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Bronson stepped out of his car, grumbling to himself already.
The air was chilly and unforgiving, clinging to his body with reverence.
He woke up from his sleep ten minutes ago and had not experienced peace since.
He had gone through his whole night routine.
Got home from the office, greeted his mum when he got inside, made himself a cup of chamomile tea and watched the telly until 10 pm. He then had a warm shower, before dressing in his silk pajamas and nodding off.
Not even an hour later, his phone was blaring, quite literally scaring him out of his sleep. He jumped out of his bed, eyes still heavy with sleep, searching for his phone with the swipe of his hand on his nightstand.
As if that wasn't torture enough, he had Angel screaming off his head about the kids running off and then an onslaught of calls by worried parents saying the same thing.
He had to shove off his oh-so-comfy silk pajamas, throw on his sheriff clothes, and rush out the door! At 11 pm! When he should’ve been dreaming about being the town's greatest sheriff!
Bronson shook his head, walking up the rugged path to the old church, rubbing his arms to warm himself up, Angel trailing behind him, doing the same.
By now, a litter of cars were everywhere, followed by parents stepping out and looking at him worriedly. He scanned over them, looking to see if Fred showed up, but he was still nowhere to be seen.
Bronson sighed. This was gonna be a long night.
Hand on gun just in case, he slowly made his way to the entrance of the church, listening for any screams.
As if sensing his presence, the Mayor's one comes running out, chasing some ugly monster, headed directly their way.
Bronson pulled his gun out just as Fred tackled the creature to the ground, ready to intercept if it tried anything.
The kid is the son of his closest friend, after all.
He doesn't even know how to tell the boy that his dad is missing. He called him four times after he got the calls from the other parents, but each went to voicemail. Bronson just hoped that he was okay.
“Freeze Frecko,” Bronson yelled, hands on his hips, chest puffed out. He still had an image of the sheriff to uphold.
He walked up to Fred, handcuffs in hand and bent down to cuff the monster. He gave Fred a glance over, making sure he was okay.
No cuts, no blood, no bruises.
After his assessments, he let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. The boy’s okay. He doesn't have to tell the Mayor when he makes this creature tell him what he did with him, because that's the only conclusion he can come to as to why Fred is missing— that he couldn't protect his son.
He then looked up at the lot of the kids, his voice serious but much more relaxed, “What did you kids get yourself into now? First I get a hysterical call from the Rogers saying Scooby and Shaggy jumped out the window during still life night, and then,” and he gestured to the clutter of worried parents behind him, “Other parents phoning saying that their kids have disappeared.”
“AND THEN Angel calls me, all frantic about—”
Bronson shook his head, he went off topic there a bit.
He pointedly stared at the creature he had just cuffed, getting back to the point.
“Who is this guy!?”
The younger Jones glanced at the creature and then at Bronson, then back at the creature.
‘I’ll tell you who he is, sheriff,” the boy said as he reached down to pull off the mask that Bronson may add, never looked like it was there until these darn kids pulled it off. How do you even hide a mask that well!?
He turned over in his head who the bajillionth monster in Crystal Cove is. Probably some dumb kid who has nothing better to do, a couple with marital problems, or some adult who's broke and wants money, or some—
“— It's my father.”
An audible gasp is ripped from his throat, and Bronson thought he couldn't have heard that right at all.
He peered down at the now-unmasked monster, and the world stopped. The reactions of everyone around him faded as he stared directly at the monster— at Fred.
His heart is thumping loudly. Feels as though it's about to burst through his chest.
This can't be right at all. Fred is missing. This can’t be him.
He shook his head roughly, refusing to believe that the Mayor was the freak.
This must be a mix-up. This guy must be pretending to be his mayor.
“But how did you know?”
Bronson's head spun. Going into overdrive after hearing the admission from Fred himself.
“This can't be true,” he muttered, shaking his head, hoping that saying it enough times would make it true.
But as Fred goes on explaining everything he did, Bronson would be stupid not to believe otherwise.
Throughout it all, his whole being was stuck on one thing. How Fred had said he visited the library to look for information. The same library where they met.
When Bronson saw the Mayor for the first time at the library, he was looking through books on Crystal Coves cave systems, trying to find out how those kids disappeared..
He bumped into someone and looked up, an apology already spilling out of his mouth. The man smiled at him, dismissing the apology, claiming it to be his fault.
He introduced himself as Fred Jones.
Bronson, in his twenties, eager to have someone around his age to talk to, introduced himself ever so enthusiastically.
Fred offered for them to meet at a cafe as an apology, and Bronson agreed.
They met the next day, and Fred had properly introduced himself.
Said he moved here from Nevada and was looking for freedom from his overbearing parents. How he wanted to figure himself out.
Bronson, who had not too long ago got his first job, related to him wanting to feel more independent and told Fred that there were some jobs available at the police department and that he could put a word in for him.
Fred thanked him but said he was actually thinking about running for mayor.
Bronson, who happened to hate the current mayor– he was an old fart, who sat around and did nothing— encouraged him to do it. He even offered to help. Work was slow. Everyone was focusing on finding the kids of Crystal Cove. Him included.
They shook hands and exchanged numbers.
Later that evening, Fred messaged him, asking to meet up tomorrow at lunch to go over some of his plans.
And they did just that. Worked together every day for 6 months until Fred was elected mayor.
By that point, the friendship had grown.
Bronson felt like there was no one in the world he knew better than Fred. No one in this world who understood him like Fred understood him.
No one he could rely on more. No one that he loved more.
Bronson took a faulty step back, hand rushing to grasp his aching chest.
His breaths came out laboured, each hurting more than the last.
Every single interaction they had during that time spilt out. One at a time, rushing out so fast he couldn't even comprehend. Every late night together, working on posters and strategies. Every lunchtime spent together. All the times, he helped with Freddy. Every time they spent together since Bronson met Fred.
They all came to the forefront. And each cracked, broke. One at a time. Tainted.
Destroyed with everything Fred just said.
It was like someone was pulling all of his memories out and just ripping them apart. His heart felt empty, almost like the loss of each memory took a part of it with them.
Everything felt like a lie. Like a ploy to distract him so Fred could achieve what he really wanted. And that clearly wasn't him.
He shook his head roughly, searching for some excuse. For anything.
Something had to be wrong. The Mayor would never do this. Fred was his son, and Bronson was his friend. His something.
A tremble, cold and unforgiving, goes through Bronson's body as he remembers the more intimate parts of their friendship. The moments he cherished, and thought Fred did the same.
The same night Fred was elected Mayor, Bronson went over to his place, per request, so they could have a celebratory drink.
He was sitting on the couch, legs carefully spread out, comfortable. Fred's house always felt comfortable.
Fred was in his wine cellar, fetching the drink that he had earlier called “perfect for their victory celebration.”
When Fred made his way back up from the cellar, he entered the kitchen first, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet.
Bronson had watched him the whole way.
After fetching the glasses, Fred walked to the couch, placed the glasses on the coffee table, and filled the glass just enough to make it halfway.
Bronson remembered it being so quiet that he could so vividly hear the splash of the wine filling the glass.
Fred pushed one towards him, taking a sip of his own, his face unreadable.
Bronson clapped him on his back, laughing loudly, trying to clear the tension that had filled the room. Taken up all of the space.
“You don't look like someone who was just elected as mayor,” He said.
Fred laughed, the type you can tell was a little forced.
“I'm just shocked. Our hard work really paid off.”
Bronson felt his heart flutter, and he smiled. “Don't be silly,” he whispered. You worked really hard. Of course you won.”
Fred's face fell, “Yes, but I couldn't have done it without you.”
The confession sounded raw and sincere, and Bronson's face faltered.
“Fre—”
That's when Fred leaned in and kissed him.
Bronson remembered being shocked. His whole body still.
Fred placed a hand on his cheek, furthering this kiss.
Bronson's heart thumped and thumped loudly in his chest.
He closed his eyes and searched for courage, and then kissed Fred back. Softly. Just a peck of his lips meeting Fred's.
He remembers feeling Fred's smile on his lips, which sent a flutter through his chest.
Then Fred pulled back, looking nervous.
He just stared at Bronson, eyes dipping down to his lips before fluttering back up to look at him.
Bronson felt so looked at. So seen. Loved
He couldn't take it, and he jumped out of his seat, saying a quick goodbye to Fred before rushing to the door and driving away in his car.
Bronson felt the tears well up in his eyes. Felt them roll down his face as the memory faded and faded and
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Bronson Birthday.
It just so happened to fall one week after Fred was elected Mayor. One week after they kissed and Bronson ran away like some baby.
Usually, he would spend it at home with his mom, but something kept bothering him, and he couldn't keep denying what it was.
He wanted to spend it with Fred.
The only problem was that they hadn't spoken to each other since. Bronson couldn't bring himself to reach out to Fred after they kissed, and Fred either felt the same or simply wasn't bothering himself to do it.
But Bronson missed him.
And so, he put his big boy pants on and pulled out his phone, opening Fred's contact.
He typed out, Hi. Are we okay? And hit send before he regretted it and quickly turned off his phone.
To his surprise, his phone beeped not even a minute later.
Bronson turned back on his phone, and he immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him.
Fred:
Of course we are Bronson.
I just assumed you wanted space after what happened.
I'm sorry for avoiding you. Bronson typed, quickly hitting send.
Then another message. Can we please go back to talking to each other?
Then five minutes later,
No worries. I wouldn't have it any other way.
And then,
Happy Birthday, Bronson.
With a red heart.
Bronson might not have gotten to spend his birthday with Fred but it still ended up being the best one yet.
And again, the memory faded and faded and faded and
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It had been almost a year since Fred became the Mayor, and everything was going great.
Bronson has been busy catching Crystal Cove criminals, and the Mayor was in Office, doing great things for the town.
No matter how busy they were, though, they always made time for each other.
They met with each other every day for lunch, and anytime one of them was stuck with something, work-related or not, they would help each other.
And when Fred was extra busy with mayor work, Bronson would watch over Freddy for him.
But what Bronson really held dear to his heart was the little more than friendship moments they shared sometimes.
The lingering looks and touches that left him feeling giddy.
The quick pecks on the cheeks or the lips they would give each other.
Things that just felt so normal and right. So intimate.
Intimate like that one night he would never forget for as long as he lived.
He'd been over by Fred's house again.
Fred was up in his office doing work, and Bronson was downstairs on the couch watching television after he had put Freddy to bed.
Between the faint humming of the TV, he heard a creak on the stairs.
Tired from looking after Freddy all day, Bronson didn't try to turn around, just spoke.
“Freddy, that you? You know you're supposed to be in bed.”
A low chuckle and then, “Freddy’s sound asleep, I just checked on him. Thanks, Bronson.”
Bronson sighed, relieved he didn't have to get up and put Freddy back to sleep again. “You know. No problem, Fred. I'm always happy to. Say, wanna watch—”
Fingers suddenly glided through his hair, stealing his attention from what he was just about to say.
Bronson remembers going completely still.
The Mayor slid his hand down to his cheek, brushing it softly before slipping his hand down to his neck, hands slightly brushing his lips in the process.
Bronson swallowed, licking his lips on instinct.
Then the Mayor's hand skirted across his neck, leaving heat behind it. He fiddled with Bronson Adams' apple, and Bronson swallowed again, this time feeling the faint weight of Fred's fingers.
Bronson remembers feeling his cock stir, letting out a breath that was caught in throat, breathing becoming a little quick paced.
“Fred?” He asked, voice soft, riddled with uncertainty.
That's when Fred's hand expanded over his neck and gripped it, so lightly, using the hold to turn Bronson's head toward him
Bronson couldn't help but let out a moan.
He immediately flicked his eyes up so he could stare at Fred. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his eyes were slightly darker and lidded, staring intently at Bronson.
“Bronson,” he said, voice weighted, sounding so desperate. “Can I kiss you?”
Bronson felt a shiver go through his body. A heat coiling in his stomach, going straight to his cock.
He nodded, but Fred just stared and stared and stared.
Bronson shook his head, frustrated.
“Yes,” he answered, voice breathy, needy..
Fred immediately dipped his head down, connecting their lips.
It started off slowly, just a glide of lips against each other, savouring the moment.
Then Fred places his other hand on his cheek, shifting his head to the side just a bit, deepening this kiss and ripping a moan out of Bronson's throat.
Fred then swiped his tongue over Bronson's lips, asking.
The motion left a burning trail in its wake, and without a thought, Bronson slightly parted his lips, giving Fred what he wanted. What Bronson wanted.
Fred huffed and, like a man with no patience left, quickly shoved his tongue into Bronson's mouth, kissing him so sweetly he forgot his name.
And the key part that made this night as special and intimate as it was was when Fred pulled away minutes later and whispered into Bronson's neck that he loved him.
Bronson tried and tried to hold onto this memory. It was the first time Fred told him that he loved him. It was his favourite memory of them and his to keep. He should be allowed that much
But then it faded and faded and just
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Right along with Bronson's heart
When Bronson came to from the onslaught of his memories, Freddy was running away, his group of friends chasing after him.
Bronson looked at Fred, who hadn't even thought to spare a look in his direction.
Fred was the Freak of Crystal Cove, and everything Bronson thought he knew was wrong.
He didn't bump into Bronson in that library; he did it on purpose.
He used Bronson. Fred used him. To become Mayor. To get full control over Crystal Cove.
It felt silly to say because Fred would never do that. He would never.
But he did, and Bronson felt it. Every single bit.
And it hurts. Everything hurts.
Everything feels tainted.
Every hug, kiss, every "I love you.”
He wanted to scream and shout. To ask Fred how could he. Why?
But it's stuck in his throat and won't come out. Nothing will come out.
So he just stood there as Fred stared in the direction Freddy ran off in.
Just stood there and stared at the person he loves most in the world. Thought he would marry, and be with forever. The person who just ruined everything.
And Bronson gets stuck on that. Because— Because Fred really did ruin everything.
He ruined those kids' lives all those years ago, Freddy’s life, Bronson's life, and his own.
He just— ruined it.
“Sheriff! You have to take this monster in now!” Angel yelled behind him, bringing Bronson back from what only being dead could feel like.
And Bronson couldn't even blame Angel for calling him a monster; Fred was a monster.
It was then Fred finally looked in his direction, as if he had just only remembered Bronson was there.
It was a slow turn, a really slow one. And when their eyes met, Fred had the audacity to look sad.
To look like the person who just found out his life was a lie. That the person he loved the most just broke his heart beyond repair.
“Bronson,” Fred whispered. Voice breathy, and so delicate, sounding so warm.
But Bronson felt cold.
Really, really cold.
He took a step back and another, and another, and another. All until he was back by his car.
And like the very first time they kissed, he ran away.