Inside the train the heat is nearly unbearable, bloated with a humidity that isn't found outside. There aren't many passengers but even empty Arthur doubts the feeling would pass.
He reaches through the open window to find a cool draft, but the air burns against his bare hand. When he focuses in the distance he notices the blurred horizon, bubbling and blistering the landscape and he shakes his hand like it will disperse the heat.
He's thankful for the shade from the desert sun and that seems all he can be thankful for.
..
He can feel the train creeping to a stop after too many long hours, but as he watches the town move closer, he'd prefer to stay on the wooden bench. It certainly isn't London he sees and as he moves farther and farther (and farther) west he misses the comfort of his grey city.
It's rain he wants the most. Damp mornings and cold that seeps under your skin through your fingers. Here, there's no solace from the heat like there is the cold, but he supposes he's used to freezing to death, blue face and blue limbs submersed in frozen rain water.
Deadly heat is something new.
..
Alfred meets him on the platform, almost unrecognizable. The hair under his hat is red from the dust along with the rest of his face, growing even darker under his eyes and down his neck. He's smiling through the heat like it isn't there and Arthur wants to ask him why, but Alfred's the first to speak.
"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" And he spits between them and smiles wider. His teeth are too white against his dirty face.
Arthur hums in a partial acknowledgement and presses a handkerchief against his face. He's too far out of his element to berate or react with anger and wonders if they fought where Alfred would leave him under the desert sun, skin blistering and bubbling like the landscape.
He thinks of rain, but the beads of sweat on his forehead are too thick to pretend.
"Let's get you back out of the sun, old man. With the heat isn't the easiest way to go, I'll tell you that." He spits again and grabs one of Arthur's small suitcases.
Arthur wonders how many times Alfred's been in one place too long with burnt skin and a swelling head, sick from exhaustion and dehydration.
He raises an eyebrow when he hears Alfred laugh beside him.
"I'm sure you've seen worse, though."
And he has, but the unknown has always made him a little nervous.