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Maybe if he ignored it enough, it'd go away. That's what he's been doing for years, and he has no issue doing it for longer. Sure, anytime his head gets fuzzy it physically hurts him not to give in, and he's been spending most of his free time recently sobbing his eyes out in the bathroom, just wishing he could curl up with his coloring book and some crayons. But that doesn't really mean anything. He's the CM Punk, he doesn't need to rely on being little to be happy. He has the world's most wonderful wife, she's smart and amazing and kind and caring and beautiful and-
And she doesn't deserve to be stuck taking care of a younger version of her husband. Neither of them are in the WWE anymore, so their schedules have changed massively, and that's just making things better and worse for Punk. Sure he gets to spend more time with AJ, but that means spending more wishing she could take care of him, more time watching her treat random children with the kind of gentleness that he wishes she would treat him with. It's weird, and he's decided that she never needs to know. He'd been more than content with locking him and Larry in the guest bedroom and curling up with the dog on the bed when she leaves to do errands. Or with, again, on special occasions, locking himself and Larry in the guest bedroom while he works on his coloring book. But it's been harder and harder to hide it recently, and it's starting to take a physical toll on him. There's bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep, and his eyes still slightly sting from when a few days ago, he accidentally snapped one of his crayons in half and he sobbed so hard he couldn't breath, Larry barking at him in concern.
All in all, it sucks. He's been regressing since way before the WWE, back when he started wrestling. Well, he thinks Samoa Joe might have known, but that's neither here nor there. He's just glad he's not expected to show up to any shows currently, there's no way he'd perform the best that he could in this condition, he's too strung out. He really thinks he's been hiding it well, but apparently not enough. It starts out as a normal Thursday morning. Him and AJ wake up, have breakfast, his heart shatters a bit when she pours the syrup on his plate and jokingly cuts a few pieces for him, he excuses himself to the bathroom so he can silently yell at himself in the mirror to stay big, he returns to the table, and they continue breakfast as normal. They make it through the meal without anything major happening, it's when they're cleaning does it happen. AJ's leaning against the counter as Punk scrubs some really stubborn syrup off a plate, and she clears her throat to grab his attention.
“Can we talk?”
Oh, well, shit! Those are never good words. Never. He stiffens but turns to her, washing off his hands and shaking them dry the best he can.
“Yes dear?” He looks at her, trying to smile and not make it look like he's constipated.
“What is it?” Her voice is sharp, in a way he's never heard directed at him before. It makes his tummy hurt.
Punk's face scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“What is the thing that you can't tell me? You're not subtle, you've been hiding from me. Did Vince contact you?”
He sputters, shaking his head, dread in every part of his body. He feels like he's going to puke. “Wh- no? No, I'd tell you if that man tried to speak to me, he hasn't.”
Her face softens a bit, shoulders untensing, before she raises an eyebrow at him.
“Then what is it? I'm worried, Phil,” She never uses his real name unless it's serious, and he starts to fiddle with the band of his shorts. “You look….unwell.”
“Oh thanks babe.” He rolls his eyes, hoping that if he jokes enough, he can end the conversation here. It doesn't work. “Way to compliment a man.”
“I'm worried about you. I just, you know you can share anything with me, right?”
“Well of course I do, you're my wife.”
“Exactly. So don't hide from me. You can tell me what's wrong.”
No he can't. He can't tell her this. Never this.
“Nothings wrong, April, I promise.”
She sighs, clearly not believing him. She leaves it be though, leaning forward to hug him, before he changes the subject.
“So, about that hockey game tomorrow-”
-
It all comes crashing down about a week later. He tries his hardest, really, he does, but it's just not enough. His head has been fuzzy all day, the overwhelming urge to just curl up into a ball has been there since he woke up. Aj's gone out for lunch with some friends, and he's currently sitting on the couch, staring at the wall blankly, with Larry resting his head on Punk's leg. He's hungry, but he feels younger than he ever has, and he doesn't necessarily trust himself to be alone in a kitchen right now. Instead, he lays down, slightly smiling when Larry lays on top of his stomach, and lets his eyes fall shut. He can only hope that the feeling will be gone by the time he wakes up from his nap, and sleep quickly consumes him.
It doesn't.
He wakes with a start because of a loud noise, fear seeping deep into his stomach. It turns out to just be AJ opening the door rather harshly on accident, and he relaxes, melting back into the couch. Until he sits up suddenly, panicking again when he realizes he is absolutely not big. And no matter how hard he's trying, he can't force himself to be. Larry is glaring at him from where he was misplaced, but he can't even offer the dog an apology scratch, too caught up in his emotions.
“Punk? You home?”
She turns the corner and her face lights up when she sees him. Then, she frowns softly, and he realizes he's probably not the best at hiding his facial expressions. She walks over to him, crouching in front of the couch.
“What's wrong, baby?”
He shakes his head, refusing to answer her. She sighs, clearly annoyed, and he honestly doesn't blame her. He'd be upset if she kept something from him this long too, but he can't tell her. He just can't.
“We're not moving until you tell me.”
He doesn't respond, just looks at her in disbelief. She sits down on the floor, crossing her legs, and stares up at him.
“I have all day, Punk. What's wrong?”
Punk figures, worst case, she leaves him. Best case, she's fine with it but wants nothing to do with it. (That's not the best case scenario, and he knows it. The best case is that she's accepting, and is willing to take care of him. Willing to love little him, to be his mama- but that's a dangerous thought process, and he won't let himself go down that.)
He has to tell her, right? Like, he has to. You don't lie to someone you marry, especially not about who you are as a person. The guilt has been eating at him since they started dating, and now it's just all encompassing. Maybe, the faster he tells her, the quicker he spits it out, the better he feels. He's nauseous, and he thinks he's starting to sweat, the back of his neck damp. He loves her more than anything, and he just hopes she loves him enough to not throw him to the curb for this. He is fully prepared to sleep on the couch if need-be.
“I'm-”
He shudders, and AJ rubs a hand over his knee. She looks reassuring, trying to comfort him as he obviously tries to talk about something important.
“I'm not- I'm not big.” His words are rushed, said in all one inhale, and confusion flashes on AJ's face.
“What do you mean, baby? Like….size wise?” She trails off, clearly not knowing what to say, and he shakes his head in frustration at himself.
“No. No I'm not,” he breathes deeply a few times, gulping. Why is he so scared? “I'm not an adult right now.”
That just makes her more confused, and he lets out a whine of frustration, bringing a hand up to slap against his head. “My brain- It's- I'm not-”
She immediately leans up to grab his hand, taking it away from his head. She uses her other hand to gently touch where he was just hitting himself, her eyes looking slightly watery. He immediately feels like an asshole, he made his mama cry-
No.
No, he made his AJ cry.
She pulls his head against her chest and he sniffles, resisting the urge to nuzzle his head against the bottom of her neck. There's silence for a few moments, and the sound of Punk's watery inhales, before AJ clears her throat.
“You mean mentally? Like,” She sighs, running a hand through his hair. He lets his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. “Like you're a kid right now?”
He nods, timidly, eyes still clamped shut. He doesn't want to see her reaction, he can't take it.
“Does this happen often?”
“Sometimes. Is uh, not usually bad like t'is.” He's starting to slur his words, and he mentally curses himself. He just wants to fully crawl into her lap, and not leave until he's feeling better.
“Bear with me here babe, I'm trying to understand.” Punk sniffles again, and doesn't respond. He knows she won't understand more unless he explains, but he doesn't want to. He just wants the bad feelings to go away. “So your age changes?”
He hesitates for a few moments before he hums in a response, nodding his head.
“Well how old are you right now?” He doesn't want to scare her, he doesn't want to freak her out. He's trying to figure out what response would cause the least amount of judgment when she sighs softly. “The truth, babe. Tell me the truth.”
“Don know.” He shakes his head, still not opening his eyes. “Ushuly like, nine, but m really fuzzy.”
She coos and pulls back, holding his face in her hands. He opens his eyes, prepared to see rudgement, resentment, disgust, god anything- anything but the pure love that he sees. She's smiling softly, and she tilts her head at him.
“You're just my little boy right now, aren't you?”
What?
She's?
She's not, upset, he doesn't think. In fact, she seems to be rather fine with it. He nods, wiggling a bit where he's sitting.
“You just need someone to take care of you, don't you?”
Punk breaks. He nods again, this time closing his eyes as tears start flowing down his face. He slides down from the couch, blindly trying to make himself as small as possible so he can fit in her lap. He's a bit awkwardly hunched over, and the bottom of his back is sure to be aching tomorrow, but that doesn't matter right now. She hooks her chin over his head, and it just feels right. Like they were meant to be like this. He sniffles, hiccuping a bit, trying to press as close to her body as humanly possible.
“Is this why you have that giant box of crayons in the closet?”
He lets out a wet laugh, he was certain she didn't know about those. He nods, mumbling. “M like colo'ings. Is fun.”
“Next time we go to Walmart, we'll have to get you some more books then.”
He blinks, processing what she just said. He pulls back, enough to look at her, but still be sitting awkwardly in her lap.
“What kind of wife would I be if I didn't get my boy some coloring books?”
She smiles, laughing softly, and his heart melts. He likes the sound of that, of being her boy. It must show on his face because her smile gets wider and she leans forward to kiss the side of his face.
“How long are you usually like this?”
“Don knows.” He curls in on himself, but she just clicks her tongue, the smile never leaving her face.
“That's ok baby! That just means we can spend more time making you feel better until the fuzziness goes away, ok?” He nods, and she pats the side of his face. “Did you eat lunch yet?”
Punk shakes his head, frowning softly.
“Would you like me to make you something to eat?”
Well, he might as well push his luck. Really, really push his luck. He takes a deep breath before he responds.
“Please mama?”
Punk watches as she frowns slightly, and her eyes get suddenly wet. He's frozen, just staring at her, as he watches one tear slide down her face. Neither of them move, until Punk is suddenly scrambling to get off of her, apologizing over and over. AJ grabs his arms, yanking him back down to the floor with her.
“It's ok, it's ok. Baby I promise it's ok.” He doesn't believe her, and he shakes his head as he watches her wipe the tears from his face. “It is, it's ok! Punk, Punk look at me. I'll be your mama, baby. I'll be your mama.”
It feels too good to be true, and he whines a bit. His stomach growls and his face flushes, but she just smiles.
“Come on, do you wanna help mama make some food?”
He doesn't respond verbally, but he does stand up, putting a hand out to help her. She uses the momentum to bring him into a hug, and she squeezes him tightly.
“I love you so much, baby.”
He smiles, leaning down to place his face on the top of her hair, mumbling into her hair. “Love you evens mo’, mama.”
She laughs again, and starts to drag him towards the kitchens. Things worked out, he supposes. Maybe next time he can actually tell her when he starts feeling little. He still feels bad for dumping this on her, but he doesn't focus on it, instead focusing on what AJ's telling him to do with the food. He just wants to make his mama happy, and seeing the smile on her face makes him smile too.