If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 59

Chapter 59

Soonyoung sat in the quiet of his home, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the silence. It was strange—how silence could feel so heavy, pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn't shake off. Ever since Aaliyah left, life had been a blur of regret and unanswered questions. He replayed their last conversation in his mind like a broken record, wondering if he could have said something different, done something better. But the truth was, she was gone, and all he had left were memories that stung like open wounds.

He had been lonely—achingly, desperately lonely. Nights stretched into mornings without sleep, and mornings bled into afternoons without purpose. His music, once his refuge, felt hollow. The laughter of his groupmates couldn't fill the void, though they tried. He smiled for them, laughed when he had to, but inside, he was crumbling.
Then came the babies.

The first time he saw them, tiny and fragile, wrapped in soft blankets, his heart stopped. Three of them—three little lives staring up at him with eyes that held galaxies. He wasn't even sure if they were his. Doubt gnawed at him like a persistent shadow. But when he held the first one, felt the warmth of that small body against his chest, something inside him shifted. It was instinct—raw and undeniable. Fatherhood wasn't a choice; it was a calling, and it roared to life in him like a fire he couldn't extinguish.

From that moment, everything changed.

Time slipped through Soonyoung's fingers like sand. One moment, the triplets were tiny bundles in his arms, fragile and dependent; the next, they were racing down the hallway, their laughter echoing through the house. He often caught himself staring, bewildered at how quickly they were growing, how fast childhood seemed to sprint ahead of him.

He tried to hold on, but the days blurred—feedings, school runs, sleepless nights. It was his parents and sister who finally convinced him to hire nannies. "You can't do this alone," his mother had said firmly, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Let us help you. Let others help you."

Reluctantly, he agreed. And for the first time in years, he felt the weight lift just enough for him to breathe. With the nannies' steady presence, he could return to work properly, knowing the children were cared for. His family's support became a quiet pillar behind him, even though questions lingered—questions about bloodlines, about whether the triplets truly belonged to him in the way he hoped.

But his parents never seemed to doubt. They saw the resemblance in the boys—the curve of their smiles, the spark in their eyes. "They're yours," his father would say with quiet certainty, watching the boys wrestle on the floor. "Anyone can see it."

And then there was the little princess. She was adored by everyone, her charm undeniable, her laughter like music in the house. His parents doted on her, unaware of how much she took after her mother—the subtle tilt of her head, the softness in her gaze. Soonyoung noticed, though. Every time he looked at her, he saw echoes of the woman he had loved, and lost.

It was bittersweet. The children were his joy, his exhaustion, his reason to keep moving forward. Yet beneath it all lay the quiet ache of uncertainty, the unspoken truth that blood didn't matter as much as love—but still, he longed to know.

For now, he chose to hold on to what was certain: the triplets' laughter, his family's unwavering support, and the small, radiant smile of his daughter.

By the time the triplets turned three, their laughter filled every corner of the house. They were no longer fragile infants but curious, energetic children—big enough to run, to argue, to charm everyone around them. Soonyoung adored them with a fierceness that startled even himself. They had become his world.

But with their growth came whispers. Friends, family, even his bandmates in Seventeen—everyone who loved him—encouraged him to take the paternity test. "For precaution," they said gently, knowing how much he feared the unknown. He resisted at first, anxious that the truth might unravel the fragile peace he had built.

At night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. He loved them now—deeply, irrevocably. The thought of someone stealing them away, of claiming them, was unbearable. He couldn't risk it.

So, he agreed.

Through quiet connections, his friends arranged for the test to be done at home. No hospital visits, no public exposure. The children's identities would be protected, shielded from curious eyes and questions about their absent mother. It was a secret carried only by those closest to him.

The day the team arrived, Soonyoung's hands trembled as he guided the children through the process. They were too young to understand, giggling at the swabs and the gentle instructions. To them, it was a game. To him, it was a storm.

His parents watched from the doorway, their expressions unreadable. His sister stood beside him, steadying him with her presence. They all knew the stakes. They all knew how much he had poured into these children, how much of himself was bound to them.

When the samples were sealed and taken away, Soonyoung sat in silence, his heart pounding. He had done it. The test was out of his hands now.

He looked at the boys—so full of life, their resemblance to him undeniable—and at his little princess, her smile echoing a mother they had never known. He whispered to himself, almost like a prayer:
"No matter what the papers say... they're mine."

The waiting began.

The two days stretched endlessly, each hour weighed down by the anticipation of the test results. Soonyoung tried to keep himself busy, but his mind always circled back to the same question: What if the papers say they aren't mine?

Yet, in the midst of his anxiety, the house was alive with joy. The triplets had grown so big now, their voices filling the rooms with laughter and chatter. Their uncles from Seventeen came often, each bearing gifts that reflected their personalities.

Jun arrived with another enormous toy set, his grin wide as the children squealed in delight.
"Uncle Junie, thank you so much!" the triplets chorused, their eyes sparkling as they explored the new treasure.

Wonwoo, ever thoughtful, brought sleek game consoles, as if preparing them for a future of strategy and play. Vernon carried encyclopedias, his quiet encouragement nudging them toward curiosity and knowledge. Mingyu, practical yet tender, brought baby clothes, folding them neatly with a smile. Seungcheol, the leader, came with milk supplies, his steady presence reminding Soonyoung of responsibility and care. Jeonghan and Joshua followed with their own offerings, their warmth evident in every gesture.

"Thank you, samchon," the children said, their voices sweet and sincere. The word—uncle—rang through the house like a promise of belonging.

Soonyoung watched them, his heart swelling. The kids were not only growing, they were thriving. The little princess twirled in her tiny ballet shoes, her lessons already shaping her into a graceful dancer. The boys, strong and determined, practiced their taekwondo forms with surprising discipline for their age.

They were talented. They were loved. They were his.

And yet, the envelope with the test results loomed in his mind, a shadow over the brightness of the moment. He knew it would arrive soon, and with it, clarity—or heartbreak.

For now, he chose to hold on to the laughter echoing through the house, the sight of his children surrounded by family, and the quiet reassurance that love had already claimed them, no matter what the papers might say.