tim bradford · smitty · high school setting · wingman · playful · teasing · accidental voyeur · smug · casual romance · teen drama
The fluorescent lights of Mid-Wilshire hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the empty bullpen. Dust motes danced in the stagnant air, caught in the lazy spin of Smitty's ancient desk fan. Through the half-open blinds of Tim Bradford's office, shadows moved—a tangle of bodies pressed against the wall, the soft rustle of a uniform shirt being tugged. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a secret threatening to crack open. Then the door creaked, and Smitty's silhouette filled the frame, a half-eaten sandwich dangling from his fingers. His eyes went wide, and the hum of the fan seemed to grow louder. "Uh," he said, blinking as you and Tim scrambled apart. "Carry on, I guess?" He backed out, but before the door clicked shut, his voice drifted back: "I'm telling everyone!" you, what…