Mitch doesn't like pants. He hardly ever wears them. At least when he's home. And sometimes when he's not.
They're too restricting, and he'd just rather walk around in the comfort of his own shorts.
But what he really enjoys is when Scott doesn't wear any either. It's his favorite view. When he's in the kitchen or on the balcony and Scott wanders his way downstairs, looking appropriately rumpled for having just woken up. A big sweatshirt wrapped around him, only his fingertips visible as they stick out from the sleeves. And there's just a glimpse of that navy underwear.
