I don’t tend to age Billy passed like 12, or even young teenagerhood for some snippets, just as a personal preference thing, but I have another Billy Batson concept - where Billy, now entering adulthood is a grown man and closer to Marvel’s supposed age and looks. No longer is Marvel some child fantasy of being Grown Up, because now he IS a grown up. And how would that conscious inner awareness go, with those streams crossing.
Like, he gets mistaken as Marvel by someone. Maybe it’s the black hair and blue eyes or maybe it’s the way he smiles with his whole face and laughs with his whole body. But it’s obvious that he’s NOT, ya know. Billy isn’t as big and strong, doesn’t have the height or muscle or radiating magical aura that draws others in. But still it’s the first time as BILLY that a stranger has seen / thought of him as Captain Marvel.
And it gets to him.
In a way that has him staring at his own reflection. Because he always thought Marvel looked like his dad - C.C. Batson. He’s thought that the moment he turned into Marvel. And he knows that it is reasonable for him to grow and look like his father. But he never thought about the next step of him, Billy Batson, looking like Marvel when he grew up. And now he’s staring at this face that sorta looks like his dad and sorta looks like Marvel and is all Billy, and it hits him that he’s there at that point of existence he never thought he’d live long enough to reach.
Like a Lost Boy all grown up.
And he doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or elated that he doesn’t look exactly like Marvel. That he looks close enough sometimes, at certain angles or when he does something reminiscent. Wonders if maybe he should work out more or instead dye his hair a completely different color.
Then he wonders what changes to himself he could do that would transfer onto Marvel. Because Marvel is more an avatar than an actual body, but it’s the ideal Mighty Mortal body taken from the blueprint of Billy Batson, so why wouldn’t different hair or a tattoo show up? Thats all different from the scars he has, the Lichtenburg figures and the evidence of a hard life at a young age permanently marring his skin.
And how eerie that must be, now so close to Marvel’s build and physique, to look upon the proof of his mortality and life, and see them gone from the other body that no longer feels like he’s a kid wearing an adult suit. Left wondering if he’s going to keep aging, if he’ll keep living, and one day look older than Marvel, or if this is where it stops. If there was ever a Champion that lived long enough to see that, too.
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i have this like one hc that pro-hero work involves a lot of traveling, especially in the beginning. they move here for six months and then there for four and then here for 14 and so on, just to get experience out in the field.
so it only makes sense you and bakugou end things, right at the start of his career.
and it's okay. it is. bc you both love each other and you know that, know that it's not ending bc of any huge, terrible fight that makes you enemies of one another. all the memories you'll carry can stay gold, not tarnished by anything other than the bittersweet distance.
getting used to it takes a little time, that's all; before he was your boyfriend, he was your friend, first and foremost. someone you had inside jokes with and had similar interests you could talk to about for hours, things that you only did with him and no one else. things only he knew. and not getting to tell him exciting news about college or ask if he saw the limited edition, golden age all might nendoroid they're releasing at the end of the year...sucks. it feels wrong, like these are things he's supposed to know, no matter what. things you're supposed to talk about.
you call him five months into his eight month nagoya contract and he doesn't answer. you think maybe he changed his number and didn't tell you, bc he doesn't actually have to anymore. bakugou has always been good about self control, keeping to himself, and it wouldn't surprise you if he's written you off without a second thought—bc this is how it's supposed to be when you break up with someone.
it's not until the next day that you get a text, late in the evening.
[9:26 PM] did you mean to call me
of course you did, but maybe you shouldn't have. hearing the line ring over and over again—it's cemented the realization that he's not thinking about you anymore. that he's moved on and you should too and he probably doesn't want to hear whatever if is you want to talk about. he'll probably just think you're weird. clingy.
yeah, but it's nothing important [9:32 PM]
he reads it immediately and—nothing happens. and you think that's it. hopefully you didn't come off too passive aggressive and now he thinks you're mad that he didn't answer. maybe you should have put an emoji, the little smiling one with the hands to show no biggie ! maybe you should have just said that, or that you couldn't remember the name of that hiking trail you did together two summers ago, but then you googled it and didn't need him anymore. or something.
he calls at 10:03.
your heart is in your throat when you pick up, beating like crazy bc you haven't heard his voice in a while. "uh, hello?"
and he hesitates too; his drawn out inhale doesn’t go unnoticed. "hey."
there's a brief period of silence on the line, some light shuffling on his end. sounds of cars passing, the rare honk of what traffic lingers this late at night. the wind scratches by, audible, and you shiver despite being in your own bed. you imagine him under a dim streetlight, fully outfitted.
bakugou huffs, "you called me?"
"yeah," you blink and sit up, though you don't know why. maybe because this needs your full attention, or because you don't want your voice to get muffled by your pillow. "i was just, uh—my roommate. she asked me if i've ever been to gekikara gourmet festival—"
"oh my god."
it's the exasperation in his voice that makes you laugh, so vivid, exactly as you remember it, and you can picture the face he must be making. "i know, i was like 'oh boy, have i'."
"d'you tell her you puked—"
"—with my head between my knees while sitting on that kiddie slide, yes i did."
he snorts, just the way he did as he patted the back of your head that night, awkwardly, standing beside you with a fist at his side. "told you not to try those fucking noodles."
you agree. "they were making even you sweat, i don't know what i was thinking."
it had been one of your first official dates, and you think all the spicy food didn't help with your restless nerves. it always felt stupid, looking back on it, to be so afraid; you'd known bakugou forever, and the only difference between that night and the many you'd spent before as friends was that he'd kissed your temple, lips red from spice and all. it was just bakugou, you thought. what was there to be anxious about?
and now the silence is making your stomach turn.
"yeah," you continue lamely, "nothing important, it just—made me think of you."
he doesn't say anything. if it weren't for the distant slam of something—a trash can lid or car door—you would think he hung up. he's always had a hard time with his words and you don't really even understand why he called instead of texting. if there was something he wanted to say to you, you aren't sure he could.
"so, i guess i'll let you—"
"y'got a roommate now?"
"uh, yeah." something ugly in your stomach wants there to be jealousy in his tone, and you shake your head to be rid of the thought. because it shouldn't matter. "she's in a couple of my classes. big fan of, like, kpop and stuff."
he snorts again and you can imagine the roll of his eyes, bright with amusement despite the frown on his lips. you love that look on him; so content that it felt out of his character, something he wanted to hide. being the cause of it has always been so sweet. "different apartment?"
"yeah, in a little dorm on campus." he didn't live with you long, just in the time between graduating and when his applications to agencies began returning acceptions. "couldn't afford that place by myself."
bakugou hums, and your eyes swim so suddenly that you have to take the phone away from your head. you wonder if he misses those days as much as you do. the simple life, doing the mundane together; washing clothes in the laundry room downstairs, having to clean the dishes by hand or the dishwasher would flood the tiny kitchen, taking quick showers together so that you'd both get hot water.
it was terrible. it was perfect. the kind of life you could never have, with dynamight.
his voice buzzes distantly and you sniff, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater before putting the phone back up to your ear.
"what'd you say?"
"that—" he huffs, "nothin'." you sniff again, unthinking, and he goes completely silent again. no inhale, no exhale.
he's not stupid. he probably knew this would happen and that's why he didn't want to answer. it was hard enough for him to get the words out the first time ("just gonna be shit, for you to be waitin'. eraser told me not to—won't be able to keep any fucking—and i don't wanna be some jackass that just lets you down all the fuckin' time.")
"sorry," you laugh because you feel awkward, because you didn't mean to force what you've been suffocating on him all at once. "i don't know what just happened."
bakugou mumbles, "s'fine."
you think that even if there was something he wanted to say, he wouldn't know how.
"but yeah," you sigh and scrub a hand over your face again. "no biggie, just thought it was funny when she asked and wanted to tell you. it's actually kind of late and i need to head to bed, but i'll—" talk to him later, is what you want to say, but your stomach drops and you know that it's not that easy. not anymore.
maybe it will be one day in the future, but this is the life you have to live, for now. all you can do is hold onto that hope, as your throat tries to tighten again.
"fuck, i—" he breathes, so frustrated that it nearly becomes a grunt, "y'don't know how—just, goddammit, in three months i'll—"
"i know," you tell him, and you smile like he can see it. in three months, he'll come back, to accept another contract, and then he'll be gone again. if there was a way to make it work, bakugou would have found it. of all people, bakugou would have found it. "it's okay," you tell him.
and it is. it is.
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