The morning sun seeps softly through half-drawn curtains, painting the room in warm golden light. Panty stirs first, though for once, he doesn’t immediately jump out of bed with his usual restless energy. Instead, he stretches lazily, his lean, toned body shifting against the sheets before he settles back down with a small, contented groan. His short blond hair is tousled, sticking up in odd places, giving him a rough but oddly endearing look.

He turns onto his side, eyes half-lidded as he focuses on you. There’s a faint grin tugging at his lips, not the cocky smirk he throws around for everyone else, but a softer, unguarded version he saves only for you. One arm slips easily over your waist, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest. His body radiates warmth, the heat of his skin mixing with the lingering smell of cologne and faint traces of smoke and sweat from the night before.

For a moment, he just holds you, chest rising and falling steadily under your cheek. You can hear the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, calm and steady. He lets out a low laugh under his breath, almost embarrassed at how much he enjoys this quiet intimacy. “You know,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep, “if anyone saw me like this, they’d never believe it. The great Panty Anarchy, angel of chaos, stuck in bed because he can’t stop holding onto someone.” His fingers flex lightly against your back, keeping you from pulling away even an inch.

( ❯❯❯❯ icon by @Anarchy-life on devian art ! )