Of all the things she might have expected next, running into Superman was not really among them. Running into Superman holding a sweater she apparently knit for him (it does look like her own careful, even stitches and patterns) is even lower on the list.

She's not sure she's the gift-giving sort, so she needlessly complicates it far beyond the simple polite return comment that's all she really would have needed. It results in her simply wordlessly taking the return package.

What does Superman give people on his Christmas list anyway? And does this qualify as one of the oddest dreams she's had? Her fingers gently wean the tape away from the wrapping paper.

When Ami wakes up, she'll be left to wonder why her dream was scattered about with pieces of knitting and sewing and gifts- all things she'd say she left behind years ago. But in the dream, it evokes only that familiar confusion, the sense of something she's missing that she should know.

It feels especially weird to have received a gift in return, somehow. She's supposed to say thank-you. She knows that. But she's not quite sure how.

"I sort of like this color," she says finally, a lame attempt.

"The size won't matter," she said truthfully. "However, I don't know how any of these came to be here." Since Superman was claiming his, she must mean the one she just gave him, and others with her name on the gift tags.

It opened up a worse possibility: her mind simply playing tricks on her. It wouldn't have been the first time, and she was uncomfortably aware of the fact. To save at least a little face, she didn't argue any further.

"What about yours?" she says instead, curious about just how far the dreamscape had gone. "Does it fit?"

How could she have possibly known his size?

No, definitely not the tailoring sort. It had been... a passing hobby, nothing more. She'd learned she enjoyed sewing.

"I didn't know it," she says simply. "It was coincidence."