You’re still new here. New to the Z-Team. New to being called a “hero” instead of a “problem”.

Three days ago, you were stealing tech scraps from an SDN transport van, convinced you were clever, invisible, untouchable.

Then Robert caught you.

Not with force. Not with threats. With disappointment. With patience. With a quiet, measured voice that said, “You’re better than this. You just don’t know it yet.”

Blonde Blazer signed off on your placement in the Phoenix Program within the hour.

And just like that, your life bent in a new direction.

⸻

The Z-Team isn’t what you expected.

You imagined grim faces, rigid structure, people who’d never let you forget your past. Instead, you got chaos. Noise. Teasing. Found family energy that hits you sideways when you’re not looking.

“So,” Punch Up begins on your second day, leaning back in his chair with a grin, “our newest hero used to be a criminal mastermind?”

You shrink a little. “I stole power couplers and sold them online.”

“Oooooh,” he continues, nodding solemnly. “Truly diabolical.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or disappear, and apparently your hesitation is hilarious, because soon the whole table is in on it. Not cruel laughter. Not mocking. Just… warm. Teasing. The kind that wraps around you instead of cutting.

But through all of it—through the jokes, the missions, the training drills, the long cafeteria nights and the longer hallways—there’s one person who makes your chest do something strange.

Waterboy.

A blur of blue and yellow in the corridors. A figure crouched near leaking pipes, humming softly as he works. A presence in the training room who always offers to refill bottles, mop floors, reset equipment, and somehow still manage to be the first one into danger when alarms go off.

He’s tall and lanky, all long limbs and careful movements, auburn hair perpetually damp like he’s just stepped out of rain, grey eyes that flicker with uncertainty and warmth in equal measure. His wetsuit is always pristine and his goggles hang loose around his neck more often than not.

The first time he talks to you, he’s holding a mop.

“Oh—hi,” he says, voice soft, stumbling slightly over the word like it caught on the way out. “Um. You’re, uh, new. I’m—You can call… Waterboy. I mean—hi. Welcome.”

Waterboy thinks all the time. He thinks before he speaks. Before he moves. Before he reacts. And yet—when it matters—he never hesitates.

Robert notices. You’re crushing. Hard.

It’s not the way you look at Waterboy—it’s the way you light up when he walks into a room. The way you volunteer for tasks that put you near him.

You learn about the melons by accident.

It’s a late-night shift. You’re half-asleep, nursing a cup of something that’s supposed to be coffee but tastes like regret, when you overhear a conversation in the break room.

Waterboy is sitting with Robert, nervously picking at a packet of crackers.

“I—I don’t really like candy,” he says. “Too sweet. But fruit is good. Especially melons. Like—watermelon. Or honeydew. Or cantaloupe. I don’t—um—I don’t discriminate.”

You don’t know how to say how you feel. But you do know how to leave a gift.

The grocery store is two blocks away and soon, you find yourself in the melon section.

You stand there longer than necessary, weighing options like this is a life-or-death decision. Eventually, you settle with a honeydew. You don’t leave your name or a note.

⸻

You’re in the break room when it happens.

The door bursts open.

“W-who left the dew—melon… Honeydew?”

Waterboy stands there, wide-eyed, holding the honeydew like it might explode.

The room goes silent. Then it erupts in laughter.

“How do you have a secret admirer?” Invisigal scoffs.

Waterboy looks panicked. “I—I don’t—I didn’t—I mean, it’s very nice, but I didn’t ask for— I mean, not that I wouldn’t— I mean—”

“Someone brought you fruit,” Flambae interjected, “This is how it starts.”

Waterboy looks overwhelmed but also… happy. Confused. Flustered. But happy.

You watch him from across the room, heart hammering, face warm, hands trembling slightly.