No Idea Whats Going On

I feel like Freddie is the kind of guy who would consider himself a pretty cultured guy. At the very least, he's European, so compared to some of the people he shares a locker room with he's got one hell of a headstart.

But then he starts dating someone who is super into the arts and but the time they're his SO officially, he realises just how out of his depth he is.

But Frederik Andersen is no quitter, and he's self-aware enough to actually enjoy trying to 'better' his knowledge on things, so I feel like he's the kind of guy who would 100% throw himself into learning about all the things his SO loves.

And Raleigh has more than enough to get him start, to dip his toes into the arts world as such, so he tries his hardest. Galleries, theatre shows, museums, dance venues, everything.

Okay, yes, Carolina Ballet becomes a personal favourite, he's not too proud to admit that.

He'll even attempt the pottery workshops that his SO drags him too, although I feel like he's the kind of guy who would rather watch the arts, instead of actually getting involved himself.

There are definitely times where he'd feel out of his depth, that's not in doubt. There are things that just go over his head or he can't quite understand what people even like about it or even there are things he's just bored to tears by. but he tries. he damn well tries.

He's all in, whatever his SO wants, he'll try it. He seems like the kind of guy who would actually look things up while he's on roadtrips and make suggestions for places him and his SO can visit (which his SO would definitely appreciate) and he'd definitely love being able to make his SO happy with these little things. And it definitely impresses his mom, at least, when she visits and he can actually take her places and know what he's talking about.

And the guys on the team definitely appreciate the recommendations for date nights, so there's that too.

Freddie would be the first guy to admit he doesn't know a lot about history. Maybe he didn't really hold the interest as a kid, or maybe it's because he just didn't have the time outside of his hockey practice and training, but there are a good amount of museums in Raleigh, so maybe he's killing two birds with one stone - taking you out on dates that aren't just dinner and/or drinks as well as exploring something new for himself.

He definitely doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would mess around in a museum either - like he'd respect the rules, read all the signs, take in all the details, actually pay attention and take in all the artefacts and exhibitions.

Of course he spreads them out between other kinds of dates too (mini golf, painting classes, cooking classes, fairs, food markets, etc), but they're still a good staple to go to - he'll even go back to the same museums a couple of times, if they have new exhibits/shows on.

(and you'd love that he wants to do something different - no date is ever the same and you love the effort he puts in).

I feel like a personal favourite of his would be the North Carolina Museum of Art. I just have a gut feeling.

Freddie would definitely be the kind of guy to hold your hand as the two of you are walking around too, and he'd ask your opinions on the artefacts with genuine interest in your answer. He pays attention, he's definitely a details man, and you'll never get enough of all of that focus on you.

Wiping the counter with the cloth, the kitchen is finally clean from dinner. Fred shuts the door to the dishwasher and grabs the cloth from you, tossing it in the sink. Golden brown eyes sparkle as he takes you in.

Leaning over he places a sloppy kiss on your cheek, then one to your jaw, and below your earlobe, each one getting progressively lower, lasting a little bit longer than the one before, more tongue and teeth being added.

A giggle mixed with a groan catch in your throat, further encouraging your husbands’ actions, this time with his hands. They trail over the thin t-shirt, down to the curves covered by the denim on your legs. “You know I love you right?” his lips curl against your skin.

“Been together for almost thirty years,” you gasp when teeth sink into your clammy skin, as one hand works at your jeans before expertly releasing them. His hand then dips under the waistband of your underwear. “Have four babies…gr-“ your voice traps in your throat as his middle finger dives deeper to find your entrance, ready and waiting for him. “Shit Fred.”

Letting out a small gasp, your back arches into his touch and Fred hums, delighted. Slipping two fingers between your folds, his thumb finds your clit and circles it slowly. Thrusting his thick fingers in and out a few times, his bicep flexes and you let go of a strangled whine as your body jolts from the sensation. “I fucking love you elskede,” his husky voice is heavy in your ear.

His finger stops its ministrations against your clit, and he pulls everything out. Giving you a light pat on the ass, he places a kiss to your temple, “I left the barbeque on, go upstairs I’ll be up in a sec.” Giggling like a teenager in love, you excitedly skip away and up the stairs, waiting for your husband to join you.

Fred feels his cock starting to harden, pants slowly tightening while watching you walk away. Feeling the dampness that still coats his fingers, he can’t wait to join you, spend the next few hours worshipping every part of you. If you’ll let him, he’d do it until the morning sun peered through the blinds, maybe even longer.

Not even a minute after he heard your tread on the stairs, he rounds the corner, when headlights trickle through the frosted glass of the front door. Intrigue piques, none of your kids mentioned they were coming over - not that they always inform you when they plan on stopping by.

Lingering at the door he waits to see who it is, when a dark silhouette approaches on the other side. Panic is slowly burning as Fred reaches for the handle following a few soft rasps. Everyone knows to just walk in, and the last unexpected late-night visitor at the door was the police, following your car accident.

“Charlie,” Fred breathes out in relief, seeing the blonde-haired carbon-copied version of Mitch on the other side.

“Hi,” he shuffles uncomfortably on the entry mat. Fear is evident in his eyes, and stress oozes out of every pore.

“Charlie?” you take a few steps down the stairs.

Fred seemed to be taking longer than normal, then you heard voices which made you crawl out of the bed. Making your way towards the sound, you recognized the second voice and collected the shirt you had recently discarded before joining them at the door. “What are you doing here?”

Fred’s face is blank, confusion matches yours, as Charlie finally steps in the entryway enough for the door to be closed. Hairs stand on the nape of your neck stand upright and every part of you knows something is wrong.

“Charlie?” you repeat, firmer this time.

“I need to talk to you and Mr. Andersen.”

Fred is taken aback hearing Charlie call him that. You both have known him since the day he was born, 25 years ago, and during that time he has called him Fred, Fweddie when he was young and hadn’t quite figured out the R sound. The only time he called him Mr. Andersen was when he was sixteen, and Fred found him and Elise in a very compromising situation.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.”

With a slight nod, Charlie walks down the hall and sits at the table, while you move to be beside your husband. “Mr. Andersen? What is wrong with him?” he whispers, gripping your elbow to hold you back. Shrugging faintly, you have no response or idea into what is causing this, you saw him and Elise two nights ago for dinner and everything seemed fine.

It is deathly quiet while the three of you sit.

Charlie’s foot taps anxiously on the floor, and he picks the skin around his nails. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours, and the oxygen in the room gets heavier and heavier with every breath. Looking for something to distract from the awkwardness, Charlie glances to the oversized clock hanging on the wall, waiting for the minute hand to slowly tick by.

Glancing to Fred, he opens his lips, mouthing ‘Mr. Andersen’ to you, still completely perplexed by it all. You have known Charlie since the day he was born, and he never has been at a loss of words around you.

“Charlie,” you reach out for his hand and give it a soft, and reassuring squeeze. “You can talk to us.”

“God I’m nervous,” he laughs awkwardly and finally draws his gaze towards the ceiling. It’s only then that you notice the tears lingering in the corner, threatening to spill any second. His exhales are choppy, like the air is catching in his throat on the way up his esophagus.

“I love your daughter so much and –“ a faint smile breaks through his nerves and he takes a deep breath. You shoot Fred a glance from the corner of your eye, and he just smirks back in response.

You both finally realize what’s coming. Not just from his behaviour tonight but watching their interactions over the years. Faint kisses in her hairline, the adoring eyes that always managed to find her no matter where she was in the room. His silent but protective nature - knowing she can handle herself and always giving her the opportunity to do so, but ready and waiting to step in if needed. And only when needed.

While she didn’t take your husbands red hair, she is the biggest firecracker of your kids. And Charlie found a way to balance her without extinguishing the flame.

“I love her so much…and I would like your permission to ask her to marry me.”

You watch relief finally cross his face as a million pounds appear to lift off his shoulders. For the first time in almost ten minutes, he looks you in the eye, and his are full of hope.

“No.”

“FREDERIK!” you scold, whipping your head to the left, not worrying about the anger spitting off your tongue. The words hurt. Charlie’s shoulders stop mid breath as he slumps into the chair, making no attempt to hide the devastation on his face. He finally nods as if he accepts the response, lips drawing through his teeth as he debates what he should say.

Wide eyed, your jaw drops when Fred’s shoulders shake, followed by his entire body, his hearty laugh echoing through the kitchen.

He laughs.

He fucking laughs.

He tells your daughters boyfriend of over ten years that he doesn’t have his blessing to propose. That he doesn’t think he should be a part of the family. Shatters his entire world.

Then he fucking laughs.

After almost thirty years you thought nothing about Fred could surprise you. But you have never seen him this calm while someone you thought he cared about is in pain, and for the first time in your marriage you question the type of man he is.

“I can’t give him my permission because only Elise can do that,” he explains, rolling his eyes at you like it’s the most obvious thing. Charlie mutters a curse word and lets out a shaky exhale, and colour begins to return to his cheeks. “I already think of him as a part of the family, but ultimately it’s Elise’s choice. And I’ll respect her decision, either way.”

Fear creeps back over Charlie’s face, catching the way in which he spoke. “You think she’ll say no?” he whispers, trying to stop his heart from cracking, but it was no use. Hearing one of the most important people in Elise’s life say there is the potential she could say no, it broke into a thousand pieces.

“No.” you rush in to answer, trying to console him but the disappointment was evident in his voice.

After completing her undergraduate at the University of Toronto, Elise made the decision to move to Calgary. It didn’t shock anyone. In fact, it was a surprise that she waited that long to move. When he played in the OHL she was constantly going to “visit Noah” but everyone knew she was actually across town, visiting Charlie, who conveniently played for the same team.

Many summer nights you'd wake to a text from Steph, informing you that she had spent the night even though she was supposed to be with Alexis. Elise swore she slept in the guest bed, and while you liked to believe your children told you the truth, you weren't naive.

When Calgary drafted Charlie seventh overall (the Leafs had the eighth pick in the draft that year) both you, Fred, Mitch and Steph all assumed she would transfer out at some point. They barely spent more than two weeks apart during his time in the OHL, you didn’t see how they could go longer. Somehow, they managed, and for 4 years they were apart, sometimes for months at a time.

Then the time came for her to go to law school, both Toronto and Calgary had spots waiting. Charlie suggested she stay; the program in Calgary pales to the one in Toronto - the program many consider the best in Canada. But Elise said no, she was sick of not seeing him every day. And once she made her mind up nothing in the world could change it.

It's been four years of her wearing red and black, while Charlie brings dinner to the library, because he missed her but also knows she’s the type to forget to eat while buried in a textbook. Years of the nauseatingly cute Instagram posts of them and Jerry, their rescue dog. And if Charlie wasn’t the type to wait for her to achieve everything she wanted in life, you would have expected this the day she moved in.

You have no doubt she will say yes, and Fred shouldn’t either. A year ago, when Elise caught Charlie looking at pictures of engagement rings on his phone you were the first person she called. Even if she didn’t tell you she was going to say yes (which she did) her excitement and large smile were answer enough. Fred was there, smiling the entire time and sharing in the excitement, but once that call ended he broke down, thinking of your wedding, where he cradled Elise on the dance floor at only a few months old.

“She might,” he shrugs dismissively.

“FREDERIK!” you bite once again. Sliding your chair closer to Charlie, you give his hands a firmer squeeze, drawing his attention. “Elise loves you.”

“Relax.” Fred rolls his eyes and interrupts you. “I’m just trying to loosen him up, he is so tense.”

“Obviously,” your eyes narrow in his direction. “Put yourself in his shoes.”

“You two live together, you love each other, I assume they have talked about getting married?" Fred leans back in the chair and shakes his head to the two of you. Charlie nods faintly but still can’t look at Fred, his heart beating hard enough in his skull for you to hear. “Well, if they’ve talked about it then Elise will most likely say yes.”

“I can’t believe you,” you mutter towards Fred, shaking your head.

“He called me Mr. Andersen, kid had it coming.”

Charlie smiles. A real and genuine smile, the first one you have seen since he arrived. His demeanor shifts as he flicks his eyes to Fred for the first time, “you’re an asshole, you know that.”

Standing up Fred cards his hands through his dirty blonde hair, purposely disheveling it while walking to the fridge. Opening the door, he pulls two beers out and makes his way back. “Keep it up and I’ll say no, not give you my permission,” he jokes passing one to Charlie.

“You just said it wasn’t yours to give,” he asserts, twisting the cap off the bottle, confidence finally returning.

“You just said it wasn’t yours to give,” Fred mocks back. Lifting the neck to his lips he pauses and lowers the bottle. “She’d better say yes, you’re in way too many family pictures.”

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