Of all things Lay was never really able to become accustomed to about South Korea, it was definitely the freezing cold winters. January nights plunged the temperature to below freezing and all he could really think about was how much warmer he would be if he were back home. But homesick thoughts led to doubt and worry and hesitations, thoughts that he, as an SM trainee, couldn't afford to have.

It was a Sunday morning, one of his favorite days. SM's policy gave trainees and idols the day off on Sundays, in order to give them time to take it easy. His routine was quite ordinary; he'd wake up at 7 and go to breakfast with the other trainees and then head straight for the post office for his mail. His friends in China were probably still studying so he never really got letters from them. His mother however had somehow taken up letter-writing as a career or something and sometimes sent four at a time, each several pages long.  Other than that, the only other piece of mail he'd ever really receive we're credit card bills, advertisements, and even letters of recruitment.

Today he was on his was to the post office, and his mood was foul. Not only was he just recently released from the hospital for a back injury, but he'd somehow underestimated how cold it really was outside, and he had already refused the ride that their manager had offered him. He was stuck walking through the thick icy mist of the Sunday morning and spent most of his time dodging the ice on the ground.

He reached the post office in time but slipped on an icy puddle on the way inside, which shot a jolt of pain up his already injured spine. He was definitely due for a follow up visit to the ER now. He managed to bring himself inside safely and made his way over to his PO Box as he drew out his keys from his pocket.

The usual: two letters from his mother, a bill from the bank, and an advertisement. He reached out and took these and stuffed them into the oversized pocket of his jacket. But something pink drew his eye. It was in the back of his PO Box and was not in an envelope. Wondering what it was, he reached in and took it out.

It was a light orange piece of paper, stationary, the cute kind that was popular amongst elementary schoolgirls, and it was folded in half twice. Why would his mother send him a letter on light orange stationary and without an envelope? Were they even allowed to send mail like that?

Curious, he opened it up. In neat handwriting it said: "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt."

The message was written twice: once in Hangul and again in Chinese. Curiously, there was no name written anywhere on it. Was the paper even for him? Not knowing what to do, he placed the note back into his box, closed it, and left.

He repeated the same routine again the next week, slipping on the ice yet again. This time he complained to the manager about the icy puddle by the door and the man assured him he'd take care of it. One new letter from his mom and surprisingly one from his old classmate. Another advertisement... and 2 folded pieces of stationary, the one from before, a new one that was also light orange.

He grabbed the new orange paper and opened it up. This time it was a bible verse, "I can do all things through him who strengthens me", written in Hangul and Chinese. He wrinkled his brow quizzically and grabbed both the pieces of stationary and walked up to the clerk.

"Hi." the clerk said. "Can I help you?" Lay was slightly annoyed at how forward the man was being, which was never a bad thing, but just something in his tone of voice rubbed him the wrong way.

Lay showed him the two pieces of orange paper.

"I think someone has been putting these notes in the wrong PO Box," he explained. "These aren't for me, I just found them in my box."

The clerk took the papers and studied them carefully and asked the man behind him if the papers look familiar.

"I don't know how these got in there," the clerk said, again animating his voice too much for Lay's taste. "I don't remember sorting these but thank you for pointing it out, we'll try to resolve the problem."

The man then took the papers and put them in a drawer. Lay bit his lip thinking about the messages. They were written in Korean and Chinese. Were there many other Chinese citizens whose mailboxes were in this building? Did someone really write it for him?

"Actually," he said. "Can I have those back?"

The clerk looked at him quizzically. "I thought you said they weren't yours."

"Oh," Lay said. "Uh yeah but... Never mind." And with that he turned and left the office, slipping on the ice on the way out.

He forgot about the messages in the mailbox during the week, choosing instead to dive into his training, the sessions for which were vigorous at the very least. When the sessions became unbearable and exhaustion set it, he became so tired that he couldn't even sleep. And these late nights were most dangerous to him. In the darkness, his mind and heart could wander back to his parents, his family back home. Korea had been his home for while, but nothing could compare to his home far away.

Sometimes these feelings of despair and the loneliness that came with missing his family and freinds were enough to make him want to quit SM's entire training program. Of course he never allowed these thoughts to get very far; he only wished there were a way he could at least see it again.

The trainers announced the end of hell week on Saturday night and everyone was glad when Sunday came. They all planned to grab lunch together, he and the other EXO trainees. Agreeing to it, Lay promised to grab his mail from the post very quickly and meet them all at the restaurant.

Just as the clerk said, the frozen ice puddle had been taken care of and Lay walked into the building unscathed by the frozen asphalt. Once inside he hurriedly ran to the mailbox and grabbed his mail.

Suddenly he stopped, looking back into his box. Instead of a color piece of stationary, there was a flat piece of paper about the size of his palm with a picture on it. Taking it, he realized that he recognized it. It was a picture, printed from a computer, of his hometown. A little ink had bled through and he turned it around to find another unsigned message in Korean and Chinese:

"Home is where your heart is. But in case you miss it too much, here's a little reminder"

Now he was certain that the anonymous messages were from him. How did this person know where he was from? Was it someone he knew?

It comforted him to have something unique to call his own, but at the same time it scared him. Who was doing this? Walking over to the customer service counter, he looked around for any employees who seemed familiar but there were none. The clerk finished helping a teenage girl who wanted to send a care package to Africa and he turned to Lay with another greasy smile.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes," Lay said. "The pieces of paper I left here last week. May I have them back?"

"I thought you said-"

"I know! Well I was wrong, they're mine, can I have them now?"

"Oh geez, attitude. Here you go." the clerk fished the papers from the drawer and handed them back to Lay who pocketed them along with the letters from his mom.

He felt guilty about getting rid of those messages before, but not for long since the unsigned pieces of paper kept coming. sometimes with long thought-out messages of heart and encouragement, other times they were inspirational quotes or bible verses. Other times they were merely slips of paper that said "Hwaiting!" on it. Once he even received 10,000 won and a note instructing him to spend it on something for himself.

And while they were warm-hearted and nice, Lay couldn't help but wonder who it was sending him these things. Sometimes he stayed awake in bed and thought and thought about it but couldn't think of anyone. No one at all.

It was beginning to grate his nerves as it continued for about another month or two. His curiosity grew more and more as did his anticipation with each visit to the post office. The search for the anonymous sender drove him mad sometimes. He even began analyzing the handwriting of the other Chinese trainees. He once stood outside the post office for a whole day watching for anyone suspicious, but was met only by a few businessmen, the charitable girl who came to send even more care packages to Africa, and several elderly ajummas. He was beginning to think that whoever it was, he was probably a ghost.

The notes an messages kept coming and he gathered them all in a box under his bed, and the cycle continued until his mother began slacking off on her writing and his training grew less intense. He was nearing the debut date now, and he was both scared and excited to finally see what the world would think of EXO and of him. He wondered if whoever was sending him these messages would be watching him too.

Because his mother's habit of sending him a letter regularly once a week was suddenly broken, Lay moved his normal mail pick-up day to Friday so the letter would not have to sit in the box all weekend and he could write back to her faster. The ice and snow has long since melted but a chill still hung in the air. That Friday afternoon, he made his way over to the post office.

It was empty that day except for the clerk who sported a purple tie instead of the usual black or blue. The clerk was near the mailboxes this time and was mopping up the floor and looked quite pleased to see Lay, a fact that somehow bothered him.

"Good afternoon, young man," the clerk said as Lay got closer to his mailbox, keys in hand.

"Hey," Lay said apathetically if only to be polite. His mothers letters were there as well as a new credit card bill nd even more advertisements. But no note this time.

Lay continued to stare into the emptiness of his mailbox. Was there really no note this week? That's odd, he thought.

"Did anything else come for me?" he asked the clerk, who shook his head no and continued mopping whilst keeping Lay in his sight in the corner of his eye. Lay checked the mail he got to make sure it hadn't gotten tucked between the envelopes, but there was really nothing.

Suddenly the clerk spoke up.

"So... did you see the present?"

Lay froze. What present? He turned slowly to face the clerk trying his hardest to hide the look of terror on his face.

"What?" he asked

"The present!" the clerk said, leaning against the mop and tilting his head. "Did you see it?"

"Wait," Lay said, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You? Present?"

The clerk nodded excitedly. "Yupp!"

Lay's eyes remained wide the entire time. He looked the clerk up and down. He looked like a young guy, mid-twenties maybe, but his thick glasses and greasy hair made him seem older. He was about the same height as Lay, but Lay stopped and stated at his tie, a gradient purple. PURPLE... , he should have known.

Lay laughed nervously. "Woah, hey, man," he said. That's really nice of you and all--"

"So you like it then?"

"Umm," Lay swallowed. "Y-yeah, sure, I guess. Listen, hey, I'm flattered and all but I don't--"

"Don't what?"

"I mean that I'm not--"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know. Me and you. You and me. I mean I hardly even known you, but I think that before this gets any further, any further for you I mean, you should know that I don't sway that way."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You gave me a present because you like me? Right?"

"Like you? What?! You think I'm gay?"

"What, no! I'm just saying--"

"Then who's gay?!"

"Not me!"

"Then what the hell are you saying?!"

"What are YOU saying?!"

"I'm just saying you should be thankful for what I did!"

"But why would you send me inspiring notes and money?"

"What money? I'm just talking about how I fixed the lock on your mailbox!"

"Mailbox?"

"What?"

"What?" the clerk scratched his head in frustration.

"Don't copy me! Your lock was broken, it wouldn't lock, or didn't you notice?" he said.

His lock didn't work? Lay looked at the mailbox that didn't lock properly. Was that how the mysterious person put the notes in? But if it wasn't the clerk, then who?

"My god," the clerk said. "Fix broken lock, get accused of being gay. A little appreciation, that's all I ever really ask for around here!"

"...Uh."

"Why would you--?" the clerk began but then the door opened and another customer came in. Oh. It was the charitable girl again, with (surprise surprise) another package. She walked up to the customer service counter looking for the clerk.

"I'll be right with you, miss!" the clerk said. "Just a moment. Now why would you think I was gay?"

"No it was an honest mistake--" Lay began to say but then the clerk began to walk to the counter.

"Nevermind," he said and attended to the girl with the package. lay sighed. He was beginning to think he'd never find out who the sender was. Lay looked back at his empty mailbox and overheard bits and pieces of the clerk's conversation with the charity girl. But suddenly he saw something even more interesting than an empty mailbox. The girl handed the package over to the clerk but she had something else with her.

In her left hand she was holding a light orange piece of paper folded in half twice.

She thanked the clerk and turned toward the mailboxes but as soon as she did she locked eyes with Lay. Instead of continuing forward though, she stopped as soon as she saw him. Her eyes were wide with surprise while Lay's remained thoughtful. The orange paper in her hands. The girl cleared and thanked the clerk as she tucked the orange paper into her pocket and then turned around to leave. 

Right away, Lay closed and locked his mailbox and ran out the door after her. 

"Hey, you!" he yelled. "Wait up!" The ice puddle was no longer there and yet he still found himself having to watch out for it out of habit. He caught up to the girl just as she was getting back onto the sidewalk. Before she ould get away, Lay took her shoulder and forced her to face him.

"Are you the one who's been leaving those orange notes in my mailbox?" he asked. The girl's eyes widened again and her jaw dropped. She looked like she was about to say something but then decided to say something else.

"Uh," she said. "Yeah, I am." Lay wrinkled his eyebrows at her. 

"Well why would you do that? Have we even met before?"

"Well, no, not really," the girl said. "I mean, I've seen you around, but we've never been formally introduced or anything."

"You know Chinese?" he asked.

"yes," the girl answered without providing any explanation with how she had learned it or how she knew it. So Lay just accepted the fact that she knew Chinese and didn't press her for anymore information.

"How did you get into my mailbox and how'd you know to give them to me?"

The girl closed and din't say anything for a long time. She just looked up at him with slightly pleading eyes. "Are you angry?" she asked. Her question made him feel guilty because he hadn't been fully aware that he was raising his voice with each question. 

"No," he answered. "Just curious, that's all. These are really nice things that you wrote, but why would you give them to me, you hardly know me."

"I knew enough about you," she said. "My mailbox is at this post office, too, and I just noticed you coming in every Sunday to pick up your mail."

"So?" he said, pushing her explanation further.

"You've probably noticed me in there a lot, too, then, right?"

"Yeah, you and your care packages. You always have one with you."

"Well, it's because I like to help people. Those kids in Africa will probably never meet me but it doesn't mean I can't somehow impact their lives. I don't have to know someone to be nice to them. I felt that way towards you."

"But why me?"

"Because you always looked so sad when you came into the office," she said, an answer that surprised Lay. He hadn't been aware of how he appeared when he was out in public, and what insightful people like her could infer from him. "And this one day you forgot to close your box, which is broken by the way--"

"The (straight) clerk fixed it already, thanks."

"Oh, good. Well anyway, you forgot to close iti one day and I saw from your letters that you were from China, and your mom is really cute and addresses her letters to 'Zhang Yixing, my son' so I figured that you were a long way from home and really missed them. You also had recuitment letters from entertainment companies and the only headquarters anywhere near Apgujeong that I know of is SM. Since I didn't recognize you, I guessed you were a trainee and you were just tired from all your hard work. "

Lay just stared blankly at her and blinked once or twice. "All that from an envelope?" he asked. The girl just nodded. Lay tried to keep himself from scoffing.

"You're kind of weird," he said. The girl just shrugged.

"That seems like a fair accusation," she said. "Better than ordinary." Lay smiled at her turn of words... and at her overall weirdness. He was actually beginning to like her. 

"Sorry if it creeped you out, though," she said. "Finding weird notes in a supposedly locked mailbox might seem pretty scary. That's totally not what I was going for, I just wanted to cheer you up."

Lay nodded.

"Did you get the money, too?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Lay nodded. "Well," he said. "Ok, it was a little creepy, but the things you wrote were really nice, so thanks. But still, it's pretty incredible to me that you'd do this to a complete stranger. What do you gain from it? Nothing, so it's a waste."

"Why is it a waste? What'd you do with the money?"

"Bought pizza."

"Was it good?"

Lay raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"And it filled you up, didn't it? So it wasn't a waste. What about that picture of Changsha?"

"Yeah, how'd you know I was thinking about going home when you sent it to me?"

"I didn't," she said, but began smiling like an idiot. "But it looks like I sent it at the right time, doesn't it?"

Lay stared at the girl for a long before starting to laugh. Not maliciously, but rather because he couldn't believe what was happening.

"You're unbelievable," he said. "Wow, to think that there's actually a person in the world who would actually send me letters of encouragement and pictures of my hometown, someone I've never even met too. You're incredible. Do you do this for the other trainees, too? Or anyone else?"

She shrugged again. "I did once for a girl in my school. Uh, she was having suicidal thoughts so I thought maybe some compliments and encouragment might do her some good."

"What are you, a saint or something?"

"No," she answered. "I said I just like helping people."

"Even strangers?"

"Well, strangers, to me, are just friends I haven't met yet." Lay nodded at her explanation again, still in disbelief that a person as good as her existed; a girl who sent care packages to the impoverished and helped suicidal classmates with letters of encouragment. Was she even real?

"You know," he said. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you liked me." She widened her eyes at him again, just like in the post office. 

"What?" she said.

"Oh, nothing," he said. "It's just that, you know, nice words on mysterious paper, encouraging notes from a secret sender in my mailbox; sounds like a teenage romance doesn't it?"

She blushed for the first time since their conversation started. "Well, don't you start getting ideas. Don't misunderstand my motives, I really did just want to cheer you up and all."

"Mmm, right," he said. He smiled again. "That's okay, I believe you. I really do. Well thanks for your cheering me up anyways."

"You're welcome," she said. "It was a fun activity for me, too. While it lasted."

"What do you mean?" Lay asked. "No more after this?"

"Well... it won't be the same now that you've figured me out," she explained. "But I think you have enough of those little orange papers to stay encourage for a long time. I meant everything I wrote."

"What was on the paper in your pocket then? Give it to me." Lay held out his hand for the orange paper that she had stuffed into her pocket earlier. Sighing, she took it out and laid it on his palm. He opened it then and there. 

Hang in there. It'll be worth it.

Lay smiled at the words. Once again she'd written it in Hangul and Chinese. Her handwriting was delicate but had very deliberate . Her characters were upright and...happy, for some reason. Lay looked back up at her and decided that her handwriting was very in character for her. 

"So this is the last one, then?" he asked, folding the paper again and putting it into his own pocket. The girl smiled and nodded cheerfully. 

"Yeah," she answered. Lay put his hands into his pockets and studied her carefully. Somehow, he was sad that their little adventure was coming to a close. He'd met this girl only today and they talked for less than thirty minutes. But already, she'd become one of his favorite people. There were always times when he felt lonely at the training sessions, in the dorms, even when just walking the streets. But he wouldn't deny that sometimes looking through the little orange papers she left for him in his mailbox relieved him of it. It was similar to having a best friend. Except this time his best friend actually had a face. 

He wanted to stand there and just stare at her for the rest of the day, but he knew that he had to leave soon. 

"I can still see you here every week, though, right?" he asked. She looked between him and the post office and then nodded happily.

"Yeah," she said. 

"Ok," he said. "That makes me feel a little better then."

"Do you even know my name?" she asked. Lay raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, no," he said. "What is it?" She smiled again as she told him.

"Chun Sa," she said. Lay nodded.

"Well, see you later, then," she said and the both of them turned in opposite directions and left. Lay repeated her name in his head over and over again, wondering why the name sounded so familiar. He'd definitely heard it before. It was only when he reached the dorms again that he realized why. 

Chun Sa. Cheonsa. Angel.