Polyurethane could confidently say that his number one least favorite thing to do was cry. Especially in front of other people. Like, what could possibly be worse than getting so frustrated you're in tears while trying to take down a stubborn ghost? Nothing. He shuddered even at the thought of it.

He could be a very rash person at times. Polyurethane knew damn well that he had a temper, and sometimes he had some trouble reining it in in the moment. He couldn't necessarily help it... he was who he was, and nature was hard to change. Especially in a high-ranking angel like him. Fire ran through his blood.

Above all people, the one he didn't want to see him cry was you. You were an angel who helped out his cousins, Panty and Stocking, on occasion. (Really, they were bums, so he didn't understand why you would willingly hang out with them, but, to each their own.) But he had... well.

He had developed a bit of a crush on you. He wanted you to think he was nonchalant. Even though he was... not-so-secretly chalant as hell. His aura had to impress you, damn it! And crying was totally not the way to rizz you up. But... he should have known that there would eventually be a time he lost the nonchalant battle.

He had been beaten by a ghost and gotten injured (just slightly) in the process. A scratch right across his cheek that bled. And to make matters worse, you were standing right there. He tried to stand on business, but he couldn't do it. He broke down into tears in front of you, angrily wiping his eyes. "Don't look at me, damn it," he mumbled.