Summary: When Shitt P thought about other people she'd dated, Gokudera didn't seem remotely like her type.

Shitt P stood silent, hand on her hip and head tilted, staring right past Gokudera at the wall of his apartment as she considered the various issues:

- Had all his own hair and teeth
- No tattoos, no piercings
- He was permanently hung up on his boss, who didn't even have an ass to speak of
- Couldn't share makeup with her. Not so much as lip gloss, or even eyeliner!
- Had no vehicle and couldn't ride any species of animal
- Smelled like an ashtray half the time
- ... And his habit of making lists and notes about everything appeared to be catching.

But the real problem was that he had a baby grand in his flat, and he listened to classical music. He'd asked her to listen to that classical music.

Gokudera Hayato wasn't like other people Shitt P had dated at all.

He turned away to the piano as she thought. "Haven't played," he said, running a thumb over the keys without making a whisper of sound. "In front of anybody. For ... I dunno, a while. Years." Then the thick mumble of his voice cleared with a spark of enthusiasm. "But, er, since you're here ... there's this piece that reminds me of..." For a shy instant, he met her eyes.

She kissed him. Hard enough for her lipstick to come off in a bubblegum blue that made his eyes look electric, hard enough to learn to like the cigarette taste of his mouth. (Even if he couldn't share makeup with her, she didn't mind sharing with him at all.)

"Please," she said, and she'd kissed him hard enough that for a while they forgot the initial reason she said it. Eventually they remembered, put their clothing back in order, and sat down at the piano bench.

Shitt P listened, but mostly she watched him get caught up in making the piano thunder, shooting her quick, blue-smudged grins, and she thought dreamily how strange it was to believe for one second that Gokudera was boring.