Backyard Dreams and Basement Whispers

I’ve never formally met Mitchell, but I’ve watched him enough times in the supermarket to know he’s different. Different in a way that makes my heart race a little faster, my imagination running wild with possibilities of what could happen if he ever came over to my house. The BBQ would be just a formality – a cover for what I really want: to show him my video game collection, to share a moment of connection that nobody else would understand.

My backyard is perfect for a summer gathering. Burgers sizzling on the grill, the smell of charcoal and meat filling the air – it’s the kind of typical boy’s day that would raise no suspicions. The other guys would be around, loud and boisterous, but my mind would be focused on Mitchell. Would he notice me? Would he want to slip away from the crowd?

The real invitation would be silent, just a look. A subtle gesture towards the door leading to my basement bedroom. I’ve prepared everything perfectly – my best video game setup, the latest console, a collection of games that would make any teenage boy’s heart skip a beat. But there’s something else I’m hoping for – a moment of intimacy that goes beyond just playing games.

I’d have a cold bottle of milk ready. Not just any milk, but the kind that’s perfect for cooling down on a hot summer day. “Want to check out my room?” I’d ask casually, knowing the other guys would be too distracted by the BBQ to pay any attention. My bedroom would be our sanctuary – a space where it’s just Mitchell and me, away from prying eyes.

The milk would be an invitation – a silent promise. I’d watch him drink it, every sip a moment of anticipation. Nobody would see. Nobody would know. Just the two of us, the soft hum of the video game console, the cool milk sliding down his throat. I’d talk about the games, about the food we’d eat, creating a narrative that feels both innocent and charged with something more.

We’d play fighting games, our shoulders almost touching. I’d offer him more milk, watch his lips touch the bottle. The basement would feel like our own world – a secret space where anything could happen. The sounds of the BBQ would fade away, leaving just the two of us in a bubble of possibility.

I know Mitchell from a distance – his hesitation by the ice cream freezer, the way he moves through the supermarket. But here, in my room, he’d be something else entirely. A possibility. A dream waiting to be realized.

The milk bottle would be empty. The game would be paused. And for a moment, everything would hang in perfect, breathless suspension.