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Sakura gives up lighting the candle. The wind is strong, and the rain seems to have no intention of letting up. It’s a good thing she deferred on buying flowers. She only had enough until next week. She tightens her hold on her umbrella as she feels the gusts come her way. No use; it bends upwards, drenching her from head to toe.
Time and elements have eaten away the letters on the stone on the fifth floor of a grave apartment. To a stranger, it’s unmarked. To her, it’s a brief interlude of sunshine. How cruel — to have someone’s life be remembered through a bunch of lines.
Sakura waits for the tears. It’s always better to cry when it’s raining.
Most funerals fall on rainy days. She wished it was like that when her parents died, but the actual forecast was sunny. Not too humid, not too hot. The perfect summer day on a beach. No rain fell that day so she couldn’t cry.
When she went home, she tried to make a meal for herself. There was leftover rice on the rice cooker. She heated a pan to fry an egg, the last one in the fridge. She cracked it just fine. She watched as the edges made small bubbles before turning brown and crisp, waited until all but the yolk cooked (she liked her eggs runny), then she tried to scoop it onto her plate. The bottom stuck, and the yellow spilled over.
Right, it was still food.
She turned off the gas, assumed her position at the table for the last 13 years, and ate. Fat teardrops slid on her cheek. The rice went bad and the egg was unseasoned. She missed her parents.
Present day Sakura pats the wet blades of grass off her clothes and finds shelter under the thick canopy of balete , a strangler tree. A line of them has taken residence along the walls of the cemetery. Stories about them are plentiful across places, from cities to mountains. No one dares to cut them down lest they invoke the wrath of its otherworldly residents.
She only sees them as trees. Good for the environment but parasitic. Eats up non- balete species easily. Might also eat up the graves in less than a century. Some part of her is grateful for them; they’re one of the reasons why lots at the back are cheap. But if she doesn’t pay the next installment next month, Mebuki and Kizahi’s bones will be replaced by someone else. (She hopes the balete grows overnight and takes over the whole place.)
Ironic considering how no one is visiting the dead when it’s All Souls Day. People pay for space and markers as grand tributes and never come back again. Some bullshit.
“I would kill for a smoke right now.”
Strong smell of tobacco cuts through the petrichor. It’s distinct from normal nicotine sticks or the trendy vape tools. The sharp scent brings her back to her auntie’s house in the province, stringing fresh tobacco leaves and hanging them up to dry. When the leaves roll up nicely, that’s when she knows she did a good job.
The smoke comes from the branches above her. She follows the trail of the roots and its draping limbs until she sees the rorschach blots of orange and red before they could disperse in ash gray wisps.
He’s tall, around nine feet, or probably more than that when he stands upright. Sakura sucks at metrics. His hairy legs dangle loose over the branch — it’s a wonder how the wood can hold its weight.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not lost,” Sakura says out loud.
“Yes, I can see you.” She’s expecting a more guttural noise but his is flowy and clear, almost like how a violin would sound. “And yes, I haven’t played a prank on you yet although the desire is tempting.”
Stories say they enjoy making people walk in circles. The only way to end it is to reverse one’s clothes. “You’re a kapre .” A pervy one at that.
“And I heard you would like a smoke.”
He jumps down from his position with a loud thud and settles on the cradle of the humongous balete roots. Pretty sure his landing would have carved out a hole in the earth. Oddly enough, being at arm’s breadth from this supernatural creature doesn’t ignite fear in her. Paralysis, anxiety, cold, desperation, fight or flight — all of these abandoned her psyche.
She’s simply tired.
And she needs a smoke so bad.
The kapre opens his metal tin the size of her torso. She gingerly picks the one in the middle and cuts a third out of it; no way is she gonna smoke an arm-sized roll. That would be like contracting lung cancer in just two long drags.
She sits beside him, much more conscious of their size difference, and asks for a light. He leans in towards her roll, and that’s the only time she feels scared.
Because he doesn’t look like a kapre. He looks beautiful.
Oh, she underestimated her cockiness.
She coughs when the nicotine hits her lungs. His laughter is a rumble, quite a nice companion to the pitter-patter of rain, if only she isn’t fighting for her life being cool and unaffected. Sakura always had walls to build, but seconds only with him, and she’s a mess. Absurd.
“It had been a long time,” she says as an excuse.
“So you say.” He takes another long drag. That tobacco roll seems to never run out.
“You look more of a mix.”
“Please don’t loop me with the kinds of tikbalang - part horse, part human. They look horrendous.”
"True. The proportions don't match with them." Smoking gets easier. Familiarity, with something you hate and love, makes it difficult to forget. It's always in the back of one's head. "So what are you? An albino?"
The kapre considers the word for a moment and shrugs. "Probably."
Sakura sharply turns to his side. "Wait — your engkanto mom probably had an affair with a kapre!"
The creature smirks at her. "Hmm. Perceptive. You're right." He crosses his arms behind his head, and she finds it difficult to look away from the bulging veins of his biceps.
"I bet your whole kingdom is envious of you."
He laughs. "Oh it's the best of both worlds."
"I know I'm right. You look —"
Beautiful.
"— so out of place."
Sakura stares at him like he has grown two heads. How?
"The perfectionist engkantos think my height is an anomaly, and being five shades revokes your kapre citizenry."
"Oh."
He takes a long drag again and puffs out circles. "Yes oh."
The end of her roll is succumbing to the cold, diffusing in wisps that join the fog of the rain. Sakura pulls her knees closer to her chest. "Is that why you're here?"
"To project my misery on people?" He scoffs. "Of course, you're right."
"What's the worst prank you did?"
"I killed one."
She waits for her blood to run cold at the casual confession.
And waits and waits and waits. It doesn’t come. She remains the same nonchalant lady who entered the cemetery an hour ago.
Life, she realized, has numbed her to this point.
"Why?"
“Why?”
The creature looks at her incredulously, probably in awe why she hasn’t bolted yet. He licks his lips and rests one side of his chin to his palm. Sakura realizes this is how he recalls things.
He describes a long object with his arms and swings it horizontally. “He wanted to take down my tree.”
“Can’t you transfer somewhere else? It’s easy to grow a balete tree. You just leave it be.”
“My father’s side sticks strictly to one. It’s hard to find empty lots right now where I’m at.”
“Your house literally grows through concrete.”
“It’s much of a hassle when you wake up every other day with your house cut down. You understand we operate on two different time frames? Your life expectancy is only a few years to us.”
Sakura nods. “So the roadworks also affect you?”
“This is why you never progress.”
“Says someone with backward filial beliefs.”
“Excuse you, we have a different worldview.”
“You’re weird.” Sakura’s shift in topic is jarring. “You’re easy to converse with.”
“The gravediggers don’t talk to me anymore.” He resumes his attention on his tobacco.
Meanwhile, Sakura’s is wet from the rain. The half-consumed roll rests on the soil, crushed by muddy rivulets.
“So what’s your story, pinky?”
Sakura rests her back on the large trunk. “I’m visiting my parents.”
“At the height of a storm?”
In her soaked bag, a phone rings. Three rounds of alarm, standard disaster notice. The automated voice reads, Warning. Red rainfall warning and signal number four in Konoha. Evacuate now. Another three rounds and then it falls silent.
Sakura nods. “It’s my last goodbye.”
“Going away?”
“You could put it like that. Our house is on mortgage, and some local officials want to demolish it for a right of way.”
“Roadworks?”
“Roadworks. It would have been done and sealed if they gave me money.” Sakura starts to chip off the sides of her nails. “But they said I’m the one who owes them. It turned into a screaming match, and then I got a blotter.”
“Rough life. So you’re wanted right now.”
She side-eyes him. “What? Afraid of me?”
The kapre laughs. “No, you’re cool. That’s a word you use, right?”
“My parents don’t know though so be a good kapre and keep mum.”
He puts out his tobacco against the trunk and scoots closer to her. Sakura is silently grateful for the warmth. She’s drenched and the cold is sinking into her bones. A little more and she’s sure to contract pneumonia.
But this creature, this man, is like a campfire on a beach in the middle of December. If someone would cover her with a blanket, she would instantly fall asleep.
“Don’t you have someone?”
She thinks of all the people she slept with. Her best friend turned stranger. The school librarian and the expulsion after the discovery. Random Tinder matches. The bakery boy who always gave her one extra pandesal. The man she thought of as the one but hid her from his family.
She has memories of heartbreak, of crying and thrashing and cursing, but the pain has left her for good.
“No. I’m the first one to always leave.”
“That’s a shame. You’re pretty.” A finger lifts the end of her ponytail. “But this makes everything easier.”
“Are you hitting on me?” She flicks his large hand away.
His mouth curves upwards. A sneer. Menacing one. “Ah you’ve reached bottom rock if you think a kapre is a good prospect.”
Sakura drops the cool act and grunts. “I don’t think I’ll get married in this lifetime. Love is just too taxing.”
“But you’ve slept around.”
“Are you actually following me?”
“No, it’s a human thing to do. Sleep around. Some people do it on top of tombs.”
Sakura winces in disgust. “You’re such a voyeur.”
He holds up both of his hands. “Against my own will.”
The rain mercilessly keeps on, and the winds start to pick up speed. It’s chaos all over, but in her mind, Sakura is busy fondling sensations. Her fingers unconsciously trace the outline of her lips. “I miss kissing. Being kissed.”
“Is that a request?”
She snaps as if waking from a trance. The giant is teasing her, but the question piqued her curiosity. While he trained his gaze elsewhere, she slipped her small body near his frame, using the roots as her leverage. She quickly captures his face with her small hands.
He’s surprised. Or he went into shock. Either way, he’s not moving.
“What would it be like,” she stares deep into his eyes, “to kiss you?”
It’s a litmus test.
This creature’s actually intelligent so he must have known by now why Sakura wants to be riled up. All that she has felt lately is emptiness. She’s not expecting much. It might be just like other kisses before him — mechanical, numb, unfeeling.
Under all of these, she’s just scared to admit she lost the capacity for emotions.
What would it be like to kiss you? A horrendous folklore creature? Will it give me disgust or fear?
Sakura’s lips are only a fraction of his mouth.
Something ignites — from him or her, she doesn’t know. It feels like she grew several feet tall, and his face somehow perfectly fits the cradle of her hands. And his mouth which tastes of nicotine and rain and mint is accurately slotted against hers.
She shudders at the goosebumps that prick her skin. Figuring it’s just the cold, she inches closer until her hands reach his hairy chest. Those large hands find their way on her back and push her tighter against him.
She moans at the growing friction, inadvertently opening her mouth to his access. Tongue meets tongue and from there on out, everything is lost under the canopy of the straggler tree.
“You can shapeshift,” she notes after a long while.
The giant hums in agreement. “I’m a bit of everything, Sakura.”
She stills at the mention of her name. “How did you —”
The guilt on his face is an afterthought. “I told you. I’ll come back for you.”
Recollection comes to her in sweeping moments.
She remembers him.
She knows him.
These memories finally move to the forefront.
“Kakashi.”
Sakura utters the same name he gave so many years ago. A distant memory of her getting lost in a sea of legs. Grasping a hairy ankle. She held onto the hairs as the man walked and walked and walked. She woke up in a room bathed in blinding sunlight. She squinted a lot before finding focus on the giant man in front of her.
Silver hair, grey eyes, and a kind smile.
“Pretty.” She reached out with her short arms, and he crouched down to her level. Fingers squeezed the skin of his cheeks, making her giggle. “Pretty pretty pretty!” she kept repeating.
In retrospect, this must have been the first time he was described like that. The man cried when he heard the word. Sakura didn't think much of it back then. She was too hungry to think straight.
Seeing her expression, he quickly led her to a table filled with food, and she took her favorite — a sweetened milk powder one ate through a straw called mikmik.
She also grabbed a Chuckie , a chocolate drink. Her classmates had this for snacks while she was stuck with diluted milk.
"Thank you!" She minded her manners. Her mom says they can get you through life. "You have a nice house!"
The creature kept smiling. "What's your name?"
"Sakura!"
"That's a rare name."
"Father says it matches my hair!" She points to another carton of chuckie. "Can I bring some for my parents, mister giant?"
He nods. "Call me Kakashi."
“When I grow up, I’m gonna marry you Kakashi!” She indulged in every treat at the table, and he let her.
“Why?”
Sakura counted the reasons on her stubby fingers. “You’re pretty. You have food. You have a nice house.”
He laughed, and she felt the whole room rumble.
“I cannot keep you here. You should go home,” he said with fondness in his voice. “For now.”
Once again, she was wrapped around his ankle. When he stopped walking after a while, she knew it was goodbye.
“Will I see you again?” she asked him. “Thank you for feeding me, Kakashi!”
“Do you want to go back?”
Sakura didn’t know her answer would matter much.
“Yes!”
“Then I’ll come back for you.”
He dropped her off at the entrance of the cemetery from where she traced her steps back to their house. Haruno Sakura had been missing for a week.
x x x
Sakura still made no move to go away. She sits still on the damp root system and watches every microexpression on his face.
“Your parents made it hard to see you again. Had you visit a folk doctor and gave you some charm to ward me off.”
“Did you kill them?”
Kakashi twirls his finger in the air. “No. Road accidents aren’t my thing. Can’t say I wasn’t happy. That made it easier to see you from time to time.”
She weighs his words carefully. “Are you gonna kidnap me now?”
“Hmm, no need for that. You already took a puff out of my tobacco roll, and you kissed me.” He sounds so proud of himself. “I don’t think you need any more convincing.”
She feels an eerie pounding in her chest. The way she went from extreme butterflies (after a long drought) to desperation is whiplash. “Are there any more machinations in my life courtesy of you?”
“None really. I was merely a bystander, patiently waiting for the right time.”
“And now is?”
He smiles again but doesn’t answer. “I guess I need to give you the courtesy to choose. Come back to my home and I’ll make you stay missing.”
The courtesy to choose does not exist. She knows she has sold her soul to him the moment she grabbed food on his table. It’s a common warning — never accept any food or drink from these types of creatures. Once you do, you become one of them.
Kakashi only extended her grace period on earth.
Sakura closes her eyes in frustration.
“What happens if I say no?”
“You’ll just have to visit me every other day to keep me company.” She won’t get rid of him. She’s not entirely sure if she wants to get rid of him.
She thinks about their house along the railway tracks. Most furniture was already sold. The mountain of bills she stuffed in the trash can (tomorrow’s the collection day). Five disconnection notices. Three eggs past the expiration date. A rejection email for a job application. The crumpled recommendation slip inside her pocket. The bottle of pills she swiped at the public health office.
She has prayed long and hard for this opportunity.
To disappear.
Sakura grabs Kakashi’s wrist and stares at him. “Come on then.”
She expects atmospheric pressure, the kind where you feel all sorts of weight push towards you and propel you in another dimension. It turns out to be as easy as stepping into a bridge and walking the whole way through.
She should have done this sooner.
Kakashi’s world is bathed in sunlight. Sakura immediately feels warmth travel the inches of her skin. A modest spire gate and a room that’s carved out from her memory.
It’s the bedroom she draws on the back of her notebook. Queen-sized bed with pastel green sheets, fluffy pillows, and a duvet. A bedside table with fresh chrysanthemums on a vase. A desk on the corner. A reading nook with built-in shelves around it.
“You’ve been preparing,” Sakura notes.
“I wanted to make you comfortable,” Kakashi replies. He takes her hand and leads her into the dining area. It’s exactly how she remembers it, filled to the brim with not a space uncovered with a dish. “This is now your world Sakura.”
She picks up a Chuckie carton. “Thank you, Kakashi.” And then she starts to cry.