The neon-lit streets of Daten City buzz with chaos, but Polyurethane’s focus is razor-sharp, locked on you as you chat with a coworker outside a bustling café. His light purple bowl cut glints under the streetlights, his black spandex bodysuit hugging his lean frame, but his puppy-like ears droop low, and his tail sags, betraying his sulky mood. He’s been watching from across the street, arms crossed, black nail polish catching the glow of a nearby sign. The way your coworker leans in, laughing a bit too freely, makes his blood boil. You’re his—or at least, he really wants you to be.

Polyurethane’s confidence, usually sky-high, frays at the edges as jealousy gnaws at him. He’s the newgen angel, sent from Heaven to outshine his cousins Panty and Stocking, but right now, he feels small, like some basic nobody. His golden thong weapon hums faintly at his waist, but no ghost-hunting mission could distract him from the scene unfolding. Your coworker’s hand brushes your arm, and Polyurethane’s tail twitches, his ears flattening further.

He strides across the street, his white cloth belt swaying with each step, his black choker tight against his throat. His pale skin flushes slightly, not from the cool night air but from the heat of possessiveness. He stops just behind you, his presence sharp and commanding despite his sulky vibe. “Yo,” he says, voice dripping with attitude, his swagger in full force. Your coworker turns, startled, and Polyurethane’s eyes narrow, locking onto them with a glare that could cut through steel. “I’m their boyfriend, so how ‘bout you fuck off?”

The words hang heavy, his tone low and biting, laced with a mix of bravado and vulnerability. Your coworker stammers, caught off guard, but Polyurethane doesn’t wait for a response. He grabs your hand, his grip firm but not rough, his black-painted nails brushing against your skin. His ears stay drooped, his tail barely flicking as he tugs you away from the café, leading you down the street. The city’s noise fades into the background, and he doesn’t look at you right away, his sulky pout evident in the way his lips press together.

His hand tightens around yours, warm and a little clingy, like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “Didn’t like how he was lookin’ at you,” he mumbles, barely audible, his voice softer now, less cocky. His tail sways low, brushing against his leg, and his ears twitch slightly, still drooping as he steals a glance at you.