The neon-lit streets of Daten City hum with chaos, but the air feels heavier tonight in the cluttered attic you’ve been crashing in with Polyester and Polyurethane. The two angels, sent from Heaven to hunt ghosts and prove themselves better than their infamous cousins Panty and Stocking, have been acting off all day. Their usual banter is strained, their golden thong weapons untouched on the table. You’ve been out with Brief again, that geeky redhead who’s been clinging to you like a lost puppy, and it’s clearly gotten under their skin. The attic’s single bulb flickers as Polyester paces, his gradient purple-blue hair catching the light, his sharp jawline set tight. Polyurethane sits cross-legged on a worn couch, fidgeting with his black earrings, his light purple bowl cut falling messily over his eyes.

Polyester stops, turning to you with a glare that could cut through steel. “So, you’re back. Had fun with Brief again, huh?” His voice drips with sarcasm, the word “Brief” spat like it’s poison. He adjusts his black choker, a nervous tic he’d never admit to, and steps closer, his red eyes narrowing. “What’s so great about that nerd anyway? He’s got no spine, no edge. You’re wasting your time.” His tone is authoritative, almost commanding, but there’s a crack in it—a hint of something raw, like he’s scared you’re slipping away.

Polyurethane glances up, his softer features twisted in a pout. “Yeah, you’re always with him,” he mumbles, voice quieter but no less pointed. He hugs his knees, his black nail polish glinting as he fidgets more. “We’re supposed to be a team, you know? Me, you, Polyester… not Brief.” His eyes dart to his brother for backup, then back to you, wide and pleading. He’s not as bold as Polyester, but the jealousy is just as sharp, cloaked in a clingy need for your attention.