He didn't offer a business card or a title. He didn't need to.
The name itself carried a weight that Wonho couldn't quite place yet, but the way it settled in the air felt significant.
Wonho nodded, led by a strange, magnetic pull toward the back of the VIP wing.
"Well, Mr. Jeong, if it is 'truth hidden in plain sight' you are looking for, then this is the piece you came to see."
They stopped before a massive, dark canvas encased in a heavy gilt frame. It was a 17th-century masterpiece by the enigmatic Italian painter, Luciano Baldassare.
The painting, titled The Silent Confession, depicted a shadowy cathedral interior where a single beam of light fell across a hooded figure whispering into the ear of a stone saint.
Wonho had spent weeks appraising this specific piece. He stepped closer, his frame reflected in the protective glass.
"Baldassare was known for his cynicism. Most appraisers look at this and see a simple act of faith. But look at the hands."
Wonho pointed to the hooded figure. "The fingers are trembling. There's a dagger tucked into the belt, barely visible in the chiaroscuro. To me, this isn't a confession. It's a threat. He's telling the saint that if heaven won't grant his wish, he'll take it by force."
Wonho spoke with a rhythmic, academic passion, his voice carrying the echoes of the multiple languages he'd mastered to understand such histories. For a moment, he forgot about the Kangs and the DNA test.
He was just an expert lost in his element.
Hoseok stood beside him, his broad shoulders nearly brushing Wonho's.
He didn't look at the painting immediately; he looked at Wonho, his green eyes shimmering with an unreadable warmth.
Finally, he turned back to the painting.
"An interesting interpretation," Hoseok said, his baritone voice smoothing over Wonho's nerves like a balm. "You see the violence where others see the piety. I like that. It's much more... authentic."
Hoseok smiled, a soft, genuine expression that made the peach scent flare up again. Wonho felt a jolt of recognition.
That smile, he had seen it before, through the haze of cigarette smoke and strobe lights.
He tried to shake the thought. It's impossible. He feared the boy who smelled of peaches and the man in front of him were the same.
"I'll take it," Hoseok said casually, as if he were buying a book rather than a multi-million-won treasure.
Wonho blinked, surprised by the quick decision. "I'll have the paperwork prepared, Mr. Jeong. It's a wise investment."
"It's not an investment." Hoseok countered, turning his full attention back to Wonho. "It's a feeling. But speaking of feelings..." Hoseok paused, his gaze sweeping across the prestigious gallery walls. "We've passed by so many famous artworks today, but I haven't seen any of yours, Mr. Shin?"
Wonho's heart skipped a beat.
A faint heat climbed up the back of his neck, turning his ears a soft pink. "I... I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am an appraiser and a gallery owner. I don't—"
"I saw your work at the Seoul Art School showcase last year," Hoseok interrupted gently. "The piece with the blue charcoal and the layered oil? It was the best one there. By far. In a room full of students trying to be famous, yours was the only one that felt like it was alive. I was hoping I'd see more of that fire here."
Wonho's face reddened further.
He felt exposed, as if Hoseok had just reached out and peeled back his bespoke suit to see the skin underneath.
How could he tell this "Adonis" of a man that he didn't hang his own work because he felt intimidated? Even at twenty-eight, with all his degrees and his "Mr. Shin" persona, he still felt like the foster kid standing next to the masters.
He felt like a forgery among originals.
"Those were just... exercises," Wonho managed to say, his voice losing some of its clinical edge. "The works in this gallery are outstanding. They are the standard. My own pieces are far too personal for a public space."
Hoseok stepped a fraction closer, invading Wonho's personal space in a way that felt like a challenge.
The scent of peaches was overwhelming now, sweet and grounding.
"Personal is what makes it art, Wonho," Hoseok whispered, using his name without the formal 'Mr.' for the first time.
"A masterpiece isn't judged by who else is in the room. It's judged by the truth it tells."
Wonho looked up, caught in the trap of those emerald eyes. For a split second, the gallery disappeared. There was no Kang family, no DNA test, and no heavy brown envelope waiting in his desk drawer.
There was only this 6'3" Alpha who seemed to see through every mask Wonho had ever worn.
"I'll keep that in mind," Wonho whispered back, his breath hitching.
Hoseok reached out, his hand hovering near Wonho's arm as if he wanted to touch him, before pulling back with a graceful smile. "I look forward to the paperwork, Mr. Shin. And perhaps, one day, I'll convince you to show me what you're really hiding in your studio."
As Hoseok walked away, his stride confident and broad-shouldered, Wonho stood frozen in front of Baldassare's painting.
He felt a strange, terrifying sensation in his chest, a mixture of fear and a longing he hadn't felt in exactly one thousand days.
He looked down at his hands. They were trembling, just like the figure in the painting.