April fma_fuh_q fic, AlfonsxHohenheim
Title: Once In A Lifetime
Author: freaky_zero
Genre: Romance/Light Smut?
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: AlfonsxHohenheim
Spoilers: Spoilers for FMA: Conqueror of Shamballa, the FMA movie.
Word Count: Approx. 2,500
Notes: I'm not really happy with the characterization here, but...I tried? Ah, I thought it would turn out a lot better than I think it did. I'm not trying to be modest or anything, I'm just not completely pleased. I think it's Alfons that screwed me up. Because he's Al, yet not. And I was attempting not to fall into cliches. But, it's up to you guys to make the final decisions, right? Ah, still, I hope it brings you some enjoyment.
Written for fma_fuh_q's month of April: Alfons month.
DEAR FLIST AND RANDOM PASSERBY, THIS IS YAOI; DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.
It had only happened once. Just once, on an icy cold evening when Edward had once again lost track of time at the library, leaving Alfons all alone in their chilly flat for the night. When a set of sharp knocks came several hours after sunset (and at least an hour after the new curfew that had been set in town, he’d mentally cursed his roommate) Alfons had thought that maybe Ed had merely gotten sidetracked at the nearby pub or even lost his key along the way home.
He hadn’t expected to see his roommate’s father at the door, glasses askew and looking mildly harried. Alfons had never understood how a grown man could manage to look as sheepish Hohenheim Elric seemed to be able to whenever he showed up. The German could half understand Edward’s distaste for his father in the short moment the man took to raise his hand behind his head and give a weak grin.
But, still, Alfons had been brought up every inch a gentleman and so he ushered the older man in and offered him a seat in front of the fire. Kneeling by the hearth, the blond threw the last of their firewood into the fading fire and hoped it was enough to burn through the night.
They would have to get more tomorrow, or they’d freeze to death before the week was out.
Standing, Alfons brushed off the knees of his pants, careful not to let the ash fly into his face (for fear of a coughing fit), before turning to his unexpected guest.
“Is there anything I can get for you, Herr Elric? I’m afraid Edward has not yet returned from his researching.”
Hohenheim blinked slowly, looking rather befuddled for a few seconds before his expression turned sheepish again.
“Ah…Edward, right, of course,” he mumbled absently, looking into the fire, the light reflecting eerily off his glasses. “Something to take the chill from my bones, Alfons, would be greatly appreciated, if you can spare it.”
He smiled and Alfons nodded, stepping into the small kitchen for a mug (because while they weren’t terribly poor off, he and Edward weren’t exactly the type of society who actually owned alcohol tumblers) and then to the liquor cabinet for the whiskey that was kept for just such occasions.
“Here you are, Herr Elric. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The older man smiled again as he accepted the mug, and stretched his legs out a bit in front of him, looking at the German thoughtfully.
“Call me Hohenheim, Alfons. There’s really no need to stand on such ceremony with me. I’m sure you’ve heard Edward call me much worse, after all.
The sheepish grin was back, and this time Alfons couldn’t help but to return it. He had, after all, heard the other man referred to as much worse.
“All right, then, Hohenheim.” He inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. “Is there anything I can do for you? I’m afraid I’m not certain when your son will be back…”
Alfons trailed off thoughtfully. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain Edward would be back at all. He always worried on nights like this if his flat mate hadn’t left the country or been murdered in the streets, or even taken away for being out after curfew.
Hohenheim shifted quietly on the sofa and blue eyes snapped their attention back to him, the blond flushing a bit to have gotten lost in thought.
“I mean, he didn’t mention anything about being out late.”
The older man laughed softly, shaking his head.
“He’s too much like me, never thinking ahead. I really should have informed you, before dropping by with an impromptu visit. We’re very troublesome, Edward and I. I’m sorry to have intruded, Alfons, I truly am, but do you mind keeping an old man company, until my son arrives?”
Alfons shook his head. Edward could certainly be trouble, muttering about places that couldn’t possibly exist, head in the clouds, looking for fights all the time, but his father had never caused anything of the sort. The older man did tend to exasperate the German a bit, however, when he showed up out of the blue.
“I don’t mind at all, sir,” he said, smiling slightly. “You’re no trouble at all and, truthfully, more agreeable company than Edward, since it’s his nature to be argumentive. I have to say, though, your son probably won’t be back until morning. He rarely shows up before sunrise, if he’s already out this late.”
“Ah, yes,” Hohenheim mumbled, nodding slightly. “The curfew. I ran into an officer on the street. Luckily, I was able to explain that I’m only visiting and wasn’t aware of the curfew. He let me go. I don’t think I’ll be so lucky if he catches me again… do you mind if I stay the night?”
Alfons shook his head.
“Of course not, though to keep warm Edward and I have been sleeping on pallets in front of the fire. I was going to simply sleep on the sofa, but you can have it. Or Edward’s pallet, if you don’t mind that.”
The younger man flushed lightly as he said it, hoping that Hohenheim opted for the couch. He and Edward had been sleeping in front of the fire since winter set in and he’d come to learn that he was a restless sleeper, waking up cuddled next to Edward nearly every morning. He’d thought at first, that maybe it was Edward, or both of them, until his roommate had pointed out that it was Alfons who consistently ended up in his pallet, not the other way around.
“I’ll take the pallet,” Hohenheim said at length. “Because I’m not sure sleeping on any furniture other than a bed would be wise, at my age, and, on the off chance that Edward comes back, he can sleep there.”
Alfons smiled weakly and nodded, mentally praying that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. It had gotten to be something of a joke between he and Edward, but there was no guarantee that Hohenheim would laugh it off.
“I’ll get the pallets now then,” he said softly. “And then we can go to sleep whenever we’re ready.”
Hohenheim agreed and offered to help, but Alfons declined, carrying their makeshift beds out of the hall closet and to their place in front of the fire quickly, nearly triggering a coughing attack in his haste. When the blankets and pillows were all in their place, he turned back to Hohenheim to retrieve the other man’s now empty mug and busied himself with washing it.
The German tried to ignore the nervousness starting to twist in his stomach, afraid he might make a fool of himself in front of his friend’s father. Hohenheim was watching him silently, when he returned to the room several minutes later and Alfons felt like he’d already some how made a blunder, flushing lightly.
“I’m sorry; I’m not really used to company other than Edward. We both generally have our nose in a book or he does while I’m cleaning…,” Alfons looked at the fire, a bit embarrassed. “Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Anything that would interest you to discuss?”
“Well,” Hohenheim said, smiling slightly. “I’m not a big talker, myself, but I do enjoy a conversation now and then. I thought we might discuss some of your research, if you aren’t too busy, that is. I understand if there are things you need to do.”
Alfons smiled shyly, shaking his head. “I’m just not used to having someone around interested in both conversation and our research. Has Edward been talking to you about the rockets?”
Hohenheim nodded, asking a few questions, his expression open and interested, and Alfons was off with theorems and experiments, hardly remembering to draw breath to intersperse his words.
They talked for hours, until Alfons couldn’t talk around the yawns that were interrupting his words, his lids traitorously sticking together whenever he blinked.
“Perhaps we should turn in,” Hohenheim murmured, looking none the worse for wear, though he had to have been traveling for at least most of the day.
The German nodded agreeably and they got ready for sleep in companionable silence, settling into their respective pallets, shoulders nearly brushing as Hohenheim was so much bigger, broader than his son; larger than life, Alfons’ mind supplied tiredly. Hohenheim’s powerful cologne rolled over him as the older man rearranged his blankets and the German’s nose wrinkled involuntarily.
He wasn’t exactly fond of the smell, but Alfons wasn’t going to say anything to the older man. The younger blond wondered briefly why someone like Hohenheim Elric would wear cologne, especially such a strong cologne, but he was sure the other man had his reasons. Maybe he’d been born into a privileged family; Alfons had heard the rich had odd habits and Hohenheim might’ve picked this one up somewhere.
Yawning, the German decided that Hohenheim’s odd habits weren’t that important, but that he should warn the other man about his own.
“If I bother you during the night, I apologize,” Alfons mumbled sleepily. “I’m a very restless sleeper.”
Hohenheim might’ve answered, might’ve been reassuring, but by then the younger blond was lost to a world of dreams.
It only happened once, and even then, Alfons wasn’t exactly certain it had happened.
The struggle to consciousness had taken several long moments and once he’d finally won it, several more moments had been lost to give up the bleary fight to return to sleep, despite how badly he wanted to press back into the warmth of his blankets and at his back, and locate just what it was that had woken him.
There was a large, warm hand moving over his hip in slow circles, fingers dipping underneath the waistband of his pants teasingly. Alfons shifted under the touch, thoughts confused and fuzzy. Hohenheim’s hand stopped for a moment, then continued on as if emboldened by the thought that Alfons was now awake.
Alfons swallowed thickly, mind racing now, though no less tired, as he wondered just what was going on. The room was dark, the fire smoldering at their feet and no longer throwing shadows around, making the German wonder just how long he’d been asleep.
There seemed to be no hint of dawn on the horizon as the fingers dipped further into forbidden territory, stealing a gasp from Alfons’ lungs. The younger man stiffened and tried to turn in Hohenheim’s embrace, not entirely surprised when he found it impossible to do. If any of Edward’s strength was hereditary, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found bruises in the morning from this man’s grasp around his chest.
“H-Hohe-,” he cut himself off with another gasp as the older man’s unforgiving digits pinched at his chest.
“Shh,” Hohenheim murmured in his ear. “Shh…”
And he fell silent, as if the breath and will to protest had been stolen from him with just that sound from the other man. Instead of trying to escape, Alfons found himself trying to respond to the soft touches, pressing back into the larger man with soft gasps and moans as the talented hand that had woken him found its way to his cock.
Alfons found himself feverishly thinking that it had to be a dream, as the other man’s heated fingers stroked and teased him into an entirely new kind of tension. The younger man felt as taut as a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.
Snap he did, when a warm touch brushed over a place that Alfons never thought any other man would ever explore the way Hohenheim gently explored as he came so hard his teeth hurt, trying to hold back a breathless shout of pleasure. Something that would have normally left him coughing and hacking for a half an hour after, simply left him gasping and trembling at Hohenheim’s side, certain that the older man’s touch was magic and slipping back into slumber as if he’d never left it.
When Alfons woke again, the room was bright with sunlight and the smell of coffee, chilly because the fire had died hours before, and it wasn’t Hohenheim sitting on the sofa, but Edward with a thick book in one hand.
His friend made a face at Alfons as he blinked unsurely at him.
“Edward…? You’re back.”
Ed nodded shortly, grimace still faintly etching his features.
“I have been for a while. The bastard left hours ago, swears he didn’t do anything to you, but I’ve never known you to sleep past seven before.”
Alfons slowly tried to digest the new bits of information that Edward was giving him, but couldn’t manage to make sense of it, mind slow and hazy.
“Past…seven?” the German managed after several minutes, lifting a hand to rub sleepily at an eye.
Gold eyes narrowed at Alfons, making him shift uncomfortably.
“It’s nearly two o’clock.”
He blinked, and then blinked again, trying to comprehend how it could possibly be two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Oh,” he said finally, carefully looking Edward in the eye. “We were up late talking about research.”
His room mate’s grimace slowly melted into a scowl and Alfons felt himself start to breathe a bit more normally, knowing his friend would accept that it had actually been nothing stranger than that.
“I can’t believe you let him sleep in my bed,” the shorter blond grumbled, obviously irritated. “It’ll smell like the bastard for months! That cologne of his isn’t something you can just air out, you know!”
Alfons tried to smile a bit for his friend, still unsure of his memories of the night before. Vivid dream or reality, there was no forgetting it.
“I’ll trade you, then,” he murmured at length, when Edward gave him enough of a pause in his rant to do so.
And that was that.
The German hadn’t seen Hohenheim again, though Edward spoke of him here and there, but he slept with the smell of the man for months, just as his son had predicted.
He’d thought about it, but it hadn’t turned his world upside down as it might have; the memory Hohenheim’s soft, reassuring murmurs drowning out his thoughts and doubts when they threatened to become too much.
It had only happened once.
For any other person it might have become a regret or some deep, dark secret; maybe even a restriction. But, as Alfons looked up into the sad gaze far above him, nearly lost in a shower of blood and monstrous teeth as he fought the sharp burn in his chest that took away his breath more than any of his coughing fits ever had, he knew that it had happened.
And as the world faded, that was enough.
Author: freaky_zero
Genre: Romance/Light Smut?
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: AlfonsxHohenheim
Spoilers: Spoilers for FMA: Conqueror of Shamballa, the FMA movie.
Word Count: Approx. 2,500
Notes: I'm not really happy with the characterization here, but...I tried? Ah, I thought it would turn out a lot better than I think it did. I'm not trying to be modest or anything, I'm just not completely pleased. I think it's Alfons that screwed me up. Because he's Al, yet not. And I was attempting not to fall into cliches. But, it's up to you guys to make the final decisions, right? Ah, still, I hope it brings you some enjoyment.
Written for fma_fuh_q's month of April: Alfons month.
DEAR FLIST AND RANDOM PASSERBY, THIS IS YAOI; DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.
It had only happened once. Just once, on an icy cold evening when Edward had once again lost track of time at the library, leaving Alfons all alone in their chilly flat for the night. When a set of sharp knocks came several hours after sunset (and at least an hour after the new curfew that had been set in town, he’d mentally cursed his roommate) Alfons had thought that maybe Ed had merely gotten sidetracked at the nearby pub or even lost his key along the way home.
He hadn’t expected to see his roommate’s father at the door, glasses askew and looking mildly harried. Alfons had never understood how a grown man could manage to look as sheepish Hohenheim Elric seemed to be able to whenever he showed up. The German could half understand Edward’s distaste for his father in the short moment the man took to raise his hand behind his head and give a weak grin.
But, still, Alfons had been brought up every inch a gentleman and so he ushered the older man in and offered him a seat in front of the fire. Kneeling by the hearth, the blond threw the last of their firewood into the fading fire and hoped it was enough to burn through the night.
They would have to get more tomorrow, or they’d freeze to death before the week was out.
Standing, Alfons brushed off the knees of his pants, careful not to let the ash fly into his face (for fear of a coughing fit), before turning to his unexpected guest.
“Is there anything I can get for you, Herr Elric? I’m afraid Edward has not yet returned from his researching.”
Hohenheim blinked slowly, looking rather befuddled for a few seconds before his expression turned sheepish again.
“Ah…Edward, right, of course,” he mumbled absently, looking into the fire, the light reflecting eerily off his glasses. “Something to take the chill from my bones, Alfons, would be greatly appreciated, if you can spare it.”
He smiled and Alfons nodded, stepping into the small kitchen for a mug (because while they weren’t terribly poor off, he and Edward weren’t exactly the type of society who actually owned alcohol tumblers) and then to the liquor cabinet for the whiskey that was kept for just such occasions.
“Here you are, Herr Elric. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
The older man smiled again as he accepted the mug, and stretched his legs out a bit in front of him, looking at the German thoughtfully.
“Call me Hohenheim, Alfons. There’s really no need to stand on such ceremony with me. I’m sure you’ve heard Edward call me much worse, after all.
The sheepish grin was back, and this time Alfons couldn’t help but to return it. He had, after all, heard the other man referred to as much worse.
“All right, then, Hohenheim.” He inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. “Is there anything I can do for you? I’m afraid I’m not certain when your son will be back…”
Alfons trailed off thoughtfully. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain Edward would be back at all. He always worried on nights like this if his flat mate hadn’t left the country or been murdered in the streets, or even taken away for being out after curfew.
Hohenheim shifted quietly on the sofa and blue eyes snapped their attention back to him, the blond flushing a bit to have gotten lost in thought.
“I mean, he didn’t mention anything about being out late.”
The older man laughed softly, shaking his head.
“He’s too much like me, never thinking ahead. I really should have informed you, before dropping by with an impromptu visit. We’re very troublesome, Edward and I. I’m sorry to have intruded, Alfons, I truly am, but do you mind keeping an old man company, until my son arrives?”
Alfons shook his head. Edward could certainly be trouble, muttering about places that couldn’t possibly exist, head in the clouds, looking for fights all the time, but his father had never caused anything of the sort. The older man did tend to exasperate the German a bit, however, when he showed up out of the blue.
“I don’t mind at all, sir,” he said, smiling slightly. “You’re no trouble at all and, truthfully, more agreeable company than Edward, since it’s his nature to be argumentive. I have to say, though, your son probably won’t be back until morning. He rarely shows up before sunrise, if he’s already out this late.”
“Ah, yes,” Hohenheim mumbled, nodding slightly. “The curfew. I ran into an officer on the street. Luckily, I was able to explain that I’m only visiting and wasn’t aware of the curfew. He let me go. I don’t think I’ll be so lucky if he catches me again… do you mind if I stay the night?”
Alfons shook his head.
“Of course not, though to keep warm Edward and I have been sleeping on pallets in front of the fire. I was going to simply sleep on the sofa, but you can have it. Or Edward’s pallet, if you don’t mind that.”
The younger man flushed lightly as he said it, hoping that Hohenheim opted for the couch. He and Edward had been sleeping in front of the fire since winter set in and he’d come to learn that he was a restless sleeper, waking up cuddled next to Edward nearly every morning. He’d thought at first, that maybe it was Edward, or both of them, until his roommate had pointed out that it was Alfons who consistently ended up in his pallet, not the other way around.
“I’ll take the pallet,” Hohenheim said at length. “Because I’m not sure sleeping on any furniture other than a bed would be wise, at my age, and, on the off chance that Edward comes back, he can sleep there.”
Alfons smiled weakly and nodded, mentally praying that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. It had gotten to be something of a joke between he and Edward, but there was no guarantee that Hohenheim would laugh it off.
“I’ll get the pallets now then,” he said softly. “And then we can go to sleep whenever we’re ready.”
Hohenheim agreed and offered to help, but Alfons declined, carrying their makeshift beds out of the hall closet and to their place in front of the fire quickly, nearly triggering a coughing attack in his haste. When the blankets and pillows were all in their place, he turned back to Hohenheim to retrieve the other man’s now empty mug and busied himself with washing it.
The German tried to ignore the nervousness starting to twist in his stomach, afraid he might make a fool of himself in front of his friend’s father. Hohenheim was watching him silently, when he returned to the room several minutes later and Alfons felt like he’d already some how made a blunder, flushing lightly.
“I’m sorry; I’m not really used to company other than Edward. We both generally have our nose in a book or he does while I’m cleaning…,” Alfons looked at the fire, a bit embarrassed. “Was there anything you wanted to talk about? Anything that would interest you to discuss?”
“Well,” Hohenheim said, smiling slightly. “I’m not a big talker, myself, but I do enjoy a conversation now and then. I thought we might discuss some of your research, if you aren’t too busy, that is. I understand if there are things you need to do.”
Alfons smiled shyly, shaking his head. “I’m just not used to having someone around interested in both conversation and our research. Has Edward been talking to you about the rockets?”
Hohenheim nodded, asking a few questions, his expression open and interested, and Alfons was off with theorems and experiments, hardly remembering to draw breath to intersperse his words.
They talked for hours, until Alfons couldn’t talk around the yawns that were interrupting his words, his lids traitorously sticking together whenever he blinked.
“Perhaps we should turn in,” Hohenheim murmured, looking none the worse for wear, though he had to have been traveling for at least most of the day.
The German nodded agreeably and they got ready for sleep in companionable silence, settling into their respective pallets, shoulders nearly brushing as Hohenheim was so much bigger, broader than his son; larger than life, Alfons’ mind supplied tiredly. Hohenheim’s powerful cologne rolled over him as the older man rearranged his blankets and the German’s nose wrinkled involuntarily.
He wasn’t exactly fond of the smell, but Alfons wasn’t going to say anything to the older man. The younger blond wondered briefly why someone like Hohenheim Elric would wear cologne, especially such a strong cologne, but he was sure the other man had his reasons. Maybe he’d been born into a privileged family; Alfons had heard the rich had odd habits and Hohenheim might’ve picked this one up somewhere.
Yawning, the German decided that Hohenheim’s odd habits weren’t that important, but that he should warn the other man about his own.
“If I bother you during the night, I apologize,” Alfons mumbled sleepily. “I’m a very restless sleeper.”
Hohenheim might’ve answered, might’ve been reassuring, but by then the younger blond was lost to a world of dreams.
It only happened once, and even then, Alfons wasn’t exactly certain it had happened.
The struggle to consciousness had taken several long moments and once he’d finally won it, several more moments had been lost to give up the bleary fight to return to sleep, despite how badly he wanted to press back into the warmth of his blankets and at his back, and locate just what it was that had woken him.
There was a large, warm hand moving over his hip in slow circles, fingers dipping underneath the waistband of his pants teasingly. Alfons shifted under the touch, thoughts confused and fuzzy. Hohenheim’s hand stopped for a moment, then continued on as if emboldened by the thought that Alfons was now awake.
Alfons swallowed thickly, mind racing now, though no less tired, as he wondered just what was going on. The room was dark, the fire smoldering at their feet and no longer throwing shadows around, making the German wonder just how long he’d been asleep.
There seemed to be no hint of dawn on the horizon as the fingers dipped further into forbidden territory, stealing a gasp from Alfons’ lungs. The younger man stiffened and tried to turn in Hohenheim’s embrace, not entirely surprised when he found it impossible to do. If any of Edward’s strength was hereditary, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found bruises in the morning from this man’s grasp around his chest.
“H-Hohe-,” he cut himself off with another gasp as the older man’s unforgiving digits pinched at his chest.
“Shh,” Hohenheim murmured in his ear. “Shh…”
And he fell silent, as if the breath and will to protest had been stolen from him with just that sound from the other man. Instead of trying to escape, Alfons found himself trying to respond to the soft touches, pressing back into the larger man with soft gasps and moans as the talented hand that had woken him found its way to his cock.
Alfons found himself feverishly thinking that it had to be a dream, as the other man’s heated fingers stroked and teased him into an entirely new kind of tension. The younger man felt as taut as a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.
Snap he did, when a warm touch brushed over a place that Alfons never thought any other man would ever explore the way Hohenheim gently explored as he came so hard his teeth hurt, trying to hold back a breathless shout of pleasure. Something that would have normally left him coughing and hacking for a half an hour after, simply left him gasping and trembling at Hohenheim’s side, certain that the older man’s touch was magic and slipping back into slumber as if he’d never left it.
When Alfons woke again, the room was bright with sunlight and the smell of coffee, chilly because the fire had died hours before, and it wasn’t Hohenheim sitting on the sofa, but Edward with a thick book in one hand.
His friend made a face at Alfons as he blinked unsurely at him.
“Edward…? You’re back.”
Ed nodded shortly, grimace still faintly etching his features.
“I have been for a while. The bastard left hours ago, swears he didn’t do anything to you, but I’ve never known you to sleep past seven before.”
Alfons slowly tried to digest the new bits of information that Edward was giving him, but couldn’t manage to make sense of it, mind slow and hazy.
“Past…seven?” the German managed after several minutes, lifting a hand to rub sleepily at an eye.
Gold eyes narrowed at Alfons, making him shift uncomfortably.
“It’s nearly two o’clock.”
He blinked, and then blinked again, trying to comprehend how it could possibly be two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Oh,” he said finally, carefully looking Edward in the eye. “We were up late talking about research.”
His room mate’s grimace slowly melted into a scowl and Alfons felt himself start to breathe a bit more normally, knowing his friend would accept that it had actually been nothing stranger than that.
“I can’t believe you let him sleep in my bed,” the shorter blond grumbled, obviously irritated. “It’ll smell like the bastard for months! That cologne of his isn’t something you can just air out, you know!”
Alfons tried to smile a bit for his friend, still unsure of his memories of the night before. Vivid dream or reality, there was no forgetting it.
“I’ll trade you, then,” he murmured at length, when Edward gave him enough of a pause in his rant to do so.
And that was that.
The German hadn’t seen Hohenheim again, though Edward spoke of him here and there, but he slept with the smell of the man for months, just as his son had predicted.
He’d thought about it, but it hadn’t turned his world upside down as it might have; the memory Hohenheim’s soft, reassuring murmurs drowning out his thoughts and doubts when they threatened to become too much.
It had only happened once.
For any other person it might have become a regret or some deep, dark secret; maybe even a restriction. But, as Alfons looked up into the sad gaze far above him, nearly lost in a shower of blood and monstrous teeth as he fought the sharp burn in his chest that took away his breath more than any of his coughing fits ever had, he knew that it had happened.
And as the world faded, that was enough.