Mulberry knuckles [Wattys 2018] (BxB)

9-worse than teenagers

A knock on the door woke Mitchell up and he sluggishly rolled over, his face meeting his pillow. He grunted and damned evolution for not enabling Ferrets to open the door.

He dragged his stiff feet to the front door, scratching at his stomach under his shirt. As he opened the door in front of him he gazed upon the tall statues of his mothers. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but a grin overtook his lips as he gladly accepted two bone-crushing hugs.

“Hi!” He exclaimed, surprised to see his parents up at such an early hour.

Even though it was really just twelve pm. He closed the door after Lana and Sam walked in.

“Hi, sweetie” Lana greeted, planting a glossy kiss to Mitchell’s cheeks.

Mitchell wiped his mother’s orange lip gloss off, feeling the taller mother’s fingers explore his curls.

“Hm,” She murmured. “Getting a bit greasy, aren’t we?”

Mitchell scoffed, swiping his own hand through his short locks.

“You know, I was planning on showering after I woke up so that I could meet up with you clean and refreshed, but yet here we are,” He walked over to Lana, feeling her hand slide up to the low of his back. “What are you doing here, anyways?” He turned to Sam, mimicking Lana’s comforting hand with  resting his hands on her shoulder.

The short statue of his mum  leaned onto his chest as Sam started turning on the stove a few steps away.

“Well,” she started. “We wanted to meet you sooner and have a proper breakfast”

Mitchell looked down at his other mum, who smiled weakly and nodded in reply. His eyebrows quirked suspiciously. As much as he adored his family and as much as they adored him, they never showed up before letting him know, or at least calling.

The sounds of Sam struggling with a bag of toast were undeniable and she huffed, releasing the bag out of her hands and running a hand through her long, blond hair frustratedly.

Mitchell saw Lana send him a knowing smile and he took two steps to the kitchen counter. He turned off the stove and wrapped the taller statue of his mum with his hands. His cheek rested on her shoulder and he felt her once stiff muscles relax as her chin rested in the midst of his locks. Her arms lazily moved under Mitchell’s own as she planted a weak kiss to his head.

“What is it?”He asked, remembering the last time Sam acted weirdly.

Mitchell remembered being no more than eighteen, dining with his mothers.

He noticed Lana glancing up at Sam every minute or so, with eyes full of worry. He played with the few pieces of vegetable still on his plate, the fork in his hand clinking with the glass plate. His face sprung up as his mother’s empty glass met the table with a thud. Only then he was able to notice her frowning eyebrows and reddened face, her hair sticking up in many directions, most likely from her running her hands through it multiple times during that day. Her reddened eyes and stuffed eyes stared back at his own, lip ever-so-slightly quivering.

“Could you please stop doing that? With your fork.” Her voice was low and sounded as if it were about to break.