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purple roses

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“Here,” says Karin, and Ino stares down at the flower that’s being thrust into her face.

It’s a carefully dethorned purple rose, and she takes it carefully. It’s real, and it smells nice, fresh, and she looks up from it to meet her friend’s eyes. Karin is almost as red as her hair, but she glares at Ino, or maybe just squints really hard, trying to keep her composure. “A rose, Karin?”

Somehow, Karin’s face gets even darker. “W-Well, you like flowers, right? And roses are like, romantic and shit and purple’s your favorite color or at least you wear it a lot, so.” The other girl adjusts her glasses. “Go on a date with me.”

Ino stares at her for a long moment, before breaking down into giggles. “Okay,” she says, and she takes two quick steps forward to cross the distance in between them and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Purple roses mean ‘love at first sight’, though, just so you know.”

Karin, as red as a tomato, carefully reaches out and tangles their hands together. “Well. Then. I, um.” She clears her throat awkwardly, and Ino gives her hand a squeeze. “I guess I chose the right flower, then.”

Ino giggles again, bumping her hip into Karin’s. “So you’ve liked me for a whole year and never said a word?”

“Shut up, Ino.”