Title: Weekly

Author: AppleL0V3R

Beta-reader: SymphoniaFreak

Fandom: Naruto

Pairing: Sabaku no Gaara and Haruno Sakura

Other Characters: (mentions of)Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke, Sai, Sabaku no Temari, and Sabaku no Kankuro

Theme: Laundry

Summary: Once a week, he does the laundry. Once a week, he sees her. Once a week, she wonders why he doesn't do it more often.

Word Count: 2,000

Rating: T

Type: One-shot Collection – Complete

Genre: AU, Humor, Romance (Fluff)

Warnings: N/A

Disclaimer: If you've heard of it before, then it's obviously not mine.

Started: Apr 20, 2016

Completed: June 2, 2016

Last Edited: September 7, 2016

Humming to herself, Sakura slid out of the driver's side of her old pick-up truck and circled her vehicle until she was in front of the bed which was covered with black tarp. Today, as it happened, was not the day she generally did laundry, but her best friends had been skipping on doing theirs for a while. And the moment she realized it, she reorganized her plans for the day so that all of it would get done. Or at least most of it; with three guys who weren't the greatest about remembering to do little things like laundry, the amount built up quite a bit. Enough so that she'd shoved everything into baskets and put them in the back of her truck rather than in the backseat like she normally stored hers. And even then, her truck seemed to be covered in nothing but clothes.

If she weren't organized and ready to tackle the mass she had no doubt the small feeling of being overwhelmed by it all would be more mountain than mole hill. But this was hardly her first rodeo, and she knew from trial and error the best way to get efficiently and as completely as possible through all the laundry, was to snag two baskets and get started. They did say the best way to eat an elephant was one bite at a time. Which was exactly what she intended to do—sort two baskets, get them started and come back for another basket. After the original two were out of the wash, they'd go in the dryer and the next would go in the wash and she'd return for the next one. Like one long assembly line where she was constantly repeating the familiar motions, she would steadily but surely get through the whole mess. And give up a lot of quarters.

No matter what anyone said, Sakura collected quarters solely for laundry day. Especially for times like this when she had numerous loads to do and needed all the quarters she could get her hands on.

She found a corner to occupy, near enough to do the door that she didn't have to do whole bunch of walking but enough out of the way that no one else would either encroach or be able to accidentally mess up her progress. After upturning both baskets and pilling the cloths up in the same mound to be sorted back into the baskets which got set to either side like place guards denoting her space, she fished out her Ipod and scrolled for a lengthy playlist that appealed enough that she would not be constantly pulling it back out to change songs or lists. That done, she set into the task of lights and darks, heedless of whose clothes belong to who, she knew her boys well enough to be able to sort them back out to their proper owners in any event. It was why she generally got stuck on laundry duty despite there being four of them all together. She could not even find it in herself to be irate with the brats anymore. It just was now.

She passed the time dancing to catchy tunes, humming to overly familiar songs, and softly singing along with well-known lyrics. Some people did come in, but for the most part, this particular Laundromat was out of the way and quiet, especially considering it was a Thursday morning, and most people were at work or school or shopping. That was why she liked to spend the first part of one of her days off doing this rather than waiting for a more convenient time in her schedule—ha!—or trying to get much needed sleep. She liked having the place essentially to herself—no prying eyes, no one to deal with. Just her, her music, and several loads of laundry.

And then he walked in.

Easily a good head taller than her, lean, and just this side of dark, the redhead had become a regular of sorts at the Laundromat. A month and a half ago was the first time she saw him walk in, and then she saw him every week thereafter. Apparently they both had the same day and time cut out in their schedule to come down to the local Laundromat to do laundry. He generally didn't have a lot of clothes to wash and he always settled on the other side of the building from her, but she could not help but be a little curious. The first few times, she peeked around baskets, and stole glances, intrigued enough to make guesses at his story. The next few weeks after that she debated the merits of striking up a conversation, but could not seem to muster the courage to walk up to him. After all, there was a reason she came in early on a weekday, and she knew how she responded to someone else trying to engage her in conversation.

Last week she noted clearly feminine clothes in his belongings, and decided that maybe she should stop pondering all together. After all, he could easily be married. Granted, she washed guy clothes and they definitely did not belong to a husband or boyfriend. Still, she figured that if he wanted anything to do with her, he would have at least said hello to her by now. Instead, he barely even nodded at her when he came in and certainly did not try to make any connection to her at any point after that.

She would be lying if the fact that he seemed to have an ominous aura surrounding him was not something else she considered. Tall, dark, and handsome to be sure. And she knew she could be hella nosy when she wanted so she talked herself out of greeting him, talking to him, or prying into what was clearly not her business.

This week however, when he set his baskets down—closer to her than usual, she noted absently—he glanced up at her. She froze, immediately wondering if she had been staring, and been caught mid-gawk. Except she had not. Because she was queen of the covert glance, and had actually been in the processes of turning in the direction of the door because her arms were full of the second finished load of laundry and was going to cart it off to her truck in favor of grabbing load number five. She watched as he stepped closer to the table, clearing a path for her that did not include running into him, and nodded at her before looking back at his own laundry.

Sakura blinked, surprised and a little unsure—and a little chagrined at feeling off put by something as simple as a nod. Telling herself she was being ridiculous, she forced herself to walk by him, returning the nod when he glanced up again and threw in a smile for his benefit. There, she told herself, a little bit of civility and now they could both get back to their tasks.

Gaara watched from the corner of his eye as the young pink-haired woman exited the Laundromat, head up and hips swaying. He had noticed her the very first time he came in, shortly after moving to the area, and had noticed her every time thereafter, usually with a few loads of laundry, and halfway finished with her trip. A habitual early riser, he had found it interesting that for six weeks straight, she had been there before him, clearly wide awake and ready to get on with the rest of her day. With her headphones firmly in her ears and bare feet moving to the beat as she went back and forth between the table and the machines, he could not help but simply watch her.

Whoever she was, she was a novelty.

But Gaara had not had the best luck with women, or life in general to date, and the very idea of approaching such a vivacious, beautiful woman was not an idea he was willing to consider any time soon. So inside, he stuck to glancing at her when she was not looking and setting up as far from her as possible just to be safe. He could peek when she was busy and admire the thing of beauty she was without having to make up excuses for his staring. Though he could not shake the feeling that she was stealing glances too, subtly but he knew what it felt like to have eyes on him.

And so, today, he took a risk, and set up on not just the same side, but at the end of the row of tables from her. If he was wrong, he could go back to his corner. But if he was right? He had seen her lips moving when she moved and wondered what she sounded like, what she listened to. She was a spot of color in his week, and while he refused to wonder all of those silly ponderings outside of the Laundromat, he could not keep them at bay when the source of them was right there provoking the questions. He had not expected to be looking at her when she turned with a finished load of the laundry, clearly on her way back out of the building. Feeling like a deer-in-headlights, he could not seem to manage anything but stepping out of her way and nod at her.

Only after she was out the door did he not regret attempting something even a little bolder. But, with two baskets still on the table and one of the washers going, he figured he would get another shot. Maybe he could manage to not be so tongue-tied and get out a hello. Maybe ask her what she was listening to. After all, this small chance seemed to be going well enough.

She wasn't screaming bloody murder, like the last woman had. That was a plus right?

He was nearly done with the three loads of laundry that accounted for him and his siblings, when she came back with another basket full of her own. That had to easily be number six or seven, why did she have so many? And those were definitely guy clothes, certainly smelled like them even from several feet away. Right then, he realized that a woman like that probably had a boyfriend or something. The idea made him frown, but he told himself that he did not know her name, had not even greeted her in six weeks of laundry visits, so it was not like he could say anything on the matter. Assuming he ever convinced himself to attempt dating again, anyway.

As she walked back to her little station, her gaze strayed to his, and while there was a bit of surprise in those pretty green eyes, there was also warmth and she gave him a small smile. When she set her stuff down, he could not help but stand and watch as she paused—but he could not see enough of her face to make any assumptions on why. After a beat, she twisted on her heel to face him, a smile in place and a mix of curiosity and determination in her eyes. "Hi, I'm Sakura."

Thrown by the sudden greeting, the way she seemed so at ease with introducing herself to a complete stranger with such apparent earnest, he nearly stuttered to reciprocate. "Hello." A brief pause, "I am Gaara. Sabaku no Gaara."

Like making a friend was just that easy.

Judging by the smile she gave him, equal parts welcoming and sincere and so at ease, he guessed that it kind of was.

Trying to not duck his head like an embarrassed teenage boy, he gave her a small, probably shy, smile back.

Then they both resumed finishing up their loads of laundry and he hoped that next week they exchanged more than names and hellos.