Chapter Text
My name is Izuku Midoriya. I am a suicide-hotline maintenance volunteer.
There is a word that comes around: “suicidal people cannot be saved in just one, two, or three calls” and I say that’s true. Recovering is a process until they knew themselves that they are stable enough once again.
When I entered college, I started searching for part-time jobs to support my education. I also wanted to help my mom at home, so I was so keen on looking for a job with flexible shifts and decent pay. Writing letters for suicide hotline callers' maintenance isn't something I was expecting to find, but here I am, on my last year of college and I'm still writing letters.
Ever since I was young, I really believed in the power of words. My mom had placed name cards on every single object in the house, like "curtain" and "bedframe". Until now, when I go home and find them underneath random furniture, I kept everything in the shoebox under my bed. Aside from being surrounded by words and the alphabet, I also aced my ninth grade Literature class and also became my highschool's news writer journalist. I’d say rearranging the alphabet is something stuck to me as a person.
Words are powerful. When you write, you have no enemy but your own thoughts. You are free, you are real. That's how magical writing felt, to me at least.
However, at my first match, I didn't really know what to write about. What if I said something wrong? That thought plagued me for days. The people I was supposed to talk to were people with issues, people who needed help, and aside from the anxiety, this ignited something in me: I am being a hero. I am saving people using my words. It's just that I didn't exactly know how to start.
My first penpal was nicknamed Uravity . I remembered how confused I was when I got matched to her by the system. She was nice; her handwriting was cute and bubbly, and she uses emoji stickers a lot. At first, her paper was clean and free of blotches. As we talked, she started doodling at the back of the stationery paper with hearts and squirrels and I admit she's pretty good at it. For a while, I even forgot I was working at a suicide hotline. She just seemed so...happy.
But she taught me to be wary of certain kinds of happiness. At our fourteenth exchange, the paper I received had water damage to the inkーshe was crying, her handwriting was shaky and she was begging me for help.
“ It's getting bad again. It's getting bad again ,” she wrote.
It was 1 am by then and I almost did a fatal mistake by not reacting on time. I alerted the headquarters immediately and they immediately sent help. I cried hard that night; I even forgot to do an essay, but someone's life is much more important. It was just coincidental that the essay I forgot to write was about "Humanity Against Life and Death". Humans are fragile, we are vulnerable, but some others are praised for saving others even if they need saving too. They are heroes, and I want to be a hero too.
I didn't hear from her for a few days after that. The manager of the Recovery Department I was working under, a kind old lady who wants to be called "Recovery Girl", didn't inform me of anything: of whether Uravity would write back or if she was still out there in the first place. Despite this, I kept writing and to the posting system, hoping that it will take it wherever she might be.
Then a miracle happened. I went to the headquarters for the weekly meeting, and I received a folder marked with a yellow happy face sticker at the tab. That folder made me jump up in joy, scream out my success because I was informed UravityーOchaco Urarakaーwas alive and well.
Words are powerful but they cannot describe how elated I was. The folder contains her statistics that the office kept. In there I saw when she was called in for a maintenance program and the context from her call. She was called in by her mother, who reported that she was seen bloody and unconscious in her room. The reason for Uravity's fatal case of self-harm wasn't specified nor was there any reports coming from a psychiatrist, given she also refused to talk for days. But my heart was attached to the comments on her penpalーme!ーwhich were more than positive because apparently, I made her smile again. I made her come down to dinner and help her mother make apple pies again. I made her approach her dad and wash the family car again. I did all that.
Yes, I did all that.
In the folder was also a personal message. It was her unsubscription letter addressed to me, where she signed off from the penpal program with a warm goodbye. The words "Case #46 Ochaco Uraraka Program Subscription Cancellation" made my heart ache, but it turns out it wasn't really the end at all. She gave me her real name, her email address and even a photo. If those brown eyes were dull before, I made them shine once again. I kept her alive. I saved her. I am a hero.
That was my first experience.
Recovery Girl praised me because apparently, penpal programs only had a moderate to low chance of success. I was also informed of the system: a happy face sticker on the folder meant the program was successful, a gray circle sticker meant that the program is still in process and lastly, a black butterfly sticker meant it was unsuccessfulーthat the client died or didn’t recover at all. Recovery Girl also informed me that I was getting matched based on my age and interests, and no wonder Uravity and I got alongーwe both like cute things and well, money.
And four years later, guess what? We both graduated from the same university with flying colors. I saved my best friend.
After Uraraka, I got matched up with a few others. It was around the second and third year when it got truly hectic. Not only does college kept trying to make me sleep-deprived but also my penpal matches were drastically different than my first match.
There was someone nicknamed Ingenium II that got matched to me. He was a repeat caller at the crisis counselors department and was suggested to subscribe to the penpal program. His demeanor was completely different from Uraraka’s: he had a formal way of words and his handwriting is as blocky as it could get. Still, he greets me warmly and I think we got matched because of our mutual interest in robots.
I think , because I never got the chance to confirm that.
One day after our third exchange, I received a folder marked with a black butterfly. My eyes were denying it. Never in my life had I dreamed of crying in a messy office cubicle, but I broke down right then and there. I denied ever reading the subscription cancellation letter because I knew in my soul that it wasn't Ingenium II who wrote it.
Case #56 Tenya Iida Program Subscription Cancellation , it said.
He died the night he sent his last letter. In there, he ranted about his brother's critical status and eventual death as well as his goodbye to join his brother in the afterlife. I was too late. I even received the disclosure first before his last letter.
The disclosure was written by his parents, mourning over the loss of both their children. Despite their mourns, they were kind enough to permit me to attend their son's funeral, because even though I failed, they are still thankful. After all, I kept him longer than due. That word left a bitter feeling in my guts. What do they mean “due”?
In the end, I cannot attend the burial ceremony. I didn't attend my university's play on the same day either. I just cried hard at my dorm. I even made my mom terrified because I missed her calls. I was a mess.
Not too long after my second match ended, I received a new one. I was still hungover, depressed, and mourning from that past match that I didn't hold any hope for the next one. It was hard coming from my own words, but I am glad I didn't expect something different. " Tsukuyomi " died. He was sad for a long time and only wanted his legacy to move. I gave the case to Recovery Girl.
My second year of college went like a cold breeze. Something that tells you “it will be okay” even though the lie is very clear. These penpals went smoothly, but the more I talk, the more I think they’re rubbing on me rather than the other way around.
There was a girl codenamed Froppy that year. She was affected by a recent shipwreck and she’s also consulting a therapist. She was kind and even gave me some puns and sarcastic humor in her letters. Her case was successful, but she didn't give me any contact information, and alas, I didn't beg the company for it.
There was another match up too; it was my eighth. He was an equally stressed college student like me. Ladies and gentlefolk, may I present Ground Zero. Right off the bat, I must say he has his own way with words. His sentences were filled with vulgarity and death threats, but I still tried to understand his unwired mind.
He was the one who suggested we exchange contact numbers; the reason how the company had the idea not too long after his suggestion. It was easily accepted whereas if there is one flaw in the program's system, it would be the fact that the mailing system is slow. Ground Zero was an accidental genius; his suggestion is adapted into the Recovery Department protocol. We all agreed we don't tell him and let it get to his head; he's stressed enough as it is.
As for the number, he didn’t call right away, and learning from experience, I didn’t bother him either. When he finally did call, the first thing I noticed was that his voice was more than familiar, and it took me a few months to realize why.
His case was successful and the file was finally given to me. Alas, he was a childhood friend, who knew? Katsuki Bakugou became my classmate a year later. Meeting him was more than awkward; he looks so angry all the time. One day, he finally approached and thanked me for helping him stay alive. I told him it was him to helped himself breathe. He cried shamelessly that day, though he threatened me to keep my lips shut because he doesn't want his parents to worry. I still told them though. It seemed he doesn't know they are aware.
Ground Zero's case taught me that working at a suicide hotline doesn't really mean I'm being a hero. Heroes save people. Crisis counselors help people save themselves.
Nonetheless, I like to think I am a hero of some sort. It gives me thrill and determination. It feeds my pride to know I also had a purpose.
There were a few others in my second year aside from Tsukuyomi, Froppy and dearest Kacchan. Looking back, I guess I got lucky on Uravity. In the second year, they never last that long.
There was a man who is keeping his arm and thigh scars a secret. He was joyful, his nickname was Present Mic . We both liked the color yellow. He died after the second letter.
There was a mysterious NEET too. " 0701 " hated the world and wanted to die. His case seemed the most helpless, but he survived. He also managed to know my identity but I never had the chance to know his. His disclosure didn't contain any contact information, nor was there any name in the disclosure declaration stamp. Ever since that day we stopped talking, I started to receive monthly thank-you cards and I still receive them until now, roughly two years from the date. I’ve always had a feeling it was from 0701. The thank-you notes make me smile every 14th day of the month.
Oh, there was also a smart girl nicknamed Creati , and I remember her for her vocabulary. She was also kind, which was a cross between Uravity and Ingenium II in terms of how she writes. She never revealed the reason for her case, nor did I get any clues of her identity and situation on her file. It made me confused and suspicious at first when I saw "Special Case" stamped under her nameーMomo Yaoyorozuーwhich I guessed was the reason why I didn't see anything aside from biological information on her file. Creati’s disclosure letter contained an invitation to a banquet. I didn't arrive. I guess she hated me by then.
Then, a guy nicknamed Cellophane came next. He was one of the most casual ones I got to talk to, terrifyingly so. I still remember how unsettling it was to talk to ones like him—casually telling me he bought a rope and was just double-thinking of learning how to tie a noose or just using duct tape instead. What am I supposed to say to that? He already accepted his fate. He died after my first letter. I also didn't know his name from the subscription cancellation letter.
I think Recovery Girl knew why some names don't show up. She never told me and I never asked.
The one that Cellophane precedes was nicknamed Chargebolt . He mentioned the death of a friend, who eerily sounds like Cellophane as I assumed back then. I had guessed they were friends or brothers.
Chargebolt was a happy person, he told me he likes tinkering with electronics and I guessed we were matched because of our curiosity and adventurous senses. Again, it was unsettling. All these people need help and trying to help someone who acts like they don’t need it is unbearable. People like Cellophane and Chargebolt are the kinds of people I just wish I was physically with; they’re the ones more likely to go and end everything.
Chargebolt told me that he never really had a good coping mechanism with death and funerals. In the third letter, he requested contacts exchange as per the protocol he must have read about. He called the moment he received my reply and he was crying.
" I don't want to end up like Hanta. I don't want to end up like Hanta. Help me, please. I don't want to die. Please, please, please, " he said, crying.
He was begging for life. That was the first time I heard such voiceーraspy yet innocent and untaintedーsaying words as such. That was the first time I encountered someone who wants to live so badly even if the world wants them to die. And somehow, that hurts even moreーsomeone who is actively trying hard to live but can't .
I cried on the line. I did not know who Hanta was then. Until now, Chargebolt's voice is still tattooed on my mind as if I was hearing it for the first time. It was like I was dragged onto Chargebolt's head and exposed to the mental trauma he experienced. The intensity, the eerieness, the pain in his tone, and his hushed cries haunted me, it kept playing in my head, it was the fuel of my nightmares even until now...
Because he died. I was too late.
Again.
Case #142 Denki Kaminari Program Subscription Cancellation
I recognized the name as an old classmate of mine. We never really talked to each other, but he was still someone I'd randomly see at playgrounds and hallways when I was young. Now we shared a connection and he was gone, just like that.
His cancellation letter was written by his mother, who was more than shocked at the sudden death of her son. She wasn't aware that Denki was involved with a suicide hotline. She thought he was only exchanging letters with a friend. Reading that at my dorm, I already knew I would not get any bit of sleep that night.
She thought Denki was just having a hard time moving on from the death of his friend, Hanta. She thought Denki was just coming out for some midnight snack that night. She thought she'd still see her son come home and not hanging on a tree branch on a forest a few kilometers away. She thought.
She also told me she hated me, but when the suicide hotline company ownerーMr. Aizawaーgave her excerpts from the letters Denki and I exchanged, she started appreciating me for doing my best on trying to keep her son alive. She broke down after a whole day of denial and angry ranting, wishing from the depths of her heart how Denki should have said something so she at least knew.
" Denki was always smiling, greeting me good morning before he went away to play basketball, and coming home with a random flower he picked for me, " his mom wrote me.
That night, I bought my mom a bouquet and spent the night at home instead of the dorm. If I spent the night alone, I knew I would lose my mind.
I attended his funeral, the first one I ever went to in my life since my dad's. I never looked at open caskets, but for a dear friend, I made an exception. Denki Kaminari's hair was blonde with a unique black streak and it was dull against the whiteness of the coffin inside. I could imagine the brightest smile on that pale face. He looked like someone I'd have as a best friend, but as his body was lowered six feet deep, I served as his mom's handkerchief as we all mourned for the death of a bright innocent teen.
I went home numb because still, I failed. Twice, thrice, I didn't even count anymore. It hurt so much it felt numb.
I also finally visited the funeral spot where Ingenium II's was held months before Chargebolt's, and I found out that his family was sort of famous. At least it seemed like it because his tombstone was surrounded by flowers and offerings even after all these months. I apologized to the marble, but I am more than aware I could never hear his reply anymore. I also didn't get to see his photo then, but I bet his ghost was staring at me with the most hateful expression it could muster.
Ochako and Kacchan became my classmates right after Denki's death. They served as reminders that I still managed to help a few people in contrast to those I can't save. My studies and work started to get stockpiled undone, and it wasn’t good no matter how I justified it. With no choice and for peace, I decided to take a break from the suicide hotline. Someone named Mirio took my shift, but to my shock, he died. Nobody talked about him after that. When I asked Mr. Aizawa, he'd only look away and tell me to go home. I attended the funeral with my colleagues.
The break I took from being a penpal didn’t exactly feel like a break. While at my leave, Recovery Girl finally sent me photos and information about my penpals, including the ones I never had the chance to see or know before. In order: Ochako Uraraka, Tenya Iida, Fumikage Tokoyami, Tsuyu Asui, Katsuki Bakugou, Hizashi Yamada, Hitoshi Shinsou, Momo Yaoyorozu, Hanta Sero, and Denki Kaminari.
Out of the ten, I only managed to save five. In the photos, they were all smiling but in my nightmares, they crept around in my head like monsters, judging my sins and condemning me to suffer in hell. The ones who died were pushing me down and blaming me. Some nights, it even included those who are alive.