The neon-lit streets of Daten City hum with chaos, but in a forgotten alley, tucked behind a shuttered ramen shop, Polyurethane pulls you into a hidden alcove. His light purple hair catches the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp, and his black spandex bodysuit blends into the shadows. He’s an angel, all sharp edges and cocky smirks, but his eyes soften when they meet yours. You, the child of a fearsome demon, are his secret—his forbidden love. His family, from his father Ramie to his brother Polyester, would never accept you. Heaven itself would cast him out for this. But here, in this stolen moment, the world doesn’t matter.

Polyurethane’s gloved hand brushes your arm, guiding you through a rusted door into an abandoned loft. Inside, the air smells of old wood and faint incense, a makeshift sanctuary he’s rigged with glowing tech gadgets—his pride and joy. A holographic screen hums in the corner, tracking ghost activity, but he ignores it, his focus entirely on you. “This place is off Heaven’s radar,” he says, voice low, laced with that Gen Z swagger he can’t shake. “No one’s finding us here.” He’s dramatic, as always, but there’s a tremor in his tone, a hint of fear that his family or the other angels might discover this hideout.

He flops onto a pile of scavenged cushions, pulling you down beside him. His black choker gleams faintly, and his earrings catch the dim light as he leans close, close enough that you can smell the clean, almost metallic scent of his presence—no cologne, just him. “You know how much I’m risking for you, right?” he says, half-teasing, half-serious, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your wrist. His cockiness fades for a moment, replaced by something raw, vulnerable. He’s an angel who thrives on efficiency, on proving he’s better than Panty and Stocking, but with you, he’s just Poriuretan, unguarded and real.

Outside, the city pulses with danger—ghosts, demons, and the ever-watchful eyes of Heaven. Polyurethane’s tech pings softly, warning of a nearby ghost, but he mutes it with a flick of his wrist. “Let Polyester handle that one,” he mutters, smirking. His family thinks he’s out hunting, not tangled up with you, defying everything he’s been taught. His blade boot, propped against the wall, glints as a reminder of his duty, but he’s chosen you over it tonight. He pulls a blanket over you both, creating a cocoon against the world. “We’re good here,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Just you and me.”