She thinks it's Sasuke, at first. It's stupid to think that—so, so stupid. Her love for Sasuke is not a secret; and she is not jealous of him or cruel to him. Nor is he jealous of her, or cruel to her.

The marigolds curling around her ribcage cannot be for Sasuke.

(Ino knows who they're for.)

The first petal she coughs up is golden-yellow and brilliant red, a marigold in full bloom. Her family looks at her; all too kind and all too pitying for her tastes.

(People come to the Yamanaka for two reasons: therapy and hanahaki. Those two are not mutually exclusive.)

She knows this flower—of course she does, she works in a flower shop. She knows it's meaning; all it implies.

She knows what Hanahaki does to your career if you confess and are turned down or if you don't confess at all. She knows what the chances of survival are; and she knows that she can't continue to be a Kunoichi of the Hidden Leaf with flowers choking her heart and lungs.

She knows she'll do it anyway.

Sasuke leaves; and Sakura falls into despair. Ino watches and cannot do much else, as every time she gets near, petals force their way up her throat and out of her mouth. She chokes on them, chokes on the blood and tears and love as she fails to help her best friend through trying times.

Ino watches Sakura get stronger and falls more and more in love, marigolds climbing her rib cage and tightening around her heart as she wastes away.

It is, of course, Shikamaru who figures it out first.

"You're not dieting again," he says. It's a statement rather than a question; and an utterly unexpected one at that. "You're sick," he continues, "Something that's preventing you from training and seeing Sakura."

He says her name and all Ino can think of is pink hair and a blinding smile; and it stays that way until the marigolds overtake both her thoughts and her throat and she coughs up blood and torn petals.

"Oh," Shikamaru says, his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back. Ino thinks he's going to fall back to his usual; label her troublesome and leave, just like Sakura, just like everyone else, but he doesn't. "Are you going to tell her?"

"No," Ino croaks, voice hoarse and broken, "I can't do that to her. She's in love with Sasuke."

"You know," Shikamaru tells her, a sad sort of amusement shading his voice, "for a Yamanaka, you're pretty bad at reading people."

Ino doesn't understand, but she doesn't need to. Her love will not love her back; and she will die of a disease that is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

They sit there, after that, side by side in a comfortable silence; broken only by choked-off coughs and the gentle rustling of the trees above them.

Shikamaru starts coming around more often. He helps out at the flower shop, sometimes; hauling things places and telling customers flower meanings. Ino doesn't know why he's doing it, but she appreciates it—the help and the company both—so she never complains.

It helps take her mind off Sakura, if only for a little while. The marigold petals choking her trachea and the roots digging into muscle and curling around bone never let her forget for long.

She knows she's reaching the final stages, after far, far too long of flowers and illness and training despite it being against recommendations. She knows that the only thing that can save her now is a miracle; one of love returned by one she could never admit it to, or one of medical excellence.

If it came to surgery, only Tsunade of the Sannin could save her; and the Hokage has better things to do than to save the life of a pathetic, love-struck genin.

So she forgoes any thoughts of surgery, of love returned; revels in the inevitability of her death sooner than most.

"All things die, in the end," Shikamaru tells her, "you don't have to do it now."

"What more time do I have?" she asks him; and receives no reply.

She weaves cherry blossoms into her newly braided hair, revels in the fleetingness of all that comes with the crisp spring air; and dances a dance of burning lungs and creaking ribs; any previously gained muscle now worth nothing.

Shikamaru smiles, wryly amused at the flowers in her hair. "You should go see Sakura with your hair like that," he tells her, "the pink looks good with platinum blonde."

Ino, supremely unimpressed, sets him to stacking boxes again.

Asuma enters the flower shop angry; looking for wayward students who haven't turned up for training for a week. He leaves with an assorted bouquet, looking like he had the day of his father's funeral—as if the world had gone grey and meaningless.

Ino's a little sorry for that; she probably could have broken the news better. Shikamaru looks like a kicked puppy, though, so Ino drops herself into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck; pulling him into a hug.

"It'll be okay," she tells him, "it's not like many people will really miss me anyway. I wasn't all that nice in the academy."

Shikamaru starts at that, pulls away and looks at her like she's insane. "No one will-" He cuts himself off, stares at her like he looks at things he really doesn't want to do but knows he has to; and then moves her off him. "C'mon," he says, urging until she gets up, "we're going for a walk."

He takes her to talk to Chouji, who listens for less than 10 seconds before sweeping her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Of course we'd miss you!" he says, "you're like, the glue that holds this team together! Without you, Shika and I wouldn't ever get anything done."

"Oh," Ino manages, "thank you?"

"You're really smart and pretty too," Chouji adds, "and you're so confident. Please don't think badly of yourself."

Shino tells her that without her, the village would feel colder. Hinata says she inspired her, Kiba adds that she's always nice to Akamaru; and that she can come around to play with the puppies any time.

Tenten says her fight with Sakura in their first chunin exam taken together was badass, if a little rough, and offers to teach her if she sticks around. Lee tells her that her beauty and determination are admirable traits. Neji is like Sasuke was, before he defected and became an asshole—pretty and talented and quiet—but he tells her that she cares for her hair beautifully, and suggests threading a spiked ninja wire through her braids.

(She had never thought of that, and she thanks him profusely for the suggestion.)

He takes her to Sakura last, when she's emotionally worn out, with tear tracts ruining her mascara and cherry blossoms in her hair.

"Sakura," he says, pushes her forwards slightly, "talk to Ino."

"Shika!" Ino cries, spinning to face him, "this is betrayal." Sakura snorts behind them, softly amused; and marigolds tug at Ino's heart.

"Would talking to me really be that bad?" She asks, no trace of hurt in her voice. It's all curiosity and wry amusement. Shikamaru looks at her expectantly; and Ino chokes down the marigolds as they try and force themselves from her throat and says.

"No, it wouldn't be." Giving a sheepish laugh, she tacks on a quick, "I like talking to you."

"Oh, good!" Sakura grabs her hand and pulls her along as she chatters about her training; her teachers; the rest of the remains of the Konoha Twelve. Ino listens, nods along, but can't bring herself to contribute—caught up in protecting Sakura from the love she's cultivated deep within her lungs.

They walk around the city together, just for a while, until Sakura asks the inevitable.

"Why'd Shikamaru drag you over to see me?"

"Oh," Ino laughs, all almost-nervous energy and fervent hesitance. "He was taking me to see all of the Konoha Twelve, actually, because I said something silly and he took it the wrong way."

(He heard it exactly as she had meant it to be heard—he just didn't agree—but Sakura doesn't need to know that. Ino's fine, even with her own love a noose around her neck.)

"Ah," Sakura says, then smiles at her, bright and blinding. "Well, I'm glad he did! I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. I've missed talking to you, Ino."

"You have?"

"Yeah, of course! You're my best friend." Sakura's smile is softer, now, hesitance and love; all that Ino simultaneously wishes and dreads she'll see.

(When she was a child, she was selfish. She took and she took and she took and she didn't care for what other people were losing. Now she is older, if not old; and she cannot bring herself to be selfish.)

"I wasn't very nice to you in the academy," she says, hears the confusion in her own voice, "why would you want to be my friend now?"

"Ino," Sakura says, grabbing both of her hands and folding them together, "you gave me the confidence I needed to get through the academy and become a ninja. You're the reason I'm where I am right now. Rivalry or not, I always considered you my best friend."

"Oh," is all she manages to get out, staring at Sakura in shock. The marigold roots tighten around her ribcage.

"And," Sakura starts, hesitates, smiles again. It's almost like a defence mechanism. "You've always been more important to me than that, as well."

"What?" her breath catches in her throat and flowers suffocate in her lungs, a sign of hope for the next moments.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Sakura says, and she's laughing in that way people do when they're hopeless, when they think there's nothing left for them. "I like you, Ino. As more than a friend."

Ino laughs, desperate and hopeful for the first time in a while; and before Sakura's expression can shift from anticipative to heartbroken, she says; "I thought you'd never love me back."

(And flowers turn to dust turn to nothing, in preparation for a happily ever after.)