Your Stuff is my Stuff || Jongup & Chunji
A new tentmate only meant one thing; someone new in his space. That could further be divided into, someone to leave things in his space, track messes everywhere, come in late, wake them up, leave dirty dishes and clothes lying around, but it could all be summed up by saying the “here” for him and the “there” for the rest of them wasn’t too far off. He knew for a fact that if this new guy got anywhere near Minhyun, he’d likely vaporize him with his mind. The guy had never been the kindest, but Chunji didn’t hold it against him. They all had their stories, after all. But Minho –that guy was nice. He could honestly say he rather liked him, so he wondered what side this new guy would fall into. Would he be cool, closed off, or one of those “nightmare tentmates” he had heard about?
Temptation to find out had his fingers twitching in a way they hadn’t since the group that left with Hyori had last been seen. If he was going to be honest, he hadn’t felt the urge for true mischief like this since he had run around with Changmin in Aomori. Pranking Minwoo as he slept didn’t technically count to him, since that was more innocent and both this occasion and the one in Japan could seem wrong if looked at it closely enough. He was known for being a nice, sweet guy, but he was far from perfect as well. Chunji wasn’t exactly a saint; he didn’t work in soup kitchens every Friday, he didn’t give homeless people money –because, really, a lot of the people currently in the Cirque were homeless and they had managed to survive well enough on their own.
No one else was in the tent with him, and a little devil whispered to him, ”It can’t hurt! Just go dig around, prepare the others! Minho and Minhyun would definitely appreciate knowing ahead of time what kind of guy will be sharing their space!” Nodding along to the voice that he technically shouldn’t have been hearing at all, he stood up and walked over to this guy’s stuff curiously. Poking it lightly with his toe, just to make sure that there wasn’t anything within that would want to eat him, he then went inside, digging around. After worrying that he was messing the stuff up enough on his own, he started taking it out and tossing it onto the bed as he looked, vowing to fold them and put them back later. What did it matter if they were folded in a different order the next time this guy looked? It wasn’t like he committed the order of his clothes to memory. And if he did…dually noted. But as for then, he needed to continue before the man came back from wherever he was.










