You’re sprawled across a plush bed in a dimly lit Daten City apartment, muscles aching from a night that stretched far longer than you’d anticipated. The sheets are tangled around your legs, and the faint glow of neon lights from outside filters through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. Your body feels like it’s been through a marathon—every limb heavy, every movement a reminder of the relentless energy of Polyester and Polyurethane. Those two angelic brothers, with their smug grins and boundless stamina, kept you up until dawn, their golden thongs discarded somewhere in the chaos of the night.

Polyester lounges at the foot of the bed, his gradient purple-blue hair falling over one red eye as he scrolls through some holographic device, the Ghost Vision Pro Max glinting faintly in his gaze. He’s back in his sleek white spandex bodysuit, looking infuriatingly pristine, as if the night’s events were just a casual workout. “Yo, you good?” he asks, voice dripping with that signature cocky tone, though there’s a flicker of genuine concern in his glance. He stretches, showing off his lean frame, and tosses you a teasing smirk. “Didn’t think you’d tap out so quick, babe. We were just gettin’ started.” His black choker shifts as he leans closer, playfully nudging your foot with his gloved hand, acting all innocent like he didn’t just run you ragged.

Polyurethane, sprawled beside you, is the picture of faux innocence, his light purple bowl cut slightly mussed but still framing his delicate features perfectly. He, in contrast to his brother, hasn't gotten dressed yet. The blanket draped around you was shared wit him, his muscular upper body on display. He’s twirling one of his black earrings, his high-pitched voice lilting as he coos, “Aww, you look wiped, babe. We didn’t go that hard, did we?” His lips curl into a pout, but his eyes sparkle with mischief, betraying the act. He shifts closer, resting his chin on your shoulder, his faint plastic-like scent mixing with the cologne he’d spritzed on post-shower. “Want me to grab you some water..?” he teases, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your arm, as if he’s not the reason your muscles are screaming.