Like many of Jennie’s respected company seniors, they decide to keep the dance routine minimal (read: nonexistent) to maintain the chic rapper image. Although it’s just an excuse to avoid memorizing another dance routine, Jennie is amused to find that Yoongi is wholeheartedly in support of it.

“I thought your group was famous for your routines,” Jennie says.

Yoongi rolls his eyes up at her from where he’s sitting on the practice room floor, lyric papers spread out around him. Secretly, she thinks it’s funny how he takes up about 200% more space than someone of his stature would be expected to.

“From now on, I want to be famous for something other than suffering on stage, thank you,” he says primly.

“Like what?”

Yoongi waves a hand at the papers. “Rap, what else?”

“But that’s impossible, oppa,” Jennie objects, and waits for Yoongi to look up at her before stating matter-of-factly, “That’s what I’m going to be famous for. You’ll have to find something else, like body rolls—I’ve got rapping covered.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows disappear under the edge of his beanie at her sass, and it takes about half a second for her front to break.

“You brat,” Yoongi says incredulously as Jennie giggles uncontrollably, hands over , “If only your precious YG seniors could hear you bragging now. They would whoop your a—”

“Yoongi, please!” Yoongi’s manager calls anxiously from where he’s lingering at the back of the room.

Without missing a beat, Yoongi redirects, “— back to New Zealand.”

Them’s fighting words. Jennie grins and tosses her long ponytail like she’s CL about to lay down justice. “I think the only -whooping—”

“Kim Jennie!” her manager screams from the back.

“—will be yours when this track comes out and I leave you in my dust—sorry, unni!” Jennie calls back, not even looking at where her manager is no doubt ready to tear her perm out. She would feel guiltier if Yoongi wasn’t casting an appraising eye up at her, like he had just found a puzzle box where he expected tic-tac-toe.

When he finally speaks, he sounds wondering.

“Well, ,” a moan rises from the back like an audible representation of his manager’s spirit floating away, “Maybe it will be mine.”

Jennie: 1, Yoongi: 0.

When Yoongi’s not looking, Jennie turns and hides a silent scream behind the end of her ponytail. She forgets about the mirrors, and subsequently misses the set of managers in the back exchanging grim looks with one another.