If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 63

Chapter 63

The private floor of Club Red was a world apart from the chaos below—dim corridors lined with sleek doors, muffled music pulsing through the walls. Soonyoung sat inside one of those rooms, laughter and chatter swirling around him as his friends raised glasses in celebration. But his mind wasn't in the moment. It was trapped in the weight of a memory he couldn't shake.
He stared at the amber liquid in his glass, thoughts circling back to the same question: If I find her... maybe the kids will have a chance. It wasn't for him. It never was. It was for them.
Outside, fate was moving pieces into place.

Aaliyah followed Chlea down the hallway, her heels clicking against polished tiles. Tonight was supposed to be simple—a night to help her friend breathe again, to let go of the heaviness she'd been carrying. But Chlea's storm didn't calm. It erupted.

"Chlea, slow down!" Aaliyah hissed, but her friend was already staggering toward a door at the far end, eyes blazing with something Aaliyah couldn't name. Before she could stop her, Chlea shoved the door open and disappeared inside.

Aaliyah's pulse spiked. No, no, no... what is she doing? The nearest staff were too far, and every second felt like a fuse burning down. She spun, desperate, and knocked on the adjacent door. Hard.

"Please! Help me! My friend—she's drunk—she's causing a scene!"

The door opened.

And the world tilted.

Soonyoung stood there, framed by the crimson glow of the private room. His friends' laughter faded behind him as his gaze locked on hers. Shock rippled across his face, mirrored in her own.
"Aaliyah..." His voice was low, almost disbelieving.

Her breath caught. "I—I didn't know you were—"

A crash from the next room shattered the fragile silence. Chlea's voice rang out, sharp and slurred: "You think you can hide? You think I don't know?"

Aaliyah flinched, panic clawing at her throat. "Please... help me," she whispered, desperation cracking her tone.

Soonyoung didn't hesitate. He stepped past her, his presence steady against the chaos. For a fleeting moment, Aaliyah felt something she hadn't in years—a flicker of safety. But beneath it, dread curled tight. Because fate had brought them together again... and nothing about this night would end quietly.

The hallway outside the private rooms was chaos—staff rushing, voices rising—but Aaliyah's world narrowed to the sight of Chlea collapsing. She had foreseen this might happen. The way Chlea had been drinking, the way her body swayed like a fragile branch in the wind—it was inevitable.

But Aaliyah wasn't just any guest. She had managed Club Red before. She knew what to do, what would happen next. Her voice was steady as she barked instructions, even though her heart was pounding. "Call an ambulance. Now."

Ruby appeared like a ghost from the past, her presence sharp against the blur of panic. Aaliyah froze for a fraction of a second. Years had passed since they last saw each other, years filled with silence and unanswered questions. There was so much to say, so much to ask—but not now. Not when Chlea's life might be hanging by a thread.

"Help me get her out," Ruby said, and together they moved with urgency.

When they reached the hospital, Aaliyah's breath finally broke into shaky gasps. She knew someone would be there for Chlea—Dokyeom had already taken over, his calm voice cutting through the storm. Ruby stayed close, her grip firm on Aaliyah's arm, as if afraid she might vanish.

It was nerve-wracking. Aaliyah didn't know what to do, didn't know what to feel. She caught Soonyoung's eyes across the corridor—his expression unreadable, but heavy with concern. She signalled to him silently: We'll talk soon. There was no time now.

Soonyoung's chest tightened. Something was wrong. He had seen her before, years ago, vibrant and full of life. Now... she was pale beneath the layers of makeup, her frame fragile, almost bone-like. She looked different, yet heartbreakingly the same. He couldn't explain it, but the sight of her carved a hollow in his chest.

The parking lot was dim, its fluorescent lights flickering against the night air. Ruby's grip on Aaliyah's wrist was firm, almost desperate, as if letting go meant losing her all over again. Aaliyah's steps faltered, torn between the pull of Ruby's urgency and the weight of responsibility that tethered her to Chlea. They had gone to the club together; they should return together. Chlea was hers to protect—her cargo, her promise.

Ruby stopped abruptly, her chest heaving. Tears spilled unchecked, cascading down her cheeks as she pulled Aaliyah into a fierce embrace. The years of absence, the unanswered questions, the gnawing fear—all of it broke free.

"How have you been?" Ruby's voice cracked, anger and grief tangled in the syllables. She wanted to rage, to demand explanations, but the sight of Aaliyah—pale, thinner than she remembered—dissolved her fury into sorrow.

Aaliyah's lips trembled. "I am doing great now," she whispered, though the words carried no conviction.

The lie shattered Ruby. Her cries grew louder, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the silent lot. The sound was heavy, filled with years lost, pain carried in silence, and love that had never faded. Aaliyah patted her back gently, her own silence a shield. She knew explanations would come, but not now. Something else demanded their attention first.

Together, they returned upstairs. Wren was nowhere in sight—on her rounds, someone said. They found her eventually in Chlea's room, her voice steady as she announced what had happened. The room was crowded, nearly all Seventeen members gathered, their faces pale with shock as the news spread like wildfire. Dokyeom was already there, his presence grounding the chaos. He urged Aaliyah to rest, his tone kind but firm.

Wren's eyes lingered on her friends. She wanted to join Ruby and Aaliyah, to reclaim the warmth of their bond after so long apart. But duty called—patients awaited, and she could not abandon them. With a reluctant nod, she turned back to her rounds.

Ruby decided then: Aaliyah needed rest, and she would take her home. But Aaliyah, ever practical, requested a detour to the hotel. She needed their things, the remnants of their stay, before retreating into the quiet of Ruby's home.

The ride back was heavy with silence. No questions, no conversations—just the hum of the engine and the unspoken weight between them. Ruby's hands clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles pale, while Aaliyah stared out the window, her reflection fractured by passing streetlights.

Two women, bound by years of distance and pain, sat side by side. The silence was not empty—it was thick, alive with everything unsaid.

And in that silence, the road stretched endlessly ahead.