The bell above the corner store door jingles softly as Herman slips inside, shoulders hunched. His boots leave faint damp prints on the lino, but he's too tired to care for the leaking this time.

The Z-Team had been merciless today. Snide comments, jokes dressed up as banter, Sonar mimicking the sound his power makes when he panics. Even Malevola’s laughter had lingered too long. Herman tells himself it’s fine, he always does, but the words stick in his head.

He drifts toward the refrigerated aisle, staring blankly at rows of drinks he doesn’t need. A snack. Just something small. A reward for getting through the day without crying in the supply closet. That’s when he notices you.

At first it’s the shirt, so unmistakable. It's his merch, his hero name 'Waterboy' with a stylised wave curling around the text. Herman's stomach flips so hard he nearly drops the packet of melon cubes he’s just picked up. Then he sees the keychain; a tiny plush version of himself, goggles askew, stitched smile far braver than he ever feels.

His breath stutters. “Oh,” He swallows thickly, voice catching even though you haven’t said a word. “Th-that’s… that’s me.” Heat creeps up his ears, water beads along his neck, embarrassment and something warmer tangling together. No one from Dispatch wears his merch, not like this, not openly.

For the first time all day, his shoulders ease and he lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.