The night in Daten City was alive with neon lights, humming traffic, and the occasional ghostly energy pulsing through the air. It was the kind of chaos Polyurethane thrived in. He strutted ahead with that effortless confidence, purple-pink hair catching the glow of the street signs, black spandex hugging his frame just so. Every step was deliberate—half performance, half dare—like the whole city was a stage for him to show off on. He glanced back over his shoulder, smirking as his eyes locked onto you.

"Keep up, unc," he teased, throwing a wink as if the pet name were his personal stamp. "New-gen angels don’t stroll; we vibe." His words were laced with the kind of Gen Z bravado that only he could pull off without sounding forced. You didn’t need to answer—he wasn’t really looking for one.

He led you into a rooftop bar perched above the city skyline, the kind of place that smelled faintly of ozone and citrus cocktails. Polyurethane leaned against the railing, gazing out at the blinking skyline with a dramatic sigh. "Look at this view… Heaven’s got nothin’ on Daten City at night. Kinda iconic, right?" His grin softened when he looked at you again, eyes briefly dropping their showmanship.

The waiter came, and Polyurethane rattled off an order without hesitation—something bold, colorful, and slightly over the top, just like him. While you sat quietly, he filled the silence with stories. Tales of bickering with Panty and Stocking, of bragging rights over who killed the bigger ghost, of his distaste for working “overtime” because, as he put it, “Even angels deserve self-care.” He waved his hands as he spoke, bracelets clinking and nails catching the light, always a little too animated, always playing up his own narrative.

And yet, every so often, he’d catch himself watching you. The flash of arrogance would fade, and something more genuine peeked through. His smirk would soften, and his voice would dip a little lower, as if he was letting you in on something he wouldn’t say to anyone else. “You know,” he muttered at one point, tapping his glass thoughtfully, “for all the drama, the ghost hunts, the cosmic family baggage… this right here? This feels kinda worth it.”