Tokyo, Seoul, London, New York

          There are people who believe in fate, and there are people who don’t. The people who believe in fate—who believe in something predetermined, something inevitable that’s meant to happen will happen and how there’s no point in trying to make it happen if it’s not meant to be—those people are the ones who usually believe in true loves and eternal loves and loves at first sight.

          The people who don’t believe in fate—they don’t believe in true love or eternal love or love at first sight. These people are more often made rather than born. Whether from one circumstance or another in their lifetime, they shift from believing to no longer believing—no longer trusting—and most of the time, they’ll move through the rest of their entire life never believing again.

          But then there are those lucky few—the lucky few non-believers who go through yet another circumstance in their lifetime that turns them back into a believer—that lets them believe in fate again, in something predetermined like true love and eternal love and love at first sight.

I’ll show you a world you’ve never seen

          Junhyung thinks that today, here in the United States of America—in California—on the shores of Las Angeles—he honestly believes that he will actually die. He believes that this will be the place of his death, millions of miles away from South Korea, from his homeland, he’s going to die in a terrible and fatal car crash.

          “Stop,” Hyunseung says dismissively, “being such a ing girl.”

          “I’ll stop being a ing girl,” Junhyung snaps, fingers digging into the sides of his seat, “when you pull over and let me drive.”

          Hyunseung rolls his eyes. “Christ, we’re not even moving right now. It’s a ing red light.” His eyebrows knit together as he stares at the cars in front of them. Junhyung watches as Hyunseung’s gaze slowly moves to the side—to how there’s a slightly emptier lane beside them that’s clearly not for going straight ahead, but it’s just so empty—

          “You are ing ting me,” Junhyung says quickly, “if you’re even imagining what I really hope you’re not.”

          “Calm the down, babe,” Hyunseung sighs. “I won’t.”

          “You’d better not,” Junhyung checks his cell phone. “We’re not even late—we’re like an hour early, so I don’t want to die just because you can’t get away with butchering the laws of the road like you can in Korea.”

          Hyunseung grins outward through the windshield. “If the police officer was gay, I could.” His tongue sticks out thoughtfully. “Or a girl.”

          Junhyung slams his head back against the headrest. “Please just stop talking,” he says. “I don’t want to get a migraine before the wedding even ing starts.”

          Hyunseung proceeds to slam his palm down on the horn.

          Junhyung proceeds to shrink in his seat in the hopes that Americans-stuck-in-traffic-on-a-hot-spring-day have enough mercy to at least kill them quickly and painlessly.

I’m nervous now

          Sometimes, believing isn’t enough.

          Sometimes, even believers stop believing while thinking that they are still believing. Life is confusing, forever changing quickly and suddenly, and even if someone knows what to believe, it doesn’t always necessarily mean that he realizes what he’s believed in for so long is no longer the same as it was when he first started putting his faith into it.

          It’s hard to change—it’s instinct for humans to avoid change because change is foreign and new and difficult. It requires adjusting and adapting and acceptance, and sometimes, trying to deny change is far easier. And there are far too many unfortunate in that regard—they continue to deny and it’s their fate to never know how accepting that unaccepted change could’ve given them what they wanted to believe in.

          But then there are those lucky few (there are always a lucky few in every category of believers and non-believers) who are nudged, prodded, poked by fate in the right direction. They’re told to stop believing in what they’ve always known and believe in something entirely new—entirely foreign, new, difficult, but something that will make them entirely happy.

Should we start?

          “You’re a terrible person, Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says glumly, as he hops (on one foot, trying to put his socks on while simultaneously heading for the brewing coffee in the kitchen of their suite) past the younger man.

          Dongwoon’s mouth open and closes soundlessly—indignantly—reaching the beeping coffeemaker before Kikwang does and taking it out before something explodes. He himself is only half-dressed, hair still wet and uncombed and three-quarters of his tuxedo is still somewhere in the bedroom or possibly in the front entryway. “I—hyung,” he says incredulously because he refuses to be blamed for the fact that they haven’t even left the hotel and the wedding starts in two hours. “You’re the one who didn’t wake me up.”

          “I did,” Kikwang says, and it sounds like they are competing to see who can make their voice reach higher levels of incredulity. “I woke you up and then went to shower and when I came back you were still asleep.”

          The younger man doesn’t respond this time—not really because he has nothing more to say (he has plenty more to say, mostly on why Kikwang knows perfectly well that Dongwoon takes ten minutes to wake up and one little nudge isn’t going to make the younger man leave the Land of Nod) but more because he’s just taken a sip of freshly brewed, steaming, piping, scorching hot coffee.

          Kikwang blinks as Dongwoon slams down the mug and starts scrambling around the refrigerator for a bottle of cold water. “Wow,” the older man says. “That was like ten different kinds of stupid, Dongwoon-ah.”

          When Dongwoon thinks that his tongue isn’t about to incinerate itself out of his mouth, he stops pouring water down his throat and glowers as Kikwang walks towards him. “Not helping, hyung,” he mutters as Kikwang’s hands come to rest against Dongwoon’s bare sides (palms against Dongwoon’s bare skin).

          But then Kikwang is leaning up on his toes, full lips on Dongwoon’s lips, tongue on Dongwoon’s (burnt) tongue and the younger man can feel Kikwang smiling into the kiss. Dongwoon is ready to make the kiss last as long as possible (probably leading into a quick something else that’ll result in them being late and Doojoon and Yoseob dropping Dongwoon’s body into the Grand Canyon) when Kikwang pulls away and grins cheekily. “Better?”

          “Not even close,” Dongwoon says, hands slipping onto Kikwang’s hips. “But if you keep nursing me back to health, we’re both going to end up dead, so can you wait until we get there, hyung?”

          Kikwang laughs. “Aren’t they going to kill us anyway if they find us having at their wedding?”

          “Nah,” Dongwoon says dismissively. “They’ll be too busy having themselves—it’s why they ordered all those cabanas.”

You can never stop me

          Then there are the simplest ones—the believers who’ve always believed, believe with change, and continue to believe as they easily find and fight for what they believe. It isn’t to say that there aren’t difficulties for them either—isn’t to say that their road is smooth and straight and wide and easy to walk. Whether believer or non-believer, guided by fate or fighting it, there are always obstacles and the difference doesn’t lie in how many obstacles there are.

          It’s how that individual decides to overcome it—or not overcome it.

          Fate only gives the meeting—the head start.

          Most non-believers are non-believers because of the misconception that fate is supposed to make everything happen. They initially believe, and believe all too strongly, that destiny is like a free ride with the GPS already programmed, a driver who knows exactly what he’s doing, a destination that’s neither too far nor too near, and clean and easy route with hardly any traffic, and a car in perfect condition.

          That’s not how it works. That’s not fate’s job and that’s not what destiny does. All it can give is the first street to turn into—all it can give is how to get out of the parking lot and onto the main road and where you’re supposed to end up. Everything else?

          It’s all on you.

Say goodbye to hesitation

          “Isn’t there, like,” Yoseob asks as he finishes knotting Doojoon’s bowtie, “some sort of rule or traditional that says we aren’t supposed to see each other all day until the ceremony or something?” He steps away and lets Doojoon adjust the tightness on his own once it’s been tied. Yoseob walks back to the full-length mirror and takes a quick look over his own reflection, pulling strands of hair up and other strands down and yanking at his own tie.

          Doojoon shrugs. “I mean—there’s the saying that the bridegroom can’t see his bride, but how the do we do that?” He meets Yoseob’s eyes. “Because Doori-noona told me that if I get to wear a wedding dress before she does, she’ll skin me alive.”

          Yoseob bursts into laughter, doubling over and backing up to lean against the wall. “What the ?” he says, eyes scrunched shut because if he looks at Doojoon’s face, the laughter will just get worse. “What—so—like, are you saying that we wait until after she gets married so you can wear a dress and we can do this all over again?”

          “ off,” Doojoon rolls his eyes, grabbing Yoseob’s wrist and pulling the younger man back to his feet (doesn’t work all that well since Yoseob is still laughing so hard he can’t even move). “I got you that cake we had when we were in France for the wedding cake, and cabanas to have in—that should be good enough. I’m not wearing a ing dress.”

          Yoseob stops laughing long enough to eye Doojoon critically. “You had the cabanas put apart far enough, right?” he asks. “Or soundproofed or whatever.”

          Doojoon blinks. “Wait—but—wait—why—”

          “D’you know how fast Dongwoonie can run? Do you know that he and Junhyungie will be racing to get to the cabana with the biggest bed?” Yoseob says, with raised eyebrows.

          Doojoon blinks again. “Oh.” He sighs.

If you think twice, you’ll be too late

          It goes by more or less smoothly, with minimal bumps and hitches.

          Junhyung and Hyunseung arrive with the cake on time (with Hyunseung carrying the cake because Junhyung falls out of the car, collapses on the ground, and Hyuna has to drag him onto the nearest chair and fan his oncoming migraine away). Kikwang and Dongwoon don’t arrive with the rings on time, but they do arrive—ten minutes late—with Kikwang profusely apologizing and getting hugged tightly by Yoseob and Hyuna, and Dongwoon profusely apologizing and getting kicked and slapped by Doojoon and Junhyung.

          Doojoon’s parents are there, Yoseob’s parents are there, and Hyunseung’s parents wanted to be there but couldn’t because Geurim has exams back in Korea (she made her brother and Junhyung promise that he’d videotape everything and give it to her the minute they get back). Doori is also there and tells Yoseob that he looks as hot as ever while shoving Doojoon in the opposite direction.

          Dongwoon is the one who plays the piano, and Doojoon and Yoseob walk down the aisle a little before noon. By the time the vows are over and Junhyung (as one of the best men) is done kicking the newlyweds’ legs to stop them from turning a supposedly-brief-sweet-wedding-kiss into a full-on-make-out-session-with-their-parents-in-the-audience, it nears half past one so everyone goes into the hotel restaurant for a late lunch and the reception.   

          Doojoon and Yoseob’s parents are the only adult-adults present and they all have to leave as soon as the ceremony is over (Doojoon’s parents because they’re due in New York and Yoseob’s parents because they want to be able to spend some sightseeing time with Doojoon’s parents before Doojoon’s parents have to fly to New York).

          Which means that the reception happens a little differently than expected.

          It means that the reception happens with tuxedo jackets stripped off and forgotten on the chairs, bowties scattered on the ground, Hyuna (taking off her shoes because they hurt her feet) whipping her heels like a mace around in the air as she dances (grinds) with Kikwang while Junhyung takes over the music and Hyunseung tells the harpist that she can kindly leave early even though her shift was supposed to last at least three more hours.

          The reception happens with Yoseob cutting the cake, taking a bite, and transferring it into Doojoon’s mouth sans hands, sans utensils, sans anything really—resulting in Dongwoon looking highly offended and Hyunseung making to do the same to Junhyung only with champagne. It happens with Doori dancing in between Hyunseung and Junhyung and Doojoon burying his face in Yoseob’s shoulder from pure mortification (which doesn’t even work out all that well since Yoseob falls to the floor laughing all too soon).

          It happens with Hyunseung and Kikwang having a dance off (that, for one reason or another, results in both of them shirtless, belts off and pants sagging all too low) that doesn’t really produce a victor since Dongwoon interrupts in the middle of Kikwang attempting to execute a move that has the older man on the floor, legs spread open. Dongwoon interrupts, they don’t see him or Kikwang for the rest of the night, and Junhyung takes it upon himself to do similarly with Hyunseung.

          “I told you, didn’t I?” Yoseob says gloomily as he and Doojoon stand on the deck of the hotel’s restaurant, watching Junhyung and Dongwoon sprint, through the night, across the sand towards the largest cabana (Hyunseung and Kikwang walk slowly, side-by-side, a ways behind them).

          “We’ll get up early tomorrow,” Doojoon says firmly, “and put those little hermit crabs on them.”  

It will be more special than you imagine

          It could be anything, really.

          Fate is creative, but at the same time, it’s simple.

          A meeting—not even face-to-face—just steps past another person—an ordinary encounter amongst many that wouldn’t cross the mind of even the most cautious and alert person.

It will be like an illusion you don’t understand

          Hyunseung arches his back, lets Dongsun slip his arm underneath the younger man and scoop him upwards into a sitting position on the slippery conference table. “It’s too hot for clothes,” Hyunseung sighs as he tips his head and receives a kiss that Dongsun leans down to give him.

          “We can’t be late, right?” Dongsun says, already hopping into his pants. “The sajangnim’s brat has his first day today, and some other rich bastard’s son is joining too.”

          Hyunseung rolls onto his bare stomach, propping his chin against his palm. “Who knows?” he asks playfully. “Maybe they’ll be hot.”

It’s just what you’ve always dreamed of

          Junhyung isn’t really listening when Hyuna (that’s her name, right? He can’t already have forgotten) says something to him, mentions touring the office building so she doesn’t have to constantly accompany him while he’s attending all the meetings he’ll have this week.

          “It’ll be on your way to the one you have in a few minutes anyway,” she says brightly. “Then we can see if you can find your way back on your own.”

          He hides his sigh because he knows he has to get along with her and she seems nice enough—it’s just that he’d rather have a few minutes to himself in his new office so he can wallow in misery (maybe he’ll run tonight). “Sure,” he says. “Why not?”

So why are you so anxious?

          Fate is never wasteful—it never goes around in circles aimlessly, trying to figure out what it really wants to do. Everything that fate does, that fate makes happen, it’s for a reason and whether that reason comes within the first two miles or doesn’t even show signs of existing until the twenty-thousand miles in, there is a reason.

          With fate, there’s always a reason.

          And oftentimes, the longer the wait, the better the reason.

And I don’t know why

          Kikwang winces as he pulls up his pants—too tight in all too tender of an area right now. He bites his lip so he doesn’t make any sounds because Hongki’s room is right next to his and he doesn’t want his friend to hear. This is actually supposed to be Hongki’s call, but Jonghun usually comes on nights like tonight and Kikwang knows that Hongki hasn’t gotten to see Jonghun in a while.

          It’s okay—Kikwang forces himself to think that. It’s okay because his last client wasn’t too hard (rough—harsh—unrelenting) on him—just a little tougher than usual.

          He looks at his reflection and takes a deep breath, making sure that the eyeliner hides his shadows and the collar is high enough to hide the marks on his neck. It’s a high end party, the one he’s being sent to advertise in, so he has to dress to impress (he’ll have to work to impress).

          Kikwang hopes Hongki will have fun with Jonghun tonight.

I want to go endlessly

          Dongwoon swallows down the argument that bubbled up his throat when Doojoon walked right past him without listening and Junhyung and Hyunseung are very clearly not helping. “Hyung,” he tries again, looking to Junhyung pleadingly, “I really don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to go with you for this one.”

          “Junhyungie and Hyunseungie have work,” Doojoon says emptily, tonelessly (the way he’s been doing and saying everything ever since Yoseob left). “It’ll be good experience for you anyway, Dongwoon-ah.”

          “Doojoon-hyung—”

          “Shut the up and get your coat,” Doojoon says quietly (dangerously—the way he’s never spoken to Dongwoon before). He walks away without looking at Dongwoon and Junhyung and Hyunseung exchange glances (they don’t look at Dongwoon either).

          Dongwoon supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.

          He’s the maknae—no one ever listens.

I don’t want to say goodbye

          Sometimes, though, fate acts the way fairytales and storybooks say that it should. Sometimes, fate is finicky and playful and teasing and it spawns love stories through chance meetings that are so spontaneous—so utterly random and chaotic that the only place it belongs is in fiction.

          It happens at the oddest of times, in the oddest of places, through the oddest of ways, but sometimes, fate acts as though it’s in a fairytale—in a storybook—and it’ll turn an ordinary meeting into something magical.

Can you follow me?

          “It’s rain, Junhyung-ah,” Doojoon says, rolling his eyes. “Not acid-induced droplets of pollution pouring from poisonous clouds.” He tries to step aside the other man in order to get to Hyuna’s umbrella—except he realizes that it’s pink with polka dots and leopard print and feels like Hyunseung bought it for her (and dearly hopes that Hyunseung didn’t).

          Junhyung pulls Doojoon away from the umbrella rack. “If you get sick,” he says, jabbing a finger into Doojoon’s chest, “and can’t come to that presentation, it’s going to be on me. So wait ing five more minutes for the ing taxi I called, okay?”

          Doojoon blinks. “Hyunseungie and Hyuna are right,” he says. “You are a girl.”

Mr. Taxi—right now, at once

          Yoseob laughs, grabbing his raincoat since his taxi is parked farther out in the lot. “I got it, I got it,” he says as his boss frowns at him. She claps her hands to make him go faster and he rolls his eyes as one of his hoobaes has to toss him his keys.

          “I know you’re a student and all and you probably spend all your sleeping time studying,” she says, frowning deeper, “but you really can’t just nap all the time when you’re on call, Yoseob-ah. It’s bad enough that I try not to have you on duty in the city all the time.”

          “I got it—I got it, noona,” he says cheerily, soothingly. “I’m heading out right now—see?”

          “Don’t flirt with the client again!” she calls out just in time for him to hear before he runs out the door and into the rain. He laughs at the admonishment as the drops start to hit him, and he swings his raincoat over himself.

You fall for me without knowing