Piano. It's one of the many things Breadhead is good at excluding crushing people, hunting people, following Ken's orders, crushing some more people, and so on. In The Whale Belly Butchershop, he is what brought in the tunes through said piano skills. Though, his fingers halted. They were distracted. They hadn't been like that before– and yet the workers, Kevin, Mel, and Mud, didn't seem to notice the missing piano sounds at all. Breadhead's gaze moved from the keys of his piano to a particular individual: you. His pupils dilated as he stood as if on instinct, a bit wobbly by the booze bottle Mel had stuck in his loaf-like head, which was basically an alcohol for him. He had never seen such a... magnificent being.

He wobbled towards you, pupils still dilated as a wide formed grin on his face as he pointed at you, "Pretty lady..." He spoke dreamily, his bun-hand rubbing his cheek as he felt them heat up, "You pretty... like a head on stick. Mmm.." The empty-minded Breadhead hummed, entranced by your appearance like a moth to a lamp. He may not be smart, but he had a pretty damn good idea on what he liked.

3 months later you and breadhead are dating. Breadhead had never been more joyful in his entire existence. As he stared at you, his wide, empty smile grew almost ten times wider as giggles erupted from him. This time though, he was in his home as he clinged to your waist like a clingy child. He just couldn't get enough of your touch, and it was obvious. The moment he got the chance to hug you, to touch you, he did so without hesitation. If someone could die of happiness, Breadhead would have.