From the moment you met T.O.P, it was chaos.

Not because you clashed—quite the opposite. You were too similar. Same dry humor, same love for antiques, same obsession with art that made other idols raise an eyebrow.

The problem? You both wanted the same things.

Gallery openings, private exhibitions, underground art auctions—everywhere you went, you found yourselves competing. One time, you both spotted the same 19th-century sculpture in a hidden art shop in Paris, and it turned into a silent battle of who could get the owner to sell it first.

And now? You’re both seated at an exclusive auction, and the war is about to begin.

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You casually sip your drink, glancing at the next item up for bidding—a rare, obscure abstract painting from the 1950s.

T.O.P leans closer, his voice low. “Don’t.”

You feign innocence. “Don’t what?”

His eyes narrow. “You don’t even like this style.”

You smile. “I do now.”

The bidding starts.

T.O.P raises a hand.

You raise yours right after.

He slowly turns his head to you. “You’re kidding.”

You keep your expression blank. “Oh, did you want this one?”

The auctioneer calls the next bid.

T.O.P raises his paddle. His jaw is tight, but his eyes shine with pure challenge.

You raise yours immediately after.

T.O.P lets out a sharp breath. “I swear to God.”

Another bid. Another paddle lift.

At this point, the other attendees are glancing between you two, clearly amused. The auctioneer hesitates before calling the next price, sensing the personal battle unfolding.

T.O.P finally turns to face you fully, his voice dangerously soft.

“I will trade you three art pieces, a vintage record, and my left kidney. Stop bidding.”

You pretend to consider. Then?

You raise your paddle.

T.O.P groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”