If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 58

Chapter 58

Soonyoung had imagined his birthday differently. He had pictured a quiet evening, maybe a small cake, maybe even a drink with his friends. A day where he could forget the weight of his shortcomings, the sting of past misfortunes, and the gnawing voice that told him he wasn't enough.

Instead, life handed him something louder, messier, and far more demanding: three children whose cries filled every corner of his world.

The first cry startled him. It wasn't the kind of sound you could ignore—it pierced through walls, through thoughts, through the fragile illusion of peace he had built for himself. Then came the second, and the third, overlapping like waves crashing against rocks.

Soonyoung froze. His hands trembled as he reached for the nearest crib. He wasn't ready. He had never pictured himself as a father, not now, not like this. Yet when he looked at them—tiny fists clenched, fragile breaths rising and falling—something inside him shifted.

Even in the uncertainty of whether they were truly his, he felt a fierce, unshakable care. They were his responsibility, his chance to do better, and he couldn't turn away.

The days blurred into nights, and the nights into endless cycles of feeding, rocking, and soothing. His apartment, once quiet, now echoed with cries, laughter, and the constant shuffle of his nervous footsteps.

He stumbled through it all—burnt bottles, spilled formula, diapers that never seemed to fit right. His nerves frayed with every shriek, every cough, every restless twist of a small body.

But then there were moments. A tiny hand clutching his finger. A sudden, unexpected smile. The way their eyes seemed to search for him, as if he were the only anchor in their chaotic little world.

Those moments kept him going.

Soonyoung knew he couldn't do it alone. Pride had to be set aside. He asked for help wherever he could find it—his friends, neighbors, even strangers at the pharmacy.

"Excuse me," he whispered one night at the corner store, clutching a basket of formula and wipes. "Do you know if this brand is... good?"

The cashier, a tired woman with kind eyes, smiled. "It's fine. My niece uses it. You'll be okay."

He nodded, grateful for even the smallest reassurance.

But he never asked his family. Not yet. Perhaps he feared their judgment, or perhaps he wanted to prove to himself that he could stand on his own.

One evening, exhaustion hit him harder than ever. He had just managed to put two of the children to sleep when the third began coughing—deep, rattling, frightening. Panic surged through him.

The evening air pressed heavily against the windows, a dull orange glow fading into shadows across Soonyoung's living room. His hands shook as he fumbled with his phone, scrolling through names he couldn't bring himself to dial again. His friends had already done enough this morning—covering for him at work, standing in when he couldn't. He couldn't ask them twice. Not now. Not when panic was clawing at his chest.

The baby's soft whimper from the nursery cut through his hesitation. Her fever had risen, her skin hot against his palm. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to move. He needed help. He needed someone now.

Soonyoung pressed his sister's number. The line rang once, twice, and then her voice—confused, startled—answered. Minutes later, she was at his door, eyes wide at the sight of her brother pacing, pale and frantic.

"What happened?" she demanded, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You sounded like you were falling apart."

Soonyoung turned, clutching the baby close, his voice breaking with urgency.
"She's burning up. I have to take her to the hospital. The boys—" He shook his head, frustration tightening his jaw. "I need you to look after them. Please."