Blame It On The Humming | H.H
Word Counts: 2,400 - 2,500 words
Genre: Young Adult/New Adult, Romantic, Comedy, angst, second chances, and high emotional drama.
Summary: Driven by inexplicable annoyance over details like his off-key humming and perfect hair, you ruthlessly dumped your ideal boyfriend, Hwang Hyunjin, after two years. Four years of painful regret follow, exacerbated by your best friend Jeongin's exasperation, until Hyunjin traps you into attending his brother's wedding. Realizing your indifference was a lie, he launches a campaign of strategic food delivery and emotional warfare, culminating in a scorching make-out session in his car where you finally confess that your cruelty was actually self-protective cowardice, leading to a tearful apology and a second chance over bulgogi.
Two years. For seven hundred and thirty days, you dated Hwang Hyunjin, and on day seven hundred and thirty-one, you decided you hated him. It wasn't a sudden, explosive revelation. It was a slow, creeping rot, an insidious ivy of annoyance that had wrapped itself around your heart. By all accounts, he was a great boyfriend. He remembered your coffee order, held your hand in public, and even sat through your favorite historical dramas without complaining. But God, every little thing he did sent a static shock of irritation through your veins. The way he’d hum slightly off-key while studying, the way his hair fell perfectly over his eye even after he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. Sometimes, when he was eating, you’d hear it—a phantom noise your brain invented just to have a reason to get angry. You'd feel your jaw clench, your skin prickle with a terrible, consuming impatience. You weren't insane. You were just done.
So you decided to end it. The timing was cruel, a calculated strike. His calculus final had just ended; he was emotionally drained and looking forward to celebrating. That’s when you dropped the bomb.
"I don't think this is working anymore," you said, standing in the doorway of his dorm room, your bag already slung over your shoulder.
He blinked, a slow, tired motion. "What? Is this a joke? Because if it is, it's not funny. I think my brain melted during that exam." He tried for a smile, but it faltered, dying a slow, painful death on his face.
"It's not a joke, Hyunjin. I'm breaking up with you."
The exhaustion in his eyes was replaced by a sharp, wounded disbelief, immediate and raw. "What do you mean it's not working? We were fine this morning! You sent me a good luck text with a cat meme!"
"People change their minds," you offered, your voice flat, a perfect shield against his hurt.
"People don't just 'change their minds' about two years!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking with confusion and betrayal. The fight you’d been anticipating erupted. "I commute forty minutes each way, three times a week, just to see you for a few hours because I know you hate taking the bus! I made that drive to your place because you asked me to! I learned to like your stupid, bland pastries! I completely changed my appetite to match yours because you're the pickiest eater on the planet! What have you ever done, what have you ever compromised on for me?"
You stood there, a block of ice, watching his heart break in real time. The way his jaw trembled, the sudden, ugly wetness in his eyes. You gave him nothing. You turned and walked away, leaving the sound of his choked breaths and the faint, sweet scent of his vanilla air freshener to fade behind you.
Four years later, life was different. You were carving out a ruthless career, but the silence that followed the breakup was never peaceful. Instead, it was filled with the low, persistent hum of regret—a feeling far more irritating and painful than any phantom chewing noise. You had fumbled, so, so bad. The memories of his kindness, his passion, his quiet patience—they haunted you. You talked about it so much with your best friend, Jeongin, that it became a running, exhausting joke.
"I just... I see a guy humming and I spiral, Jeongin. I'm so stupid," you'd sob into your hands at a cramped café table.
Jeongin would sigh, the sound weary. "Noona, I'm tired. I'm tired of hearing about the humming and the hair. You did this to yourself."
"But I miss him! I miss him and I don't even know why I did it!"
Then the real breakdown would start, usually after two glasses of wine, where you'd be reduced to an incoherent mess. Jeongin would stare at you, his young face strained. "That is genuinely the ugliest face I have ever seen you make," he once told you, pushing a napkin toward your face, "and I was there for your root canal. Pay the bill."
Your heartbreak was ugly, deserved, and constant.
Then the envelope arrived. It was thick, cream-colored cardstock. Your stomach dropped when you saw the return address, then plummeted when you slid the invitation out. One of the names joined by the ampersand was Hwang Hyunjin. He was getting married. The devastation that hit you was a physical blow, a sudden, blinding agony that confirmed every single one of Jeongin's frustrated lectures.
Against all better judgment, driven by an overwhelming need to confirm the reality of your ruin, you went.
You slipped into the back of the grand hall just as the ceremony was about to start. You scanned the front, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. You saw him. Hyunjin. He was a groomsman, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored black suit that made his broad shoulders look even wider. He was not the groom.
Relief, so intense it made your knees weak, washed over you, instantly replaced by a surge of familiar, hot annoyance. He turned, his eyes finding yours across the crowded room, and a slow, infuriatingly smug smile spread across his face, the kind that made your blood boil.
After the ceremony, he cornered you by the bar. "I knew you'd come."
"You're an ass," you seethed, twisting the stem of your champagne flute. "You let me think you were getting married."
"Did I?" he asked, tilting his head, the smirk never leaving. "It was an invitation to my brother’s wedding, which you would have known if you’d read the whole thing." He leaned in, his familiar scent of sandalwood and him flooding your senses. "I listed you as my plus-one. Just play along. For tonight. Please?"
Something in his eyes—a flicker of the old vulnerability beneath the bravado—made the four-year wall crumble instantly. You agreed. You let him introduce you as his girlfriend, and when he pulled you onto the floor, it was terrifyingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of being with him. He was funnier now, more confident. The boy you broke had become a man, and the pang of regret was a sharp, physical pain.
The wedding was the start of his new campaign. He started showing up everywhere—coffee delivered with notes, texts of spicy food, expensive almond croissants on your car. You told him to stop, but every gesture was a little stitch, pulling the fabric of your long-dormant feelings back together.
One Tuesday night, you were buried under a deadline, the office dark. Your phone buzzed. It was him.
"Did you eat dinner?" his voice was a low rumble.
"Yes, of course," you lied smoothly. "Had a huge meal."
The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, the door to your office floor swished open. Hyunjin stood there, holding a takeout bag. He looked at you, then at the half-eaten protein bar.
"A burger and fries, huh?"
"I was busy," you said defensively.
"No more excuses," he said, his voice firm. He pulled your chair back slightly. "Get up. We’re not eating next to your spreadsheets." He took your arm, guiding you to the elevator, out into the cool night air, and into his car.
"You really brought bulgogi to the office," you whispered, slightly dazed, as he placed the container in your lap.
He sat in the driver's seat and leaned over, placing his hands on either side of your headrest, boxing you in. His face was inches from yours. The air in the small space became instantly thick.
"Why are you doing this?" you whispered, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
"Doing what? Making sure you eat a real meal? Or are you talking about this?"
He closed the remaining distance. His mouth was soft at first, but when you responded, he deepened the kiss with a devastating intensity. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your skin, pulling you toward him. Four years of walls crumbled into dust. The kiss became hungry and messy, a collision of past hurt and present yearning. He shifted, his thigh pressing against yours, and a low, guttural sound of pure need escaped his throat.
He broke the kiss only to pepper urgent, demanding kisses along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "God, you have no idea," he rasped, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I thought about this every single day."
He pulled back, his eyes dark, stripped of all bravado. The smugness was gone, replaced by a profound vulnerability. The annoyance you once felt was a ghost. All you felt now was the overwhelming, terrifying realization that you never hated him at all.
"You're eating that food now," he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. "All of it. And then we're talking. Because I didn't drive forty minutes back then to your apartment, and I didn't track your calories now, just for you to lie to me and skip out again." He punctuated his demand with one final, scorching kiss. "Eat. We'll talk."
You ate slowly, the savory, warm food grounding you. When you were halfway done, you put the container aside.
"You deserve the truth," you confessed, looking at him, a tremor running through your voice. "It was never about the humming or the hair or the phantom chewing noise. That was just my brain short-circuiting because I was terrified."
"Terrified of what?" he prompted, his voice gentle.
"Of you. Of us," you confessed, tears burning your eyes. "You were too good. You drove forty minutes, you changed your diet. I was the one who never compromised, the selfish one. I couldn't stand the pressure of being loved so perfectly. I chose to hate you for tiny, invented flaws instead of admitting I loved you so much I was afraid I’d ruin you."
He reached out and took your hand, his touch steady. "You thought you were protecting me."
"No," you corrected, shaking your head, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. "I was protecting myself. From the pain of not being enough. I am so incredibly sorry, Hyunjin. I apologize for my cowardice, for the cruel way I ended things, and for every moment of pain I caused you. It was unforgivable. I messed up. I fumbled so, so bad."
His thumb brushed a tear away from your wrist. "You were always enough. And if you thought you were lacking, why didn't you just talk to me?"
"I'm still here. After four years of you being a ghost, after you watched me cry and walked away. I'm here. Do you want to know why?"
You nodded, your eyes locked on his, filled with the desperate hope you hadn't allowed yourself to feel in years.
"Because I loved you then, and the moment you walked into that wedding hall, I knew I still loved you. But you," he leaned in, his lips hovering an inch from yours, "I think you’ve finally changed your mind about me. And that's all I needed to know."
He closed the distance, and the kiss was now a tender conversation, a thorough re-exploration. It was forgiveness, understanding, and a quiet, profound promise, all wrapped up in the soft, familiar press of his lips.
When he pulled back, he smiled, that breathtaking, genuine smile. "Now," he whispered, pressing a final kiss to the corner of your mouth, "finish your dinner. We have years of catch-up to plan. And I promise, I'll never hum off-key in your presence again."
