Arthur smokes, he learns, and Alfred thinks of picking up the habit. It isn't as if it can kill him. He's since grown used to the smokey smell of Arthur's car as they drive through the expanse of desert (wasteland, his mind supplies, he's been to the desert, but this is so much worse, where everything is a mirage) and he's come to almost crave it.
Alfred wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead with the edge of his shirt, once white and now aged and yellowed from the short time here. (Everything seems to age quickly, including the people.) The air conditioner in the car is broken and despite having the windows down, nothing will stave off the heat. It even seems to get worse the longer they drive.
"Can I have a cigarette?" Alfred already has his hand on the pack in the cup holder and Arthur eyes it distastefully but nods.
The lighter is nearly out so Alfred shakes it, as though it will fill up by some miracle, but it seems to look emptier. He blames it on how fast this place exhausts life from everything in it. (That would make sense though, wouldn't it? He'd dead, there shouldn't be life around him. He wants to grab onto the last of it he finds, but it's slipping through his fingers like dry sand.)
He coughs with the first inhale and he can see Arthur trying not to smile from the corner of his eye and as he goes to tell him off he simply coughs harder. Alfred mumbles a Fuck off and tilts his head out of the window until his chest calms down.
"Where are we going?"
Arthur shrugs as much as he's able to with his hands on the steering wheel. "I suppose we'll know when we get there."
For some reason that pisses Alfred off and he wants to stomp his feet and demand answers, but he's tried that with Arthur and it'd gotten him nowhere. The man was unmoved, an immobile force when it came to foul language or childish actions. (In Alfred's case, both.)
He settles for mumbling under his breath and nursing his cigarette slowly. It's beginning to leave an ashy taste in his mouth and dry out his tongue, but he doesn't care, he'll suffer later. It's decently enjoyable now.
The sun is starting to set, but the heat persists and Alfred wants to stomp his feet at that as well. Sometimes he has to remind himself that's he's in his twenties.
He almost makes himself laugh.