OVER ME [ZEROBASEONE]

XVII.

The silent buzz of the engines filled the dimly lit cabin, an unrelenting hum that was almost deafening in the quiet. No one spoke. Not a single voice broke the uneasy stillness that cloaked the members of BaseOne as they sat, scattered across the cabin, lost in their own silence.

It was a silence that cut deeper than words ever could.

Gunwook's eyes scanned the faces around him. Each member seemed to be anchored to his seat, their expressions taut and unreadable. They had all endured so much together, but this day—this day had been the worst. Yet no one said anything. There wasn't anything left to say, no words that could bring back what they had just lost or erase the horrors they'd witnessed. The only sounds were the steady thrum of the engines and the harsh rush of air whipping past the plane as it hurtled through the night.

Gunwook exhaled a long, weary sigh, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his knees as he rubbed his hands together absentmindedly. His fingers trembled slightly, a rare show of nervousness he would never let anyone else see. But here, in this quiet limbo between the life they'd known and the uncertain future ahead, the tension had him fidgeting, his usually steady hands betraying him.

There was a gnawing absence in the cabin—a void where two people should have been. They were here, technically, but behind closed doors in the small back room of the jet, unconscious and critically injured. One of them was his closest friend and brother in arms, Yujin, who had been at his side through every battle. The other... she was a girl who had only brought trouble since she'd arrived. She was the daughter of a traitor, someone whose family's betrayal had led to the disaster they were now fleeing. Gunwook's chest tightened with resentment as he thought of her lying there, tended to with the same care as his brother.

He loved Yujin, and he would do anything for him. But the girl? His feelings toward her were as tangled and conflicted as the thoughts storming through his mind. From the moment she'd come into their lives, he'd resented her presence, hated how she'd disrupted everything they'd built. He hadn't trusted her—not even for a moment. But two hours ago, when he saw the light drain from her eyes as she slipped into unconsciousness, a strange fear had gripped him, tightening around his chest. He hated that he felt it. She was the daughter of an enemy, a killer even. She had almost taken Yujin's life. And yet, despite everything, that hatred felt dulled now, as though the storm of emotions had washed over him too many times to leave anything but a hollow ache behind.

A soft, involuntary sigh slipped from his lips, and he forced himself to look around, his eyes drifting over the faces of his teammates, each one struggling in silence. They were on their way to an unknown place, forced to flee the only home they'd known in months. Rival gangs had finally caught up to them, aided by corrupt police forces eager to tear down BaseOne. Their only escape had been orchestrated by the Mexican gang leader T-Bone of the San Fierro Rifa, a man with a debt to repay to BaseOne's fallen leader. He'd managed to secure a private jet and fake IDs for each of them, buying them this fleeting reprieve from the law that was closing in.

Gunwook's gaze fell on Hao, who sat a few seats away, reading with an almost serene expression. Even now, Hao looked collected, as if the world around him hadn't just imploded. Gunwook had always admired his leader's calm, his unwavering steadiness even in the face of chaos. There were times, like now, when Gunwook envied Hao's composure, his ability to bury himself in a book and shut out the world. He wondered if Hao felt any of the turmoil that churned inside the rest of them. But if he did, there was no sign of it.

Seated beside Hao was Hanbin, who looked tense, his posture rigid, his gaze flickering around the cabin as if expecting an unseen enemy. The frown creased his brow, a permanent mark of the worry he couldn't shake. For a brief moment, Hanbin's gaze met Gunwook's, and they held each other's eyes. In that fleeting glance, they shared an understanding—a silent acknowledgment of the words neither of them could bring themselves to say. The moment passed, and both looked away, retreating back into their private thoughts.

Gunwook's eyes traveled across the aisle to Gyuvin, whose head rested against the seat, his expression softened by sleep. But it was a forced sleep, induced to stop him from lashing out in his rage. Gunwook felt a pang of guilt remembering the struggle, how Gyuvin had tried to break free, how he'd clawed at his restraints in a blind fury, wanting nothing more than to get to the unconscious form of Fyona—the girl who had brought this pain into their lives. They'd sedated him to keep him calm, to give him a break from the storm raging in his mind. Now, as he slept, his face was calm, his breathing even, but Gunwook knew that beneath that calm lay a hurt that ran deep, a wound that no amount of sleep could heal.

At the back of the cabin, Jiwoong and Taerae huddled together, talking in hushed voices about their next steps, their minds already leaping ahead to the future that seemed as uncertain as the night sky outside. Their voices were low, nearly lost in the hum of the engines, but Gunwook knew they were doing what they always did—preparing, planning, trying to build something out of the wreckage.

And then there was Ricky, seated directly across from him. Ricky wore his headphones, his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop as he watched a movie, an almost defiant attempt to ignore the gravity of their situation. It was a small act of rebellion, a way to tune out the reality they couldn't escape. But Gunwook knew Ricky well enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the forced concentration in his gaze. This wasn't about enjoying the movie; it was about blocking out everything else, even if just for a moment.

Another sigh escaped Gunwook, this one heavier than before, and Ricky, hearing it, paused his movie, pulling off his headphones with a look of exasperation.

"What's your problem?" Ricky's tone was blunt, his arms crossed as he stared at Gunwook with an unreadable expression.

Gunwook's jaw tightened as he met Ricky's gaze. "Maybe the fact that we're on a jet with fake IDs, flying to who-knows-where, with two of our own barely hanging on in the back room," he replied, his voice low and measured. "Or maybe the fact that we have to start over yet again, in a place we've never been."

Ricky arched an eyebrow, his face unreadable. "Not our first time, man. We've done this before."

Gunwook's gaze sharpened. "And what about the two people close to dying in the other room?" he shot back, his voice edged with bitterness.

"They'll be fine. We'll be fine. We've been through worse." Ricky's words were steady, but Gunwook could hear the slight tremor beneath them. He could see it too, the way Ricky's hand clenched into a fist before relaxing again.

Gunwook shook his head, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling over him. "I'm just... tired. Tired of this cycle."

Ricky rolled his eyes, closing his laptop with a sigh. "This happened only three times. Stop being so dramatic," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

"Three times is still a lot," Gunwook replied, his tone soft but firm.

Ricky glanced at him, his expression softening just a fraction before he looked away. "I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when we crash," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes, shutting out the world.

The cabin lights dimmed, casting a shadow over the faces of his teammates. As Gunwook looked out the window, the dark expanse of sky stretched endlessly, dotted with stars and wisps of clouds. It was beautiful in a distant, unattainable way, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside the jet.

He stared at the stars for a long time, letting the quiet settle over him, feeling the weight of it all pressing down. And as the silence wrapped around him, his eyelids grew heavy, and he found himself drifting in and out, clinging to the fragile hope that tomorrow might bring something better.

With that thought, he closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep, a small wish for peace lingering in his mind.