At that, Luhan's vision shook and something invisible crashed on him from above. 

What was she talking about? His father was well and healthy, a big old man who spent most of his life exercising to stay fit; someone with humor, but obsessed with longevity. He'd been the strongest man in Luhan's life, someone he most looked up to. As a child, he'd followed his father around like a shadow, believing his father was the smartest; most knowledgeable. 

His mother would complain about broken appliances around the house, his father would be able to fix them right away. When his toys fell apart, his father would be there to repair them so they looked the same as before. While growing up, his father was his sole advisor and counselor. When his days were bad, even though tired from a day of work his father would spare him some time to hear him out and talk with him. They'd eventually start laughing about his mother and he'd in turn become his father's advisor. 

It was his father who Luhan first told the news to that he was planning to get married. His father had been his most trustable source, most reliant person.     

To him, his father was irreplaceable. 

But what!? He was...dead. 

He no longer had a father.

How did that make sense!? He'd lived his whole life with his father!

His mind trailed back to the present when Namjoo gently touched his arm, "Are you sure you're ok?"

Shaking his head in denial he exclaimed, "My father isn't dead. You must be mistaken. Just the other day he was walking around." 

"Your father passed away twelve years ago." 

Luhan wanted to scream, yell at Namjoo for telling him something that wasn't true. The look in her eyes softened with empathy and trivial concern. At once he recalled that they were the eyes he'd been unable to see after confirming it was indeed his wife who'd been murdered. 

His heart molted into crispy ashes and he didn't know what to do. 

What kind of situation was this?

The love he harbored for her was the same kind of love a son would have for his father. He loved them both so much. 

"I'm sorry," Namjoo hugged him, leaning her head against his shoulder while wrapping her arms endearingly around him to comfort him. 

The cozy comfort was there, but something in his heart told him it couldn't be. What Namjoo just told him had to be wrong. There was no choice, but to go confirm it. 

Allowing himself to sink in her heartily embrace, he buried his head into the roof of her head. 

They were out on the road after breakfast. Traffic halted them for some twenty minutes before coming across a bend in the road which would lead them to the home he'd grown up in. It was a happy yellow house, boarded with flowers his mother effortlessly planted out in the yard every time the warm seasons came around. When the grass grew long, his father would mow the lawn while he kicked his soccer ball around. 

All memories of his lovely life with his parents lived here. He expected to hear his father laughing happily when he rung the bell, asking why they'd come. 

While pulling into the driveway, Luhan nervously put the car into park. Lifting his head up he stared at the very white door of his used-to-be home through the windshield. There it was again, that unsettling feeling that something was amiss. It just tended to float inside his chest tauntingly. 

"Luhan," Namjoo turned to look at him. 

He knew she was worried. He hadn't meant to make her restless over his well-being. Namjoo shouldn't be experiencing any kind of stress after bringing her back. He wanted her happy, to give her the best...but this just wasn't working out like planned.  

"Lets go in," Luhan started and opened the door to step out. 

Closing the door behind him he waited for Namjoo to come around the car and took her hand before heading toward his old home. His mouth became dry the nearer he approached the door, fearing that his father really wasn't going to come greet them. Without realizing it, he squeezed Namjoo's hand and knocked on the wooden panel. 

The sound of footsteps had his heart racing and he waited expectantly, silently praying he'd see his father inside. The moment the door opened his small mother came into sight, her hair curled up into a bun. Her long face beamed with a smile when she recognized them. 

"Why, what are you two doing here so early in the morning?!" His mother greeted merrily. "Oh gosh, I don't have anything prepared to give you two. Come on in." 

Luhan, though, remained frozen in place. His eyes roamed around the homey atmosphere belonging to the house. The brown sofas all arranged by the walls were old, but still in shape. There were pictures hanging on the walls, sitting on the shelf above the chimney, and by the TV set. It was all the same as he knew it to be. He caught sight of the staircase leading toward the second floor where his bedroom was. His father had so often visited him in his room to talk privately so they were away from his mother's prying ears. 

"Luhan," Namjoo tugged onto his hand for his attention. 

Pressing his lips together he stepped inside. 

"I hope we're not intruding," Namjoo began, closing the door after them. 

"I was just doing the dishes. Nothing much goes on around here." His mother smiled warmly. 

"I can help with the dishes," Namjoo offered and turned him. "You want to stay here for a bit while I help mother out?" 

Nodding, he felt Namjoo slip her hand out of his and walk away with his mother, softly chatting about something. As they disappeared into the kitchen he walked forward to stare at the photos on the chimney shelf. In the tiny frames was his father's very lively smile that held the essence of his being. The wrinkles that crinkled up by the corner of his eyes were exactly what Luhan had inherited from him. 

He felt his heart ache the longer he stared at the pictures, reminiscing every moment. Turning around he stared the room over, wondering why his father hadn't come out to see him yet. 

Was he sleeping late again? 

Making his way down the short hallway where the bathroom and his parents' bedroom were located, he stopped mid-way. He'd used this hallway for the train set he'd begged for and received for Christmas as a surprise. His father had also joined him in play when he'd been younger without that pain in his back. 

He would be there when Luhan opened the door, wouldn't he? Because if he wasn't, Luhan didn't know what he'd do. 

Slowly pausing in front of the closed door, he hesitated. Maybe he didn't want to know the truth. Maybe this was just some screwed up mistake. His father couldn't be dead. It was impossible for him not to know it. And twelve years ago? How did that make sense? 

On a sudden urge to prove everything wrong, he impulsively pulled the door open. The empty bed drifted into view and he sought for evidence that his father was still there. Luhan drew the drawers open, pulled the closet door apart and rummaged through his mother's clothes, which were all he saw. None of his father's clothes were in the room, but an old blue sweater unrecognizable to him.   

A strange kind of frustration fluttered through him and he wanted to belt out a scream to release it. This couldn't be! A sense of panic surged through him, undertaken by distraught emotions.  

"Luhan," his mother's voice made him stop in action. 

Spinning around he spotted Namjoo and his mother standing in the doorway. There was this saddened look plastered over his mother's face; her eyes suddenly looked weary, aged. It disheartened him, but one look at the empathy there told him what Namjoo said that morning was truth. 

"Why are you doing this?" His mother questioned injured, dejected by the mess he'd created. "I know it was hard on you, but it's been twelve years. Your father would be upset." 

Twelve years...

Everything sane in his head crumbled down to shattered pieces unable to fit back together. The blow that had been uncalled for was too much for him to handle at the moment. The increasing weight in his chest made him want to drop to his knees. It was as if he'd been jolted awake by some storm, but he wasn't really awake. 

This didn't make sense!!

Luhan couldn't handle this reality. 

Stomping forward he pushed his way out of the room, fighting his back to hold back anger that might show its face unintentionally. Behind him Namjoo bid goodbye to his mother before turning on her feet to follow him out. 

"Luhan..." she called hesitantly when they were outside. 

Unable to ignore her he abruptly turned to pull her into his arms. As if sensing his sorrow, she remained silent in due respect. She was all the comfort he had; the only one who had the ability to hold his world together no matter how many earthquakes shook him up. And he needed her more than ever now. 

Finally retaining himself, they were back on the road, this time silently under heavy air. His fingers dug into Namjoo's hand while clasping onto it tightly between their seats, the other on unsteadily on the wheel. Luhan actually wanted to blow up, but he didn't know who to explode to.  

How the hell was his father dead in one night? How!?

His fingers tightened over her hand even more.  

"Since we're out anyway, is there some place you want to go?" Shoving the tension inside him aside, he turned to look at Namjoo.  

Unsettled anxiety shone in her eyes, but she said nothing about earlier. "Is this another date?"  

Pulling on a smile he replied, "Could be."

His heart skipped beats when she laughed under her breath. It was so precious to the ears. He hadn't realized how great it was to hear it again, when he'd thought he'd never have the chance to anymore. The pain of losing the most important people to him gathered in his throat. Flashes of Namjoo's cold, bloody body hidden underneath that white sheet appeared in his head. And now he continuously saw those pictures of his lively father's smile. 

It hurt...

Fluttering his lids to keep the oncoming tears back, he forced a smile onto his face, "Lets go shopping." 

He'd wanted to take Namjoo out for some fresh air before she lost her life, but they'd been so busy the chance hadn't been presented to him. Now, he wasn't going to worry about anything. If he wanted to do something, he wouldn't wait anymore. Forget work, forget responsibilities. Living was more important.  

"Ok, lets do that then." Namjoo agreed with a soft smile and placed her other hand atop his.  

His heart wanted to shrivel up and weep.

Interlocking fingers with her they gallantly walked through the mall like a happily newly wed couple. If Namjoo's life hadn't been cruelly taken, they'd be wandering around baby shops. The excitement would plunge all the way up into the sky as unseen fireworks.  

It...would have been great.  

The crowding shoppers around them became apparent blurs when he turned to look at Namjoo. Right beside him was where she needed to be and all would be right.  

Reaching over he squeezed her chin. Namjoo quickly pushed his hand away and turned to look at him.  

"What was that for?"

Shrugging, he said, "I just felt like doing that." 

Her eyebrow twitched and she mischievously smiled before reaching her hand up, "Let me do it too!"

Quickly dodging her he swung his hand out playfully to keep her at bay while they playfully bickered, pushing each other back and forth.  

This was what he'd missed. This was what he wanted. And this, was how it should be. 

He'd missed her and he was so happy to have her back.

"You sure you won't burn down the kitchen?" Namjoo asked from the bedroom door, watching him turn the stove on. 

She'd just helped him prep ingredients for the dinner he'd persuaded her to let him cook. Before her death, he'd been unable to cook her a meal; he'd never thought to do it. Now, he wanted to take all the chances given to him to do all he hadn't been able to do. If time hadn't been so insistent on taking her, he would have tried to be a better husband. 

"I said don't worry about it," he repeated for probably the fourteenth time. "Go on and take a shower. I'll make sure it's all done by the time you come out." 

"And you'll have the table set?" Namjoo questioned contradictorily. "Right." 

Walking away from the stove he pushed her away from the door toward the bathroom, "Believe me. Who do you think I am? Go on and relax."

Stopping in her tracks she turned around to look at him, "If you mess up my kitchen, I'm not letting you do this again."  

"I think I told you not to worry about it," he smiled into her face and tapped her head gently. Pushing her into the bathroom he closed the door before heading out.  

This was a simple meal he'd studied through videos for hours and he was confident it would turn out all right. It was just some kind of curry after all.  

After stirring all the ingredients together he just needed to wait for the broth to thicken. Stepping away from the stove he hurried into the bedroom and pulled out a bag from underneath the bed. Earlier at the store when Namjoo had walked off elsewhere, he'd taken the time to buy her a new set of pajamas. Urged to surprise her after her bath, he'd waited to present it to her. 

Pulling the set out of the bag he walked over to the circular table some feet away from the foot of the bed. Just before setting it down, his eyes roved over the candle from the other night. Looking over to the bathroom door he worried if Namjoo had caught sight of it and hoped she'd been too absentminded to even look. 

Swiping the candle off the table he realized the picture of Namjoo he'd placed by it was missing. Swiveling around as if he might find it on the floor showed him nothing. It wasn't anywhere. 

Luhan's heart started pumping harder and he bent down to look underneath the table where he spotted the sheet of paper containing the spell. Immediately making a grab for it he stood up to stare down at the paper. His eyes narrowed upon wondering if the paper had had four corners when he'd scribbled the words down. Surely, it had. He'd ripped it out of a notebook. Then why...had one of the corners disintegrated as if the a moth had eaten away at it? 

Lifting his head up he peered around the room for any sign of fly. Obviously there was none. 

Lowering his head he stared at the paper again, utterly confused. Why did the paper look like this? On the other hand, where had Namjoo's picture gone? 

The sound of the door opening surprised him and he turned around abruptly to see Namjoo wrapped up in a towel. She stared back a little stupefied to see him in the room.

"What are you doing?" She asked.  

Crumpling the paper up he quickly hid it behind his back.  

"Nothing."  

Slightly frowning, she continued staring at him before her eyes moved down to the pajamas he was holding onto tightly.  

"What's that?"    

"Oh...oh," the words seemed to trip over themselves, "for you. I got them for you. Why don't you change into them and come out?" 

Starting toward her he handed her the pajamas and intended to walk away, but felt Namjoo slid her hands over his. The of her touch soothed him, yet made him realize he would never tell her about using the spell for her. 

He would never dare to tell her that he'd brought her back from the dead.

"Thank you," she lightly squeezed his wrist before cradling his face. "I must have done something really good lately, huh?" 

Unable to help, but smile he lowered his head as if bashful. Yet really, he was even more thankful to her for coming back to someone like him. 

"You have," he agreed and grabbed her chin to kiss her. "Dress up and come out. I'll have the table set for you." 

Upon closing the door after him he pulled out the piece of paper from behind him; his eyes settling on the missing corner.

He needed to find out what was going on.  

***Second chances don't always exist. No pain, no gain right?

***And he keeps recalling her death. In due time, he's going to start living in fear.

***I'll switch to Namjoo's pov later