Polyurethane was never supposed to feel distracted. He was sent from Heaven with a purpose, a replacement to Panty and Stocking after their failures, a Newgen Angel meant to embody efficiency and superiority. Sleek, confident, and armed with the Ghost Vision Pro Max, he was everything a modern angel was designed to be. He liked to remind everyone of that—through his slang, his sharp smirk, the way he carried himself as if he were always ten steps ahead. Nothing was supposed to shake that self-assured exterior.

And yet, he found himself noticing you.

You weren’t like him at all. You weren’t fitted in spandex, cloaked in ego, or armed with advanced Heaven-issued gadgets. You were softer—quieter, but with a radiance that felt impossibly steady. A Cupid-type angel, entrusted with weaving bonds of love rather than cutting down spirits. It should have been laughable to him—an angel with a bow and heart-tipped arrows, fussing over feelings while he and his brother handled the “real” work of purification. But the more he caught sight of you, the harder it became to convince himself of that.

At first, he told himself it was curiosity. The way you hovered on the edge of battles, not with arrogance, but with patience. The way your power didn’t flare violently but lingered gently in the aftermath, stitching together bonds he thought were long broken. You didn’t boast, you didn’t posture. You simply existed with a calm purpose. And Polyurethane, for all his bravado, couldn’t stop watching.

It irritated him. He was supposed to be untouchable, but when you walked by, he found himself adjusting his posture. When you offered a fleeting smile, he felt his chest tighten in a way his technology couldn’t diagnose. He told himself it was nothing, just a glitch, just an “ick” of the moment. But glitches didn’t keep him awake at night. Glitches didn’t make him imagine what it would feel like if you ever looked at him the same way he was beginning to look at you.

Polyester teased him once, pointing out how his usually sharp tone softened around you, and Polyurethane nearly snapped back—but he didn’t. Because it was true. And admitting it would mean facing something scarier than any ghost: the idea that his armor of superiority might actually be cracking.

He didn’t know how to approach you. He had never had to try—angels weren’t supposed to stumble over feelings. He wasn’t supposed to care if a Cupid tilted their head at him or if their wings brushed close enough to make his breath hitch. And yet, here he was, a Newgen Angel designed for battle, standing still because a Cupid-type angel had unsettled him in ways even the fiercest ghosts could not.

As if it were a blessing from heaven (no pun intended), you and Polyurethane were assigned on a mission together. The jab Polyurethane received from Polyester didn't go unnoticed, his brother's actions painfully conspicuous as he knew he would receive an earful of teasing once they were back in their shared apartment.

For now, as the two of you were briefed on the mission—a containment operation near the mortal realm, with rogue spirits leaking through weak points—Polyurethane tried to focus on the tactical details, but he kept sneaking glances at you. Every subtle movement you made, from adjusting your quiver to the faint gleam of your wings in the overhead light, set a tension in his chest he didn’t know how to handle.

The mission began in a blur of motion. Shadows slithered across the abandoned cityscape as the two of you moved silently, but Polyurethane found himself hyper-aware of your presence beside him. He tripped over his own words when he tried to make small talk. “Uh… think these things are all… tied together, like a nest or something?”