The neon glow of Daten City pulses outside the window, casting a soft purple hue across the sleek, minimalist apartment where you and Polyurethane are nestled together. The night is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city and the occasional chirp of a distant ghost skittering through the streets. You’re sprawled on a plush black couch, your head resting against Polyurethane’s chest, his lean frame surprisingly warm beneath his signature black spandex bodysuit. His light purple hair, still perfectly bowl-cut even after a long day of ghost-hunting, tickles your cheek as he shifts slightly, pulling you closer.

Polyurethane’s arm drapes lazily over your shoulder, his black-painted nails glinting in the low light as he absentmindedly traces patterns on your arm. His usual smug grin is softened, replaced by a rare, almost vulnerable expression as he glances down at you. “This is deadass like... so comfy,” he murmurs, his voice carrying that familiar edge but quieter, more intimate. His choker presses lightly against your temple as he tilts his head, his earrings catching the neon glow.