"Thank you for saving my life last night."

Saitama put down his fork. He didn't finish his eggs in the time it took me to shower. Perhaps he got distracted by the TV. He lowered the volume with the remote when he saw me approaching. "You're welcome?" he said.

I brushed wet hair from my eyes. There would be a matter of time before it regained its usual curliness. Well, not that I minded. I lived with curly hair long enough to not care if I got a severe case of bedhead every morning. A quick shower, followed by a toss over my shoulder, fixed everything without having to find the hairbrush if I wasn't leaving the apartment. Though, doing this did sometimes lead to me obsessing over split ends. Saitama was right to tell me to stop pulling them.

"You left this here," he said, reaching to his side. He produced a small paper bag. "Had no idea you were on medication."

I blinked. It took everything within me not to facepalm. I honestly should have returned it to my room before showering. "I've been on them for over a year now," I said. "They're to help with anxiety and depression."

He gave me a slight nod. "Huh." He handed over the bag.

"I need to remember not to leave these out as long as somebody else is around," I said. "The last time I did, Mom tossed them because she couldn't read small print… I went dumpster diving."

He sat straight. "I read that. Never said what you were after. You almost cut yourself on broken glass."

"To make things worse—"

"Your mom laughed at you?"

I merely stood there.

"They're gone," he said. "I can't imagine how it feels."

Both my hands jiggled. I folded them behind my back. Mom and Grandma were my family by blood. While people say friends are temporary and family was forever, I never felt connected to any of my family besides my sister.

Take Grandma, for example. She hated everybody for one reason or another. Nicki and I were "lazy-ass grandchildren". Mom was a "teenage lush". The neighbors and their toddler were "too quiet". Somebody, either the building management's men or Mom, fiddled with the living room's radiator "on purpose". Yep, everybody but her got blamed for something. She deflected fault whenever it fell upon her. Until last night, that is.

Again with the rambling. I shook my head. Stop. It. Sam. Why?

"Let me guess," Saitama said. "You're thinking?"

"Too much," I groaned. "One half of me is a supposed hobbyist writer. The other's a habitual introvert. I have to talk to somebody, so," I shrugged, "there's just me if my sister isn't around.

"Anyway, letting you stay here is the least I can do after last night. Abigail shouldn't mind as long as I keep on top of the rent."

He grunted and sank into the couch cushions. "Never liked her. She never let anybody get a word in."

"Sounds like Abigail, alright," I said. "I can't be rude to her. She's the landlady."

"She's rude. If I were you, I'd tell her to shut up."

"Were I Abigail, I'd evict you on the spot. I wouldn't want to scare the other tenants away. Come to think of it, Grandma as a person must be why her neighbors moved after the arrival of their second k—" Nope. Stop. Enough. Move on. "Did you read the first volume of the OPM manga?"

His head did a left tilt. "I gotta finish my workout."

The ten-kilometer run. How could I forget? "Of course," I said, lifting my phone. I opened my internet browser and brought up the keyboard. "Would you mind if I helped you there? I wouldn't want you to get lost and end up beyond the state border or something."

He shrugged. "Sure."

For starters, I typed, 'How many miles from my current location to the edge of Clearpeak?' I hit the send button and waited.

Rustling. Glancing up, I found Saitama standing across from me.

I averted my eyes. The inquiry I sent loaded a map with a yellow highlight on one of the many streets in town, carving a path from my street to— I zoomed in on the end of the path— the northern edge of town.

"Three miles," Saitama read from the screen. "How many kilometers is that?"

Another tab was opened and typed into. 'Three miles into kilometers.' What appeared after hitting send was, '4.946 kilometers.' Times that by two and we would get…

"There from here and back is 9.892 kilometers assuming I'm doing the math right," I said. "Would you want to go for the full ten? Or is this good enough for you?"

"Full ten."

My next input lined with a nearby landmark on the map. This was a tall street sign leading into a parking lot which read, "Golden Bagel Bakery".

"Good enough," Saitama said, turning around. He plucked a red boot from the carpet floor. "I'll get going."

"No," I said.

He already shoved a socked foot into his boot. "Huh?"

"You've got a track record of getting lost. Who's to say you find your way to the bagel store, make a wrong turn, and find yourself halfway across the country? I should go with you."

He lobbed at me a blank stare for the second time today. What could be happening in that brain of his? Confusion? Disgust? Anger at me for assuming he couldn't handle himself?

Gah, I couldn't stand being stared at by Saitama, of all people. I whirled to the couch and seized the TV remote he left on its right arm. I clicked the off button, making a mental note to restore the volume if he didn't by the time evening rolled around.

"You… Much."

I jolted. "What did you say?"

"Worry 'bout yourself, Sam. I can manage on my own."

The remote bounced once on the couch before settling. "Bu-but…" I said.

"But hey, you don't get out much," Saitama said. "Fresh air will do you good." He made a "come on" sort of hand gesture. "Let's go."

I battled the lump shaping in my throat. He sure chucked this situation right back at me. "I'm not exactly ready to go anywhere yet—"

"Get some shoes on," he said. "We're leaving now. I'm not waiting for you to brush your hair or find better clothes or whatever. You don't need 'em."

"Can't you wait for me to at least put on a—"

"That was quick."

Eggs weren't a good enough breakfast for Saitama. He bit into the toasted bagel I offered to pay for after we reached the bakery.

To be fair, toasted bagels are amazing. I bought one of my own to eat when we returned to the apartment. "8:30 when we left," I continued, reading from my phone. "8:40 now. Five minutes to find the path, two and a half to run it, the rest to backtrack because you overshot the goal. Good thing I ducked once I realized how fast you could go. The turbulence you generate is insane."

"Uh-huh," he said with a bite in his mouth.

I scowled. "Swallow before you talk, please. Are we running or walking back?"

"Walking."

I nearly stopped in my tracks. Could he decide to do this every day instead of rushing back to the apartment? Totally my fault for not picking a route that would be three miles of him getting somewhere and three miles returning to the start. Were he to make me walk, traveling three miles wouldn't kill me as much.

Perhaps if Saitama liked this route enough, he would be fine on his own after today? He could do his routine while I got an overdue start on a New Year's resolution. By which I mean I would play a fitness game, toss the controller by accident, strike my guest right between the eyes as he came into the house, scream a late 'Fore!' before hiding in the bedroom, and maybe or maybe not construct a pillow fort to await a declaration of war. Sounded like a plan to me. Maybe if I could call getting him pissed a good plan.

I unwrapped my bagel, removed a top slice, and bit into it. The rest went in my bag. Each piece deserved to be savored on its own rather than slaughtered like Saitama's bacon-laden atrocity.

"You alright?" Saitama asked between bites. "You're looking at me funny."

I did something I instantly wished could be undone. Flinching. Of all the ways to react, I chose to flinch. To top it off, I cringed.

He stared.

How the hell could I not make this worse? Maybe I could outright mention he caught me at another of those odd moments where my mind meandered. Or, upon removing the food between my teeth, I could say, "The cashier got my order wrong. She got me cream cheese instead of butter. I hate cream cheese."

Unfortunately, I didn't account for how he could simply glance over my shoulder. He shook his head. "You've got butter. We both did."

"Oh," I said. "I, uh, can't believe it is butter." Just like that, I didn't feel hungry anymore. I tossed the bagel piece into my bag with the rest of them.

"Speaking of people looking funny," Saitama said, "did ya notice the cashier?"

I sighed. "What about her, Tama? As far as I could tell, she's a regular old high schooler with a shitty part-time job—"

"You remember her face?"

Smooth blocks of concrete passed beneath my feet. Nothing distinguished them from the others.

"No," I said. "I hate staring at people's faces. You suck at remembering them." Or was it people's names he struggled with? Maybe both?

"No, I remember her," Saitama said. "Long dark hair, glared at us from behind a face mask… You think she knows me?"

"I doubt you're as well known to the general public as characters like Pikachu, Mickey Mouse, and Goku. Let me add how you sort of went M.I.A. from your series because the artists wanted to show the other characters' strengths in a drawn-out battle sequence. Boring."

Saitama chewed and swallowed another bagel piece during my monolog. "You're done?"

Oh, boy. There I went again. "We-well…"

"So the short version is," he said, "I'm not too popular here. Long fights bore you."

"Generally, I get bored when there are endless scenes which have nothing to do with characters I like," I said. "I still find long fights to be boring fights. Call me boring or way too logical, but that's not how battles work in real life. Just hit 'em with your strongest attacks and be done with it. Return to the wacky hijinks already."

"...I see."

We continued walking. Dozens of one-story stores and street openings into deserted parking lots came and went. Today's early morning rush must have ended. There was only me, him, the sound of our footsteps, and an unending curvy road. Clouds filled the sky from the incoming thunderstorm I heard of yesterday.

Why had I not thought of bringing an umbrella in case we got stuck in the rain? Perhaps not planning, unless it were for a story I wanted to write, was a trait I inherited from my mother. So why did I choose a route equaling six miles in length instead of three? Because I'm a big dumbass. If things happened and I liked them, I let them happen.

"I do take after my mother," I grumbled, crossing my arms. I would have asked Saitama to wait so I could grab an umbrella and a pair of earbuds. Loud booms coming from out of nowhere and I didn't mix all too well.

Up ahead, Saitama perked and glanced over his shoulder. "You say something, Sam?"

"Nothi—"

"Holy shit!"

I whirled on my heel.

Behind us was a lanky boy maybe in his teenage years going by his acne and voice crack. He shouldered a black bookbag and stared at both of us with wide blue eyes. He held a phone as thin as himself in his left hand.

"Eh?" said Saitama, joining me in looking him over. "Where'd you come from?"

"Uh," I said, "kid? Shouldn't you be at school?"

The boy's maw fell. "It's you!" he exclaimed, pointing at us. Or maybe he could be pointing at Saitama? "You're the anime guy who's been all over the news!" Oh, yes. He referred to Saitama. There was no time to dwell on that, however, as…

"'The anime guy'?" Saitama echoed, glancing at me.

"'All over the news'?" I said, returning his uncertain look.

"Don't you watch the news?!" the kid shrieked, twirling toward me.

I jumped.

"Anime's real!" he said. He closed in on me still screaming to his heart's content. "He's standing next to you. You can't ignore anime!"

I wasn't about to. For one minute, I managed to stand in the open somehow withstanding the howls of an unbridled juvenile. Within the next, I cowered under a layer of white.

"Whoa, kid," Saitama said, "chill. You're scaring her."

"Everybody's talking about you," the kid said. "You're number one trending on Twitter. You… And that girl you're with. Who is she?"

"Nobody important," I squeaked.

This kid must have been, well, kidding me. Yes, I blew up an apartment. Yes, Saitama caused a disturbance. Nobody probably saw who was behind the apartment's destruction. But when we were out in the open, somebody did yell at us. Somebody saw us.

Saitama's gloved hand came swiping at me. His fingers wrapped around my elbow. "Get out from under there," he said.

"No," I said, "get rid of him first."

"Get rid of… Them?"

I glanced from under his cape.

More people had appeared. The kid was still here. Some older ladies approached us. The one in the back pushed a child in a stroller. Employees in aprons peeked from a store. Our small audience even included a bearded dude in a suit and a fancy hat I recognized from when a train to college was part of my daily routine.

I ducked. After seeing them all... No thanks.

"Look," a woman said. "It really is him."

Saitama shifted. "Give us some room, will ya?"

"What did he say?" another woman asked.

"Don't look at me," a man said. "The only other language I know is Spanish."

"He's Japanese," the first woman said. "I assume he's speaking his language."

Saitama said, "What're you talking about? I under—"

"I hear him in English!" shouted the teenage boy. "He wants us to give him room."

"Yeah, could you step back? You guys are staring like I'm a—"

"But it's you!" the boy said. "You're fucking Saita—"

"Watch your mouth!" one of the women said. "There's a child here."

I could see a pair of shoes under Saitama's cape. Somebody didn't heed his warning to back off. Before I could say anything, they crept a little closer and, suddenly, I saw light. Petrified, I gazed into the eyes of the pale-skinned boy who deprived me of my shield.

"Ryan," the new boy said, "she isn't "nobody important". This is the same girl from last night."

"I was right," gasped the other boy. "Cool."

"I-I—" I choked on my spit.

Saitama's heavy hand found my shoulder. "You alright?" he asked.

When I finished coughing, I stammered, "I'm fi-fine…"

"What kinda shampoo do you use?" the newer boy said. "I've never seen floating hair before."

"What?" I said, reaching behind me. Come to think of it, my neck seemed cold. So where did my hair go? I followed the bendable curve I snatched to the bottom left, where I scraped a rubber glove. Saitama didn't hold my hair down. When I released the strand, it fell into a messy clump which moved in uniform. I watched wave after wave work their way to the curly bottoms. "How?"

"Sam," Saitama said when our eyes met, "I…"

"Did you know?" I said.

Ryan got in the way of Saitama answering. "Your name's Sam?" He looked at his friend. "Haven't you mentioned a girl with her name?"

"Yeah," his friend said. "I was 'bout to say we were part of the same class. She always complained about never getting a window seat on the b—"

"What?" I cried. "If you're going to jump straight into—"

"Yeesh," the same guy from before said. "She hasn't changed. She went straight to yelling."

"Like your friend hasn't been screaming his head off since he popped out of nowhere," I retorted. "And you, who's already starting—"

"One time," the guy said to Ryan, "when she fought people on the bus for a window seat, a couple of girls cornered her and she started crying. She always cried when she didn't get her way. Sometimes she even cried during classes. I couldn't figure out why."

And people told me I talked too much? "Enough!" I roared. An overwhelming amount of heat collected in my face. I could feel it concentrating in my eyes.

He ignored me. "Who knows why Saitama's hanging around her. She's a nobody with an attitude. Never saw her writing even though she always talked about wanting to be—"

"Quiet!"

Gasps rang through the small crowd. Saitama clutched the end of his cape as he backed from me. Everyone followed his example of giving me a wide berth. Their faces varied from shock to… There weren't any other expressions.

There I stood in the middle with sideways floating hair somehow feeling just as weightless as it. I knew I experienced this sensation once before. A full day hadn't even passed since the first time I did.

"I don't remember who you are," I snapped, "or why you're bringing this up now of all times. I've been trying to move on from how I acted for years now. Everybody still holds things against me?" I took a step toward him.

The boy winced. I swore I could see sweat beading from his forehead.

"Stine?" Ryan said. "I think you went too far."

"Yes, he did," I said. "How about you leave me alone? You've never seen me publicly badmouth you and your buddies, have you?"

Ryan's friend blinked. He took another step back and raised his hands. "W-we can talk about this, can't we?"

"...Sam?" spoke a subdued voice.

I turned away. "Fuck these guys. I don't care how far we are from home or if it's going to rain on us, Tama. We're hiking the rest of the way there."

Sam turned, and she walked off.

Saitama stood with the gathered crowd. He watched her figure move further and further away. Soon enough, she was a speck on the horizon. He could easily catch up to her. However…

"I've never seen her explode before," he murmured. At least, not emotionally. His hand, previously clinging to his cape, fell to his side.

"Dude," said Ryan— Brian— Whatever his name was. "You saw how her eyes started glowing when you went off on her? You must've done the second worst thing after calling Saitama bald."

The mentioned hairless man glared at him.

He scratched the back of his neck. "So-sorry!"

The other boy receded into himself. "I-I…"

"I'm outta here," Saitama said, already going after Sam. "See ya, I guess."

He looked ahead. Further along the path, he saw a body sprawled on the concrete. They weren't moving.

"She collapsed!" a woman gasped.

By the time everybody blinked, just dust remained of the man in a yellow jumpsuit.

"I, for one, cannot believe this turn of events despite the footage I've seen," a newsman said. "We have the evidence from last night as well as how he reacts when his female companion collapses. Quite disappointing how we didn't get any audio from either of these encounters. Witnesses say some of them heard him speak Japanese. Others heard him in English.

"Witness also reported the young woman's eyes glowed when she became involved in an argument. When questioned on why he fought with her, Augustine Thorne ignored reporters. What do you make of this, Ivan?"

Saitama switched to the next channel. His shoulders relaxed when what appeared was a simple children's program starring a red-furred puppy and a few other dogs romping through a grassy field. He couldn't take watching the news anymore. Every other minute consisted of the people around the desk analyzing last night's footage or reacting with bewilderment at the scene between Sam and… What's his name? August? Did the guy have a grudge against her?

Sam retaliating surprised Saitama more. He figured her to have always been a quiet person. In the manga, she never lashed at anybody unless they threatened her solitary way of life. She wasn't always so innocent if he believed August.

After she passed out, he made sure she hadn't hit her head on the concrete sidewalk. She didn't, thank goodness. She fell sideways into a grass patch. He failed to rouse her, so he figured she would reawaken in a matter of minutes like last night.

It never happened. He brought her home, left her in her room, and returned once in a while to check on her. If his voice didn't rouse her, he would poke her. He knew she was alive from her steady breathing, how she twitched every time she felt a finger on her back, and her hair wafting even in her sleep.

She's not Genos, he would tell himself. She might need more rest. Give her time. His impatience regardless kept getting ahead of him. He would find himself at the bedroom door about to peek inside from time to time. There wasn't much else to do around here other than watch TV, linger in the kitchen, or gawk at the bookshelf in Sam's room.

Bookshelf? He jumped to attention. Whoa, hey, of course! Books! Manga! He could be sitting around bored out of his mind or start reading them.

Now the question was where Saitama left the first volume before he went out. He remembered taking it to the kitchen, then out here. He turned to check a small rectangular table to the right of the couch. A book with a man who looked just like him greeted him beside a stained coffee mug.

Aha! After taking it into his hands, he flipped it over. A blue square partially covered the illustration in the back. Another one of Sam's notes?

"'This monster,'" he read, "'that Saitama is punching makes me think of a wacky-looking anthro shiny Salamence.'"

What the hell was a Salamence? He studied the illustration of the monster before shrugging and ripping the note off the back cover. It didn't matter. He would finally read this book. If Sam wasn't awake by the time he finished, he would continue to volume two.

"Sounds good to me," he said, flipping the book to its front again. He opened the cover. "Here we go."

Finally. My plot bunnies and I sometimes don't get along even when I get space. I had to get video games out of my system before they would cooperate.

Regarding Saitama reading his manga: if I have him react to events in OPM that happened outside of his perspective, it won't be by going through those plot points beat-for-beat. I dislike those kinds of fics. Sure, characters in those stories may react with surprise by what they see and act on it outside of the reaction (Which may or may not be plagiarized from the source material), but it's retreading on old ground. No thanks. Saitama here isn't even going to be able to do much of anything with what he could learn about people from his world since he's stuck someplace else, sooooooooo…

See you next time?