweet. If there is something she has come to understand lately is that her husband loves to pamper her, and he adores it when she eats. Later on, however, she realizes that she does not… actually mind to be adored. It sweets things up, it brings more snacks into the house and she can make him eat more as well; what's not to like?

Perhaps her only complaint is how messy and downright dirty Dimitri's clothing is when he passes through the door. Taking off the anti-radiation glasses she wears for working on a computer, Byleth quirks her eyebrow, even more so when Dimitri leaves trails of mud on the floor. "Dima?" she calls.

Dimitri grumbles when his foot gets caught up with the carpet, which then successfully lands him onto the floor. "I'll clean it up," he says. "Is the pie safe?"

"Yes. This is now my hostage," Byleth grins, securing the food as well. "What happened?"

Dimitri grins sheepishly, however. His hand digging into the back of his head, ruffling his mane voluntarily. "Someone's cat gets stuck on a tree…" catching Byleth's mischievous grin, he continues. "I know this doesn't sound like an officer's job."

"Hmm," Byleth responds, grabbing a fork from the pantry that can be conveniently reached from the living room where she is seated. Without prelude or warning, she simply digs the fork into the pie, scooping quite a generous bite to feed him with. "Sounds like one to me, though. There are many officers out there, but only this one helped a poor kitty."

"Maybe you are the only one who said that," Dimitri grumbles, munching the pie.

"Disappointed?" Byleth chuckles.

"Not all," Dimitri grins, taking the pie back to feed her in return.

A week later, Byleth finds Dimitri back at their front door; again with food, only this time the spoil of war he presents to her is casserole rather than pie. However Dimitri also shows up with a metal box, similar to an old-style lunchbox in the fifties but bigger and longer. Not only that, Byleth easily notices that his coat is wet on the hems as they embrace the way they typically do to greet each other back home. But before she can ask about anything, Dimitri takes off his coat, conveniently banishing it into the washing machine. Byleth notes the collar of his shirt appears damp, but Dimitri simply proceeds to tell her about his day—enthusiastically too.

"Actually," he says, now clad in a simple tanktop after a short refreshing bath. "One of the neighbors gave the food to me."

Byleth stops plating the casserole. They've been engrossed in life after moving. She really cannot remember the last time she ever truly socialized with the neighbors, more so Dimitri because of his odd hours. There have been days when Dimitri left the house at five before she woke up. There have been days when she returned while he was already asleep. There have been days when Dimitri was literally only home to sleep, finding a respite through a brief hand-squeezing before both of them had to part ways again. "Really?" she responds, her thought begins to trail. "What's the special occasion?"

"Oh, no reason. She said she liked getting to know me."

Byleth blinks. She? "She said she liked getting to know… you?"

"We're new here after all, Byleth. I'm glad our neighbors are nice," Dimitri replies in a passing as he crouches in front of their opened fridge. "And then my go-to canned tea..."

"It's in the cooler box," Byleth says, finally finished setting Dimitri's plate. Pushing the white plate to the other side of the table, somehow her knife hangs in the air, doubtful to make a cut for her own. She is hungry. She might be home for the whole day because there wasn't any class to teach or any need to come to Garreg Mach that Friday, but at the same time it wasn't like she spent the day being idle—grading a quiz, writing up the summaries for her teaching plan for the next week, creating spreadsheets to assign reading materials for her students, thinking of group projects…

"Got it," Dimitri's cheery voice is powerful enough to motivate her knife making another dive into the casserole. She watches him setting the cold chamomile tea on the table before digging deeper-further to take a canned beer. "And this as well."

Reluctantly, Byleth receives the beer can from her husband. Something somehow does not feel right. Like something is missing, something is uncanny, but she isn't even sure why. She isn't even sure what it is about—everything was right. She was eager to wait for him to come home so that they could eat dinner together and talk. Given Dimitri's field, perhaps he can weigh in on the reading suggestions. Given her background, perhaps she can weigh in on his hypotheses before he has to truly consult a criminologist.

"Byleth?"

Thanks to another gasp, Byleth manages to save Dimitri's plate from being topped by a wild casserole slice. "Y-yeah?"

"What's the matter?" Dimitri asks, strolling closer to the table where she stands nearby. "It seems to me that my beloved wife is exhausted from work," his tone softens. He pulls a chair for her, taking the knife from her hands before she drops it. Setting aside his tea he cuts the casserole for her—a bigger cut than what she put on his plate, eyes sparkling as he waits for her to dig in. "Being smart doesn't exempt you from needing rest."

But Byleth does not say anything else. In silence she cuts her food, which somehow starts losing its charm as well. Wasn't she hungry? Wasn't she in a good mood because Dimitri came back with some food? But the casserole somehow turns into something strange that she barely recognizes anymore—moreover, she has never had a bitter casserole before! Yet a stolen glance directed at Dimitri shows that her husband does not seem to be troubled at all—he keeps eating just fine, close to cleaning whatever is on his plate.

"Uh oh. I guess I'm so hungry today," Dimitri chuckles sheepishly. "Seconds, dear?"

"No need," Byleth puts down her fork. "You can have it all for yourself."

There's a strong regret when a concerned Dimitri sets down the knife he is holding to cut himself more casserole slices, but even then the feeling cannot compete with the discomfort she suddenly feels—rather, it's only getting stronger, especially when Dimitri says that it isn't the first time of him to help doing errands for the neighborhood ladies. The discomfort becomes nagging, however, when Dimitri recounts this particular woman's house to her, noting the elegant decor and how well-coordinated the colors of her house's interior are.

"Is snooping part of your job as a detective or have you become a fashionista without my knowing?"

"What?"

Dimitri frowns, and Byleth regrets everything… sorely.

%%%%

Byleth sits quietly as other ladies chat.

Dimitri is right, after all—the queen bee's… ahem, Karen's house is indeed located at the end of their neighborhood's street, close to the main road like a watchtower's post. She practically passes the house everyday to commute to Garreg Mach, or when the schedule permits that Dimitri can drive her to the university where she teaches. She has seen a man coming out of the house a couple of times, but considering he never even granted her a nod, she figured whoever lives there has to be a non-social butterfly and she could respect that.

Some people are motivated by love. Some people are motivated by spite. Byleth wonders where she actually belongs considering she is motivated by both when she looked up for simple recipes on the internet for the gathering.

Her choice is chicken wings. It's simple, a general favorite, and suitable for most people, children and adults alike. In no way Byleth will call herself a homecook, anyway, but to make the chicken wings the typical comforting chicken wings nobody has the heart to shun, she makes it simple—garlic wings, bite-sized and crunchy; she even bottles the sauce she prepares in a separate container so the ladies at the gathering can choose for themselves. Everything is great. She used Dimitri as a taster, regretting her choice yet again because Dimitri shot her a subtle kitten eye-look, beseeching her to be allowed to demolish a plate.

Byleth prepared her weapon and left the house.

Inside the queen bee's house, however, things are indeed as breathtaking as Dimitri described—she should have known her husband is sincere and hardly ever lied so far…

Karen's roses are amazing. Her porch is picture-perfect, worthy of thousands of retweets and likes on any social media that would have such pictures. Strong aromatherapy welcomes her the moment she makes it through the gateway… ahem, Karen's front door, to be greeted even more with the kind of interior that will make social media empresses green with envy. None of her wares are plain-looking compared to a dozen of white plates she and Dimitri bought off a grocery store at a discount. Fine china which she won't need to play guess how expensive it is, elegant cups that take her back to far-yonder as if some duchess or wealthy heiress deigns to receive her folks.

And perhaps she shouldn't stare, but even the couch, carpet, and the wall are very color-coordinated—spotless, rainbow-y due to the baby blue and pink shades the queen bee used. Light lavender for the kitchen, which, much to Byleth's belief, convinces her that in no way her neighbor is truly human—based on her experiences, personal and not, a typical human-person is less likely to be thrilled when being asked to show their kitchen.

"Some people do like cleaning and take nice care of their kitchens though," Byleth blurted one day as she and Dimitri cuddled on the couch for yet another TV marathon.

"Oh, I agree. In my case, those people tend to make the most skilled murderers."

With a heavy heart, Byleth had to pinch Dimitri's cheek twice that day.

"Hello, darla!" one of the ladies enthusiastically welcomes her. Byleth has to blink a couple of times—she probably isn't used to documenting every peculiar thing she sees like Dimitri due to the nature of his job, perhaps, but pretty sure this woman is the same woman she asked for some salt the day they first moved. The woman hardly batted an eye at her back then as if she was just some kind of a girl's scout member or salesperson, and now… darla?

"Hi, sweetie!"

Byleth looks around again, Her Majesty the Queen, Karen of the Bees, finally shows up. Leering is bad, so she was told; but Karen is beautiful and definitely possesses a bearing and appearance that will make heads turn—tall and slender, Byleth begins to wonder if she sold her soul to the devil in order to obtain the perfect curls or corset-worthy waistline. "Uh," awkwardly, she waves back. Karen frowns because her attempt to kiss her cheek is met with her nose, causing several lines over her finely-contoured forehead. "... Karen?"

"Awh, you must be the little Mrs. Detective!"

Byleth frowns—again. Little? Mrs. Detective? She is twenty-eight, older than Dimitri.

"Oh, I'm so glad to finally meet you…" Karen says, suddenly glaring at a single direction, making Byleth gasp because of how unanticipated and sudden the gesture is. "Go upstairs!"

Byleth truly gapes now. A little boy with cloudy eyes and somber expression shrinks, taking himself from the perfect living room to the separate world upstairs. Steps languid, back hunched; a true contrast of all the laughter and smile where the lady professor is. Something jabs her straight to the heart. People talk about hobbies… elegant hobbies which she normally has no problem about, yet feels so out of place in this little palace down the street, a couple of houses-away from her own.

"Oh, my husband is a busy trader. We are not big or anything, it's just this year we are thrown between holidaying in Brigid or Duscur. Probably we can only spare ten thousands compared to the typical fifty this year, you know…" a giggle.

Byleth's head pounds, forcefully taking her back to the time where she and Dimitri looked around for a house. Byleth wanted to build her new life with a warm house whose door would always remain open for her father or Dimitri's father. Dimitri wanted to stand on his feet without the well-known name of his most-distinguished lawyer father whom people dubbed as the king of courtrooms, yet at the same time he had always wanted a guest room as warm as their own master bedroom to anticipate his father-in-law's visits. Young and in love with a budget they fiercely kept at a bay. Rountrips to neighborhoods until they scored an old house with a near-desperate agent who couldn't be happier than being able to get the couple as a tenant. The nights which witnessed both she and Dimitri, half-dead sleepy, sitting together to budget everything, plan their furniture, and pay their taxes. The joint account they always try to fill regardless of how meager they can spare. And…

"You should see the designer bag Hilda von Riegan brought to her jewelry exhibition. Seriously? Such a poor taste, wasn't it? I wonder how she could even afford it. I heard her husband is like…"

Her husband is Dimitri's distant cousin and no matter how distant-distant the familial relation is, Claude will always be accepted at their house—no ifs, no buts. Listening to these people talking bad about his equally-eccentric wife burns her ears. The couple may have their own style and approach for everything else, but they have been most kind so far, and…

"And your husband has been very helpful so far, sweetheart!" Karen says, definitely oblivious to the expression Byleth has been wearing so far. Byleth can only sit with her mouth open, listening to the series of knight-errant her dear Dima did for the neighbors so far—carrying groceries, helping to fix a hydrant, and locating Karen's son's… missing history textbook? And those foods; the sweets—foods she did not make for Dimitri.

… If she was petrified at first, her blood starts boiling now.

"You are so silent," one of them coos on her. "Dig in, don't be shy…" Byleth blinks a few times more now as she tries to keep up with the conversation, now decorated with words in a language she doesn't speak, but sophisticated that they are if not from the manner of the lady who speaks to her—lifted chin, posh gesture, a pinky finger that sticks out. A cake that seems to lose its primary purpose of being a cake, but blending in perfect harmony with everything else in the room—the women of this bespoke gang, the perfect decoration…

Except her. She nods and smiles slightly to acknowledge the praises they throw at her husband. She nods and smiles again before answering nearly everything they want to know about her husband, which, at this point, starts to get blurry with her—about him being the son of Lambert Blaiddyd, king of the courtrooms? Yes. About what Dimitri did before deciding to join the Fodlan Police Department? Combat veteran, yes; operating a tank since he was in the cavalry division. About how Dimitri takes his pecan pie?

"What for?"

The conversation stops for a while, but not for too long because another wave hits Byleth unexpectedly—Dimitri took some sophisticated earl gray and oolong at Karen's house, conveyed in a manner which makes her question why it comes off like a glory parade, and how they want to sincerely thank their savior for all these deeds.

"We should go together sometimes. It's not easy being alone…"

Byleth wonders if it's just her or Karen's lips curve into a wicked smile. As the night goes on, topics swirl around the so-called community sisterhood, about group love, how nice it is if everything can come together in unison, surreal to her because she isn't sure if this is her own neighborhood or the same high school cafeteria where popular girls cornered her during lunch because every school has their own weird kid to avoid. The tea she is served with is superb; probably the finest quality to ever grace her throat so far. And yet…

And yet her wings remain uneaten.

"Oh, goodness. Not to offend you, sweetheart, but those are, um…"

"Oh, rest assured. I separate the sauce after all," Byleth replies innocently, a warm smile emerging on her face as she recounts what happened before she came there. "I really have to stop my husband from demolishing these wings. Help yourselves, don't be shy!"

"You fed the detective with those?"

Byleth stops talking when eyes widen and goggle.

"My," Karen chuckles. "I know the detective will appreciate my food. Need balance these days since people barely cook anymore."

Byleth closes the container where she stores her holy chicken wings. Her calloused hands must have pressed harder against the lid because it creaks instead of closes. "I think you forgot something," her voice is stone-cold as her expression is sharp. "The detective you kept rambling about is my husband, and he's not your handyman..." she breathes, taming the tempest trapped within her chest. "Or plaything."

There are gasps and shrieks, followed with pearl-clutching and exasperated heaves. Byleth walks with her head held high, smiling back at the little boy from prior who watched in awe from the staircases. Nobody tries to catch up to her as she leaves—if anything she can hear the queen bee howls and wails about how mean their new little sweetheart-neighbor is because sure, all she did is trying to be friendly, supposedly, and she really does not understand why little Mrs. Detective isn't feeling welcomed or being sincerely helped.

The air is crisp. She leaves much earlier than she anticipated, anyway, and her hands tremble a little bit as she keeps the chicken wing box in her hands. It isn't that dark. She can still see her surroundings, but her finger already hits the speed dial.

"Byleth?"

Dimitri's voice always has that unchanging gentle and comforting effect…

"Dima," she replies, voice hoarse as if being suffocated.

There's a pause from the other side, and she knows Dimitri is paying attention.

"Pick me up, please," she continues, trying to withstand the exasperation creeping upon her. She was eager and even had fun making the wings… and now she feels so drained. "I…"

"Explanation can wait. Right away, darling."

Byleth groans. Leaning against a lamp post, she clutches the food container… tighter.

%%%%

"I just built a new shelf. You can house your papers conveniently this way," Dimitri says. "You know I like maintaining things—I've oiled your umbrella too, so it won't get stuck when you want to open it."

"You like to be helpful too," she mumbles.

He picked her up as she asked, one arm conveniently wrapping around her body as they walked home quietly. He then sits her down on their fluffy carpet, her back pressing against his chest as he runs his hand in her hair—brushing and brushing to comfort her.

"That's your hobby though, and I'm grateful," gently he taps the container which she still clutches. He did not ask about it, either. He simply asked her to sit the moment they reached the house; her somber gaze being more than enough to tell that whatever happened ought to earn her sadness. If it was a concern that he previously projected, anger now blazes from the usually-tame blue eyes when he notices the wings truly remain untouched.

"You are a hero," she mutters. "They said. That's the only part I like from this gathering, listening to you helping people here and there including…"

"Yes?"

"Including problems that aren't even yours to begin with," she spats.

"Ah."

"Her house is perfect," Byleth sighs. "Nothing is out of order there. Except me."

"Byleth, I'm not a hero," Dimitri replies. "Rather, you are my hero."

"You said that just because you want these wings," she blurts.

"Oh, yes, but I can be honest as well—we multitask in this house, don't we, beloved?"

"Shameless, Mr Blaiddyd," she grumbles, but her lips start to curve.

"I took the food because I'd like to pamper you," Dimitri blurts back, so innocent and sheepish his mannerism is that Byleth can't help but truly smile now. "You work hard and take pride in what you do. To make you cook just because you're my wife doesn't feel right."

"Well, definitely I won't forbid you to talk to anyone you wish…" she says, but Dimitri catches her attention by swiftly stealing a chicken wing out of her container.

"There's more for us then," he says. "There's more for me."

"Dima."

"That lady is pretty, Byleth, but she isn't you," Dimitri says oh-so-casually as he noms on the chicken. "... Nobody else but you."

"E-eh."

"Besides," Dimitri pleads with his eyes when Byleth lightly slaps his infiltrating hand to steal yet another chicken wing. "I firmly believe people with the nicest, cleanest house make the most potential murderers. Why do you think she needs a three-door refrigerator?"

"Goodness—Dimitri Alexandre," she mutters, only to start chuckling because she can no longer hold it back. Rewarding her husband's endearing… ahem, honesty, she opens the gate to let his preying hand pass through to demolish more chicken wings in the container.

"Ah, you smile again. I don't need to bury whoever it was that made you sad."

"... Dima."

"If I know how to find a dead body, I also know how to hide one," he deadpans.

"Hmm."

"Job, darling."

"Mm-hmm."

"Or we can hangout with the vampire next door. He surprisingly knows many interesting things about dead bodies," Dimitri mutters, by the virtue of the fourth chicken wing.

Byleth smiles a little. "You don't want to hangout with Queen Karen?"

"Why?" the blonde blurts, even more, more innocent now. "You get bored of seeing me on weekends?" reflexively, he hands the chicken wing he's holding to her. "But why her?"

Byleth laughs. "Never mind," she says. "Perhaps better that you don't know. After all, it's never boring or lonely with you."

"Stealing my line—fined, two more wings."

"I can't believe it though," Byleth sighs. "They made me feel so worthless; it's almost like I was this peasant they constantly picked on, and… oh, right, you probably don't know. I wonder, though, considering they all talked as if you and I aren't… wait, was it on purpose…"

Byleth blinks again because her voice gets caught by her lips. Dimitri draws her in, enveloping her with a hug while one palm gently presses over her mouth, muffling her words. "Beloved," purposefully whispering in her ear, he shoots her a leonine grin, gaze raw yet tender and caring at the same time. "I know. I choose you still."