Jennie’s manager drives her to BigHit’s company building for the new project. Once they arrive, Jennie goes ahead to the directed studio room by herself since her manager needs to take a call outside and Jennie doesn’t feel like waiting around when she’s here already.

The first thing she notices about the studio room is that it’s tiny. The second thing she notices is that Min Yoongi, pale, lazy, frustratingly charismatic rapper, is spread across the room’s only sofa, fast asleep with a snapback over his face.

“He sure does sleep a lot,” Jennie mutters.

Sighing, she sits down in the room’s only chair and swivels around for lack of anything better to do. She’s about to check her phone when she notices the open laptop on the console. The screensaver glows temptingly and she doesn’t stop to think before tapping on the touchpad to wake it up.

She scoots the chair closer at the audio file that appears. This must have been the song Yoongi was working on before he fell asleep. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she listened to it? It is their song after all.

She places the big clunky headphones hooked up to the laptop over her ears, around her pigtails, and presses play. Immediately her head starts bobbing.

Not bad, she grins. The beat is rougher than what she would prefer but it’s catchy, it makes her want to dance.

A pale form moves in her peripheral and Jennie shrieks, ducking. The headphones go clattering to the ground as someone—Yoongi it turns out—swears furiously under his breath.

When Jennie looks up from under her arms, Yoongi is his scraped headphones in dismay.

“This was a new pair.”

“Sorry,” Jennie gasps, lowering her arms quickly, “I thought you were a ghost.”

“Really? I know I’m pale but I didn’t know it was that bad,” Yoongi says, revealing a surprisingly gummy smile that takes the breath out of Jennie’s lungs in quite a different way. His dark eyes steady hers for a moment before he turns away to straighten the laptop and reopen the audio file.

Jennie watches him mutely, listening to the familiar, heavy ba-dump of her heart.

Oh no, she thinks.

Oh no.