Twenty-Year-Old Him

One minute, I was nursing my thirty-year-old husband through a fever. The next, I blinked, and I was back in college, staring at his twenty-year-old self.
That boy, all sharp edges and guarded eyes, awkwardly shoved a slip of paper with his number into my hand.
But before I could even think about adding him, I blinked again and was back at the sickbed.
My insanely jealous CEO husband was biting my hand, his voice a low growl. “Stella, where the hell have you been all day?”
The truly terrifying part? A few days later, that same wounded, twenty-year-old version of my husband appeared out of thin air in my bathroom, looking utterly lost.
And now, my two husbands are locked in a death-glare, both demanding to know the same thing:
“Who is he?”

1.
I was back.
It was my first time time-traveling, and my head was still spinning.
Ethan, however, was glaring at me. “Where did you go? I have a fever, and you just disappear?”
I held up my hands, a picture of innocence. “What if I told you… I was with you the whole time? Just, the twenty-year-old you. Would you believe me?”
A man fresh off a high fever is not a reasonable creature.
He grabbed my hand, nipping it gently, his eyes, still glassy from the fever, filled with a look of pure, theatrical betrayal. “Stella, you’re getting better and better at lying.”
God, I was being framed.
I looked at the pouting, jealous man-child before me, then thought of the prickly boy who’d just handed me his number…
Each had his own unique flavor.
A wicked little smile played on my lips.
But I had to explain. I gently pried his hand off mine. “It’s true. I think I just… time-traveled.”
Ethan propped himself up on his pillows, tilting his head with an expression that screamed, I’m waiting to hear this bullshit.
I dabbed the sweat from his temple with a tissue. “I just dozed off for a second, and when I opened my eyes, I was at a university.”
“You were in the library, studying. A bunch of girls were trying, and failing, to pretend they weren't staring at you.”
“Then it must have been lunchtime. You left the study hall, and some guys came up to say hi.”
I searched my memory, trying to dredge up more details. But the next part was a little hard to say.
My thirty-year-old Ethan, listening to my surprisingly detailed fabrication, nudged me. “And then?”
I glanced cautiously at his pale, post-fever face, hesitating. “I couldn’t hear exactly what they said, but… they basically dumped their milk teas all over you.”
Ethan’s expression froze.
Don’t tell me that actually happened…
I tried to change the subject, but Ethan was fixated. “And then what?”
I had no choice. I launched into the full story—how I’d given my jacket to his twenty-year-old self, followed him to the diner where he worked, helped him chase off a couple of thugs, bought bandages to patch him up, and then coaxed his contact info out of him.
With every sentence, the storm clouds gathered on his face. He looked just like he did when we first met.
I felt a prickle of unease and tugged on his sleeve. “Honey…”
Ethan snapped back to the present, his expression softening slightly, but his eyes still held a sharp, unhappy glint. “That’s it?”
I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper, smoothing it open.
“The last thing that happened was the twenty-year-old you giving me his number.”
Ethan snatched the note. Seeing the familiar handwriting and the string of digits, he finally, completely believed me. Then he ripped the paper to shreds and threw it in the trash can. “That shameless bastard. Trying to seduce a married woman.”
…You do realize you’re yelling at yourself, right?

2.
The emotional rollercoaster was too much for Ethan’s recovering body. He started coughing violently.
Forgetting everything else, I rushed to his side, rubbing his back to soothe him, my voice soft and gentle. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking. Don’t get worked up, just breathe…”
When he finally caught his breath, the first thing he asked was, “He didn’t touch you, did he?”
I was speechless all over again.
My mind flashed back to the grimy alley behind the diner. I was gripping the younger Ethan’s arm, my voice fierce. “Don’t you move! You’re bleeding!”
The boy’s arm had been lean and fever-hot beneath my fingers.
A guilty flush crept up my neck. Technically, I touched him. That doesn’t count, right?
I slowly shook my head. “No.”
Ethan knew me too well. His voice shot up an octave. “Stella!”
I immediately surrendered, my voice dropping to a placating murmur. “You were bleeding…”
He clung to my hand, a flicker of panic in his eyes, like a child terrified of being abandoned. “That’s not me. I’m here.”
It finally hit me. That boy may have been a younger Ethan, but he wasn’t the man I’d met, fallen for, and married.
“But…” I couldn’t help it. I looked down, twisting the edge of the blanket. “The you back then was so… raw.”
And so pitiful.
Like a lonely little stray. I couldn’t just leave him there.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He stared at me for a long moment before awkwardly sinking into my arms. The high-and-mighty CEO was acting like a needy child.
I stroked his forehead, still a little warm. “But… was what I saw real?”
He never liked talking about his past, as if it were a source of deep shame. And I’d always respected that. Everyone has their secrets.
But after what I’d just seen, how could I pretend it didn’t exist?
He closed his eyes and mumbled a low, “Yeah.” Then he added, “So… you should probably show me a little extra love.”
…I pinched his cheek, hard. “Oh, get over yourself.”

3.
Life returned to normal, so much so that I nearly forgot about the whole time-travel incident.
Until I woke up from a nap on my sunroom lounger, stretched, rolled over… and fell flat on the floor.
A wave of laughter erupted around me.
What the hell?
Dazed and confused, I rubbed my aching elbow and blinked my eyes open.
I wasn't in my familiar sunroom. I was in a massive university lecture hall, packed with young students.
On the stage, an old professor peered at me over his glasses, his expression disapproving.
All around me were unfamiliar faces, their smiles tinged with mockery.
Seriously? Again?
My eyes instinctively scanned the crowd for that familiar face. And there he was, in a faded white shirt, a look of concern flashing across his features—the young Ethan.
I gave him a reassuring smile. He flinched slightly and looked away, but the tips of his ears turned a suspicious shade of red.
I scrambled to my feet, gave the professor a quick bow of apology, and sat down properly.
After class, students left in chattering groups.
Ethan, however, slowly packed his books into a canvas messenger bag, all by himself.
“Ethan, is your hand feeling better?”
I hurried over to him, noticing the bandage was gone.
He ignored me completely, shouldering his bag and walking out of the classroom as if I were invisible.
I’ve been married to the man for four years. I know his moods. He was sulking.
But all I did in this world was fall on the floor! What did I do to piss him off?
I snapped. “Ethan, are you deaf?!”
Apparently, my angry voice had a certain power over him, regardless of his age. He stopped, turning to face me with a thunderous expression. “Can I help you?”
I caught up to him. “Why are you ignoring me?”
He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to keep her distance?”
“When did I ever say that?”
The genuine confusion on my face seemed to wound him further. His expression turned to ice. “You never added my number, did you? So why are you bothering to talk to me today?”
My face froze.
After my husband had torn up the note, I’d dismissed the whole time-travel thing as a one-off fluke and completely forgotten about it.
Besides! The thirty-year-old me still ended up getting his number five years later anyway!
Seeing my silence, a look of profound disappointment washed over his face. He turned and walked away.
His retreating back was stiff with the pride and hurt of a young man who felt betrayed. He disappeared around the corner of the stairwell.
I stood there, paralyzed, a sour, aching feeling in my chest.
Oh, God.
I could picture it so clearly now: him, awkward and nervous, mustering all his courage to give me that note. I could feel the secret, fragile hope he must have held, checking his phone again and again, only to be met with crushing silence each time.
The Ethan I met at the company gala five years later was confident, charming, and utterly in control.
But this twenty-year-old version… he was sensitive, insecure, like a little snail peeking out of its shell, only to have it stomped on.
I started to run after him.
But what could I possibly say?
“Hey, I’m your future wife, I came from another dimension and just kind of forgot to add you”?
He’d think I was either a lunatic or a cruel liar playing games with him.
I groaned, running my hands through my hair. I felt like a total, absolute heartbreaker.

4.
I thought I would be sent back soon, just like last time.
But I wasn't.
I fell asleep and woke up several times, and each time, I was still stuck in this world.
Panic began to set in. The Ethan in my own time must be going crazy.
With no other choice, I had to find his younger self again.
That evening, I finally heard a familiar voice coming from the alley behind the diner where he worked.
In the dim light, Ethan was surrounded by three sketchy-looking guys. One of them, wearing a grimy chef’s coat, was viciously poking him in the chest.
“Damn it! I gave you a job washing dishes, and this is how you repay me? You broke a whole stack! You’re not leaving until you pay me five hundred bucks!”
Ethan’s jaw was tight, his face ghostly pale in the gloom, but his eyes burned with the fury of a cornered wolf.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “The floor was slippery…”
“So what?” The chef shoved him hard. “You’re a broke loser! If you don’t have the cash, you can work it off!”
This was straight-up bullying.
Rage flooded through me. Without thinking, I stormed forward and slapped the chef’s hand away from Ethan’s chest. “What do you think you’re doing, ganging up on him?”
The men were clearly startled by my sudden appearance. The chef looked me up and down, saw I was just a girl, and sneered. “Get lost, little missy. This ain’t your business.”
“You’re the ones who should get lost!” I stood in front of Ethan. My heart was pounding, but I wasn't backing down. “If he broke dishes, he pays market price! Why are you trying to rip him off? You want me to call the cops?”
I subtly reached behind me and grabbed Ethan’s wrist. It was cold and trembling. I gave it a squeeze, telling him not to do anything rash.
At the mention of the police, the men hesitated. “The cops would still make him pay! One hundred, right now, and he can go!”
A hundred dollars. For the Ethan of this time, that was probably a fortune. I felt the muscles in his wrist tense up.
It’s okay! I have money! I have plenty of—
My hand hit my empty pocket. I’d forgotten I didn’t have my phone in this world.
In a moment of desperation, I slipped off the bracelet I’d been wearing—the one that had traveled with me—and thrust it at the chef. “It’s designer! That’s more than enough, right?”
The chef blinked, taking the bracelet dubiously. After inspecting it for a moment, he and his cronies finally left, muttering curses under their breath.
The narrow alley fell silent, leaving just me and Ethan. The only sound was his ragged breathing.
I let go of his wrist and turned to see if he was hurt.
He whipped his head away, refusing to look at me, the line of his jaw razor-sharp. It was a toxic mix of humiliation, shame, and the raw helplessness of being seen at his absolute worst.
“You…” his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Why do you keep showing up?”
Why did I always find him at his lowest, most pathetic moments?
“I…” I opened my mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Comfort felt cheap, and an explanation was impossible.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over me. The world around me began to warp and blur.
Ethan must have noticed something was wrong, because he instinctively turned back to look at me.
As he stared in shock, my form began to fade.
“Ethan!” I yelled with all the strength I had left. “Don’t give up! Just hold on! Everything is going to be okay! I promise!”
My voice scattered in the wind.
His eyes widened in utter astonishment and disbelief.
Then I blinked.
The soft bed. The familiar chandelier.
And beside me, looking haggard and worn, was the thirty-year-old Ethan, his eyes locked on me.
He grabbed my wrist, his voice a torrent of panicked, jealous fury. “Stella! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?”
“And you show up here shouting another man’s name? Telling him ‘everything is going to be okay’? What the hell happened between you two?!”
I pressed my fingers to my throbbing temples. “Honey… you’re not going to believe this…”

5.
Ethan was holding me so tightly I could barely breathe, but the scowl on his face could curdle milk.
I tried to push him away. He roared, “Are you trying to go back to that pathetic loser?”
…Just how much did he hate his former self?
“No…” I mumbled. “I just need a shower…”
“A shower?” The suspicion in his eyes didn't fade. He held me even tighter, as if terrified I’d vanish if he let go. “You finally come back to me, and the first thing you want is a shower? Stella, have you no heart?”
His tone was so accusatory.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. My heart ached for him, but I was also completely exasperated. It seemed my extended “disappearance” this time had really terrified him.
I softened my voice, trying to calm the storm. “I don’t know why I went back to that world either.”
I gave him the condensed version of my second trip, including how I’d found him being bullied again and used my bracelet to bail him out.
“Look.” I held up my wrist, the one he’d been gripping. It was bare. “The bracelet you always see me wear? It’s gone. I gave it to that chef.”
Ethan’s gaze fell on my empty wrist. His brow furrowed, and his voice turned glacial. “My anniversary gift to you… you just gave it to someone else?”
“Ethan!” I couldn’t believe his focus was always on the most ridiculously petty details. I had to shout to get his attention.
“You don’t value what I give you, and you don’t value me!”
He was fuming one second, then his face crumpled in panic the next. He buried his face in my neck, taking deep breaths as if trying to calm himself down.
After a few tense seconds, he muttered, “Don’t you ever do that again…”
I seized the opportunity to placate him. “Okay. How about I take a quick shower, and then we can have a date night?”
“Mm,” came the meek reply from the man in my arms.
“So… can I go take that shower now, Mr. CEO?”
He reluctantly let me go, but his eyes stayed glued to me, as if he expected me to time-travel straight out of the bathroom.
I just shook my head with a small smile and headed for the en-suite.
I stepped inside, locked the door behind me, and turned on the hot water. Steam began to fill the spacious room.
I let out a long sigh. These days were getting way too intense.
Just as I reached for the hem of my shirt, I heard it. A tiny, stifled gasp from behind the shower curtain.
I froze, every hair on my body standing on end.
Who?
Is someone in the house?
My heart hammered against my ribs. In one swift motion, I reached out and ripped the shower curtain open.
The next second, I was completely petrified.
Curled up in the bathtub was a figure. Tall but painfully thin, dressed in a soaked, yellowed-white shirt and jeans. Dark, messy hair was plastered to a pale forehead.
At the sound, he jerked his head up.
Those young, sharp eyes… it was the twenty-year-old Ethan.
How was he here? In my bathroom? Did I travel back the instant I returned?
Our eyes met. The air was dead silent.
He stared at me, his gaze filled with utter confusion. He clearly had no idea how he’d gone from a filthy back alley to this luxurious, pristine bathroom with a “familiar” woman standing in it.
“You…” His chapped lips moved, his voice weak and hoarse. “What… is this…”
Before he could finish, the bathroom door clicked and was thrown open.
My thirty-year-old Ethan stood in the doorway, a look of impatience on his face. “Stella, what’s taking so long? I don’t even hear the water runn—”
His complaint died in his throat.
His gaze shot past me, landing squarely on the younger version of himself huddled in the tub.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
The expression on my husband’s face shifted from concern to annoyance, then to absolute, mind-bending shock, before finally settling into a dark, thunderous rage.
He looked at me. He looked at the soaking wet boy in the tub. A vein pulsed violently in his temple.
“Stel-la!”
He bit out my name, each syllable dripping with a venomous mix of jealousy and fury that had just been lit on fire.

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