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“Fuck!” a voice rang out over the ice, followed by a string of words Connor only recognized because a very amused Freddie had taught Connor how to swear very thoroughly in Danish.
In all fairnesss, a twenty-year old Freddie in full goalie pads looked a lot like a twenty-eight year old Freddie in full goalie pads. Unfortunately, that meant no one knew exactly when Freddie had de-aged, only that it was sometime between taking the ice for practice and when Freddie pitched his helmet and stick over the boards in rage.
It was amazing how quiet the rink could get after an unexpected roar of goalie-related rage. Auston nearly tripped over his own feet trying to brake too quickly after the slapshot that had scored on Freddie.
Connor skidded to a stop next to Cees, eying Freddie warily. Freddie was usually even-tempered to a fault, so there was something particularly worrying if he was losing his temper in practice, of all places.
“Brownie, what’s wrong with your boy?” Marty asked, sliding to a stop next to them. Marns circled around them, darting glances between Connor and Freddie.
“I don’t actually know,” Connor said, shrugging, and started skating towards the goal. He was waved off by the goalie coaches, and watched them escort Freddie off the ice. “Huh. Well--something weird is going on.”
Practice went on, but it was a distracted sort of practice, where mostly everyone was worried about Freddie.
In the locker room, when everyone was mostly dressed down, Babs came in, looking solemn. Connor felt his spine stiffen.
Babs cleared his throat. “You may be wondering what happened with Andersen on the ice earlier,” he said, and the last few remnants of conversation around the room died. “It would appear that he’s chrono-regressed about eight years, to the best of our estimation.”
Connor blinked. That would make Freddie twenty, which was a bizarre thought to have.
“Does he have his memories?” Auston asked, darting a quick glance at Connor. Half the locker room was staring openly at Connor, while everyone else was watching Babs with wide eyes.
“He seems to, but we’re doing more extensive testing.” Babs sighed deeply, looking exhausted. “We’ll give him 24 hours and see where we are at that point. After that, we’ll put him on IR and have Mac step up as starter. Chrono-regression usually self-resolves, gentlemen, and quickly at that. Let’s hope that’s the case here.”
--
Connor hadn’t been expecting to see Freddie in the apartment they shared, but upon reflection he wasn’t sure where else Freddie would be.
Connor catalogued the differences between the Freddie he knew and the Freddie he was presented, conscious of the fact that they were technically the same person. He was used to Freddie being comfortable in his skin and calmly confident in himself and his abilities. Younger Freddie clearly had less emotional control, and everything just clearly meant so much more to him.
Connor was used to being the overwhelmed one in their relationship--Freddie liked to push Connor just a little further than he’d comfortably go on his own, be it in doing an extra set of reps during joint workouts or edging closer to coming a second time--but it was a different experience to realize Freddie was looking to Connor for direction.
“Do you remember where your stuff is?” was the first thing Connor managed to ask Freddie, trying to seem unbothered by this. He didn’t want to freak Freddie out any more than this experience must be making him already. “You probably want to change out of whatever spare clothes you had at the rink.”
Freddie nodded. “Left side of the closet?”
“Got it in one.”
Freddie reemerged from the bedroom ten minutes later, looking hilariously put out at current-Freddie’s wardrobe. He’d apparently found an old t-shirt somewhere and a pair of battered sweatshirts. Connor had rarely seen Freddie look so dishevelled except for in early mornings, and found he didn’t really mind.
Part of it was the fact that Freddie had apparently put on an inch of height and twenty pounds of bulk after turning twenty. Connor didn’t recognize that until Freddie had walked into at least two door-frames and bumped into the island in the kitchen.
Freddie at twenty hadn’t been living with his parents, and this version of Freddie technically had older-Freddie’s memories, if not his muscle memory. This chrono-regressed Freddie was also clearly sweet on Connor and had precisely zero idea how to handle that attraction.
Freddie tried to cook dinner for them. He caved to Connor’s gentle suggestions that they could consider ordering takeout hen he couldn’t get as fine a hop with his knife blade as his older self generally did. He also made ridiculous faces at the straight black tea older Freddie preferred, adding generous spoonfuls of sugar.
“What’s it like?” Connor asked, setting his own tea on the low table in front of the couch. He’d also brought the sugar bowl for Freddie. “Being chrono-regressed.”
Freddie grimaced. “Weird. I know stuff about myself, but it doesn’t feel real. My emotions are all...wrong. More extreme. I feel twenty, but I know I haven’t been twenty for awhile. It’s like--when you’re watching a video, right? And the audio is off from the people talking, and you know what it’s supposed to be like, but it’s not doing that, and it’s unnerving and frustrating all at the same time.”
Connor hummed. “You look different. It’s not bad! I’m just used to you being a little more...polished.”
It was true. At twenty, Freddie’s face was a little softer, and his hair wasn’t so neatly groomed. Connor had seen this Freddie in photos, hair curling over his forehead and straggling over his ears, but it was a different experience in person.
Freddie was still bigger than Connor, still 6’4 and a good twenty pounds heavier. But he was more hesitant in his movements, his hands making abortive movements towards Connor.
“Had twenty-year old you dated a boy?” Connor asked next.
Freddie shook his head. “I hadn’t really dated before Knighter.”
“Who you hadn’t met at twenty,” Connor finished. “And you pretty much started dating me right after breaking up with her.”
Freddie nodded a little jerkily.
“Does chrono-regression run in your family, or is it a stress thing?”
Freddie stammered, jerked, and turned a deep shade of red. He didn’t visibly lose another year, but Connor wouldn’t be surprised if Freddie had dropped a few months.
“Did it have to do with the team?” Connor prodded gently.
“I was gonna ask you to marry me,” Freddie blurted out, and flamed even redder.
“Oh,” Connor said, floored.
“You’re not gonna want to marry me now. I’m sorry, Connor.”
Connor tried to put his hand on Freddie’s face and turn his head so their eyes could meet. Freddie resisted, so Connor took the nuclear option and swung into Freddie’s lap.
They’d spent whole afternoons like this, Freddie leaned back against the couch and Connor kneeling over his lap, exchanging long, lazy kisses. Freddie had admitted to Connor once that kissing was his favorite form of intimacy, slow-burning makeouts until they were both trembling with it. Connor had no doubt this version of Freddie had less experience with kissing but loved it just as much, judging by the way he gasped at Connor’s sudden presence in his lap.
“I’d say yes,” Connor told him plainly. “I want a long engagement, but you knew that. I’d say yes if you asked, and no, this doesn’t count.”
Freddie whined.
Connor slid a hand into Freddie’s hair and tugged a little. Freddie’s eyelids fluttered, and Connor felt like a king.
“I wish you hadn’t felt so stressed about this,” Connor told him. “You know I’m a sure thing.”
Freddie wrinkled his nose. Connor couldn’t help but lean in to kiss Freddie.
Freddie kissed back sweetly, softly. It was reassuring to have this contract between them.
When Connor pulled back, Freddie’s eyes were shining with something Connor refused to identify. Instead, he gave Freddie another gentle kiss and slid off of Freddie’s lap.
“Wanna watch something lighthearted and hope you’re back to normal after?” Connor asked.
“I kinda don’t wanna think,” Freddie said. “Pick something?”
Connor put on the Great British Bake Off, which he loved and Freddie tolerated. He dozed off next to Freddie, who was still a giant space-heater.
He woke up a few hours later, disoriented by the shift of the light and the gentle fidgeting of Freddie texting. He cracked open his eyes and realized that Freddie was back to his proper age and appearance
“You freaked out over proposing, huh?”
Freddie flushed, putting down his phone. “So here’s the thing,” he hedged, cheeks splotchy and red. Objectively, it was entirely unattractive. Connor still found it cute as hell. “I was thinking about buying a ring, but I haven’t even started looking. A proposal would be...at the very least not before the end of the season. It’d be awhile out.”
“And that was enough to de-age you?” Connor tugged Freddie in for a kiss. “Freddie. You know I’m easy for you.”
“You’re still--you’ve got a good ten years left in the league. You’re charming, and hot as hell, and--you could do so much better than me.”
Connor thumped Freddie on the nose. “I think that’s for me to decide,” he told Freddie. “Come on--you’re cool, older, a goalie, built like a tank. You could do better than me.”
“Still stressful,” Freddie said. “Thinking of futures and choices. If you’d like a ring in gold or silver. If we’d get a house instead of our apartment. If my whole family would fly out, or if we’d have to get married twice. If I’d end my career to move with you if you got traded. Realizing I probably would.”
“Freddie.”
“I think you’re it for me,” Freddie admitted quietly. “And I was freaking out over realizing that, I think.”
Connor leaned up and collected a kiss. “I’m honored.”
Freddie made a face. “Hopefully I won’t chrono-regress when I actually do propose, though.”