OVER ME [ZEROBASEONE]

XIX.

The atmosphere had shifted, subtle but undeniable, like the lifting of a heavy fog after a long, relentless storm. There was a glow on everyone's faces, faint but unmistakable, as if some inner light had found its way to the surface. They weren't just sitting together—they were shining, each of them carrying a spark that hadn't been there earlier. For once, the weight they all carried seemed lighter.

The news from Matthew had done that. It had spread through the room like a ripple in calm water, easing shoulders, softening faces, and relaxing the air between them. The tension that so often hung like an unspoken ghost had dissipated, leaving behind something quieter, something closer to peace.

Ricky's gaze traveled around the cabin. They were gathered loosely, a small constellation of bodies orbiting their youngest. Some stood, leaning against furniture, while others were sprawled lazily on their seats or perched on the edges of chairs. There was no formal arrangement, no deliberate structure, but somehow they all gravitated to the same point—Yujin, their bright spot.

It had been months—Ricky couldn't even remember how long—since they'd been like this. Laughing. Smiling. Allowing themselves, even for a moment, to forget the jagged edges of their lives.

A sudden burst of laughter broke through Ricky's thoughts. He turned his head just in time to see Gyuvin sputtering, nearly choking on his drink. Whatever he'd said had clearly backfired, as the room erupted in laughter at his expense. Ricky's lips twitched upward, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek, stifling the urge to join in.

Serves you right, he thought, his smile lingering despite himself. Gyuvin always had a way of sticking his foot in his mouth, and Ricky had long since learned to find amusement in it.

The laughter settled into a hum of conversation, and Ricky stayed where he was, leaning back in his usual corner. He didn't join in—he barely had anything to add anyway—but he listened. Listening was what he was good at.

The topic had drifted from their childhoods, to memories of families they once had. Real families. The people who had birthed them, raised them—at least for a while—before life had splintered those ties, leaving only jagged pieces behind.

Ricky didn't need to contribute. He'd heard their stories before, bits and pieces shared in rare moments of vulnerability. None of them had come from something whole. They were all, in one way or another, fractured. Broken.

Jiwoong's voice stopped ricky from thinking any further as he leaned back in his seat, a small, amused smile on his face as he finished recounting his story.

"...So my sister made this huge fuss about wanting to go on the rollercoaster. You know, one of those massive ones where you can hear people screaming from miles away. My parents tried to tell her she'd get scared, but she wasn't having it. She swore she wouldn't, insisted she was brave enough. And well..." Jiwoong chuckled, shaking his head. "Let's just say she cried the entire ride and didn't stop until it was over. Then, she got off, all red-faced and blotchy, and vowed to always listen to our parents after that."

The story was simple but effective, painting a vivid picture in everyone's mind. Chuckles and muffled snickers rippled through the group, each member picturing a stubborn little girl humbled by her own daring. Jiwoong's voice carried a nostalgic fondness, the warmth of someone who genuinely cherished the memory.

It was hard not to notice how different Jiwoong's upbringing had been compared to the rest of them. Everyone knew his story. He'd had what most of them could only dream of—a normal, stable childhood, complete with loving parents and a bright, promising future. But somewhere along the line, he'd veered off course, entangling himself with people and situations that had slowly unraveled everything he could have been.