Disclaimer: I do not own Sailormoon, or its characters.

Notes: Ah, lazy summer days. I thought this fic was quite appropriate for the season.

The story begins with Haruka's P.O.V.

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Summer Joys

            It was warm. The sunshine was soft, layering over me like a blanket.

            I had missed the feeling, of comfort, of security.

            I could not smile yet, but the feeling of gentle contentment spread through my body like warm bath water.

            She looked at me then, blue eyes concerned, and wondering. I gave her a lop-sided smile from my unique view. I was stretched out on the grass, my head tilted on its side. The drawing of each breath I took was steady, relaxed. Crouching, she leaned forward, curly hair falling away from her back and resettling at her shoulder. I just smiled again, and closed my eyes.

            /Everything's fine/    I wanted to telepathically send to her.

            /I am happy/

            I could feel her body heat draw away, and still drowsy, I could hear the light sketching of pencil on paper. My curiosity roused for a while, before the summer sun beat it back and wrapped me again in it's sleepy cocoon.

            I half-consciously noted that Hotaru was shouting something to Chibi-Usa farther down, among the daisies. Setsuna had walked even further, to admire the garden roses.

            Michiru. She was still sketching. But I smiled, knowing that she wasn't leaving me behind into her own little world.

            Funny. I feel myself drifting into my own.

/How/…          

/Hard to keep aware/…..

/so hard to stop/…… /feeling the warmth/

            Michiru finally noticed that Haruka was asleep. Her breathing had winded down, and her blonde bangs were scattered at her forehead. Picking up a second pencil (the first's sharpness had worn down) she signed her drawing.

            That evening, long after the summer sun was set, Tokyo's elite was attending an art exhibit. Among the wonderful finished works was a modest sketch, a small work, by M. Kaioh, of summer grass, and a reposed figure.

Titled simply "Summer Joys," each passerby could not help but wonder who the anonymous sunbather was, and at the sincere expression of contentment in her sleeping features.

The End