The house was too quiet when they walked in.
Riz's childhood home, once loud with laughter and the clink of dinner plates, felt still now—like it was holding its breath. His mom had invited Cleo's mom over too, so they could talk "together."
The word made Cleo's stomach turn a little. Talk. It was never just "talk" when both moms were involved.
The boys sat on one end of the couch. Their mothers sat opposite them, teacups untouched, glancing at each other with knowing eyes. Years of friendship had given them a shorthand. But this wasn't about them now. This was about the boys.
Cleo cleared his throat, trying to find a place to start.
"We, uh... we wanted to tell you something. In person."
Riz nodded beside him. His leg was bouncing.
"We're together," Cleo said. No fluff, no fanfare. "As in... together."
His voice caught at the end, too rough to sound casual.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Riz added quietly, "I've been in love with Cleo for years. I just didn't think I'd ever get to say it out loud."
His mother's hand trembled slightly as she set her teacup down. "You didn't think you could?"
Riz looked at her, eyes glassy. "I didn't know if it was okay. If *you'd* be okay."
She stood up slowly and crossed the room—not fast, not angry, just calm. She knelt in front of him, and took his hands into hers.
"You are my son," she said, voice thick. "The best thing I've ever made. And *how* you love—*who* you love—that has never been a condition."
"But I was scared," Riz admitted. "You always talked about weddings and girls and grandkids—"
"I talked about what I knew," she whispered. "What I was taught to want for you. But I want *you,* Riz. You—happy, real, safe. If that means Cleo beside you, then that's all I want now."
He was crying by then, silent and stunned, and she pulled him in, pressing his head to her shoulder.
Cleo watched, heart aching and soft, until his own mother turned to him.
"I used to think," she said quietly, "that you and Riz had something... unspoken. I saw the way you looked at him when you thought no one was watching."
Cleo looked down.
"I wanted to ask," she continued, "but I was afraid I'd pressure you. That I'd say something and ruin it before you even understood it yourself."
"You weren't wrong," he murmured. "I didn't know. Not really. And then when I did... it scared me."
She moved closer, eyes warm. "Not because of how you felt, right? But because of what the world would say?"
Cleo nodded.
"And maybe," she added, softer still, "because you knew what it would mean if you admitted it. That you'd never be able to pretend again."
He blinked. "Yeah."
She reached for his hand. "Well, you don't have to pretend. Not with me. Not anymore."
"Are you disappointed?"
Her smile broke—gentle, tearful. "I've never been prouder."
The boys sat in stunned silence, emotions too big for words. Their mothers—best friends who had raised them side by side—were now looking at them not as little boys, but as two young men in love.
Later, when the tears had dried and everyone was sitting around the kitchen table, Cleo's mom said thoughtfully, "You know... we used to joke about this when you two were small."
Riz looked up. "Joke about what?"
"About how inseparable you were," she said. "Like... what if one day they actually fell in love?"
Riz blinked. "Wait, *really?*"
Cleo groaned. "You *planted the seed.*"
His mom laughed through her tears. "Guess it just needed time to grow."
----------------
End of Chapter Nineteen