Entropy

Mikasa rejects another call. She locks the screen and shoves her phone deeper into her bag. Further away. So she won’t hear the vibrations, won’t feel anything. In the bright silence, any rustle echoes in her ears, as if amplified tenfold by anxiety. What was her heart just a couple of months ago is now torn to shreds. Her hands, too, for that matter. Mikasa never had a habit of self-harm, but in her nervous state, she’s scratched the skin between her fingers raw. She doesn’t even notice how she repeatedly rubs the small abrasions, peeling off scabs that barely had time to form. Her nails, cut short for this very reason, don’t help the situation. She still manages to rub her skin until it’s red. Her phone vibrates again. Mikasa ignores the call for as long as she can, but the vibration doesn’t stop. The phone just keeps vibrating and vibrating, and Mikasa nervously rummages through her bag, searching for the cursed smartphone. She presses the power button and holds her finger there until the screen goes completely dark, then tosses both the phone and the bag away from her. Mikasa came here because it was quiet. No one bothers her, no one talks to her, no one offers condolences or tries to help. She doesn’t need help anymore. There’s nothing left inside. Armin, Jean, Eren’s parents—they all keep trying to impose themselves on her. To drag her out somewhere. To distract her. She doesn’t need it. Eren’s parents are the ones who need it. They’re doing it for themselves. They want to keep a part of him close. But Mikasa can’t bear to see their faces anymore. Eren’s face looks too much like his mother’s. Just seeing Carla makes her nauseous, and her genuinely warm, maternal care feels suffocating. No, Mikasa won’t come for dinner. And she won’t go shopping tomorrow. And she won’t return the scarf Eren gave her long ago. And she won’t comfort them. Who decided that grief must be shared? She doesn’t want to. She wants to stay in complete solitude, wrap herself in a cocoon of her own pain, and stew in it, like a caterpillar’s dissolved body. To become mindless, numb cellular sludge. Maybe then it will get easier? Mikasa rubs her eyes, stinging from tears. How much time has passed since the funeral? It still hasn’t gotten any easier. It seemed impossible to cry so much, but Mikasa was managing it with flying colours. She had sat here long enough to cry today’s portion. Mikasa pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around them, and rests her cheek there. To her right is a neat row of graves with perfectly trimmed lawns. Over this time, Mikasa has managed to memorise the names of everyone eternally resting here. At the very edge, as far as her eyesight could reach, there’s some guy named Mike. Closer by is a headstone with ornate flourishes, as if for someone very important. Mikasa only glanced once at the unremarkable surname “Smith,” but due to the headstone’s ostentatiousness, she remembered it. She distracted herself from heavy thoughts by examining other people’s graves: reminders of others' grief, their tears. It was always quiet here. Even the birds seemed not to linger on the thinning tree branches, as if protecting the eternal peace. Footsteps rustled on the soft grass. Mikasa sighed and turned away. It doesn’t matter who’s come. What matters is that she is no longer alone and cannot fully absorb the cemetery’s sadness. She has to share it with someone else. Someone walks behind her, and curiosity gets the better of her. She glances briefly at the person and immediately recognises him. She had seen him several times before, although the grave he stood by was already overgrown with moss. People usually only came this often to fresh graves. Like hers. Mikasa fell silent. She waited for him to finish looking at his relative and leave. He usually spent about ten minutes here, and then the footsteps behind her signalled his departure. Ten minutes is a pathetically short amount of time, especially when you have nothing on your schedule except grieving. “Hi,” a voice sounded from behind, and Mikasa flinched. No one ever spoke to her here. Actually, no one spoke to anyone. Interrupting someone at a cemetery was bad manners. She thought everyone knew that. Mikasa lifted her head, stunned, muttered a greeting, and buried her face in her knees again. What does he want? “I’ve seen you here before. Do you come every day or something?” Mikasa stays silent. She doesn’t feel like answering at all. Soon, he’ll get tired of her silence and leave. She has absolutely no desire to respond. “You know, I didn’t use to come here this often. My brother died a couple of years ago. I’ve already done my grieving. I needed to visit, and then I saw you all in tears. I had a feeling you’d be back.” “What’s so surprising about that?” Mikasa snaps, unable to hold back, turning to face the guy. He looks at her with some surprise, his wheat-coloured hair glinting gold in the sun. He shrugs. “Didn’t want you to be stuck here alone. So that’s why I keep coming.” “I like being alone,” Mikasa says, turning away. “Come on. No one does. That just makes it hurt more. You are just spiralling in your thoughts…” “None of your business. I don’t need comfort from strangers.” “Porco. Nice to meet you. Would comfort from someone you know be okay?” He annoys her. Distracts her. She doesn’t want to answer him anymore. And she doesn’t, until silence wraps around her in a new cocoon. She doesn’t hear her new acquaintance leave. Finally, the silence is shattered by the flap of a bird’s wings, and footsteps rustle behind her. He’s gone, finally. Mikasa tries to concentrate again. What was she thinking about? Eren, of course. Their last meetings, their plans for the future. Plans that never happened, of course, making them seem even more absurd and naive. But she can’t manage to return to her state of mourning. That guy certainly ruined her mood. Mikasa angrily got up from the ground, brushed off the clinging grass blades from her skirt, picked up her bag, and walked away.

***

He came the next day. And then again. Mikasa ignored him. She didn’t even respond to his greetings. He doesn’t deserve even a nod of the head. She comes to the cemetery to grieve, not to deal with annoying guys. There are no more tears left. But that doesn’t mean she’s feeling better. She’s like preserved now, her days as alike as two peas in a pod. Wake up, go to the cemetery, have a good cry, grab a bite to eat somewhere, go to sleep, and in the morning mechanically repeat it all over again. Jean tried to catch her at her house, Armin kept sending annoying text messages. Why couldn’t they just. leave. her. alone? “Doesn’t he have anyone else? Why are you always alone?” Porco’s now-familiar voice sounded from behind. “Listen, this isn’t the best place to pick someone up, don’t you think?” “Agreed. But this isn’t the best place for you to be, either. Alive.” Porco falls silent. Mikasa studies his bomber jacket, pants with huge pockets (what do guys even carry in those?), high-laced boots that look more like army boots, and she can’t figure out why he’s bothering her. Maybe she should talk to the caretaker? “You know, you’re not doing this for him. He doesn’t need anything anymore. You come here for yourself.” Anger simmers inside her. How dare he repeatedly interfere with her grieving the way she sees fit? First Eren’s parents, then her friends, now this… “What do you even know?!” she cries out, springing to her feet in one motion. “I know at least as much as you, because I did the same thing.” Mikasa looks at him with irritation. Part of her wants to yell, to chase him away, but another part, still unformed, wants to share just a little of what’s on her mind. That she understands perfectly well she’s not crying for Eren, but for the life she could have had with him. This Porco is damn right, but his being right doesn’t make things easier for anyone. “I’m not interested. You’re at a cemetery. You came to visit your relatives? Great. Do that. And stop bothering other people. I’m not going to tolerate you meddling in my affairs anymore!” Mikasa turns and walks away. She’ll lock herself in her apartment, wrap herself in a cocoon of blankets, and feel sorry for herself there, in the warmth of the apartment she rented with Eren. She doesn’t care if seeing any little thing they bought together for their home makes her want to scream.

***

Mikasa hoped Porco wouldn’t come back. When she arrived at the cemetery a couple of days later, he fortunately wasn’t there. He didn’t come later, either. It seemed like it would be easier this way. Mikasa was once again completely left to her own devices. She could return to her grief and continue studying every nick and scratch on the tombstone bearing the familiar name—a name repeated so often in her head it had almost lost its meaning. The cemetery was the only place where memories didn’t wash over her in a wave of pain. It seemed like every street, every cafe nearby was saturated with Eren. They had grown up together, walking the length and breadth of this city. A piece of him remained everywhere, and it was unbearable. She couldn’t eat, sleep, or breathe properly anywhere that reminded her of him. The cemetery, though, was clean. If she didn’t think about the fact that Eren’s body lay just a meter away, it was as if he wasn’t there, had never been there. They simply put a box in the ground. Covered it up. Her last memory of Eren wasn’t here. Thankfully… it wasn’t here. Mikasa looked around. It was getting chilly, and she shivered from the wind, stood up, and paced back and forth. She briefly scanned the rows of names of people whose existence had been reduced to letters on their gravestones. Which one did that guy visit? A flicker of curiosity touched her consciousness. Almost the first emotion Mikasa had felt in that endlessly long time. She approached another unremarkable headstone. Marcel Galliard. Seeing the dates made her feel a momentary pang of shame. He died just a couple of years ago. He would have been around her age now. A brother, maybe? Mikasa rubbed her arms with her hands. That guy, Porco, must have had a hard time too. Maybe he needed those conversations… She shook her head. She’s the one having a hard time. She can’t pity everyone who’s faced death. Cemeteries are places of sorrow. And everyone grieves for their own. “A completely stupid death.” Mikasa jerked, startled, as if caught doing something terribly shameful. She felt awkward, even though she could just as easily have been standing by any other grave nearby. But Porco caught her right here. “Is there any other kind?” she asked, wanting to get rid of that feeling as quickly as possible. “People die from illness, from old age. Not from stupidity.” Mikasa frowned. Right. He wants her to ask. She was about to say she wasn’t interested, but curiosity stirred inside her. Any emotion besides apathy and sadness was nice. “What happened?” “We were together on manoeuvres in the mountains. A bear attacked his group. Marcel protected his comrade. Idiot.” Mikasa didn’t know what to say. That’s not a stupid death. It’s a terrible one. But losing someone like that is even more terrifying. Just imagine if Eren had been mauled… “So, you’re in the military?” she asked, to change the subject quickly. “Was. I left right after it happened. Realised my parents wouldn’t handle it if I followed my brother… We were twins, you know. When he died, it was like a part of me died too. Besides, I only joined the army because of him.” “I see.” Mikasa shivered again. Whether from unease or the cold, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t looking at Porco. She only saw the name and the dates in front of her. Just two years. Would she be able to talk about Eren this calmly after another year? Two? No. She would never recover from losing him. And she doesn’t want to. She would gladly lie down in the grave with him. Her life ended with his death, too. “What about you?” Mikasa flinched. She lifted her head and met the attentive gaze of his golden eyes. She doesn’t want to answer right now. And Porco, it seems, understood. “Okay, sorry.” He looked down at the same army boots, digging the toe into the ground. “You know, I decided to go to a bar today. If you want, we can go together.” His face held something that looked like hope, and it confused Mikasa. “That’s stupid. I’m not in the mood for entertainment.” “I won’t insist. Well, take care.” He quickly turned and walked away. Mikasa watched him go, thinking. Does it even matter? Who’s going to feel better if she leaves here the same way, gets on a bus, and goes back to their apartment? It certainly won’t make her feel better. She hurried after him, catching up. In response to his silent question, she only muttered: “I don’t have anything else to do today anyway.”

***

Music thundered in the bar, drowning out even the hint of thoughts. She didn’t feel like drinking alcohol—she had never tried to drink herself into oblivion. And now she didn’t want to. What would it get her? A headache in the morning? She already had enough of that without cocktails. Her new acquaintance, however, wasn’t denying himself the pleasure. He was already on his third shot, but you wouldn’t know it. Not that Mikasa frequented clubs, but she thought alcohol was supposed to work faster. They sat on a couch by a tiny table. People crowded around, the air smelled of smoke, sweat, and the carefree atmosphere of an evening after work. It was the kind of scene that, in recent days, had become a parallel world for Mikasa—a world where everything continued as normal. A world that no longer belonged to her, one she simply observed like a spectator in a cinema. These people were having fun while she could barely hold herself together. Mikasa sipped her juice from a smooth glass, already smudged with fingerprints, not understanding what she was doing there. Why had she come? They had nothing to talk about. Nothing connected them except for a strange acquaintance at a cemetery. Mikasa felt impossibly lost and awkward, but leaving somehow felt uncomfortable too. “It’s noisy here,” she said, just to say something. It sounded stupid. Porco smirked, his golden eyes gleaming in the neon light of the bright lamps. “It’s a club.” “Yeah, I know. I just wasn’t expecting it.” “Why did you come then, if you don’t like clubs?” “I didn’t say I don’t like them. It’s just loud. Besides, I never really went to them much anyway.” “Figured as much.” “Really?” “Yeah. You’re sitting there with a grumpy face, wincing every time someone walks by.” “What kind of face am I supposed to have when my loved one…” Mikasa stops short. She didn’t want to think about Eren for even a couple of hours. That didn’t work out. Porco’s expression changes abruptly. He starts patting his pockets, pulls a couple of bills from his wallet, and tosses them on the table. “Let’s go,” he says, getting up from the table. Mikasa gets up and follows him. Her mood sinks down hitting rock bottom, but she’s still holding on. She’ll cry when she gets home. For now, she at least needs to part ways with her new acquaintance. She knew coming here was a stupid idea.

***

The street hits her heated skin with cold. Mikasa pulls her jacket tighter. Good thing she bothered to bring it. The sky shimmered with shades of purple, fading into a sunset burning on the horizon. “Sorry for imposing. I thought for some reason I could help you. No one tried to drag me out when I was grieving, and I really felt sorry for you. It’s none of my business, of course. Let me walk you to the bus stop.” “It’s okay. It’s just…” Porco pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fished out a lighter, and a small red flame flickered near his face. This simple act brought her back to reality. She could hold back. The tears that had risen to her throat subsided. “So, you smoke?” “Well, as you can see. Do you?” Mikasa shakes her head. All this time, she had been a good, proper girl. Caring, kind, attentive. She had never done anything bad to anyone, ever. And this was how life repaid her. Unfair, cruel life. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not always like this. I decided to unwind for once in quite a long time. Got tired of suffering in silence. Ready to go?” “Sorry I interrupted. You don’t have to walk me. I can manage on my own.” “No, wait…” Mikasa sighs heavily. She doesn’t have the energy for someone else’s grief. She can hear in his voice that Porco wants to be near her. Wants to talk, to share, to pour it out. But Mikasa doesn’t need any of that. Her wound is still too fresh, too painful. But when Mikasa steps forward, Porco still follows, and she lets him walk beside her. Porco tosses the already smouldering cigarette into the trash, and it hits the bin, scattering like a tiny firework. Mikasa stops for a moment, watching the dying sparks, and a stream of words pours out before she can stop it: “Actually, you’re right. I am alone. His friends, and even his parents, don’t come to the grave anymore. They’re moving on with their lives. But it feels as if the rug has been pulled beneath my feet. I don’t know what to do. I wanted a family. He… it was like he didn’t. For him, all of this was just playing at being an adult. Living separately from his parents. Borrowing his father’s car for a spin…” Mikasa thought Eren had started dating her just to complete the picture. But she had loved. It’s getting harder to hold back the tears. She sniffles, presses her lips together to keep the emotions from bursting out. Certainly not on the street in front of a club. “I thought if I suffered enough, it would get better faster. Going to the cemetery every day, wanting to rip all the pain out of myself and leave it there. I want it to hurt.” “Well, you’re an idiot.” “What?” Mikasa looks at him blankly; she expected him to pity her, to comfort her, but he spoke with utter seriousness, saying the opposite. People around her always lowered their voices, talked to her like she was a child, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Porco was as straightforward as railroad tracks. “An idiot, I said. You’re only torturing yourself. It doesn’t help anyone. You need to get distracted sometimes.” Mikasa knows this. Everyone says it. She sees how others are already smiling again, living as if nothing had happened. But she can’t do that. “You want me to feel better? To get distracted? Well, I’m hurting.” She looks at him, and tears well up in her eyes. Will she ever be able to feel anything again? Anything other than endless sorrow and pain? Or has she already died inside, along with Eren? Mikasa suddenly rises on her tiptoes, grabs Porco by the collar, hesitates for a moment, but then presses her lips to his in a kiss. Porco responds belatedly. He smells of cigarettes, his lips are bitter and hot. Alive and soft, and shame washes over her. She’s ashamed for kissing someone she barely knows. Ashamed for replacing Eren so quickly with someone else. She still remembers his breath, his warmth, and she feels sick with herself. She’s ashamed for wanting more. It doesn’t matter. For a brief moment, she feels like she might be able to forget. Just to feel better. Even a little, even just a tiny bit. She wants to push out all those memories that come crashing into her mind like an avalanche. She doesn’t want to think about Eren, but she can’t stop. Every second of her existence is poisoned by him. Porco gently pushes her away. His eyes still shine with a warm gold. She wants so badly to be on the other side of this life, where there isn’t all this heavy, crushing grief. If he can manage, maybe she can too? Why else would he be trying so hard to pull her from the depths? “Don’t push me away. Just not now.” Porco hesitates, his eyes scanning her face. Mikasa sees his uncertainty, just as she sees that he needs her too. “We could go to my place. If you want.” Mikasa nods. With unexpected certainty, she understands: she wants to.

***

His apartment looks exactly like you’d expect a man living alone, just starting to recover from grief, would live like: windbreakers haphazardly hung in the hallway, shoes scattered on the floor. Mikasa briefly notices dishes left on the table. The wallpaper in his room is slightly battered, and a pile of sweaters and T-shirts lie on the bed. If Mikasa had seen a meticulously clean apartment belonging to a diligent soldier, she would have run away. She needs decay. She wants to see that her life isn’t the only one that’s shattered. Porco sweeps the pile of clothes off the bed, picks Mikasa up, and gently lowers her onto the creaky mattress. “I really do like you. I wish we had met differently.” “Please, don’t say anything,” she begs. If he starts talking, it will all become too real, and Porco obediently falls silent, kissing her neck, moving lower to the open collar of her shirt. Mikasa reaches towards him, towards a real, warm body, alive, moving, desired. She wants to kiss him again and again. What she’s feeling now is pure hunger. She wants to feel, and Porco helps her do just that. His hands unbutton her shirt, stroke her body, explore it; warmth spreads below with desire. Mikasa arches on the creaky mattress as Porco frees her from her clothes, meanwhile shedding all his. He’s handsome. Mikasa can’t help but notice. Bronzed skin stretched over firm muscles, radiating health in the yellow light of the desk lamp. She herself looks more like a sketch of a person, emaciated and exhausted. How can he remain like this when she can’t? She tries not to think about anything, to forget, as she wanted, and focuses only on his touch. “You’re so delicate, so beautiful,” he whispers, thrusting forward, and everything inside clenches around him. Mikasa throws her legs up, wraps them around his waist, letting him go deeper, opening herself to him. With Porco, it feels good. He doesn’t rush, kissing her as she moans against his lips. He gradually speeds up, holds her tighter, and Mikasa gives in. She feels as if her skin has been stripped away. Every nerve is exposed, and she finally comes alive. She wants to dissolve into him, never again think about the pain that haunts her, and a drawn-out spasm washes over her in a hot wave, spreading through her body. Porco holds her tightly from behind, pressing her against him, his warm lips touching her shoulder. The room is quiet; somewhere in the kitchen, a water heater hums softly. Silence envelops her. She would have never jumped into bed with a random person before, and now, the mere thought of returning to her empty apartment, where every object will accuse her of what she’s done, makes her nauseous. She should get up, get dressed, and leave. She has absolutely no reason to be here, with this man she simply used to temporarily plug a bleeding wound, but for some reason, she doesn’t want to leave. “Can I stay?” she says quietly, not really expecting anything. The response is delayed, and her heart clenches painfully again. If he asks her to leave, Mikasa just won’t be able to bear it. But his voice reverberates against her back. “I’d like you to stay.” The pain slowly returns, like an anaesthetic wearing off. Thoughts, images, guilt—everything swirls before her eyes, and she wants to hide from it, curl up into a ball, and have everyone leave her alone, but instead, Mikasa turns to Porco and kisses him again. Tears break through the carefully constructed dam. For the first time in these endless weeks, the pain isn’t the only thing holding her, the only thing she feels. And that’s enough not to push him away.