Chapter Text
Jisung walked up the steps of his house, keys in hand and a dark look on his face.
The neighborhood had been quiet except for the occasional passing car, which did not help his ongoing battle with isolation and loneliness.
The quieter it was, the louder his thoughts were, and so as he entered his empty home which housed a quiet so large a drop of a pin would be highly audible, his head filled with a mass of concepts.
He trudged his way up to his room, carrying his jacket in his hand as he threw his keys onto the desk and collapsed on his bed.
He waited a while, his mind the only thing keeping him company, and it wasn't good company. All he had were regrets and scenarios of brighter futures had he made better decisions in the past.
Suddenly he heard a ring come from the other side of the room. It wasn't coming from his cellphone, but from the vintage telephone he had found in his house when he first moved in.
He had spent weeks trying to repair it but eventually gave up, but now it seemed to be fully operational.
He ran to the phone and answered, "Hello?"
"Hey Chan, can you believe Governor Schlatt had a heart attack and died today? That's insane." A man on the other end of the phone mumbled into the phone.
"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong num- Today?" Jisung asked, confused.
"Oh well sorry then, but yeah today. It's all over the papers." The voice answered, not bothering to end the call even though it was the wrong number.
Jisung raised his brow, "Are we talking about Governor Schlatt of Florida?"
"Yeah, who else." The man answered, his shrug visible in his tone.
"Schlatt died over fifty years ago, though?" Jisung was convinced he was talking to either someone very uneducated or downright insane.
The man laughed loudly, "I don't know about you, but I don't remember Schlatt dying in 1920."
Now Jisung knew the man couldn't do math. Fifty years ago was not 1920.
"Everyone knows it happened in 1970. Then his right hand man Tubbo was almost assassinated the next day." Jisung told the man.
He did not know why he was so hellbent on correcting a stranger, but he did so nonetheless.
"Tubbo? Everybody loves Tubbo. He's fine and giving a speech right now, listen." The phone sounded like it was moving, and suddenly put up to a radio.
The radio was barely audible, but Jisung could make out words like "This is a tragic loss." and such. It definitely sounded like Tubbo.
Jisung figured he was talking to a crazy person and hung up. He walked over to his bed, thought about the phone call for no more than 3 minutes before falling asleep.
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It was the next day. Jisung brought a bowl of cereal to his room to eat. He seemed to stare at his cellphone, waiting for calls and texts of "how are you?" from people that never seem to come.
He booted up his computer to watch videos, when suddenly the old telephone started ringing again.
Jisung hesitated for a bit. Did he really want to talk to a crazy person again? Then again it wasn't like there was anyone else that would talk to him.
He sighed then picked up the phone. "Hel-"
"How did you know?" The same man said into the phone.
"What?"
"About Tubbo. How someone was going to attempt to kill him today." He asked seriously.
Jisung rolled his eyes, "I told you. Everyone in the state knows, we learned about it in school and everything. Didn't you? Also why do you keep saying 'today?'"
"What's the date for you?" The man asked Jisung.
"Uh..." Jisung tapped his phone to check the date, "July 28, 2020."
No response. Just heavy breathing that sounded like hyperventilating.
After a while the man spoke again softly, "It's July 28, 1970 here."
Now this was confirmation that whoever Jisung was talking to was crazy. "Look if this is some kind of prank I'm just going to hang up. This isn't my phone and I'm not 'Chan' or whoever that is."
"WAIT." The man yelled, "Do you live on 821 Manburg street?"
Jisung started freaking out. The man knew his address. He was going to end the call and contact police or- or-
"Don't freak out!" The man read his mind, "That's my old house. Well it's my 'old house' for you but I live there right now. Does the upstairs bedroom still have the hideous flower wallpaper?"
"Yes." Jisung answered hesitantly.
"That means they haven't changed it since I lived there! Give me a sec." The man was silent for a while until Jisung heard a clicking sound. It was a pen uncapping.
"What are you doing?" Jisung asked.
"Look in the corner of the wall, near the window." The man told him.
"Why-"
"Just do it." Jisung heard what sounded like scribbling on the other side of the phone.
Jisung hesitated, but walked anyway to the corner of the room, "What am I supposed to be looking at-"
Suddenly, old worn out pen marks started appearing on the wall slowly, like burning wood.
"Hi" it said.
"Do you see that?" The man on the other side of the phone asked, before audibly capping his pen again.
"Y-yes." Jisung was hyperventilating and clutching his chest. This surely was not possible.
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
They both asked at the same time, but the man answered first, "My name's Mi- Lino."
"Lino?" Jisung raised a brow.
"It's a nickname. I don't want to give you my real name yet since you could be some government spy or something."
Jisung chuckled, "Well I'm Jisung."
"So tell me Jisung, who wins the world series next year? Asking for a friend." Lino asked, half jokingly.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." Jisung responded, "Well technically I can, but morally it's pretty wrong."
"Darn, thought that was going to work." Lino tsked, "So tell me about the future. Wait, does that sound nerdy? Hm, tell me about 2020."
"Well..."