"Unbelievers ; Liam Payne."

Cannes, May 1, 1958.

        LIAM FURIOUSLY WIPED away beads of sweat from his dampened forehead and sighed as he tightened the firm grip he had on the steering wheel. The blistering heat was more than one could handle and if Liam didn’t die from extreme frustration, he was almost certain that he would die from heatstroke. He began to mess around with the hem of his smoky-grey pullover. Jesus, he was burning up. Why Liam had insisted on wearing a cashmere sweater in spite of such terrible weather, he didn’t know.

        “Are you sure we’re headed the right way?” Niall ever so obnoxiously asked. He had been doing for quite some time now. 

Liam opened his mouth, as if to speak, but quickly decided against it. It hurt to speak as his mouth was so dry, so raw. Instead, he nodded his head in response to the blonde-haired lad.

         “Okay.” Niall said as he kicked his feet up on the dashboard, but one could still sense the uncertainty lingering in his tone.

 If Liam wasn’t so focused on getting to this place once and for all, he probably would’ve cussed Niall out for getting grime all over his dashboard by now. Taking in a deep breath, Liam began to fiddle with the knobs of the radio, searching for a station that’s worth his while only to be met with static after static. He rammed his hands against the steering wheel, full of defeat. 

         “Easy there, boy.” Niall teased, chuckling lightly. 

 The brown haired main scoffed in return. Liam as likely as not would’ve cussed Niall out for that, too. He did have to hand it to him, the kid really did know how to push buttons. Nevertheless, Liam slunk back in to his seat, securing his hold on the steering wheel and blatantly ignored the fact that all the blood had drained from his now pale knuckles.