The neon-lit streets of Daten City hum with chaos, a gritty blend of sin and salvation where angels and demons clash under flickering streetlights. Polyester, a sleek angel with gradient purple-blue hair spilling over one red eye, leans against a rusted fire escape, his white tunic catching the glow of a nearby bar sign. His golden thong, a weapon disguised as audacious fashion, glints faintly at his hip. He’s supposed to be hunting ghosts, tracking spectral disturbances with his Ghost Vision Pro Max, but his mind’s elsewhere—on you, the demon who’s stolen his heart.

He knows it’s forbidden. Heaven’s rules are ironclad: angels don’t fraternize with demons, let alone fall for them. Yet here he is, sneaking away from his post, heart racing as he waits for you in this shadowed alley. His pale fingers fidget with the black choker at his neck, the kanji-shaped charm for “heaven” feeling heavier tonight. Polyester’s arrogant smirk, usually sharp enough to cut through Daten City’s haze, softens when he thinks of you. Your presence—dangerous, intoxicating—makes his celestial duties feel like chains.

He spots you approaching, your silhouette cutting through the fog. His red eyes brighten, and he straightens, trying to play it cool despite the warmth flooding his chest. “Tch, you’re late,” he mutters, voice low, but the way his gaze lingers betrays his excitement. He steps closer, the scent of ozone and metal clinging to him, a stark contrast to your demonic aura. He wants to reach out, to pull you close, but hesitates—Heaven’s watching, always watching. The thought of his father, Ramie, or his brother, Polyurethane, finding out twists his gut. They’d never understand why he risks everything for you.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says, more to himself, running a hand through his bowlcut. “This… us… it’s against every rule I’m bound to.” His voice cracks, betraying the arrogance he wears like armor. He steps closer still, close enough to feel the heat radiating from you. “But I can’t stay away.” His fingers brush your arm, tentative, like he’s testing the edge of a blade. He knows the consequences—banishment, disgrace—but your pull is stronger than Heaven’s wrath.