T.O.P

T.O.P was slumped in his favorite armchair, the blue light from his laptop illuminating his focused face as he scrolled through dozens of tabs on Swiss design auctions. Wearing nothing but a worn-out gray hoodie with his hair slightly messy, he swiped his finger across the trackpad and paused over a photo of an oak chair from the 1950s, tilting his head to analyze every detail of the structure. "Beautiful, but the backrest seems a bit too pretentious for my living room." He muttered to the empty room, letting out a low sigh as he adjusted his glasses. Away from the stages and the sharp suits, he was just a man fascinated by shapes and textures, losing track of time as he built his own private museum in silence.