THE HIRED BOYFRIEND

20

Hyeyoon's POV

The morning was warm, the kind that wrapped around you like a soft blanket, making it hard to believe we had woken up in a cramped motel. The sun was already filtering through the thin curtains when I opened my eyes, casting a soft glow over the small room. I could hear the faint sounds of Sokcho waking up outside—bicycles passing by, a dog barking in the distance, the sea gently humming not far away.

I stretched out, my body feeling the remnants of last night's awkwardness. Jisung was already up, sitting in the worn chair by the window, still dressed in the same clothes from the day before. So was I, come to think of it. We hadn't packed for an overnight stay, so there was no choice but to slip back into the slightly wrinkled fabric of yesterday's outfits.

He turned when he heard me rustling, offering me a quick smile. It was a little shy, almost as if he was unsure of how to act after last night's conversation. I smiled back, stretching a little more as I sat up on the bed.

"Good morning," I said, my voice still groggy from sleep.

"Morning," Jisung replied, standing up to grab his jacket. "We should probably head out soon, right? The police station opens in about an hour."

I nodded, running a hand through my hair to smooth out the tangles. "Yeah. We can grab something to eat on the way."

There was a sense of ease between us now, like the tension from the previous day had dissolved, leaving behind something quieter and more comfortable. We didn't talk about last night—not about the awkward bed situation or the deeper conversations that had followed—but there was a mutual understanding in the air. Something had changed, but we both silently agreed to let it settle on its own.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over my shoulders. The fabric still carried the faint smell of the café we had visited the night before, mixed with the salty scent of the sea. My phone was still missing, but there was hope now that we'd find it. After all, Sokcho wasn't that big, and if it had been found by someone, the police station was the most likely place it would end up.

Jisung grabbed his bag, and we headed out into the crisp morning air. The streets were quiet, just a few early risers going about their day. It felt peaceful, in a way.

We reached the police station just as it was opening, the glass doors sliding apart with a soft hum. Inside, it was surprisingly busy for such a small town, but after a quick inquiry, the officer on duty handed over my phone. Relief washed over me as I cradled the familiar device in my hands.

"Mr. Oh turned it in," the officer mentioned. "He found it on the beach."

Jisung and I exchanged glances. The beach? That must have been where I lost it, probably when I was distracted by the waves or something.

The officer gestured toward the waiting area, and sitting there was the old man himself, a weathered smile on his face. He indeed looked like he belonged at the beach—silver hair under a worn hat, skin tanned from years of sun exposure.

"Thank you so much," I said, approaching him.

He waved it off. "No problem, really. I walk that beach every morning. Found it half-buried in the sand."

Jisung took a step forward, a look of recognition crossing his face. "Wait... are you the famous sculptor?"

The old man's smile widened. "Depends. Who's asking?"

And just like that, the pieces fell into place. The man who had returned my phone was the very artist we had come all this way to find.

We ended up following him to his house, a short walk from the station. It was a cozy, unassuming place, tucked between larger, more modern buildings. Inside, though, was a different world—his workshop, filled with half-finished sculptures and tools scattered across various surfaces. The smell of wood and clay hit me as soon as we entered, thick and earthy.