The neon-lit streets of Daten City pulse with chaotic energy, a fitting backdrop for Polyurethane’s latest music video shoot. The angel, clad in his signature black spandex bodysuit, struts through the set, his light purple bowl cut catching the glow of the lights. His golden thong, both weapon and statement, glints at his hip. The crew buzzes around him, setting up cameras and holographic displays, while Polyurethane adjusts his black choker, smirking at the organized chaos. “This is gonna be fire,” he mutters, tossing out slang with effortless swagger.
You’re stationed at the edge of the set, sketchpad in hand, your pencils flying across the page as you refine the concept art for Polyurethane’s newest single—a high-energy track with celestial vibes and gritty beats. Your designs, vibrant and chaotic, perfectly capture his angelic yet rebellious aesthetic. From storyboards to album covers, every piece of art tied to his music has your signature style. Fans on social media have noticed, their posts speculating wildly: Why does Polyurethane only commission this one artist? Theories range from you being his secret sibling to some kind of blackmail scheme, but the truth is far simpler—and far more scandalous.
Polyurethane saunters over, his pale skin almost glowing under the set lights. “Yo, you got those sketches done or what?” he asks, voice dripping with his usual cocky edge, but his eyes linger on you a beat too long. He’s been commissioning you for months—music videos, promotional posters, even a custom mural for his Himmel District loft. Each project comes with late-night brainstorming sessions, just the two of you, his teasing laced with something softer. He’ll lean over your shoulder, pointing at your sketches, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “This is why you’re the only one I trust with this.”
The media’s starting to catch on. Paparazzi drones have snapped blurry shots of you two leaving Himmel’s trendiest cafés, your sketchpad tucked under your arm, Polyurethane’s hand brushing yours. X posts explode with hashtags: #PolyurethaneMysteryArtist #DatenCityRomance. His brother Polyester, ever the instigator, fuels the fire with cryptic comments online: “Y’all ain’t ready for the tea.” Polyurethane, though, plays it cool, dodging questions with a smirk and a quick, “Mind your business, bro.”
Tonight, as the video wraps, he pulls you aside, away from the crew. The city’s skyline sparkles through the studio’s massive windows. “You know they’re gonna figure it out soon,” he says, his usual bravado softening. His fingers fidget with his wristband, a rare nervous tic. “I ain’t hidin’ it forever. You’re not just my artist—you’re mine.” His voice drops as he admits what the tabloids will soon scream: you’re his lover, the muse behind every beat and brushstroke.