Darren Ellis lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. His television was on in the background, but he lost interest in watching it.
He hadn’t always been this tired. Not physically. Just… worn down.
At age forty‑one he had no kids and no real life experience. He’d just floated through with just years of work and weekends that bled together until they barely felt different.
Even since he was a kid he’d just had no luck. He was barely acknowledged in school. He was never invited to parties. And forget about girls. They all ignored him.
That bled through into his adult life. He graduated college with mediocre grades and a barely useful degree. Sure, he could make ends meet, which was more than some. But he had nothing to really live for. It was like he was just surviving.
Everyone else seemed to figure it out eventually.
He sat up, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped forward. The familiar tightness settled in his chest, the one that always came when he let himself think too long about the way his life had gone.
His t-shirt clung to his stomach in the wrong places. He was soft in that permanent, middle-aged way. His chest sagged slightly beneath the fabric, and he’d long since stopped trying to convince himself he’d start exercising again.
His reflection in the dark screen of the TV told the rest of the story. Hair thinning at the front and going gray at the temples. He kept it short so it didn’t look worse. Patchy facial hair from forgetting to shave that morning, or yesterday. Pale skin from years of long days in office lighting.
He wasn’t ugly, but he was the kind of man people didn’t bother making eye contact with.
And when you grow up like that, when your body never got wanted, touched, chosen… it sank into your bones.
“If only someone had just…” He stopped, shook his head, then laughed quietly. “Jesus, listen to yourself.”
He rubbed his face, dragging his hands down over his eyes.
“If some woman would have thought me worthy,”
He let his mind settle into the thought.
“If some hot, confident woman had just slept with me back then,” he said, voice low and tired, “maybe I wouldn’t be like this. Maybe I would’ve had the confidence to actually live.”
“Just once,” he added. “I bet that’s all it would’ve taken.”
Then, like he felt stupid enough already, he lifted his hand and spoke more clearly, more deliberately.
“I wish a woman like that had met me when I was eighteen. I wish she’d given me the experience I never had.”
It felt good to say it all out loud. Not that it would change anything.
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For a second, Darren thought he’d dozed off in front of the TV. But as he looked around he realized he wasn’t in his apartment and he wasn’t in bed.
He was on a bench. A hard plastic seat, the kind you’d find in a food court or a bus terminal. The lighting above him was fluorescent and buzzing.
He looked around and realized he was in a shopping mall.
No question about it. It had wide tiled walkways, fake plants in square planters, and food stalls lining the perimeter. But it wasn’t his mall. Or maybe it was… just not now. This place was alive.
Teens were everywhere, grouped in packs or leaning against railings, some with Discmen clipped to their belts, others flipping through magazines at a newsstand kiosk. The soundtrack overhead was a muffled but familiar synth-heavy pop song he hadn’t heard in years.
Darren blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it.
His heart pounded. He looked down at himself.
Still in his casual house clothes, worn shorts and a stretched-out tee, and people were already giving him weird looks. A teenage girl in bell bottoms and butterfly clips whispered something to her friend as they walked past.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
His head spun. He gripped the edge of the bench to steady himself, breathing through the fog. His eyes darted across the walkways, trying to find anything that made sense.
Walking just ahead, coming out of the video game store with a plastic bag in one hand and a slouched posture that practically screamed don’t look at me. Baggy jeans, a stretched-out hoodie, old sneakers.
Darren stared at eighteen-year-old Darren Ellis.
His hair was longer and skin was clearer. He was exactly how Darren remembered himself.
And suddenly, it clicked.
This was it. He wasn’t just dreaming about the past. He was in it. It was real.
And his younger self was here in front of him.
Darren stood up slowly, not sure why his hands were shaking.
His heart thudded in his chest, adrenaline rushing like he was doing something wrong. He started following, keeping a few paces back. His bare feet slapped against the tile as he tried to keep up.
He watched himself head toward the arcade wing, the quieter part of the mall, passing beneath a faded sign that read “FunZone.”
It’s happening, he thought. He’s about to meet her. The woman I wished for.
Either that… or he was completely losing his mind.
But whatever this was, he couldn’t look away.
---------------------------
Eighteen-year-old Darren walked with his head down.
Darren remembered being this younger version of himself. Not quite looking at people. Wishing to be noticed but not wanting to be looked at. He kept a few paces behind, trailing his younger self through the mall.
Every now and then he glanced around, trying to spot her. The woman. The one he wished for.
He was confident she’d show up soon. Step out from behind a pillar or the food court or one of the shops. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d look like. His mind was already wandering.
She’d be hot, he thought. Sexy in that effortless way. The kind of woman who drew everyone’s attention.
He imagined her first as a blur. Long hair. Confident walk. Curves that made people stare.
A strange warmth bloomed low in his chest, but he barely noticed it.
Big tits, he thought next, a little embarrassed at himself but unable to stop. The kind that fill out a top and almost look indecent.
The fabric of his shirt brushed oddly against his chest as he walked. Not uncomfortable. Just… noticeable. Like static. Like his skin had gotten more sensitive.
He ignored it, eyes locked on his younger self.
And legs, his thoughts continued, drifting. Long, tan legs. Smooth. The kind that look unreal in shorts.
His stride felt different. Not wrong. Just… wider.
He frowned slightly but kept walking. His mind was so intently focused on this vision running in his head.
His younger self slowed near a pretzel stand, pretending to study the menu while clearly not ordering anything.
Darren smiled faintly. God, he remembered that stand. He loved those pretzels.
Still no sign of the woman. He shook his head once, trying to clear it.
She’d have a great ass too, he thought without meaning to. The kind guys notice even if they pretend not to.
This time Darren felt the pressure pushing out of his backside.
“What the…” he whispered.
His shorts were riding higher on his thighs. Not by much, but enough that he could see more skin than before. And his thighs looked… smoother. The hair that should’ve been there was thinning, fading like it was being erased.
He blinked hard and looked back up, heart thudding. “No, no, no—what the hell is this?”
His younger self hadn’t noticed him. Still loitering by the pretzel stand, glancing toward the arcade hallway like he was waiting for something… or someone.
Darren’s breath quickened.
He forced his thoughts to stop, to pull back. Don’t think about her. Don’t picture anything. Just walk. Just focus on…
Crop top. Tight. Neon. Something that clings and barely covers her.
“No! Stop,” he hissed under his breath.
But he felt the shirt on his shoulders shift, the seams pulling tighter around his chest, which had continued to swell. His breasts were unmistakable now. Heavy and bouncy.
He tried to grab the collar and tug it upward, but the shirt wasn’t the one he’d gone to bed in. Not anymore. It was something ribbed and stretchy, and the more he fought it, the more it shrunk. Each tug only seemed to tighten it across his chest, drawing the fabric over his swelling cleavage until he could feel his nipples brushing against the inside.
“Shit,” he whispered, stepping back behind a support beam, shielding himself.
Shorts, came the thought next, uninvited. Low-rise. Hugging her hips. Cut off high enough to make you stare.
His shorts began to tighten again. The waistband shrunk against his softening stomach, pulling low. He could feel the cotton changing into denim.
He gasped and spun toward the nearest shop window, heart pounding.
For a moment, his brain refused to process what he was seeing.
Long, tanned legs stretched from frayed denim shorts that clung like a second skin. A toned, narrow waist flared into softly rounded hips. Above that, a neon-pink crop top hugged a pair of massive, jiggling breasts that had no business being on his chest. They rose and fell with every panicked breath, the neckline dipping low enough to make his stomach twist.
His arms were smooth and hairless. His shoulders were narrower and delicate.
But the face staring back at him was still his.
Still his short, thinning hair. His square jaw.
It was horrifyingly absurd.
His face looked wrong up there. Like someone had badly photoshopped a man’s head onto a model’s body.
He staggered back, chest heaving, trying not to throw up.
It needs to match, came the first thought, slithering in.
That body needs the right face.
He shook his head violently. “No—no, no—get out of my—”
Pretty. Soft. Tease those lips out. Big eyes. Glossy. Perfect. She should be beautiful. She’s supposed to be beautiful.
His chin drew in first, sharpening into a more feminine curve. His cheeks puffed slightly as the bone underneath slid upward, lifting the shape of his whole face. His brow smoothed, lines vanishing.
His lips tingled with a buzz spreading from the corners inward. He watched, helpless, as they pushed outward, swelling into full, kissable curves. Gloss appeared like moisture rising to the surface. His mouth now looked like it was always half-ready to pout.
Then his eyes. Oh god, his eyes.
He blinked, and his lashes came back longer and thicker.
Each flutter brought a new weight to them, like mascara had been applied by some invisible hand. His irises brightened, color deepening, whites clearing until they sparkled against his skin.
His eyebrows slimmed in one long, slow twitch of muscle, settling into sculpted, feminine arches.
And above it all, his hair had begun spilling past his ears in waves that were darker, richer, and fuller than it had ever been in his life. The strands slid down his shoulders like silk, swishing with his every panicked breath.
Within seconds, Darren’s face was gone.
The girl in the glass was gorgeous.
Her long, dark hair framed a face that glowed with youth, heat, and perfect curves. Her top strained to contain a chest that looked both impossible and somehow effortless. Her shorts clung like they’d been sewn onto her hips, low enough to hint and tight enough to tease.
Her chest rose and fell. She could see the outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric. Feel the tension in her toned thighs as she shifted her weight. Her stomach was tight and smooth. Her ass bounced with every panicked movement.
Everything felt real and horribly wrong.
“This…this isn’t…” Her voice cracked. Higher. Softer. Sultry.
It didn’t sound like Darren at all.
She turned away from the reflection. From herself.
And that’s when she saw eighteen-year-old Darren. Her past self hovering awkwardly by the arcade entrance, head low, shoulders hunched.
But this time, he looked up.
Their eyes didn’t quite meet, but he saw her and she could feel his lingering gaze.
Her breath caught in her throat as something stirred low in her belly. A tingle. A pulse. A want.
“No,” she whispered. Her thighs pressed together. “No, no, no…”
But her eyes were already drinking him in.
The curve of his shoulders beneath that hoodie. The flush in his face. The stiffness in his posture. The way he stood like he didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes or his body.
He looked small and lost. And so ready.
Her lips parted as she felt warm all over. Her chest was tight and aching.
He looked at her like she was everything. And she wanted to be everything to him.
Dana tore her eyes away from the arcade just long enough to steady her breath. Her chest ached, skin warm with want, her thighs tingling from the pulse that hadn’t gone away since her younger self looked at her.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She felt like she might fall over if she took a single step. The only thing anchoring her was the thud of her heartbeat and the ridiculous heat pooling between her legs.
“Damn,” a voice said behind her. “You trying to kill somebody dressed like that?”
The guy standing there was tall and toned. He was obviously attractive and dressed impeccably with a confident, self-assured smirk that said I’m used to getting what I want.
He looked her up and down without shame. His eyes paused at her chest, then dropped to her legs. He gave a low whistle.
“You got a name, or do I just call you Trouble?”
She stared at him, mouth slightly open, confused.
Once, Darren would’ve hated this guy on sight. He was everything Darren wasn’t and had everything Darren wanted.
But Dana didn’t feel intimidated. Or flattered. Or anything. She felt disgusted.
The way he looked at her like she was meat. Only Darren could look at her like that.
Or like she was the kind of girl who’d be impressed by a line like that. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Darren saying that to her.
Her lips curled slightly. “Seriously?”
He chuckled, undeterred. “Okay, okay. I’ll come at it softer. Just thought I’d say hi. You look like you could use some company.”
She didn’t answer because over his shoulder, she looked to where Darren was. But he was gone.
“No,” she whispered, eyes snapping around the arcade entrance, the pretzel stand, the hallway. He wasn’t leaning against the planter anymore. He wasn’t pretending to check his phone. He was just… gone.
Panic flared, sharp and sudden.
She stepped forward without thinking, nearly bumping into the guy still standing in front of her.
“Hey, I’m talking to you…”
“Move,” she snapped, brushing past him. “Asshole.”
She didn’t even hear what he said after that. Her focus tunneled. All she could see was the crowd, the shifting bodies, the maze of stores and kiosks and benches where he could’ve disappeared.
Don’t lose him. Don’t lose him.
Her heart pounded as she scanned faces, hoodies, backpacks, bad haircuts. Then she spotted him near the escalators, standing off to the side like he wasn’t sure if he should go up or down.
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.
“There you are,” she breathed.
She started toward him, fast, then slowed herself, suddenly aware of the way her hips swayed when she walked, the way people’s heads turned. She didn’t want to scare him off. Didn’t want to look like she was charging at him.
God, her heart was pounding. She was nervous. This body was way out of his league, but she was bound to him in a way she didn’t understand. She couldn’t fuck it up.
She stopped a few steps away, pretending to check her phone she didn’t have. She stole glances at him from the corner of her eye.
He saw her and she could tell he was nervous. She could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight, by how his shoulders stayed tense, by the way he glanced at her and then immediately looked away like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
He wants you, a quiet, dangerous part of her realized. But he’ll never act on it.
Her hands were trembling. This was it. The wish, the purpose, all of it boiling in her chest like a secret trying to claw its way out.
She took a slow step forward. Then another.
He didn’t look up at first. Still stuck in his awkward limbo near the escalators, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes fixed on the floor.
She came to a stop just a few feet away.
He glanced up and his eyes widened. And then darted away again.
Dana smiled nervously. “Hey.”
He blinked, like he wasn’t sure she was talking to him.
She swallowed. “Sorry. That was weird. I just… I saw you over there and thought you looked kinda lost.”
His eyes flicked back to hers. “Me?”
“Yeah. You,” she said, biting her lip. “Mind if I stand here for a second?”
He hesitated, then shrugged.
Dana let the silence settle for a beat, watching him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m Dana,” she offered, softly.
He stiffened again. Like he expected someone to jump out from behind a pillar with a camera and yell Gotcha! at any second.
He laughed awkwardly. “Uh. Right. Okay. What is this?”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… nobody like you just walks up and talks to someone like me.”
Dana blinked. “Someone like you?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “You know. I mean… you’re, like…” He gestured vaguely to all of her. “You’re you.”
God, she could feel it in him. In her own memories. The fear, the trained instinct to not believe.
She stepped just a little closer.
“I saw you standing here,” she said softly, “and I wanted to talk to you. That’s it. I thought you looked cute.”
He stared at her. Disbelief all over his face.
Close enough for him to smell her. Close enough to speak lower.
