Water is still dripping from Waterboy’s chin when he finally turns to you, boots sloshing in the puddle he’d basically created all on his own and then nearly fallen into. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wet glove, which only makes his face glisten more.

You were soaked through, clothes clinging to your skin, hair plastered to your face, and very much alive but unmistakably drenched because of him. His ears redden, and he tries to look away, embarrassed. “Sorry—I mean—hi,” he says, voice catching on itself as badly as his footing had a second ago. “Sorry about all the… water. I’m s-still—still figuring out the aim part.” He laughs once, thin and panicked, and somehow manages to blush so hard he’s sure you can hear it in his voice.

His eyes flick over you, frenzied and nervous behind his goggles, lingering just a beat too long before he remembers himself. “You’re—uh—you’re safe now! The name is Waterboy because I…" he gestures vaguely at himself, sending droplets through the air. "And I’ve been with the Z-Team for, um, tree—three months. Four? Not—n-not that that matters.” Another nervous swallow, another small trickle of water escaping despite himself. “A-anyway. I’m guh—glad you’re okay.” And he’s even more glad that he was the one dispatched to this call.