as soon as yangyang steps out of his car, he regrets not bringing a coat. the hassle of moving already stressed him out, winding him tight like an elastic, ready to snap, and this is almost the last straw. key word, almost! he manages to keep it together, cursing the lord in the sky (if he exists) as a downpour begins, soaking him through to the skin. what an awful day.
"at least all your shit is inside already." renjun mutters next to him, slamming the car door shut and pulling his hoodie up to 'protect' his head from the rain, as he says. like a vampire but with rain instead of sun.
his roommate sprints past him, desperately trying to find the housekeys in the deep pockets of his baggy pants that are definitely about three sizes too big (seriously, who wears such huge pants???). yangyang trudges after him, wading through puddles of gross water and sighing as he watches the cuffs of his favourite jeans get absolutely ruined.
"where are the fucking keys?" renjun exclaims, and yangyang groans.
"you can't have fucking lost your keys already?" he says, slapping a hand on his face.
"i swear they were in my pocket in the car man, they can't have gone far." renjun promises, and reluctantly, yangyang helps him search for them in his car, in all the murky puddles, and all over the driveway and grass in front of their new house. what a brilliant start. he then spots an orange sticky note taped to the front door, hidden just under the flap of the mailbox. how he hadn't caught it before, he's not really sure.
"spare keys are under the plant pot." it reads, but only just about. the rain has caused the cheap ink to bleed into the mushy paper. but ever thankful, renjun lifts up the empty brown ceramic next to the door. sure enough, a set of keys is laying there, with a beautiful globe keychain attached. renjun kisses the keys, and quickly lets himself and yangyang in. sweet home. it's not luxury per say, dusty and old as heck, but it's all they can afford at the moment. number 306 is going to be home sweet home for the next few years.
"dibs on the shower." renjun says, and yangyang shoves him out of the way in a desperate bid to race him up the stairs. to the one bathroom with a working shower that the last owner said would only stay warm for five minutes.
"get the fuck out of my way!" renjun shouts, clawing at his clothes as he chases after yangyang. unfortunately, renjun manages to slip past him and nearly traps his fingers in between the rickety door and the frame as he slams it shut. he can hear renjun cackling on the other side of the door, and yangyang pounds at the door (mostly playfully).
"you better be out before the water runs cold!" yangyang shouts, followed by a litany of insults, curses and the sound of the water running. he decides to change out of the absolutely disgusting clothes he's currently wearing, and is suddenly hyper aware of the uncomfortable way his jeans are sticking to his skin, and the gross bits of god knows what stuck to his hands.
he immediately washes his hands in the spare bathroom sink (sadly, not getting to shower), before heading to his surprisingly big bedroom to change into something for the time being. hopefully just the two minutes it takes renjun to get out of the shower.
yangyang doesn't really understand how old the house is, but it has definitely still showing signs of being updated in the seventies, because there is dreadful flowery wallpaper, combined with a horrifying red plaid couch tucked into the corner - almost like they were trying to hide it. yangyang doesn't blame them. there's also a popcorn ceiling, something yangyang had hoped to never see as soon as he'd moved out of his own home.
to be fair, there are also some gorgeous choices. the last person to live here must ave been conflicted when decorating. there is a mirror hanging above the plain chest of drawers yangyang brought with him with a beautiful intricate gold frame, and some really cute embroidered cushions sitting on the horrifying plaid couch (yangyang will be getting rid of it as soon as possible).
the thing that most intrigues him is the pastel green landline. a vintage phone. and it looks sick. yangyang didn't notice in his last viewing of the house, but it's honestly so gorgeous that he wouldn't mind keeping it if it was left here by accident. he picks it up, marvelled by how satisfying it is to hold. no wonder people back then were so fascinated by their phones.
it takes him by surprise when he hears a breath on the other side of the line after pressing it to his ear. he was ready to enact a conversation with himself, but the comedy is spooked out of him. he drops the phone, letting it dangle on the dresser. there is a low hum buzzing around the room by the point, and yangyang shivers.
it was so quiet. almost a hiss. it's very possible that yangyang just misheard something outside, or simply made it up. but something about it makes yangyang very antsy.
"hello- hello?" he hears, and the voice is crackly. the quality is tinny, like when yangyang listens to music through his shitty wired headphones. he must be imagining things. maybe he's schizophrenic or something.
"hello?" the voice continues, clearer this time. yangyang gulps, slowly inching forwards to take the phone, when renjun appears in the doorway behind him.
"hello? yangyang? did you not hear me?" he says, pinching the bridge of his noise in an exasperated way that suggests to yangyang that he's been calling for a while.
"i'm out?" he says, and yangyang whips his head around to look at his roommate.
"sorry." he plays it off cool, and by the time he looks back at the green phone, the low hum in his ears has stopped, and there's no sign of the crackly voice on the other end of the line.
"are you okay? you never apologise to me. is this a prank?" renjun asks, suddenly looking nervous, and he laughs shakily. "you haven't hit your head have you?" renjun teases, but yangyang can hear the masked concern in his voice. he puts the phone back on its housing.
"decided i don't want to shower. do you reckon we can get takeout? or is two days in a row too much." he asks, and his roommate perks back up at the mention of chinese.
"absolutely not."
-
yangyang is awoken early to the sound of the phone ringing.
he rolls over, initially convinced it's his alarm and he's just slept so deeply that he is running late. but then it dawns on him that it is a sunday, and he has no plans with friends, no lectures, nothing that would require him setting an alarm for. he then also realises that it is not his alarm, nor his ringtone, and that the sound is coming from his dresser.
he buries his head in the pillow, desperately hoping it is just his imagination, or a dream, or literally anything except what he thinks it is. but the phone keeps ringing. far longer than any ring he's heard before. it feels like minutes have passed, and the thing is still blaring for attention. he hesitantly gets up, and approaches the phone.
he does think it's a bit silly that he's treating a ringing phone like a landmine, carefully inching around his room and getting progressively closer to it. but then again, this is a random phone that yangyang has no recollection of seeing, ringing after scaring the shit out of him the night before.
"hello?" he says. immediately, he is bombarded by a loud boy, too much background noise, and that distinct hum from the day before.
"hey there! just ringing on behalf of the wong household in number 306? our pipe has burst and we would like a bit of help." the boy says, and yangyang frowns.
"i think you might have the wrong number." he replies, going to replace the phone on its housing yet again, but the boy laughs.
"what do you mean? there's only three phones on our street so far. it's a bit hard to mess that up." yangyang pauses, intrigued.
"what do you mean there are only three phones?" he asks, and the boy on the other side huffs. yangyang hears rustling and a bit of shouting in the background.
"didn't you read the paper? the lee household got a phone last week! it means i get to call them too. besides, who are you? you don't sound like mr seo." he says, and yangyang can hear the suspicion creeping into his voice.
"is this some kind of joke?" yangyang asks.
"why would anyone play a joke over the phone?" the boy says, and yangyang is floored. who is this guy?
"i'm not mr seo. do you mean the sweet old man who runs the corner shop?" yangyang asks, and he has to wait a few seconds for the reply. in the short pause, yangyang hears even more shouting, and it hurts his head.
"what do you mean old man? he's healthy and young as ever?" how can that be possible? is this guy just playing a really elaborate joke?
"mr seo is nearly eighty dude, i wouldn't say that's healthy and young." he comments, and he hears another laugh.
"mr seo is not nearly eighty. he is exactly twenty-five, as of yesterday."
now it is yangyang's turn to laugh.
"he came to my door to welcome me to the neighbourhood and told me he was seventy-five. yesterday. not sure if it was his birthday, but that's far from twenty-five my guy." he replies. silence.
"who are you? i don't recognise your voice. and how can you be new to the neighbourhood? nobody has moved here since like, sixty five."
pause. what?
"sixty five?" he asks, and the other boy sighs.
"are you stupid or something? miss and mister lee moved here in nineteen sixty five. and nobody since." he says, annunciating each syllable in '1965' as slow and aggravating as possible, as if he were speaking to a toddler. yangyang now wants to slap this guy.
"nineteen sixty five? that's so long ago. i literally know multiple people have moved here since then. if you're going to lie, at least make it a good one." yangyang says, and the other boy gasps.
"you call me a liar? how dare you. and it wasn't even that long ago!"
"i, wong kunhang, pride myself on knowing everything about everyone in town. and i know nothing, nor recognise you. so tell me who you are." the boy, kunhang, says. yangyang frowns.
"how are you keeping track of all like... ten thousand people who live here. what are you on about?" he asks, and kunhang makes a noise of confusion.
"what do you mean ten thousand? there are only one thousand and eighty-four people who live here. myself included!" he replies. and now yangyang is also confused.
"look, dude. i don't know who you are." he says to kunhang, who replies with a sassy 'likewise!'.
"okay. i am liu yangyang. i moved in yesterday with my friend renjun." he says, and kunhang groans.
"that doesn't help? i don't know of any lius here, let alone any yangyangs. or any renjuns!" he retaliates. yangyang hears a loud crash in the background, still muffled by the awful quality of phone. slightly concerning.
"okay. i have to go. nice talking to you, even if it has done nothing but confuse me as to how these phone things work." he says, and that really makes yangyang frown. this guy sounds around the same age as him. what twenty year old doesn't know how to use a phone?
"mother said it would be so easy.'just call him, i have the number written down' blah blah blah." he says in a shrill voice, obviously teasing his mother. yangynag laughs.
"nice to talk to you too i guess." he says, and the line goes dead.
1965? only a thousand people? mr seo being literally a third of his current age? what is going on?
-
"yangyang! stupid fucking idiot! get in here!" renjun shouts across the hallway, and yangyang rolls his eyes. why does renjun think he can just summon him into his room like a butler?
"oi! i know you can hear me!" he turns his speaker up obnoxiously to the point where it hurts his ears in an effort to drown out his friend's shouting, but to no avail. he just about makes out the sound of angry stomps outside his room before the door flies open. renjun stands there with folded arms.
"why won't you listen to me." he says, and yangyang laughs.
"i never listen to you." he replies, turning his attention back to his phone and scrolling. renjun snaps his fingers in his direction, yangyang just about holds in his laughter as renjun sits down on his single bed. they playfully shove each other back and forth, ending up with yangyang stood triumphantly over renjun, pillow in hand as he threatens to smack him again.
"okay! fine! you win!" renjun admits, hands covering his eyes. yangyang relents, but not before he is distracted by the ringing of the phone again. yangyang's head jerks up at the sound of the ringtone, but renjun doesn't react. rather, he is quite confused by yangyang's sudden change of interest.
"you good?" he asks, and yangyang just points at the phone. renjun stares blankly.
"nice phone?" he says cautiously, and yangyang is dumfounded. is he really going insane?
"it's ringing," he replies dumbly, and renjun frowns.
"no it's not."
what?
renjun clambers to his feet, all this time the phone is still ringing at a piercing pitch, but he shows no sign of registering it. he gives yangyang a funny look before waling towards the door.
"let me know if you need me to drive you to the doctors, dude." he says, and yangynag flips him off as he shuts the door behind him. yangyang isn't so fussed about renjun's reaction at this very moment, because that irrigating phone is still going. he once again caves, and picks up the phone.
"hello?" he says, and kunhang's voice immediately calls out back to him.
"yangyang!" he says cheerily. as if their last conversation wasn't incredibly weird and freaky.
"uh... how can i help you?" he asks, and he can hear another huff. kunhang must be a chain-smoker or something by how much he huffs and puffs.
"i wanted to chat about our last talk." he says, and yangyang sighs. he didn't really want to accept that this guy he's talking to may be for real, and not just a mean(/stupid) prankster from some random state hours away who somehow knew loads about yangyang's new home.
"oh. right." he mumbles, and there is more sounds of paper rustling on kunhang's side.
"i have it written down here that you said mr seo turned 75 about two days ago?" kunhang says, and yangyang sputters.
"you were taking notes during our conversation?" he says, and rather insufferably, kunhang hums in agreement.
"could you please tell me the date as of now?" yangyang finds the question a bit odd. it's not helped by how formal kunhang speaks.
"it's currently the eleventh of february, twenty nineteen." he replies after checking his phone. a noise of amazement echos down the rusty phone line.
"twenty nineteen? that's not possible." kunhang exclaims, and yangyang laughs.
"it's very much possible. it's the date today, like you asked me." he replies, and the other boy goes quiet.
"it's currently the eleventh of february here too." kunhang says, and yangyang rolls his eyes.
"i think it's the eleventh everywhere right now. unless you live on the other side of the world." he laughs, but the playfulness is not shared.
"it's nineteen sixty nine, yangyang."