Elvis X Oc - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Yours Truly - Chapter 10: Girlfriend?

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 2.9k

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. self-conscious OC, fluff, a kiss, adorably oblivious OC.

chapter index| prev | next

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NOVA

"Did you choose this dress?" I asked over the locked door, as I studied my reflection in the floor-length mirror. It was a cream white dress, with wildflower patterns adorning its entirety, the straps were tie-straps and the dress reached just a little above my knees. It was beautiful, and elevated the remembrance of summer days. The dress hugged my figured surprisingly, and I can only logically say that in dreams, of course a dress would fit perfectly. It is my dream, after all. 

"Yes and no." 

I roll my eyes at his response, of course. I take one final glance at the mirror and sigh. It is only natural to feel insecure, but its very existence loomed over me for majority of my teenage years. Being not 'conventionally beautiful' in a high school setting really does something to a young girl's self-esteem. I know now that outer appearance is not all that makes up a person, but it still does hurt when harsh words aim at something you were born with, it eats your soul. So, I guess even at the age of 21, webs of insecurity are still something I battle with. 

"You never give simple answers, do you?" 

Elvis chuckles, "I don't know what you mean. Are you done?"

"Give me a sec." 

I turn around and check my reflection in the mirror one last time. What if the dress is beautiful, but me wearing it destroys it? I purse my lips at the thought, but I don't really want to go back to wearing my pyjamas. What to do? 

"I can almost hear your mind running wild, doll. " He muses, his voice was closer to the door. 

Ok, breathe, Nova. Just get out there and if you look atrocious in the dress, you can always just blink your eyes and wake up from this dream. I try hard to tell myself. 

I take a deep breath. 

"Darlin, do you need help? I wouldn't want to be the shitty guy who's out here waiting when you are out there struggling-" 

I swing the door open, which cuts off his sentence. Elvis is leaning against the wall of the hallway, but he straightens to stand up suddenly. His familiar blue eyes gazed at me, slack-jawed. I take my hand off the door handle and take a cautious step towards him, my hands fiddling. His eyes trail from my legs up to my head, holding my gaze for what seems like an eternity. I hug myself, rubbing my arms consciously. 

What is he thinking?

"I, um. . . sorry I took so long." I finally say, the words seem to get stuck in my throat. My voice was unfamiliar to me, there was shake to my tone. This much attention, coupled with strong silence - I never know how to act. I don't think anyone else has looked at me like that, except for- well, I can't think about him right now. 

"No, no, don't be sorry. " Elvis says, shaking his head. He steps forward and takes both my hands in his, removing them from my self-conscious guarding. 

He breaks out into a smile, "You look beautiful, Nova." 

There's that thump again in my chest. Whenever he is within this close proximity to me, his scent encompasses my senses - that familiar cologne. I honestly do not know how all those woman in the past managed to contain themselves being this close to him. It's like a magnetic pull, an invisible rope that I know I can't fight against, or that I don't want to.

"Thank you." I softly say and looked down at my feet, "But I don't suppose I go wherever we are going wearing these house slippers, right?" I question, in hopes to cut the prevalent tension. 

Elvis laughs at this, as he bites on his bottom lip, "Nah, I don't think it helps your height." 

I gasp and hit his arm playfully, "Rude! Bye now, Presley. I'm off." I dramatically walk past him, but I am not fast enough as he catches my arm quickly. I then feel both of his arms wrap around my waist rapidly, his chest pressed firmly against my back. 

"No, honey, I'm sorry. I was only joking." He laughs, and I can feel his smile against my cheek. 

Oh god. He has never done this before, and this is a different level of closeness. Something you do when you know someone so intimately, and that thump in my chest beats far rapidly. I can almost feel it about to leap out my chest. But nevertheless, I feel my lips stretch out Into a smile, as I feel my face heating up. 

Our laughter dies down and we are once again met with silence.

"Please, don't leave me, Nova." He says this time, in whispers of desperation. So quiet that I almost didn't catch it. 

Is he afraid that I'll end this dream sooner than he wanted, and then he'll have to wait for me again the next time I close my eyes. 

"I won't." I softly say, tilting my head a little to the left to turn to him. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

I sit down in the passenger seat of his car, I am sat down sideways with the car door open and the right side of my body leaning against the back of the car seat. I glance down at him on his knees in front of me. 

"And you just so happen to have this in your car?" I asked him, referring to the pair of white heeled-sandals that are in his hands. 

"In case of emergency," He looks up at me and winks. 

"Elvis, you do know I can manage putting shoes on myself." I chuckle. 

"I know, darlin. But let me just do this for you, okay?" Elvis grins. 

I nod as I know there is no point in disagreeing, once he has his mind set on something he'll do it. 

His hands are soft and careful as he slips my feet into the pristine white heels. The contact of his hand against my skin doesn't go unnoticed by me, as I feel heat rush to my cheeks. He finishes putting the final strap on and suddenly leans down, planting a kiss on the area right next my ankle. 

I gasped, "Hey!" My cheeks are no doubt turning a bright shade of pink. 

"Sorry, couldn't help it." He looks up with that infamous smirk of his, not apologetic at all. 

"Well, thank you." 

"For the kiss?" He says mischievously. 

"No, not for the kiss, oh you are impossible." I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. 

I slip both my legs into the car into a comfortable position, as Elvis stands back up. He closes my car door and jogs around, quickly getting into the driver's seat. He starts up the car, and slips on his sunglasses. I stare in awe at the infamous musical gates of Graceland as we pass through them, "Who opened the gates?" I asked him, as he heads down the main road. 

"Consider it a magic trick," Elvis replies, briefly glancing at me before refocusing his eyes on the road. 

Both of the windows on either side are rolled down, perfectly welcoming the fresh breeze into the vehicle. The wind accompanied my hair, letting the strands dance wildly which I am sure I will have to fix later on. The sun hangs high in the dreamy blue sky, encapsulating scorching hot heat onto my skin.

"It's so warm for a December day, " I admit, it's definitely not the usual temperatures for a day in the supposedly Winter months. But I suppose in the land of dreams, nothing really Is logical. 

Elvis chuckles, "I ain't complaining, just embrace the change." 

"Neither am I. It's good." 

Although the gust of wind is continuous as Elvis speeds through the roads, the scorching heat of the sun still permeates my skin. I have the right clothing on and the right shoes, so it's just my thick, long hair not really helping the situation. 

"Damn it, why don't I have a hair tie?" I mutter to myself, instinctively looking down at my wrist as I pull my hair up in a ponytail. I purse my lips in thought, what can I use to tie my hair up? I pause on my train of thought as I feel his gaze on me in my peripheral vision. I turn my head to look at him, and see his eyes flicker briefly to my exposed neck - his sunglasses are half-tinted blue, making his gaze much more prevalent compared to normal fully-tinted ones. 

"Sorry, I was just looking for something to tie my hair." I find myself explaining, and he simply nods and refocuses his attention back on the road. His jaw is noticeably tensed, with his bottom lip between his teeth. I wonder if he's deep in thought about something. 

He mutters something under his breath, and I think it's along the lines of "Lord, have mercy." He pushes back his hair with his one hand that's not on the steering wheel.

"Elvis, are you okay?" I ask.

Elvis clears his throat, "Yeah, yeah. 'Course I'm good." 

"Okay, I just wanted to makes sure you weren't in pain or something." I chuckled, smiling at him. 

He shakes his head, "In pain? Now, why would I be in pain?" 

"Nothing." I shrugged, "It's just you looked a little tense there for a second."

He lets out a chuckle and gives me a wink, "There's nothing to worry about, darlin', trust me." 

Before I could spark a new subject of conversation, the car comes to halt as Elvis switches the engine off. I observe where he parked, which is in the middle of a vast landscape. He has basically parked on grass. 

"We are here." He states. 

"Um. . . this is the middle of nowhere." I say, as a matter-of-factly.

Elvis gets out of the car and quickly opens my car door for me, with his hand outstretched. I gratefully take it, "Thank you."

He shuts the car door, locks the car - all without letting go of my hand. 

"Are we going to have a picnic? Do you have a picnic basket? I mean, there's literally nothing here. But it is the perfect weather to have a picnic, for sure. Or are we going to play football? or any other sports? Elvis, I'm terrible at sports, I can't cop-"

He cuts off my nervous ramblings with a laugh as he turns his body to face me completely, "Breathe, baby. Breathe. I'm with you, okay?" His thumb gently grazes my cheek, before returning his hand into tightly intertwining with mine. 

baby. 

I feel my pulse quicken, my heart hammering ruthlessly against my chest. And something tells me it's not because of the unknown, but because of him. His way of being so affectionate, gentle, and- I should really stop thinking about it. I can't hold onto this thought any longer. Elvis is a charmer, I mean, I guess he is like that with everyone. It is only natural for him to be so, so. . . close. 

I slowly nod after taking a deep breath. His lips spread into a smile, as he tugs me along with him. We walk down hill a little and not long after, I hear the sound of excited chatter and music booming from speakers fill my ears. We keep on walking, until we find the source of all the sound. There, in the middle of the vast empty grass, was a walkway leading up what looked like two giant light tan-coloured tents that are combined together. As we walk closer, the tents seemed to be held up by numerous solid wooden poles. I immediately stop walking, as my eyes widen in realisation on where we are going, "A party?" I turned to Elvis to confirm my guess. 

"Hmm, not exactly." 

"What do you mean?" 

Elvis ignores my question and tugs me along with him. We keep on walking down the pathway until we are at the very opening in the middle of the two tents. The music and the chatter grow louder and louder, until we are right inside of the tent. Fairy lights dazzle my vision, framing the entirety of the main entrance and the large inner space. Numerous rustic tables adorned the space, with around eight or so people on each table. At the very middle of the it all is a mirrorball. A simple stage is at the very front of all the tables, and a bar to the far left. What seems to be hundreds and hundreds of people occupy the space, all adorned in such formal clothing. But what catches my eye is the three-layer cake on the long table beside the stage, "This is. . . stunning. It's a wedding reception."

Elvis nods. 

"This was not on my list." I say, challenging him. 

"Are you sure 'bout that, Nova?" He grins mischievously. 

Oh no. What now?

Suddenly, a man dressed in security uniform approaches us rapidly. His eyes are narrowed at us, with a clipboard in his hand. 

"I didn't see you both at the entrance. Names?" He questions, suspicion evident in his tone. 

Well, shit. Did I see Elvis take in invitations? I don't think he had any invitations in his hand when we left Graceland. 

"I'm Aaron and this is Katerina." Elvis confidently says, smirking at me. 

First off all, how does he know my middle name? Well, I mean, I know his but that's not the point. 

The guard flips through the pages of his clipboard and shakes his head, "Neither of you are on the list, which means you have both just broken into a private event." 

Oh shit. 

I pull Elvis' arm and frantically whisper into his ear in a panic, "Elvis, this is not good. This is really not good." 

"I've got this, doll." He whispers back calmly with a smirk. 

Elvis turns back to the man, "You see. . . Gregory is it?" He asks, briefly glancing at the name tag on the guard's uniform, in which the man firmly nods. 

"Gregory. Listen, pal, " He steps forward and places a hand on the man's shoulder, he then leans down and whispers something to him as he gestures to me. 

Damn it. What is he saying? 

The guard, Gregory, his face goes a deep shade of red as his eyes widen at me. Elvis leans back and returns to stand next to me, intertwining our fingers. 

"Now you see why, Gregory?" Elvis dramatically sighs, in fake sadness. 

The man nods his head and sputters out a string of apologies, "I-uh. . . of course! Silly me. I apologise to you and your girlfriend. I am so sorry for the trouble." 

"It's all good, man. " Elvis smiles brightly, as Gregory walks away very quickly. 

My mouth is hung wide open in shock and surprise, I turn to Elvis with my eyebrow arched at him in confusion. 

"Girlfriend?! What on earth did you tell the him? You frightened the poor guy to death." 

Elvis simply laughs at my reaction and tugs me along with him, "I'm afraid I can't spill my secrets, baby."

There he goes again with the pet names. 

"No, I want to know!" I pout at him. 

He hums, "Maybe another time. Let's crash a wedding first?" He questions, smirking at me.

I roll my eyes and chuckle, "Fine. But this is not the end, E.P." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Nova."

next

Yours Truly - Journal entry no. 2

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 468

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. This is supplemental material to the on-going series 'Yours Truly' please DO NOT read this if you have not read the previous chapters 1 to 10.

chapter index | prev | chapter 11

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AN ENTRY FROM NOVA'S JOURNAL 

December 9, 2022 

Dear journal, 

Well, I suppose here we are with the second entry. I thought it was about time I gather my thoughts somewhere, on what has happened in my life so far. 

First and foremost, he is still appearing in my dreams. There has never been one single night that he hasn't. Just last night. . . he helped me cross another item off my list - crashing a party. or a wedding reception, more like. I just can't explain how I can always remember every detail. It's not like a snapshot of a blur of photos. No it's more than that. 

I remember our conversations. every single word. And how each one is said. I remember how he smiles or gives me that mischievous grin of his. I remember the way the sun touches my skin and the chatter of people and the music and his sneaky kisses. 

All of it puzzles my mind. 

I do know that I can't tell Luke or Charlotte about any of this. They are my good friends, but this is beyond the level of being comprehensible. Heck, even I would give them a look if one of them told me something like this was happening to them. It does not sound remotely logical. It does not sound very. . .Nova. 

But there are a few things that I am sure, that I am certain of. I while ago I asked him if he was real and he nodded. There is a chance he's real. He mentioned at our first meeting on the train that he is aware that he died. Then that could only mean that he is a ghost appearing to me from the afterlife? That is the only logical answer I could pinpoint. Even coming to terms with that, it clutches at my heart, an indescribable feeling I can't quite comprehend. Overwhelmed and painful. I don't know. 

But if he is appearing to me from the afterlife. . . why won't he give me clear, straight answers? 

He even said that when his song came on the radio- that was his doing. But the one thing that nags at me a little is the band-aid on my knee, from when I fell off his motorcycle. . . in the dream. The dream. Last time I checked, whatever happens in dreams do not transfer to the real world. This one still really makes my head spin. 

I do enjoy his presence - it bewilders and excites me. 

But it still does leave me with the question. . .

Elvis why are you helping me? How do you know me?  Why and how do you know all these details about me?

Till next time journal. I do hope next time I'll have more answers. 

Nova. 

next

Yours Truly - Chapter 11: If I Whisper

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 7.5k (sorry!)

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. very angsty, but a lot of fluff too. But mostly angst.

chapter index | prev | chapter 12

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"That guy with tears in his eyes and ghosts in his heart. He loved her, and you could see it." - Jamie Tworkowski 

--

NOVA

Our footsteps brushed against the sidewalk, effectively resounding into the quietness of the desolate street. Boutiques, stores, and diners all wore the similar 'WE ARE CLOSED' sign on their doors. Unattended vehicles were fairly scattered, sitting empty along the curb. The night sky was void of the earlier presence of the sun, and in its place was the glow of the moon accompanied by the blanket of what I could only guess was an infinite of stars. To aid in fighting the inevitable darkness of nature,  street lamps echoed circular bursts of light. One of which reflected perfectly on the man beside me, and I find myself gasping quietly. The blend of the natural and the artificial forms of light elevated his appearance. It may seem cliche to think, but I truly cannot believe how unreal he looks. 

No wonder all those people have emphasised how even more gorgeous he was in real life, and how photos simply did not do him justice. I understand the chaos now, a chaos with reason. It makes me want to snap a photo of him, a way to mark a moment forever before it slips through my fingers like leaves in the wind. Not only because of his outer beauty, but this odd setting he is in. Someone such as himself, you see him in many photos always surrounded by a mass crowd of people. Always. Even in photos when it's only him alone - no, this is different. The Elvis that I see beside me is in such an open space, walking freely  and it's so quiet, so unusual, so human. 

But snapping a photo only holds possible in the real world, not in the dream world. 

I attempt to shake myself out of my reverie, but it seems as if he has caught me and not even a second later, his lips quirk up into a smirk as he fully faces me now. 

"Doll?" He says, a petname that so effortlessly rolls off his tongue, and my mind openly welcomes. 

"I-I'm sorry. . .  what were you saying?" I sputter out, hardly saving myself from his inevitable teasing response that I know he is bound to say.

He chuckles and shakes his head, "Am I boring you already, honey?" He teases. 

In previous encounters with him, I would be apologising right away. But now I know him slightly better, I have become accustomed with Elvis' playful attitude. A direct contrast from the seriousness that I wear all the time. 

I choose to play along and frantically nod, "Oh no, you've caught me, Aaron." I say, purposely dramatising my tone. 

Elvis draws out a long, exaggerated sigh, "I guess I'll call a taxi and we say our farewells, Katerina."  He looks down, giving the performance of a lifetime. 

"Such a shame, the dance moves at the reception was a showstopper." I mused. 

He slowly lifts his head back up and gazes at me, those deep blue eyes never failing to make me loose my balance just the slightest bit. He mirrors the smile spreading across my lips and shakes his head again, an unmistakable shade of red coloring his face. I couldn't help myself, and laughter escapes me inevitably.

Elvis groans, as he closes his eyes in embarrassment, "Aw, hell. Don't remind me!"

"Why not? You looked so cute." 

As per any wedding reception, there is always the part where everyone stands up and go to the dance floor. Surprisingly, when others ushered Elvis to dance, I saw that hesitation in him and how quickly he declined the offer. Well, he couldn't entirely escape it and found himself joining in after all, but his body was almost awkward. I did find myself laughing at how adorable he looked, as he seemed to be mumbling something to himself the entire time - probably disbelief in himself that he is in that situation. 

He opens his eyes and gazes me for a second, and not long after releasing a laughter of his own. 

"I'm glad that you find joy in my misery," He says, the lightness in his tone proving that he is only joking. 

I shake my head with an involuntarily smile pulling on my lips, "Your words, not mine." I throw many hands up in defence. Although it is only lighthearted joking around, I cannot help but recall his initial reaction when I brought it up. I don't want to loose myself in another train of thoughts, another one in which that I know he'll surely snap me out of. I seem to always find myself zoning out, and I've done it an embarrassing number of times already - I don't want him to think that I'm not paying attention to him. Zoning out and being too in my head, it's such a bad habit of mine, one that I know I'll definitely need to break. 

So, I let my curiosity slip out my brain and into our topic of conversation.

"No, but really. I just didn't expect to see you like that at all." I admit, attempting to phrase my words out in a clear way, slightly hoping that he catches what I'm trying to say. 

Elvis tilts his head and glances briefly at me, "Like what, doll?" His voice purely confused at my words. 

"So hesitant to dance. I mean, from the videos I've seen of you performing. . . you always looked so confident and in your element. " I explain further, noticing myself use my hands to emphasise my words. Another habit of mine - I tend to talk with my hands, as if I'm in a theatrical piece, whereby every bit of dialogue involves gestures.

He sighs and for a moment I regret my words, but a small, shy smile appears on his face which eases my worries. 

"When I'm on stage as Elvis Presley, my body can feel the music and just move. B-But me just as me, getting up to dance . . . I-It ain't easy." He shakes his head, his words slow and a slight stutter that I've never heard before from him. His azure eyes look into me, as if silently searching for assurance that I'm listening, as if there is a time limit hanging above my head indicating my patience. A patience that I truly know is insurmountable when it comes to him. It's the veins of curiosity that twists itself so easily around the human nature of: yes, I am listening, and I want to hear more about you. Please keep talking. 

To my relief, he continues. 

"I-I was a pretty shy kid. . . never sang in front of an audience, or anyone before that day I decided to. Never the popular one in school." His forehead knots, and I can almost see his brain reaching through the files of memories past. I don't fail to notice that for each word that he utters out of his mouth, his eyes would flicker briefly to my face and then he would continue. 

I find myself gaping in disbelief as his confession, "Shy?" 

He nods and chuckles, as he scratches the nape of his neck. 

"That hard to believe, huh?" He says. 

I nod, "Honestly, yeah. At first glance of your performances, no one would think that you are a shy. How did you break out of your shell?"

"I did for my mama. She believe in my singing and I always believed her. I took my best shot with it, and found it helped with getting my family out of poverty. It was all for them." He says, his voice quieter now, a softer tone. A tone that was such a shift from the confident and playful man that shows himself to me these past few encounters. Instead, with Elvis' eyes casted off into a distance, his tone is a glimpse of that little boy who wanted to help his family. The little boy who found a passion in music. The little boy who dreamed. 

A pinch into my heart was evident. So selfless to take on such a huge responsibility at such a young age, and by his choice as well. He has always been a kind soul, and I'm grateful that the movie explored the humanity of him. . . but I wished they explored more of this. 

"I'm happy you took the step. Your voice. . . the world deserved to hear it, and I'm glad that in exchange, you've got to help your family have a better life." I say, and refrain myself from saying but you also deserved to live longer. 

Elvis faces me now, and I realise that we've stopped walking. We stand still, facing each other and the light from the street lamp reflects on his features so perfectly. His high cheekbones so prominent, along with the sharp jawline.  The Elvis before me is his appearance from the late '60s I would say. It's strange, in each dream that I have, he is there. But it's always different versions of him. So far, it's been mostly '50s Elvis and now lately, it's been '60s Elvis. But then again, why would I question this when the entire situation is even more of a question mark itself.  

Elvis smiles, "Yeah, It made me real happy to do that for them. Thank you for listening, Nova." He says softly, sincerity echoes through his face. Both of his hands reach out and clasped into mine. I smile at him, as I find myself gently squeezing his hands in reassurance. 

A strong gust of wind fills the surroundings, its effect not going unnoticed by my bare arms. I shiver instinctively. Elvis quickly notices this, and takes his suit jacket off without a moment's hesitation, carefully draping it around my shoulders. I loop my arms into the sleeves, although it probably looks a little big on me.I feel my cheeks heat up at his close proximity, the scent of his cologne evade my senses strongly. 

"Thanks." I manage to say, in a quiet voice. 

"What kind of guy would I be if I let my girl freeze in this cold?" He grinned. 

My girl. 

I hear a distant sound of chimming and it happens again. I furrow my eyebrows, racking my brain to decipher what that could be. I look around our surroundings quizzically. 

I know now. It's almost like a sound of a clock chime. 

"Did you hear that?" I ask him. 

Elvis' eyes widen slightly in what I can understand must be him thinking if there is any danger lurking by. He clears his throat and takes my right hand in his left, tucking both of our hands into his pocket. His body faces forward, the way it was when we were walking. 

"I-It's getting colder, let's go." He simply says, his eyes removed from my gaze. 

Before I could say anything else, he is hurried in his walking as he tugs me along with him. 

"It sounded like a clock chime," I say, as his walk picks up in speed and turns into a run. I try to keep up with him, his hand tightly holding onto mine. 

I'm unsure if he heard me. 

--

It seems I have been proven wrong. Every other building on the street is closed, except for one. It just happens to be Miss Esther's cafe. It doesn't go unnoticed by me that there is no one else in the cafe, and why would there be really? it seems so late into the night, which does beg the question on why keep a cafe open at this hour? Such an odd thing my brain is creating for this dream. 

Well, no one but Miss Esther herself who welcomed us with open arms. Literally. The friendly lady was quick on her feet to draw us both in a tight hug, and an enthusiastic smile upon seeing us both again. We both order hot cups of coffee, which brings us to the moment that we are right now. Elvis and I sat at a table right in the corner, which is safe to say the best choice as the warmth of the place quickly dissipated the cold temperatures of the outside. Unlike the previous time, the lights of the cafe were dimmed - a true indication that it is in fact the night hours. 

"Thank goodness for this place, it got so cold so quickly." I say, as I take a sip from the mug of the hot beverage in my hands. It's taste and warmth, perfectly melting into my throat. 

Elvis nods, "I second that."

Elvis places his coffee mug down and leans forward, "Another one crossed off your list? How are you feeling, baby?" He grins, that familiar southern drawl in his voice. 

baby. 

To save myself from dwelling on his close proximity, I attempt to subtly lean back against my chair to answer his question. Although the crashing of the wedding reception happened in my previous dream, it still astounds me to no end that I truly did that. At the start of this dream, I found myself walking with Elvis. Both of us still wearing the attire that we wore for the wedding reception. After waking up from the previous dream, my mind cannot help but replay how even in the crowded room full of people at the reception, his attention was on me and he kept asking me if I was okay. Yes, he pushes me to be braver, to try the unknown. But at the same time, he knows how set I am in my ways and reads me so well - easily seeing if I'm overwhelmed or not. 

"It said 'party' on my list. Not wedding." I smile playfully, "But either way, it was something I've never done before. It was fun. . . surprisingly." 

"See? It ain't so bad to cross the lines sometimes, Katerina." He muses, grinning at me. 

There he goes again with my middle name. 

"That's true. But I won't be crashing another wedding in the future." I chuckle with a shake of my head, as I prop my elbow on the table with my chin resting on my hand. 

"Fair enough, honey. Some things in life, you only need to do once. Just to make you feel. . . a little crazy. We all need that feeling sometimes." His voice is quieter now, almost to the level of a whisper, as he smiles at me. 

"Thank you for helping me." I say, almost feeling the words hard to get out of my mouth. It's strange, whenever he is so close to me and his voice is that gentle and quiet. It's so attentive and  I feel that he is looking through me, like a pristinely transparent glass. As if to silently say with his eyes: Of course, I'm listening to you too.

He takes my left hand and plants a kiss on the top, all the while maintaining his piercing eye contact with me. 

"I'll find a way. Always." 

Such a small sentence, not even ten words and yet, my brain desperately clutches onto his words. A brief string of words that feel like they are spinning around in a carousel in my mind, and ultimately melting into the depths of my heart. And I guess, for once in my life, I have a feeling that the latter wins the key of keeping it close. 

"Tell me something. . ." I begin after a while of silence. 

He nods. Elvis absentmindedly draws invisible circles around the palm of my left hand, which does tickle a little, and soothes me at the same time. 

"How do you know my middle name? It left me speechless when you dropped that out of nowhere." I chuckle. 

There is a twinkle in his eye as he chuckles, "Lucky guess." 

I roll my eyes as I shoot him a smile, "Of course. No one calls me by my middle name." 

"Did you know that my middle name is Aaron?" He asks, clearly rhetorically. 

"Yes. But that's not the same thing." I lean back against the chair again, feeling a little tired. But nonetheless, wanting to keep talking to him. 

"How is it not?" He muses, clearly enjoying this. 

"Everyone knows you. Well, knows your name." 

He ignores my response and simply says, "Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say." 

Never have I ever heard my name pronounced like. . . that before. He said it a few times now, but this time, I feel he intentionally says it in such a. . .  certain way. The way that my name rolls of his tongue in such a way - it makes my cheeks heat up involuntarily. 

I clear my throat and try to avoid his eyes, "Thanks. Aaron is a cool name too."

He laughs at my flustered expression, clapping his hands. 

"Oh my, I hear a lot of laughter. I do hope that he is not annoying you, sweet Nova." Miss Esther appears, walking closer to us with her hands on her hips. 

"I haven't done nothing wrong, Ma'am. " Elvis shakes his head, joking along. 

Miss Esther narrows her eyes at him, but with a smile on her face, "Hmm. You better not do. I need your help, I can't seem to reach the box from the highest shelf in the kitchen. " She explains.

Elvis doesn't hesitate to stand up, "Okay." 

Miss Esther smiles and pats him on the shoulder, "Thank you, sweetheart. " 

Elvis turns back to me, "Honey, will you be alright here while I go help Miss Esther?" 

I nod, "I'll be fine, go." 

"Besides, you'll be doing all the work whilst I take a seat right here and hang out with Nova." Miss Esther chuckles at him, easily taking the seat across from me. 

"Alright, no bad tales about me Miss Esther." He jokes, and I feel that he wanted to say something more but he stops himself. Instead, he confirms to Miss Esther about which box it is, and makes his way into the kitchen. 

"It's nice to see hear him laugh and smile, dear." She says. 

"Yeah, he loves to joke a lot and teases me all the time. He's a complete contrast to how I am." I shake my head, chuckling.

"I'm afraid I haven't been clear with my words," Miss Esther replies, smiling apologetically at me. 

I tilt my head, "What do you mean, Miss Esther?"

She sighs,"Elvis is a nice boy. But from the moment I met him, the boy was anything but a jokester. Determined, yes. But very down. It made me worry an awful lot from time to time." 

Of course, from my knowledge from the movie, Elvis' life was filled with it's fair share of trails tribulations - but I thought that coming into the afterlife, a sense of peace would replace such a heartbreaking emotion. Well, that is if he is from the afterlife. If my theory is correct, then Elvis is from the afterlife and is visiting my dreams. This is the only plausible explanation. . . right?

"Down?" 

Miss Esther nods in confirmation, "Very. But ever since. . . you. . .  I have never seen him so much as frown no longer. It's a good change. You are good together. " Her voice is warm and sincere, a bright smile on her face. 

I offer her a kind smile back.

A thought enters my mind. Should I or should I not?

"Miss Esther, can I ask you something?" 

She nods, "Yes, of course."

"When we first met you told me something. You told me that Elvis was looking for me, and you thought that he told me about that. But he's difficult with answering questions. So secretive. I. .  I guess I just want to know what you meant by that?" I find myself lowering my voice, fiddling my  fingers nervously. 

I see a flash of hesitation in her eyes and she sighs deeply, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, sweetheart. I'm sorry. My answers will not offer you anything helpful."

"Please, just anything." I plead, "I-I've been having these dreams back to back, every night. They continue on one after the other and I just want to know why."

She sighs,"Sometimes good things are not as simple. It is not the simple case of why and how, but trust me answers will come to you when the time is right. Okay?" She says, putting a delicate finger underneath my chin as she smiles. 

I feel defeated by her response, but I can feel that she is genuine with her words. 

Instead, I sigh and whisper back, "Okay."

Before any further conversation can continue, Elvis returns and tells Miss Esther that the box is now on the kitchen counter. He inquires on what our topic of conversation was, in which Miss Esther replies that we've been talking about her secret recipes. I am grateful that she didn't reveal our true conversation to Elvis. But her words will ring a little longer in my brain. She is essentially saying to just go with the flow of things. But the rational part of my being is desperately screaming out against such a relaxed perspective. I've never been rollerblading toward letting happenstance being what it is. There is always a reason for everything that happens, and if it can be helped - I'd like to know that reason. But I suppose this time around, life is closing its doors to my logical tendencies and throwing the key away. 

My eyes cannot help but glance at the black and white photographs of Hollywood actors, presumably from the '50s and '60s, adorning one wall of the cafe. A few I can easily recognised and others not so much. 

"I like what they did with the wall." I comment. 

Elvis smiles, "I do too. The best of the best on there."

"Who's your favorite?" I asked, nodding to the wall of photographs. 

I have a sense that I know his answer before he says it, well, in the movie Elvis mentions his admiration for James Dean a few times and how he wished to be as great as him in acting.

His eyes wander around and stay fixated to a photograph of James Dean, "A real great actor. It's shame he died so young. " Elvis shakes his head, "I remember starting out in Hollywood, wishing and hoping that I'd become a serious actor like him. I wanted to do good movies that told a really good story. Script after script, I-I knew then that my hope was impossible. I fell sick, mentally and violently ill from all that. . ." He looks at me now, shaking his head and blue eyes watery now. 

I frown, "Oh, Elvis." 

"Thirty-one movies later and I knew that this folks in town laughed at me. 'Course I knew. I-I just wanted to make one good picture I could be proud of, before I went." His words breathe harder into the air now, as he closes his eyes shut and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. 

It pains me to see that even now, those wounds still remain fresh to him. A whole decade of his life was dedicated to movies. It's such a shame that people did not see his passion, that did not help him reach his potential. It's that battle with creativity, a hunger to express himself and others around him did not see him like that. They made their decisions about him before they even knew him. It's a treacherous feeling that seeps into me, and I find myself biting down on my lip - feeling like tears might escape me. 

He opens his eyes and chuckles bitterly, "I was a joke." 

I find myself leaning forward and taking his hand into mine, "Hey, don't be saying that about yourself. I'm sorry that you didn't get what you deserve because you deserved so much more, Elvis. You had so much more to offer to the table and I wished people saw that. . . saw you."

He is silent for a moment and takes a deep breath, "Thank you, Nova. It matters a whole lot that you see me."

A smile slowly pulls on his lips as I smile at him, hoping to lift up the mood. 

"Why don't you ask me?" I say, arching a teasing eyebrow. 

"Ask about what?" He looks at me confused.

"Who my favorite actor is?" I muse. 

Elvis chuckles suddenly, as if I just dropped an inside joke.

"I don't need to, doll. I have a feeling that I already know." He smirks, confidence oozing from him. 

"Fine, go on then." I entertain his confidence.

"Grace Kelly." He replies casually, not a hint of doubt in his voice. 

I gasped in shock, "How'd you know that?" 

Another one of the many things that he knows about me. I should not be surprised anymore at this point, but I can't help but be every time he so casually slips information about me. Information that is so personal, that only my family and closest friends would know about. But I guess in dreams anything is possible, no matter how cliche it may sound. But then again, if he is visiting from the afterlife, then that means he is real which then furthers the question on how he knows all of this about me? 

Elvis casually shrugged with a smirk, "Lucky guess, honey." 

"Uh-huh, sure." I say, obviously unconvinced. 

Elvis is about to say something more, but he stops himself. He turns around and looks out the wide glass window of the cafe. I follow his gaze and it seems to the that the cold temperatures have now been accompanied by heavy showers. Droplets of water cascade rapidly down the glass, it's sound unmistakable. The clouds above seem to be releasing an increase of the torrent rain, as the violent downpour continues on - until you could quite literally hear it hitting the roof of the cafe. 

"Come on, let's go." Elvis says, turning back to me as he stands up. 

I find myself standing up, "Go where?" I ask, quite a rhetorical question I believe. 

Elvis only shoots me a mischievous grin, confirming my suspicion. 

My eyes go wide as I attempt to tug myself out of his hold, "Oh no. Nope. "

"Why not?"

I gestured at the outside, "Are you seriously asking me that? It's horrific." 

"It won't last long." 

"What if I get sick?" I reason out, panicking now. 

But of course my rational nature does not pair up with his way of spontaneity, "Then I guess I'll have to take of ya. You know, Dr. Presley." He winks. 

"Elvis, I'm seriou-"

"Remember your list?" He tries again, he takes off his suit jacket from around my shoulders and places it neatly on the table. 

And this time, I cannot counter back because I know he's right. I stupidly wrote on my list that I wanted to experience what it was like to just go crazy and have fun in the pouring rain. Like the ones you see in the movies, those cliche scenes. 

I sigh and finally nod, he grins in triumph and tugs me along with him as we rapidly run out of the cafe. The moment we step foot outside, the strong rainfall hits my bare arms and I see Elvis turn around to face me and lets go of my hand. He closes his eyes shut and spreads his arms wide, the rapid precipitation hitting his entire being and he looks perfectly blissful. His yellow button-up gets stuck to his tanned skin in a matter of seconds, and I look down to find my dress heavily sticking to my skin too. 

Elvis laughs out loud, his laugh encompassing the entire empty street.

"Ain't it incredible? Come here, darlin." He walks forward and grabs hold of my hand. 

"This is crazy!" I exclaim, but find my lips spreading into a huge smile. 

He suddenly grabs hold of my waist and spins me around, with him standing right behind me. I feel my chest thumping rapidly, and he levels his head close to mine - his lips almost touching my ear. I can feel his breath tickling my skin, as he whisper, "Don't think, Nova. Let yourself go." 

In dreams, anything can change in a split second. Who knows, this torrential rain might stop all of the sudden within the next few seconds. Nova, you promise to let yourself live. To just be. Stay true to that. And so with a deep breath and close my eyes, I find myself turning around out of his grasped and my legs run rapidly. I only run within the small space, and the water hits my face as I find myself spinning all of a sudden. Like a poorly, non-choreographed ballet recital. But I know that this is not a stage, this is just a dream. In this dream - no one else is here but me and him. No one else is watching. It's only me, him and the pouring rain. I find myself laughing and about nothing really, nothing in particular. But it's such an. . . elevated feeling. To laugh just because. With no particular reason to. 

It feels oddly. . . liberating. 

I try to open my eyes and see him right in front of me with the familiar grin on his lips, and he takes my hand this time - twilling me around before his right hand plants itself on my waist, and his left holds up mine. I naturally place my other hand on his shoulder. He takes another step forward, our noses almost touching, "Dance with me," He says, almost breathlessly. 

I am amused at his question, "Oh, really? I thought you didn't dance unless you were on stage." 

"I didn't. But I know that I am me right now. I'm me when I'm with you." He says softly. 

And my mind flickers back to our conversation earlier about how he hesitates to dance when he is not 'The Elvis Presley' because of embarrassment, but he is willing to dance with me. He's letting go. Just like me. For the brief moment of not thinking. 

"Okay." I respond, gladly accepting his request.

And so, we began to dance together. There was certainly no music, but that did not stop us to fall within each other's movements. I picture it like a normal dance of the waltz, expect this is anything but the appropriate setting and it's full of imperfect steps. But I pay no mind to that. Our feet shuffled in sync as we danced in a slow pace, as he spun in me in circles. But the downpour grew stronger, and with that, our dance quickened in its paced. His grip was firm on my hand, as well as on my waist. We both laughed at our imperfect version of the waltz.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, after a while of dancing. 

I nod. 

He then lifts me up slowly and I laugh, he sets me back down again. I find myself naturally looping my arms around his neck. Both of his hand are now on my waist, and I feel a little warm all of a sudden despite the cold temperatures. He pulls me closer to his body, and his height towers me a little. I take my time to study him in this happenstance. His dark hair sticks to his forehead now, droplets falling from strands. His eyes, piercing as ever and the grin on his lips releasing a melodic laugh. He is beautiful and it's suddenly hard to catch my breath. 

"I guess the rain is not stopping, I look like a mess." I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed on what I may look like. I know my hair is soaked and no doubt, there is no more makeup on my face. 

Elvis raises his hand, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"I doubt it." 

"I don't think so. A drowned rat might be a bette-" I attempt to joke. 

He cuts me off, "You are the most beautiful person I know." 

I narrow my eyes at him, "Really? I bet you tell all girls that."

"This is the only time I mean what I say." He explains, and I try to wait for him to break out into a chuckle to say he is joking. But nothing like that. Elvis presses his forehead against mine, and I breathe deeply.  Never in my life have I felt my heart thump so rapidly against my chest. I have felt all emotions most of my life: excitement and nervousness and anxiety. All of which result in my heart beating in an insane speed, as if it's about to leap out from my body. But this type of racing I feel cannot be categorised like those. The type of beating feels like it's running down to other parts of my being. It's an overwhelming feeling, a type of energy that feels like it's slipping through my hands and holding my face, and weakening my knees. It's fast and almost a slight pain. A feeling that drives me speechless and makes me welcome the rope of curiosity. 

Is this the feeling of just doing and not doing? The feeling of letting things flow? Of being. . . free from my mind?

"I-I feel my heart beating wildly," I admit to him, almost breathless. 

"That means it's working." Elvis smiles. 

"What is?"

"To be unexpected. To run into the unknown. That is how I want you to feel all the time." He emphasises, and he is so close to me. So incredibly close. 

"Thank you." 

Silence hits us again, the only sound is the rain around us. Rainfall that seems to have slowed down, but evidence of puddles created. 

I see his eyes flicker to my lips, as we both just look at each other. And you know how people say that if two people truly know each other, words won't be necessary at all. That sometimes, a single look is enough to convey a message. The eyes can often reflect the words unspoken. Or so I've been told by my grandmother. 

Elvis begins to lean in and I am not clueless, but to my surprise he leaves a brief kiss on the side on the very corner of my lips. Close, but not directly. It lingers there for a while, leading to blush creep into my cheeks. 

"You've been asking me questions, let's reverse the roles." He begins, in which I quirk an eyebrow at him. 

"You've seen both sides of me. Who do you see right now?" He asks, voice so soft and gentle. 

I know what he is asking. Earlier in our conversation, he revealed that the Elvis Presley on stage differs greatly from the actual person offstage. I cannot even imagine feeling almost like you are switching between two identities, two personas, two parts of you. But the other part seeming to encompass and overshadow the human being. I know that Elvis loves performing, and you can hear and see it in numerous videos. There is something so hypnotising and magnetic about seeing him in his element. But I have a feeling that it felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders at one point, as they said before, the brighter the light the darker the shadow. 

The one that is before me right now, I see him simply as. . . Elvis. 

"You. I see you." I say, and I know that he understands my words. 

Elvis smiles in relief and he begins to say something. 

"I-"

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

A buzzing sound screeches through my ears, rapidly leaving me no choice but to open my eyes. I scan my surroundings, and sigh in disappointment that I am in fact in my bedroom. Beams of sunlight pass through my bedroom window, signifying that morning is here. The buzzing sound continues, and I slam the alarm clock situated on my bedside table in annoyance. I hold my hand to my heart, frantically calming my heart. 

No. I can't be here right now. 

No. Not when I didn't hear what he had to say. 

But this is the reality. The reality of the vehicles outside on the streets and people chattering - not an empty and quiet street. The reality of favourable, warm weather seeping into my bedroom - not the gloomy, wet weather that I found myself enjoying and dancing in. The reality that here I am, alone, and there is no smiling raven-haired man beside me. 

There is a knock on my door. 

"Come in." 

"Good morning, my bestie!" Luke cheerfully greets me, all in what seems to be workout clothes. 

"Morning," I say, in contrast to his bright mood. 

"Listen, I know I'm no Beyonce, but at least be happy to see your best friend." He jokes, taking a drink out of the water bottle in his hand. 

"Sorry, I just don't feel like leaving my bed today." 

Which is not exactly a lie, just a half truth. 

"How the earth has shifted." He gasps dramatically, "Look at me now going for my second lap around the neighbourhood, and THEE Nova Katerina Sinclair slapping productivity in the face?" 

Katerina. Katerina is a very sexy name, I'll say. His voice echoes in my head.

I roll my eyes and playfully throw a pillow at Luke, "Oh, Shut up."

"Well, I'll leave you to role-play sleeping beauty for a day, while I go act like I have my life together." Luke says, exiting my room. 

"See you later!"

"Hey Google how do. . . " I hear him ask his phone, as his voice trails off into the distance. 

Wait. 

Why didn't I think of that before? 

I grab my phone from the bedside table and quickly type in my question onto the famous search engine. 

IS IT POSSIBLE TO RESUME A DREAM WHERE YOU PREVIOUSLY LEFT OFF?

-  Dreams can be so realistic that it can be hard to tell if we're awake or asleep. And sometimes, we wake up in the middle of a dream and wonder if it's possible to go back to sleep and pick up where we left off. It is possible to resume a dream, but it requires a certain focus and concentration. 

Hmm. . . not exactly what I'm looking for. Let me try again.

IS IT NORMAL TO REMEMBER A DREAM VERY VIVIDLY?

- It is widely common that 99.9% of us cannot remember our dreams the moment we wake up. However, scientists have concluded that there is a percentage of us that do remember our dreams. The few individuals that do (an estimated 2%) remember a maximum of two dreams a week. However, reportedly, only significant parts of their dreams are memorable and others fade along as dreams normally do. 

Shit. I'm way past that maximum of two dreams. 

WHY AM I AWARE WHEN I AM DREAMING? 

- This phenomenon has been classified as 'Lucid Dreaming.' This is whereby an individual becomes aware that they are in the dream world. The events that happen in their brain are merely figment of imaginations. The individual is aware of this the entire time they are in slumber. It is also important to note that some individuals who lucid dream, are able to control the events that unfold before them in the dream. 

Okay. This sounds half right. Every time that Elvis has been in my dream I have been extremely aware that none of it is real. But to control my dreams? That one I can't relate to. 

WHY DOES A CELEBRITY KEEP APPEARING IN MY DREAMS?

- Celebrities in dreams are not unusual. In fact, researchers evidenced that the appearance of a famous figure often indicates something the individual longs for. Some believe it's a human's soul craving for something they have not yet realised themselves. 

What does that even mean?

WHY DOES ONE PERSON CONSTANTLY APPEAR IN MY DREAMS?

-  Dreaming of a specific someone (friend, relative, ex) is your brains way of saying that you need to accept something related to that person. Maybe a misunderstanding or something they did that did not sit right with you. 

Ugh. This one is not very helpful, how does that even happen when I don't and have never known Elvis Presley personally? 

I continue to scroll down the page and click on an article. 

- Dreaming about the same person constantly can mean a multitude of things. 

1. Firstly, it may relate to unresolved issue. 

2. Your subconscious may be sending you a warning sign. 

3. You're trying to manifest something in real life. 

4. You feel guilty for a reason you can't explain. 

5. There's an energy imbalance between you. 

I sigh in defeat and close my phone. None of those listed make any sense. So much for Google having the answer to everything. But let's get some facts straight, from the very few I found relevant in my search: Remembering dreams is uncommon, but if you do, you only remember up to 2 dreams a week. I've dreamed of him six times already. Lucid dreaming is when you become aware that you are dreaming and whatever is happening is not real, okay so that is definitely relatable. When a celebrity keeps appearing in your dreams it means your soul is trying to tell you something. . .  but what could that possibly be? And lastly, the article - none of it seems relevant. 

Who do I even turn to for answers? Or even someone to just talk to about what's happening to me? There's no way I can tell Charlotte or Luke, they'll be worried. Even more of a no towards my parents. 

I shot of realisation hits me then and there. I get up and open my wardrobe, frantically finding the purse gifted to me years ago. A purse I used to use so often when I was a kid, the Disney characters perfectly stitched onto it. I open it and my hand grasped the small piece of paper, I dig it out of the purse and sit back down on my bed. 

I grab my phone and dial the number scribbled onto the paper, and patiently wait as the phone rings. 

"Hello, who am I speaking to?" Her voice travels through, and a smile pulls on my lips. 

"Great-Aunt Odette, hi. It's me, Nova." I reply, nervously fiddling with my fingers. 

"Oh, hello Nova!  Is everything alright? What made you call?" Her tone quickly concerned. 

"I'm fine, there's nothing wrong. I, just um. . .  well it's better if I see you. Is it ok if I visit?" 

She chuckles, "You don't even have to ask, dear. When?"

I took a deep breath, "Today." 

chapter 12

✰ Title: Yours Truly

✰ Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

✰ Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

✰ Status: ongoing

✰ Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

✰ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. Nothing much to warn about tbh, perhaps the occasional curse word every now and then. I do warn that the mystery in this is the central theme, so beware that you will become frustrated and confused 😂 um . . . what else? I suppose that's it. Oh, and a lot of angst eventually - so prepare your box of tissues for crying.

@literally-just-elvis-fics

Yours Truly| INDEX

A note from me to you- before we begin

Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Journal entry no. 1

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Journal entry no. 2

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Chapter 13.5:

Chapter 14:

Yours Truly - Chapter 12: A Curious Case

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 3774 words

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13

・❥・a/n: hello all! I thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I apologise for the long wait, well life happens and things get busy sometimes. Also, I will admit that this is one of the significant chapters - so I had intense perfectionist tendencies for this one. I really hope you enjoy this chapter! This will be crossposted on Wattpad as well.

if you like this, please do share and comment - it would mean the world to me. Also, if you want to give me a tip - the icon should be at the end of this chapter and on my profile bio. This is not necessary at all, so absolutely do not feel the need to. All my fics are always free. ✨

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"My soul chose yours. And a soul just doesn't forget that." - Ben Maxfield.

NOVA

The semicircular structure surrounded us, the transparency of the walls and roof effectively providing it to be easier for beams of afternoon sun to slip through the glass. The sun being an object of deception, as if I were to step outside the conservatory - I know that the almost-winter breeze will latch onto my skin. Various plants were situated on each corner of the room, as well as the usual decorative pieces that sat on top of wooden shelves. 

I sat on a sofa, opposite to the two-seater that Great Aunt Odette was sitting on. The sofas were comfortable, and stylishly woven from rattan to perfectly match the atmosphere of the room. A coffee table was situated between us, books and our empty cups of coffee rested on it. It was typical of Great Aunt Odette to spend time in the indoor conservatory, despite its functionality being best used for the summer seasons. But I shouldn’t feign surprise, as she never was rigid about such and such rules. 

I arrived an hour ago, and after the usual conversation of updating her about the normal elements in my life over dinner - I know that there is no delaying no further. With my action of suddenly calling her, and the two hours drive to her house - it is now the time to actually explain to her the purpose of my visit. There is no more sugar coating with Great Aunt Odette, and I simply wouldn’t get away with it at all - she will see right through me. 

Great Aunt Odette squinted her brown eyes at me, and I knew straight away that a question would land on me within the next few seconds. I just hope that my racing heart would slow down, in time to catch it. 

“Now, tell me Nova. . . “ She begins, “What is it you want to talk about? You said it was imperative to discuss in person.” 

Great Aunt Odette lived far out in the countryside. It was a total of a two hour drive to get to her home. It’s only been a few months since i’ve seen her, the last time being her birthday. Now, due to life and the stages of adulthood quickly approaching me - it has become harder to visit her. Although I do apologise for rarely getting to visit her, Great Aunt Odette is always quick to wave my apologies away as she says that there is a reason she chose to live in the middle of nowhere. She valued the peace and that the time in her life of constantly chasing life and being surrounded by people - she was finished with that. And so, she enjoys very little social interactions. But she is a very extroverted person. 

She is my favorite person in the entire world. If I don’t address her by ‘Great Aunt Odette’, I call her ‘Auntie Dottie’ - which according to her, is a nickname that I invented when I was a kid. Apparently, I was frustrated in being unable to correctly pronounce her name so settled with ‘Auntie Dottie.’ 

Great Aunt Odette patiently awaits my answer. The record player helps the silence, as the room is filled with the sound of soft, classical music.

If there is one person in my life that would listen to me, and understand this it would be Great Aunt Odette. No matter how ridiculous it may sound, I know in my heart she will listen to me. 

I push myself to regain my eye contact with her, as I take a deep breath. 

“I- . . . there really is no easy way to explain what has happened, and has been continuing to happen to me. I haven’t told my parents or any of my friends this. . . it’s a lot.” I said, trying to read the expression on her face. 

Her eyebrows arch as her eyes widen, “You are not in some kind of trouble, are you?” She whispers. 

I frantically shake my head, “Oh god, no. I promise you that’s not the case. “

Great Aunt Odette breathes a sigh of relief, with her hand placed on her chest. 

“Oh, thank goodness!”

“I found myself presuming so because it is very unlike you to not confide in your parents, nor your friends. “ She admits, freely sharing her trail of thoughts. 

“I promise you, Auntie Dottie. I’m not in trouble, nothing illegal, and I’m not hurt.” I clarify, in an attempt to cure her worries a little.

She pauses for a second as if trying to think through her words. 

“Have you been to the Doctor recently?” She says, her voice slow and with fear coursing her eyes. 

I shake my head knowing exactly where she is going with the question. 

“No, I haven’t. I’m perfectly healthy, I’m okay. “ 

“Then what is it?” She is at a loss for words, her forehead knotted as she looks at me in desperation for answers. 

I get up from my seat and move to sit next to her on the sofa. I lean my body sideways on the back of the sofa, as I cross my legs. 

My hands take hers as I take a deep breath, “I’ve been having dreams, Auntie Dottie.” I lower my voice, my heart releasing a shot of nervous energy as this is the first time I would ever tell someone this. 

The fear of something extreme leaves her face, but the confusion remains. Throughout the two hour drive, I tried to desperately practise how I would reveal this all to her. There is no other way to ease the confusion, there is no shortcut - it really is the case of telling her everything. There is no way to sugarcoat it or a slow build up to, because one way or another it will sound unreal. So, here I am now, I can only guarantee explaining it all as clearly as possible - no matter how insane it might sound.

“Dreams?”

I nod, “Yeah.”

“Are they bad dreams?” She tilts her head with a frown, as she sends me a logical question. Of course that is the first thing one would think. If someone was concerned about their dreams, the first thing someone would think is that they are dreaming unpleasant things. But for my case, it’s not that simple. Mine is good, but full of intricacy. 

“No, no. They are um. . .  quite the opposite actually.” 

Great Aunt Odette slowly nods, but I know that I have rendered her more confused than ever. 

“Okay. Then what is it, dear?”

I  find myself subconsciously biting my bottom lip, here goes nothing.

“Um. . . the dreams aren’t normal. At least I don’t think they are.” I respond, looking at her to check that she is still with me. Great Aunt Odette is attentive, her gaze transfixed as she nods at me in encouragement. 

“How so?”

“Well. . .  for starters I just don't think it’s normal to be waking up each morning and remembering every detail of the dream I’ve just had. I remember each word that I have said, how I felt, and my surroundings.” I have let go of Great Aunt Odette’s hands now, as I can’t help, but talk with my hands as I explain. 

I stop myself from adding in the fact that he also appears in my dreams. I need to tell her the information little by little, saying that ‘oh btw Auntie Dottie, Elvis Presley is in my dreams every night.’ There is no way I can say it like that, I need to build it up first. 

She pauses for a moment before she speaks, “Have you ever heard of the term lucid dreaming, Nova?”

I nod, “Yes. Yes I have. But Aunt Dottie it can’t be that.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why not?”

“I don’t go to sleep with the intention of controlling what happens in my dreams. They just happen.” 

Great Aunt Odette hums in agreement to my reasoning. 

“But when you are dreaming are you aware that you are?” She asks.

“Yes.” 

“How long has this been happening? Such things can happen to us every now and again I suppose. “ 

I bite my bottom lip, “Almost two weeks now.” 

Her eyes widened at my response, “Weeks?” She repeats, her tone full of shock. 

I nod.

“How frequently have they been occurring within that time frame?” She questions, and I can practically visualise the wheels turning in her brain as she adds each piece to the puzzle. 

“Every night.” 

“Good heavens,” Great Aunt Odette mutters, “I have never heard anything like it.” 

I sighed as I found myself absentmindedly drawing circles on the cushion that sat on my lap. 

“I-I know. Believe me, Auntie Dottie. I have googled it and all results don’t even remotely hint that this is normal. “

“These dreams. . . “ She speaks slowly and carefully, “Do you remember each one?” 

“Yeah. I can tell you right now about every detail, and It’s not like I need to write it down at all to remember. It’s…” I run my fingers through my hair, trying to find the right words, “It’s well. . . I don’t know. . . almost like recalling a memory.” 

Everyone may remember their dreams every once a while, and remember certain details. But for me to describe my dreams to the level of like a memory? It’s not a mundane experience at all. And I can confirm that the degree of it is strange because Great Aunt Odette is speechless. The words I let go have rendered her without any words to say. 

She rests her chin on her hand, gazing thoughtfully at me. 

“Give me an example. “

“Well. . . I had a dream of going on a hot air balloon ride and there was one where I went to a wedding reception uninvited. On my 21st, I made myself a promise that I would be open to new experiences, to step outside my comfort zone more. Those dreams started happening after that.” All that I have said is true, and sounds pretty normal so far. But I haven’t even begun to talk about him. I’m still unsure of how Great Aunt Odette might react.

She hums with a smile spreading on her lips, “Perhaps Nova,  it may be your subconscious mind telling you that you are heading in the right direction. I know you and I know that this is a brave step for you.” She held onto my hands, and gave them a reassuring squeeze. 

I nod, “Maybe. But there is another thing, Auntie Dottie.”

Here I go. This conversation was already strange to begin with, but now with the addition of telling her about him - that’s a completely new level of weird territory. But I silently remind myself that this is Great Aunt Odette. If there is anyone I trust more in the entire world, who I could tell - it has to be her. 

She tilts her head, eyes filled with curiosity as she awaits me to continue. 

I take a deep breath, “I, um . . . someone appears in my dreams.” 

“Who? Someone you know?”

I shake my head, “No. Not personally, at least.” 

Great Aunt Odette raises an eyebrow at my words. 

“No?”

“It’s a famous person.” 

She chuckles, “Oh, don’t worry dear.” She waves her hand, as if to emphasise the point of such a thing not being something to be concerned about. 

“Nova,” She continues, “It’s perfectly normal for a celebrity crush to appear in your dreams. “

I sigh, “I know that. But he isn’t a celebrity crush. I was aware of him, but not to the extent of calling myself a fan. “ 

Great Aunt Odette pauses at my words, and I see her eyes find themselves lost in a maze once again. A moment ago, it seemed like she was content that she found the root of all of this. It seemed that she found that the answer was simply that the appearance of a celebrity crush isn’t abnormal. Almost false hope, as she is back to square one. My Great Aunt is quite expressive, with how people often say that if the competition is to hide your true feelings about something - she would certainly not win. Her face tells it all, and right now - she is almost bewildered and frustrated. 

I decide to continue, in hopes to offer her another piece to the puzzle. 

“I understand that when someone appears in your dreams, we assume that they are there to deliver a message. But I believe that’s only  to people we are close to, people that we know very deeply. “ I find myself fiddling with my fingers again, as I set my eyes on the record player in the corner of the room.

My voice is quieter now as I say, “Not a famous singer who has been gone for decades, “ I ran my hand through my hair, “It’s not- it’s not making sense to me at all.” 

“Gone. . . no longer alive, dear?” She asks carefully, as my gaze floats back to her line of sight. Her eyes are as wide as ever, wheels certainly turning in her head. 

I nod.

“I know that sounds crazy, Auntie Dottie. Believe me, I am not making this up. No matter how ridiculous it may sound, like a plot from a storybook or something - I am telling the truth.” I explain, my words rushing out of me faster and stronger  than the wind blowing against the windows from outside. There’s that striking fear at the pit of my stomach because this is the first time that I have verbally explained my situation to anyone. 

“Who is it, Nova?”

There. The one question that will definitely seal my insanity. If the entire conversation was not abnormal enough, this final question will definitely be the cherry on top. On the drive here, I have decided to tell her everything. But I stood uncertain on whether I should tell her that it’s him. 

In the brief moment that silence passed us, Great Aunt Odette definitely saw a flicker of hesitation in me. A smile splits into her cheeks, “On second thought, keep him as a secret. “ She winks. 

I feel a weight lift off my shoulders, as I sigh in relief. 

“Sorry, it’s just-”

Great Aunt Odette stops me mid-sentence. “I believe you. I can’t say that I have heard of anything like this before, because I certainly have not. However, you are the most intelligent, logical and rational human that I know. “ She says, holding my hands tightly, “For you to tell me this - something which is miles from your beliefs - it has to be the truth. It has to be.” 

I found myself smiling, the clouds of doubt fading away. 

“Thank you, Auntie Dottie. I-I was going mad, I just kept this all to myself. Look, I can even show you my recent search history. “ I pull my phone out, in which she laughs.

“Now, I presume that you were visiting me to talk to me about this. But not necessarily expecting an answer?” She asks, and I instantly recognise the tone of her voice. It’s the tone of voice she often uses when she has a surprise that I am unaware of. 

“Yeah. . . what are you thinking?” I reply, chuckling. 

“Hm, you know me too well Nova.” She laughs as she stands up, “Come with me, there is something I want you to see.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Great Aunt Odette leads me to my favorite place of her house. She throws me a smile over her shoulder, as we go inside. The room was the second most spacious room in her house, I would think. Towering shelves embedded into the walls, in a circular shape as hundreds and hundreds of pieces of literature rested upon them. A cathedral-like window took the centre of it all, but with absence of natural lighting. Instead, the place relied on the dim lightning which was suitable for the atmosphere of the room. Extensive ornate woodwork in the form of two rectangular tables in the middle. In the far right, a nicely lit fireplace was present, surrounded by dark wood mouldings. 

Overall, Great Aunt Odette’s home library is paradise. 

The soft, red carpet adorned the flooring as I followed her lead. She stops at a bookshelf on the left, with a ladder resting on it. 

“Gosh, this has always been my favorite spot.” I say, as my fingers trace the books on the shelves. 

Auntie Dottie displays a bright smile at me, “You are very right.”

I stop my actions and turn to face her, “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“You’ve always had such an appetite for reading. Always hungry for knowledge, and you have spent countless times here - your eyes engrossed in a book. You would be reading Greek mythology, history, ancient egypt. . .  I thought for a second if I should hire you as a librarian.” Auntie Dottie laughs.

“That can be arranged, right?” I play along, laughing. 

“Most certainly.”

“But there is a part of you that I think you have forgotten about, Nova.” She says, voice now serious as ever. 

My eyebrows furrow, “Hmm?”

“I know that you like facts. Facts provide comfort, it makes us feel certainty in our choices. But the discovery of those facts was born from people’s curiosity.” She gestures to the world map that is hung on one of the dark-colored walls, “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean. . . scholars and scientists had to do so much research to publish valid information for the public. It was all trial and error.” I shrugged, still unsure on where the conversation is leading to. 

“Precisely.” She muses, “Although you are no longer a child, there is one element you must carry throughout all stages of your life. The one aspect that will keep your life balanced - curiosity. “

I chuckle, “Great Aunt Odette, if that is what you are getting at then you shouldn’t worry. I’m still a very curious person. Like you said, I like to plan and assess before jumping into something.” 

She shakes her head and chuckles, “Oh, Nova.” She mutters. 

“I promise I am.” 

“I’m not doubting you, dear. “ She assures with a smile, “I am only saying that you are lacking a different sense of direction. The most curious people are the ones that don’t fret over details about something - they just jump.” 

I remain silent and wait for her to continue speaking. 

“When you were a child you loved reading storybooks. Yes, girls like to read fairy tales about princesses. “ She shakes her head, almost deep in thought before her eyes shift back to me. 

“Nova, do you remember your favorite book when you were a child?” Great Aunt Odette asks, almost in a quizzing manner. Her eyes squint, as she awaits my response. 

I’m at a loss for words. It is true that I used to read many storybooks when I was a kid, as a kid normally does. But the subject of my favorite book - my mind is actually blank at the question. 

“I. .  .  I actually can’t remember.” I say, my voice sounding quieter. 

A knowing grin shines on Great Aunt Odette’s face, as she slides the ladder to one of the shelves. It is a good thing that the ladder is one of those that have wheels at the end, so it prevents her from having to carry it from shelf to shelf. 

She starts to climb the ladder and I immediately reach my arms out in alert, “Auntie Dottie, I don’t think you should climb that.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m not going too far.” She replies, her back now facing me as her hand reach out and flips through the books on the shelf. She mutters to herself before an excited, “A-ha!” leaves her mouth. 

To my relief, she safely makes her way down the ladder and stands right in front of me. A dark blue hardbound book is in her hands, but the front cover is faced down. 

“Wherever you went as a child, you had this with you. Other kids would have a stuffed toy with them as a source of comfort. But you had this story, this book with you. It was only when you turned eight years old that it was put down. I know your parents don’t favour thoughts of adventure, of spontaneity, of the unknown. “ Auntie Dottie sighed heavily, “And I know that they only have your best interest at heart. But you're an adult now, Nova and you are young. You get to choose how to let that place of curiosity grow within you. “ 

Great Aunt Odette is my favorite human being on earth, but unfortunately she is not my parents’ favorite. They describe her as being too risky, too uncertain and ‘wild.’ Although she was the one who babysat me during numerous times of my childhood, those ended quite abruptly when I was around the age of eight years old. I remember asking my mom why Great Aunt Odette can’t babysit me anymore, and they simply said because I was “growing up.” and how Great Aunt Odette’s “foolish ideas” aren’t ideal for me. Great Aunt Odette was and is the polar opposite of my parents. Her perspective in life is, to say simply ‘live your life to the fullest’, and I suppose my parents won in that respect. I became exactly how they wanted me to be; safe, always within the lines, and never taking a risk. I do love my parents, I really do. But it is in this aspect that I start to wonder if I have gone too overboard, too safe. 

“You said that you wanted to show me something, after I told you about my dreams. Is this. . . ?” I trail off.

She smiles knowingly and nods, “Go on, turn the book over.” 

I follow her instructions and immediately gasped at the cover. The title is in cursive, with intricate illustrations on the outer aspects of the cover. 

It read: Peter Pan and Wendy by J.M Barrie 

“Oh my god, “ I shake my head, “How can I forget about this?”

Then I remember why Auntie Dottie is showing this to me, “Do you. . . is this why. . . “ 

She nodded, “There may be no scientific explanation for your dreams, Nova. But there doesn’t have to be. The universe has a way of guiding us, of pulling us towards something as a final push to where we are supposed to be. To better ourselves. “ Her eyes flicker briefly to the book, “That sometimes you need to be reminded of the beginning, in order to make some sense of the now.” 

chapter 13

Hello? Is anyone there?

Hi all. I know it has been. . . a while since I've last uploaded any new writings. I apologize for that, I have no other excuse aside from life happening and being accompanied by agonizing writer's block. Do not worry, I am still very much in the ep fandom. Well, I come bearing good news. . . my writing brain is back again, and I am working on posting a few things very, very soon.

I have edited my masterlist. I made it simpler, might help in navigating through it.

Whilst you wait for my writings, please do give my on-going series 'Yours Truly' a chance. I initially posted it on Wattpad, and brought it over here - but it has received a lack of feedback. I know that we write for the love of it, but also feedback is the lifeblood of writers. It would mean the world if y'all would give it a chance. I've changed the summary of it, I feel it now sounds more straight to the point:

"In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago."

*cue mysterious music*

Love, Rose

So this was kinda a flop lol. Reblogging this to see if it has more of a chance this time around *fingers crossed* 🥺

✰ Title: Yours Truly

✰ Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

✰ Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

✰ Status: ongoing

✰ Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

✰ Ratings & Warnings: SFW. Nothing much to warn about tbh, perhaps the occasional curse word every now and then. I do warn that the mystery in this is the central theme, so beware that you will become frustrated and confused 😂 um . . . what else? I suppose that's it. Oh, and a lot of angst eventually - so prepare your box of tissues for crying.

@literally-just-elvis-fics

Yours Truly| INDEX

A note from me to you- before we begin

Playlist

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter 1: Make a Wish

Chapter 2: Mystery Train

Chapter 3: Hold My Hand

Chapter 4: How Do You Know?

Chapter 5: Questions, Questions, Questions

Chapter 6: The List

Journal entry no. 1

Chapter 7: Bird's Eye View

Chapter 8: The Great Gatsby

Chapter 9: So, this is Graceland?

Chapter 10: Girlfriend?

Journal entry no. 2

Chapter 11: If I Whisper

Chapter 12: A Curious Case

Yours Truly - Chapter 13: People and Promises.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 5.1k

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

chapter index | prev | chapter 13.5

-------------------

"For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a 'reserved' sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant." - Haruki Murakami.

NOVA

THE HOURS PASSED by in fruitful conversation with Great Aunt Odette. It fluctuated between earnest expressions and sentences, to ignition of laughter that centered around silliness of memories past. I was grateful that after unearthing my secret to someone, to her, she did not push me further with questions. It didn't mean she brushed off my confession, nor showed any signs of dubiety towards it. It was like I kept a firm, tightly secured room and I let her inside. By opening the door for her, she encouraged a breath of fresh air to travel into the room of my mind. That is and always will be the magic of Auntie Dottie - you know she believes you, you just do, no matter how incredulous you may seem. And if she doesn't, you'll know too. But in the aftermath, she prevents your mind from racing into a spiral of thoughts - she is flitting in getting a burst of laughter or two out of you, smoothly transitioning both topic and mood to lighter subjects. 

"It's disgraceful that it's already half four." Auntie Dottie shakes her head, looking down at the watch wrapped around her pale wrist. 

"I know." I sigh, "Sorry that I've got to go." 

She chuckles, "Oh, hush child. This is the true antagonist of all, " She gestures at her watch, "Time."

And I know that she purposely used literature terminology. 

"The invisible enemy you can't defeat. " I chuckle.

She nods, "No, you cannot. . . but you can run against it." Her lips slide into a wide smile, the type of smile that evokes a sense of secrecy. This, paired with a twinkle in her eyes - a look that has surpassed my childhood. 

Auntie Dottie steps forward and wraps her arms around me, a bundle of warmth swims around my body. It's a while before she parts from the hug, and when she does, she remains in her place. Her hands cup my cheeks, amidst the rising coldness of the autumn wind. 

"You are always running, Nova. I do not think you have realized it, hm?" 

I say nothing, unable to detect what exactly she is saying. Instead, I shake my head. 

"When you stumble upon a question, don't you chase for those answers? I believe you do. I also believe. . . that is no different from searching and embracing the newness in life. You chase knowledge quite ardently, why not chase life? However, yes, certainty is sparse when you do that. But you'll know, that when the parallels of time and life do meet one day, you can be certain that you know you did all you can." 

I release a deep breath that I didn't acknowledge to be holding. Auntie Dottie releases her hold of my cheeks and takes a step back. She tilts her head at me with a knowing smile on her face. At that moment, my parents' words flood my mind, but the thought quickly speeds past me as Great Aunt Odette speaks again. 

"If you remain in the mundane, in the expected - it leaves no room for magic. " Her voice reduces to a whisper at the end, "And well, you and I both know that there is a part of you that still wants to chase a little bit of magic." 

Her eyes flit over to the hardbound cover of literature that I am holding in my right hand. 

Peter Pan and Wendy. 

The very book that was once forever lost in the corners of my childhood mind. 

I am at a loss for words, but I know myself well enough that her words will be circling my mind for a number of days. 

"Thank you, Auntie Dottie. " 

She nods and with another gust of wind, assembling the rustling of auburn leaves on the ground, Auntie Dottie's smile turns into a smirk. 

"Well, dear, you best go now. The clock is ticking." She says. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the city was filled with the quick darkening of the sky, making me miss summer skies. I had my playlist playing quietly in the background as I drove, just enough to keep me company. But not at a volume that shuts out my thoughts. 

None of what I rehearsed to say actually made the cut. The drive to Great Aunt Odette this morning involved practicing the multiple ways in which I could tell her about the situation. Nonetheless, the fact still stands that I have finally revealed it to someone. Hearing your own thoughts in your head, and actually omitting them into sentences? Both are vastly different. I'm glad that I did, albeit how nervous I was, it gave me this immense relief. Of course, it wasn't surprising that Great Aunt Odette listened, but for her to wholeheartedly believe me? I guess, I wasn't quite ready for that and for the feeling of relief that it brought. 

Even more so, a walk down memory lane - the book. The book that she explained was basically my favorite thing in the world as a kid. That was an unexpected part of my visit, but then again, I should've seen it coming - seeing as Great Aunt Odette's forte is the unexpected. 

I suppose I can't quite believe that I didn't remember that book. Sure I was a kid, but It wasn't like I was three years old, making me inevitably forget about it. Why can't I recall it? I suppose I'll blame it on the ladder of growing up, and the stresses that slowly creep into one as one enters adulthood. To blame it on time. 

Time. 

Great Aunt Odette's words regarding it, and its correlation with life - I was at a loss for words. She knows me all too well. I knew that there was an inevitable end for everyone, but hearing how she explained it woke me up more. The realization that time will pass, this life will end before I know it and that will be it. A terrifying concept that makes me shake my head, as I grip the steering wheel. 

It lies in the question of; if it ends today, am I okay with that? Am I content with how I lived?

Not entirely. 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After two hours, the driving finally came to an end. I turn off the ignition, grab my small purse and the book, and walk up to the entrance of the building. I was in no mood to climb two flights of stairs, as my body craved the comfort of my bed after the hours-long drive. But with the building's elevator under maintenance, I had no choice. 

As I insert the key and swing the door open, I am immediately greeted by the exclamation of my roommate slash friend. He appears in the doorway at lightning speed it seems. 

"Oh my fucking God."

"Hey." I let out a yawn, "Oh gosh, I'm so tired." 

"No shit, Nova. You just drove for TWO hours? Well, actually FOUR hours. But still, holy shit?" He exclaims in disbelief, grinning brightly at me.

I walk to the living room and place my stuff on the table, as I flop my body onto the couch. 

"Yeah, I did."

"You hear that Lottie?" He says to the phone in his hand, as he faces the screen to me. 

"Oh! Hi, Lottie!" I say, waving at her despite the exhaustion slowly taking over me. 

"Nova Katerina Sinclair, I am in complete shock." She laughs. 

I look at both of them quizzically, "At my driving?"

"No, you idiot!" Charlotte replies, shaking her head at my confusion. 

"Then what?"

"When you texted me saying that you'll be visiting your Great Aunt, and won't be able to meet me for lunch. . . I shit you not, I thought your phone was stolen." Luke raises his hands in defense, emphasizing his points.

"What?" I let out a laugh, "What are you on about?"

"Then imagine my reaction when Luke told me about it." Charlotte chimes in. 

"Guys, I still don't get it."

"It's just- it's so unbelievable. When did you make the decision to go?"

I shrug, "This morning. Spur of the moment decision." 

Luke turns the phone screen to himself, eyes wide, and returns it back to face me. 

"It just sounded so un-Nova of you."

I had to laugh, "Un-Nova?"

"Yeah. You don't just go somewhere just because. You literally have a whole damn color-coded calendar for fuck's sake!" Luke says, dramatically. 

"Oh." The realization settles in me, they found that unusual. Was it really that out of character?

"Then I asked Luke to make sure it wasn't an emergency because that would explain your sudden spontaneity. But when he said that you messaged nothing of the sort, I was like, " Charlotte's eyes widen as she retells the situation, "Well, holy fucking shit."

"I didn't even. . . " I shrug, "I don't know, I just felt like it." 

"Are you sure you are Nova?" 

Luke looks up at the ceiling with his hands in the air, "Has the Earth just shifted its fucking axis?" 

I laugh at his dramatics, "Is it really that big of a deal guys?" 

"Yes!" They reply simultaneously. 

"Bad or good?"

"Definitely good."

"It's fucking fantastic, bestie."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After much interrogation from Charlotte and Luke, I was finally able to settle down into my bed. Their shock at my actions didn't phase out quickly, even if I retold the entire ordeal in detail. Well, of course, leaving out the part about the actual reason I decided to visit Great Aunt Odette. I love them to death, but revealing that whole situation - revealing him - that's absolutely out of the question. 

I glance at the clock opposite my bed, reading the time : 8:45PM. 

Some say that is far too early to be going to sleep, which even I can agree with. I normally find myself drifting off to sleep at 10.30PM most nights, purely because of assignments and how I can't seem to completely escape my thoughts. It's like a thousand sealed vaults in my mind all suddenly opening at the same time, and endlessly overlapping one another. It's when I then tend to believe that the mind, and the brain are independent of each other. The brain generates knowledge and helps you process through the essential, practical things of life. The mind on the other hand, that's where all your deepest thoughts wander in. The mind houses the thoughts that is centred around yourself. Constantly editing and rewinding how you were before, right now, and in the future. It's the source of both reflection and destruction. 

The mind is a maze that you can so easily get yourself lost in, and I am all too familiar with that. Except for this time, where the fatigue of my physical body has fortunately pulled me into a slumber before any overthinking can generate. My eyes were heavy with tiredness, I felt this lift slowly as I shut them. 

"Woah, so pretty!"

"She's just like a princess!"

"Oh. I know! She's like snow white!"

"Shh. . . we might wake her up."

"But she's been asleep for so long-"

"What if you need to kiss her, Mister Elvis?"

Voices. I hear multiple voices, which only makes me open my eyes in curiosity. I seem to be lying down, with the blue sky right above me. My head turns in all directions, as I find the owners of the voices. A few children surround me, but their chatter seems to have come to a stop at the sight of my opened eyes. 

"Lookin' for me?" A familiar voice catches my senses, as I turn around to my right to see him a few feet away. He stands facing me, but the left side of his body leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His foot so casually crossed over the other, as I saw that lopsided grin prominent on his face. 

I don't fail to notice that it's another version of himself that he's showing me. His hair was still stark black but with very noticeable sideburns accompanying it. Definitely 1970s. He wears a black shirt with a floral design, black pants, and boots. It's always interesting to see how he appears to me in each dream, but one thing I'm certain about - Elvis Presley was unapologetically fashionable. 

Elvis quirks an eyebrow at me, no doubt awaiting my response. I just hope he didn't notice that I stared for a while, well, only because I was curious about his attire. An attire that I am well aware of has a few buttons opened at the front, clearly exposing his tanned chest. 

I find myself clearing my throat. 

"And what if I wasn't?" I say jokingly, as I feel an uncontrollable smile pull at my lips. 

He chuckles quietly to himself and nods. Elvis takes a few steps before he is right beside me, as the children part to give him space. He takes a glance at the children and releases a dramatic sigh, "Well, kids, it looks like we have a liar among us." 

I gasp, "Elvis!" 

They giggle. 

Elvis laughs, "Yes, honey?" 

I push off my hands, sitting myself up. It appears that I am wearing a short, white summer dress with roses adorning the design. In my previous dream, it was the colder season, which is far from the outfit that I seem to be wearing at this moment. But then again, the sky is blue and clear, and the chilling bite of the cold appears to be absent. So, I guess it's summer now in this dream? 

"Oh, look! Miss Nova, you and Mister Elvis have flowers on your clothes!" One of the children, the girl with a beautiful, dark complexion alerts me in glee. Her finger pointed enthusiastically at my attire and Elvis.' 

My eyes cast over his shirt and my dress, and evidently, we seem to both be wearing a floral design. My cheeks heat up unexpectedly. 

I exchanged a look with him, which he returns with a proud smirk, "Why, I believe you're right, lil' Dorothy." 

"But mine looks better, right?" I ask, smiling at the girl, whose name I know now is Dorothy. 

She nods vigorously with a cheeky smile. 

"Ouch," Elvis says. 

"B-But yours looks nice too Mister Elvis!" Dorothy quickly sputters out.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"I think you look cool, Mister Elvis." One of the boys, with sandy blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, says encouragingly. 

"I appreciate it, Ollie." He smiles, patting the boy on the head. 

Elvis throws me a triumphant grin, "Oh, how the tables have turned." 

"You're unbelievable." 

Unbelievably gorgeous. 

My brain echoes a thought, in which I furiously shake my head noticing my cheeks heat up. 

Elvis swiftly pulls the conversation into properly introducing me to the children. There are four of them in total, two boys and two girls. I would guess they are around five or six years old, but that's just judging by their heights. Nonetheless, if I believe that Elvis is real and he's appearing from the afterlife, then that must only mean one thing - these children are those of the afterlife too. All of them died young. I feel my eyes water the slightest bit, which I quickly shake off. My sadness at the thought can't be displayed, not with the children's happy smiles as they chatter excitedly. 

"Dorothy, Ollie, Maisie, and Alfie!" I say, pointing at them one by one, learning their names. 

"Yay!" They cheer in glee. They run up to me and wrap their arms around me, well, more like my legs because of their height. I am taken aback and laugh, finding myself bending down a little to wrap my arms around them as best as I can. Not even a minute later, they are chattering amongst themselves, still not letting go of me though.

I look up, feeling his eyes on me. Elvis' eyes pierce through mine, his tongue smoothly swipes over his lips as he mouths words to me. 

I arch an eyebrow in confusion. 

He chuckles and mouths it again but with more exaggeration. 

"I've missed you." He mouths. 

Oh. Oh. 

Wait. . . did I interpret that correctly? 

It's really only been twenty-four hours. 

Suddenly, I feel the need to blame the sun for the sudden heat that I feel bleed on my skin. That would've been simple if it weren't for a slight skip that I feel in my chest. . . because that certainly cannot be the sun's doing. 

I tilt my head at him, "Really?" I mouth back, smiling. 

He doesn't say anything back like I thought he would. Instead, he strides forward until he's right behind me. Effectively finding a space, despite the bunch of kids that surround me. 

His chest is pressed to my back, a fact that only escalates the thump I feel in my heart. My breath seems to be trapped in my throat. His hands brush slightly against my shoulder, as he takes a lock of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. 

I feel his breath tickle my cheek as he leans in to whisper, "Always." 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

Not too long later, I found myself sitting down on a field of grass with the children in a circle. I sat with the girls and the boys sat with Elvis. So, technically, not a circle as they sat quite a few feet away from us. The children insisted on a girls versus boys team. Upon hearing this, I expected to be playing a sport. But instead, here we are, making friendship bracelets. 

"This is really fun, " I admit to them honestly, "I haven't done this in so long." 

A box full of a variety of beads, elastic bands, and sticker sheets sat on the grass. I smile at Dorothy and Maisie, as I loop some beads through the elastic band in my hand - starting a new bracelet. It reminded me so much of my childhood, how during breaks in elementary school, we'd all be crowding around the craft area to find ourselves what we needed to make DIY 'friendship' bracelets. 

"It's my favorite thing in the entire world, Miss Nova!" Maisie says enthusiastically, as she leans over to a few shiny beads from the box. 

I chuckle, "I see that. I'm guessing your favorite color is pink?" I gesture towards the three finished pink-colored bracelets, which mirror the same color as her dress and shoes. 

She nods, smiling widely "Yes. Yes."

So adorable and so young. They didn't deserve to leave the world so young, with so much joy and life they never got to live. 

I feel a tug on the skirt of my dress, I turn my head to see Dorothy. 

"You okay, sweetie?"

"What is your favorite color, Miss Nova?" She asks, her hazel eyes awaiting my response. 

"Hm. . . um, I guess red. Yeah, I like red." 

"Okay! I'll make you a red one!" Dorothy replies, taking a handful of red beads, stickers, and an elastic band from the box. 

It's quiet for a while, in which I find myself taking a curious glance at Elvis and the boys. It seems that each boy is holding each of his arms, as they fit the bracelets on his wrist. It also appears that he has several bracelets on either arm, which I couldn't help but chuckle at the boys' enthusiasm. 

"Can I tell you something, Miss Nova?" Maisie asks me, as I turn to face her finding her tilting her orange-braided hair at me. Adorable. 

"Of course." I smile. 

"It's nice to have another girl to make bracelets with us, " She then pauses to release a sad sigh, "Because it has only been me and Dorothy." 

"I am happy to be here, Maisie." 

"Maisie's right," Dorothy jumps into the conversation, "It's really nice. It was nice when it was me and Maisie, because we are best friends forever. Mister Elvis is nice and makes bracelets with us, b-but he's a boy." She sighs. 

The braided girl nods agreeing with her friend's words, "Yeah, he's on the boys' team. We needed one more girl." 

I chuckle at how adorable they are, "Here I am." 

"Thank you, Miss Nova. For being on our team and for Mister Elvis." 

They nodded to each other. 

"Mister Elvis?" I repeat, not quite understand what the kids meant in the latter of their sentence. 

"Yes, for making him happy," Maisie replies cheerfully, as she ties the end of the newly-finished bracelet in her hands. 

"Oh, well-"

"He's happy when me, Maisie, Ollie, and Alfie see him. But when he's not looking," Dorothy pauses and whispers, "You promise to keep a secret?"

I accept the pinky promise, "I promise."

Dorothy then continues, but making sure to keep her voice lowered. 

"Sometimes we spy on him. We find a wall or a tree or a bus stop, and we hide. And he's not smiling no more. He's crying a lot, Miss Nova. And if he's not crying, he looks very sad. But now you're here, he smiles," Dorothy explains. 

"All the time," Maisie adds. 

My heart simultaneously crashes and mends at their words. It reminds me of Miss Esther's words to me at the cafe. How she described Elvis being 'very down' before I appeared. Now that the same words have come from more than one person, it almost makes me want to ask him about it. Not too directly, because I fear it's not something he wants to talk about. But I just feel this need to know what was it that made his emotions blend so easily with the dark of the night sky. For his eyes to cascade with tears so endlessly like the rush of a waterfall. I didn't need to know, but I want to know. I want to know what so desperately what hurt him enough for his emotions to slip out of the confines of his heart, and out into the open. 

But I know that will be easier said than done. Answering serious questions isn't exactly something that Elvis is fond of. It reminds me of the time when I asked him a series of questions, and he responded with only one word. But that didn't end well, with him being in a flood of tears. I don't want to cause that. I'll ask him eventually, but not now. . . just not now. 

"That's seven, Dorothy!" Maisie's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. 

"Oh, I know!" Dorothy claps her hands excitedly.

I look down and sure enough, the girls have made seven friendship bracelets combined. 

"Wow, that's a lot. You girls work fast." I say, clapping for them as they grin proudly at my compliment. 

"Thanks, Miss Nova. But not as many bracelets as Mister Elvis." Dorothy admitted. 

I glance over to Elvis and sure enough, friendship bracelets take up the entirety of his right arm. His sleeves rolled up. Elvis must've felt my eyes on him, as he looked up with a mock defeated look in his eyes. Those boys are really on their way to decorating his arms like the lights on a Christmas tree, and I can't help but laugh at the expression on his face. 

"Yeah, I can't exactly argue with that." 

"Not those bracelets, Miss Nova."

I turn away and face the girls. 

"Oh, then which ones?" I furrow my eyebrows. 

"You don't know?" Dorothy questions with a frown. 

Well, isn't that a million-dollar question? Seriously. 

I shake my head. 

"The ones he made for you," Maisie says casually as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. 

"For me?"

They both nod, as they use their fingers to count. No doubt counting how many bracelets Elvis made. . . for me. 

"Twelve. I-I think?" Maisie says, nodding with Dorothy. 

"Wow, that's um, that's definitely a lot." I chuckle.

"That's what we said too. People make friendship bracelets for people they care about. " Dorothy shrugs, "Mister Elvis made twelve for you. He must care about you like, I don't know, like a trillion times more." She chuckles, holding her fingers up as if she lost count. 

Every time I'm with him, in these dreams - I can never predict what will happen. The spontaneity of his character blended with the reserved nature of mine. That is a stark contrast. Each dream that I spent with him so far, has been full of experiences that I've never had before. All quite. . . grand and eventful. But this one right here, this unknown discovery, this small surprise - renders me speechless just the same.

No matter how uncertain I am about many things related to my dreams, I am certain about one thing. Nobody makes a dozen bracelets for a random girl. For a stranger. It brings me back to the question I asked him, a while ago, but feeling so long ago now:

Who am I to you, Elvis?

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

After what felt like an hour, we said our goodbyes to the children. The time with them wasn't only filled with making friendship bracelets, but also playing along with their games of hide and seek, and games at the park. They were an adorable bunch, but soon enough, daylight turned into night. In which, we found the children had lost their energy, and were ready to close their eyes into a slumber.

Now, Elvis and I walked down a long stretch of rural road. The gravel released a 'crunch' sound each time my feet met the ground. On either side of the road, a row of cypress trees accompanied the landscape. A picturesque atmosphere of solitude and beauty, with the blanket of the night sky overlaying everything around us. 

"Elvis, no! That's horrible!" I gasp, hitting his arm playfully. 

Elvis simply laughs. He laughs and even though, I've heard him laugh quite a few times before - but I notice something different this time. Well, not anything new, but just something I've never noticed before. He has a kind of hiccup to his laugh, it's just so distinctly him. It's melodious, as it always is. To the point where I semi-forget what he just told me, and end up laughing along with him. 

He points at me, "But you're laughing, honey!"

"No! It's just- it's horrible!" I try desperately reinstating my disagreed expression. 

We were talking about what more was on my list, and what was the next thing. This then went down the topic of conversation around theme parks. Now, I think theme parks are great, they are wonderful. But definitely not a fan of. . . rollercoasters. In this case, Elvis tells me he has a story about rollercoasters. He tells me how he'll get on a rollercoaster with a friend, or a date, and just before halfway - he jumps out. Logically, whoever he's with, ends up screaming and thinking the worst has happened to him. But there he was, on the sidelines, all safe and laughing his ass off at their reaction. 

"It was hellavu lot of fun," He defends, shaking his head as he grins at the memory. 

"Well, It's clear that you and I have different definitions of fun."

"Just try it, honey."

I squint my eyes at him, "I, well-"

He puts his hands up in defense, "I promise. . . no surprises." He says, with a smirk on his lips. Elvis sure does love the unpredictable, almost crazy things that he comes up with - it makes it impossible to believe him when he says this. 

"No jumping?" 

He shakes his head, "Nope."

"Here, gimme your hand," He urges, and I do so. 

He takes my hand in his and intertwines our pinkies, "What do ya want me to promise?" Elvis questions, a pure smile wrapped on his face, all void of playfulness. 

"That if. . . if I go on a rollercoaster with you, or that matter whenever you're with me - you won't do something batshit crazy. If you do, because I swear if you do, I-I'll never-"

He cuts me off, "Speak to me again?"

"Recover, " I say, my tone quiet as I look away from his gaze. I know this is all a dream, but I also have to face the possibility of things treading beyond what I think a dream is and what it is not. 

I am aware that Elvis does not. . . physically exist in the real world anymore. But here, right now, with me he's very real. And as far as I am concerned, if I can control one thing - in this mayhem of dreams - it's his safety. 

I swallow as I try to find my voice again, "I don't want to see you hurt." 

I gain the strength to face his way again, and his mouth begins to form words - seems like he's figuring out how to say something. But he holds himself back, resulting in a simple nod, "Okay, I promise." He whispers, intertwining our pinkies together. 

I clear my throat, in an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere. Elvis doesn't let go of my hand, instead effectively intertwining our hands together. The warm press of his palm on mine, as he squeezes my hand in reassurance. He has held my hand before, but this time - it doesn't fall loosely. It's tighter, but not heavy and unbearable. There's more urgency and a sense of security in this one, like an invisible armor separating us from whatever treacherous obstacles we might encounter. 

The purest message of a promise. 

His gaze joins mine, as I look down at our joined hands. 

"I'll be right beside ya. No one's gonna be hurt. " Elvis says, softly. 

I nod. 

I clear my throat, "Right then, where are you taking me?" I smile curiously at him. 

And just like that, in a flash, his cool laid-back demeanor returns. 

Elvis bites down his bottom lip, as he slowly tugs onto my hand - walking a few steps before me, but nevertheless, still facing me. 

"Just one question, darlin'." 

"Which is?" 

"Do you trust me?" He asks, with a mischievous grin along with that beautiful twinkle in his blue eyes. 

"Always." I breathe out in reply, without a second of hesitation. And perhaps, it's a word that is so easy for me to slip out of my mouth - so easy to say to him. Almost as automatic as breathing in air. 

Elvis chuckles, swiftly planting a kiss on my knuckles and tugging me forward until my chest is pressed against his. I squeal at the action. 

"Let's go."

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

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Yours Truly - Chapter 13.5: Soon.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 645 words

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ ratings & warnings: SFW. none.

❥・a/n: This is written from a different point of view. And yes, it it mostly a back-and-forth dialogue, which lacks description and detail. But all is intentional. You should zoom in, analyze, and put the puzzle pieces together yourself. This chapter was posted on wattpad months ago, I thought I already posted it on here at the same time. Sorry about that.

It is a short, but highly important chapter. 

chapter index | prev | chapter 14

------------------------------------

"When someone loves you, the way they talk about you is different. You feel safe and comfortable." - Jess C. Scott 

-------------------------------------

NARRATOR'S VOICE 

[24 HOURS PRIOR. . .]

IT WOULD BE untrue if one were to say that the world is only full of purity, hope, and overwhelming happiness. However, it would also not be deemed proper to agree that only all dark madness and misery roam the earth. One cannot exist without the other. A saying that has been echoed from one ear to another. A saying that can account for a plethora of statements; you can never truly have it all. No one ever can. Furthermore, human beings have a forceful tendency to prolong what is simply out of their grasp. It is admirably optimistic, however, once again only prolonging the sheer inevitably of it all. 

How human. Hm. 

For one to voluntarily exhaust themselves for the silver of nonsensical hope? How foolish one would be to disregard the oldest rule of nature. 

Therefore, Dear readers, it would only be appropriate to simply from time to time - remind ourselves not to fall into our own warps of idealistic reverie. But of course, as it has been said many times before, humans are not known for being exceptional listeners. 

The rigorous downpour continued, and the dark-haired man could not care less - his blue eyes fixated on the spot in front of him with his right hand grasping into the air, then dropping it to his side momentarily. For just a few moments prior a woman was in front of him, her hazel eyes and radiant smile aimed at him. Not to mention, her arms around him as they danced despite the unconventional conditions, despite the water cascading down her dress and sticking to her skin. Now, at this moment, the man stands alone - the woman? vanished in a second, without the man completing his sentence. Slipping through his fingers just like that. 

The man slowly notices the umbrella hovering over him, the act of the figure beside him. He lets out a heavy sigh. 

"No- not yet." The man says, despite the person beside him not uttering a single word. 

"You are only exhausting yourself." 

"'Am not. " The man replies, shaking his head.

"It all has been more than enough." 

 "No," The man rejects, "Not even close."

"Yes, yes it it is. It has been. Listen to me-"

"No! I-I-I can't. Please, not now."

"Need I remind you that there is a limit." 

Silence.

"It is not wise of you to take hold, to attach yourself like this. You know the inevitable. For your sake, I am to warn you - be done with it."

"Be done with it?! " The man scoffs, "The fuck is she? A toy? No. I-I-I have chosen this, this was my choice. Don't you dare rip this off me. You know how it's been for me. I don't give a damn about your warning, keep 'em to yourself. She needs me. I-I-I have to be there. For her. All for her. I don't give a damn how tired ya say I am, I will do everything I can. I-I-I know, I know that it will happen. But not today. Not now. I-I can't let go. I- I-I need her. It's not possible to just 'be done with it' nah. Not with her. " The man furiously shakes his head, his eyes swollen with tears. 

"Let go."

"No."

"I shall see you soon then, Elvis." 

・‥...━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━...‥・

chapter 14

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WIP: A little something that has made it’s way into my brain. A specific scene of 1970s E looking out from a rooftop in Las Vegas, having quite a revealing conversation with someone. This is only a lil’ something, so may or may not be turned into a whole something.

warning: mentions of a scar.

-———————————————

“Ask it.”

“I wasn’t-“

“I heard you.” My heartbeat- he meant. It would be foolish of me to ignore his request, after all it was very limpid that he sensed a question, before the words even stepped out of my lips.

I found my fingernails gripping the edge of the metal railing as I leaned against it, as if calling out for support. My eyes casted downwards on the vibrant city below us, “Your lower back. I, uhm…I saw a scar on your lower back. I was passing through to find my way to a restroom, your door was left a little ajar. “ I wasn’t looking at him, but I could practically feel his gaze burning into me, which is why I found myself breathing out a sigh - forming a halo shape into the wintery air.

“Elvis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to Iook in, and I should’ve kept walking-“

A beat of silence. What could he be thinking?

“What did ya think of it?” He asked, voice controlled but there is a quietness to it.

I whirled around to face him, “I-I just feel terrible for looking into it when it was your privacy-“

His azure blue eyes were firm on me, “That’s not what I’m asking you.”

“What?” I managed to breathe out.

He steps closer, “You keep saying you don’t feel right and wanted to run off. I wanna know. . . why? Did it disgust you? Made you wanna hurl your guts out? Made you wanna remember it, so you could sell off your new discovery to the press-“

I was lost for a second, lost on why the city was suddenly blurry in my vision - my eyes were burning with tears.

“No.” I say, my voice firm. He’s at a pause, eyebrows knotted and that fire in his eyes that was once set ablazed - now showed blue like ripples in spring lake.

“No?” He questions, eyes wide.

“A scar isn’t something that was born from pleasant happenstance. It’s not something a lot of people show off to the world, and get applause from. It’s not like a performance on stage. It’s that darkness after the lights are off, behind the stage curtains. Evidence that you were hurt before and it’s forever there. To remember it. I ran not because I thought it was hideous of whatever incredulous thing you said. I ran because I wouldn’t want a stranger to see that part of me. . . the part behind the curtain.” I looked away, not waiting for his response.

Before there could be any response, a rush of footsteps and the quick opening of the door caught both of our attention. There stood Jerry Schilling, sweating and a rush of relief as his eyes meet ours, “Thank fuck. E, we’ve looked everywhere. The colonel wants to speak to you.”

Elvis simply nods and his friend walks off.

He looks at me, “You’re no stranger to me.” He says softly, as he walks away - leaving me with my thoughts and the bustling life of the city before me.

Kismet, Kismet✨🤍| Part 1

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, profanity. genre: fluff, angst, (future smut)

author's note : hi! this was originally a one-shot in my mind, but when I started writing I realized the story is longer than that. So, a full-length fic. I noticed the lack of Asian-centred characters in the fandom, so here we go. I have so much planned for this, already daydreaming about future scenes. Each part will have warnings, so please refer to those before reading. This series will contain 18+ and mature themes, even if this part one does not. So, please be wary of that if you are a minor, do not interact. enjoy reading! - Rose 💋

Las Vegas, 1972

She shouldn't be here tonight.

The piles upon piles of paper that occupied back at her dorm room would agree. A rather stark contrast to the blinding lights, numerous glamoured clothing, and excited chatter that filled the spacious room she was currently in. Two different ways one could spend their Thursday night. Not even the carefree reputation of a weekend could ease the guilt of temporarily abandoning academic commitments.

My goodness, it's Thursday night Angel thought to herself, as she couldn't help but fiddle with her fingers, trying and failing desperately to relax in the seat. An action that does not go unnoticed by Felicity, her carefree roommate.

"Are you on your period?" Felicity asked her, nonchalantly. Thankfully, she says this in a quieter voice. Angel knows that there is no embarrassment in the natural cycle of womanhood. But it is still a topic that can only be discussed in hushed whispers between women.

Angel shook her head, "No. Why?"

"It's just, you keep fidgeting in your seat." Felicity pointed out.

"I can't help thinking about that paper for-"

Felicity quickly shushed her and took hold of her arms, "Oh my god, Angel. No. No talk about assignments, essays, or professors. We are sat front row about to see thee Elvis Presley in front of our very eyes!" She said, in a matter-of-fact, way and gesturing her hands dramatically to the stage.

"I know, but-"

"No buts! Our boring life as college students can wait, but this is once in a blue moon." Felicity persisted, her voice drifting off into a dreamy sigh.

Although, Angel instinctively was about to reply back something along the lines of academic responsibility needing to triumph seeing a star's live performance - her roommate's words processed longer in her mind. Felicity tends to be bolder and acts quickly without thinking most of the time. A habit that doesn't exactly align with safety, but does very much so with trouble. Angel was quite the opposite and is the one who persistently cautions her roommate's spontaneous pursuits.

But Angel does know that spontaneity can result in good things. She can act at least recognize that. Which is why, she held back her tongue before replying to Felicity, because well - this is one of those good things.

Very good things. Angel's thoughts echoed.

A reminder more so. A reminder of the time when she first heard him sing and see him perform. Just one year before her senior year of high school, she stumbled upon his performance on the television screen in her parents' living room. The '68 comeback special. His all-black leather outfit, tanned skin, jet-black hair, and not to mention the crooked grin that he so consistently displayed to his audience. His voice - a beautiful, rich, and deep timbre that captured anyone who listened. Angel did. Certainly. Not to mention the way he moved on stage - he was practically swimming with charisma and sexual appeal.

But of course, her eyes were only captivated by his performance for a short while before her mother waltzed in and abruptly turned the television set off. Hands-on her hips, a deep set frown on her lips, as she looked at her teenage daughter in bewilderment. A type of bewilderment that made whatever magical word Angel was so captured in - burst and disappear. Her mother wasted no time in questioning her, heck, Angel could still remember the words to this very day: 'What on earth do you think you are doing watching such vulgar movements? You are poisoning your mind!' Her mother's words half English, and half in Korean.

In which, Angel remembers replying back, in defense 'But Eomma (Mom) it's only dancing!' A reply that ended up with a lecture from her mother about the dangers of viewing such a performance. The dangers of Elvis Presley, and how he corrupts their generation to pursue wrongful actions. Angel could not simply understand the issue in the matter, but she knew better than to say more.

So, that was that. Her father caught the news from her mother, which turned into another discussion. But despite all of that, Angel desperately, found herself wishing to hear his voice again. There was something naturally comforting, and something true when he sang. So she bought his records, in secret, and played them whenever her parents were not in the house.

But thinking back to that day that she first saw his performance, as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling - there was one word that jumped from the confines of Angel's mind.

Daring.

Elvis Presley was absolutely daring.

Angel found herself shaking her head, and a smile pulling on her lips at the memory of her past self. And so, although college is important, she knew Felicity had a point. It would be foolish to brush past an opportunity to see him perform live. To satisfy the part of her that became a fan on that day years ago. After all, college is every day, but Elvis Presley? it would only be once. She will see him perform once, and go home, and she knows that her future self would be glad that she created such a memory. A memory that she will surely cherish forever.

So, without that in mind, she looks to Felicity, "Okay. You do have a point."

Felicity claps excitedly and smiles in triumph, "Oh, this will change our lives forever. I just know."

The showroom was quickly filled with hundreds upon hundreds of excited audience members. It ranged from regular, avid fans to top A-list actors and actresses occupying the seats of the spacious area. Angel couldn't help but sneak a glance at the clock that was just to the right wall. ten minutes. Elvis Presley will be out on stage in just ten minutes.

The actual realisation finally hit her. Earlier all that occupied her mind were her worries between the battle of having fun, or turning back and burying her nose in the papers at her desk. But now, now that she has accepted that it did not hurt to let this opportunity happen, the wave of what will actually happen any moment now gripped her mind.

Elvis Presley will perform and he will be right in front of me. Her heartbeat couldn't help but quicken at the thought of it - the pure excitement and rush, hitting her all at once.

Being overwhelmed by listening to his records was one thing. But seeing him right in front of her? In, what, she glanced at the time - eight minutes - overwhelmed wouldn't even begin to describe what she would feel. Felicity chatted away with her prediction on what songs he would play and apparent rumours about potential medleys. But Angel was drowning out the words, not quite hearing it, her excitement was filling up her body quicker and quicker. Shit.

She needed a drink, and she needed one fast. Luckily, servers were plentiful, walking around with circular trays as they placed various beverages and food onto tables. She managed to get a glass of water, muttered a thanks, and drank it. Felt the cool liquid against her tongue. Better. She's calmer now.

But heard her stomach rumbling, her cheeks hot in embarrassment. Right. She didn't eat before they left the dorms, because well, her cheerful red-headed roommate thought it was the best to surprise her with tickets at the last minute. Angel simply didn't have time to process everything, before she found herself walking into the infamous International Hotel.

"- I still think Gregory Peck is leagues better than Cary Grant," Felicity said, drifting the conversation to some Hollywood actors who were rumored to be attending tonight.

Now that her body is much more relaxed, Angel felt good that she was able to properly engage in a conversation with her roommate. But yes. she was still hungry.

Angel shrugged, "Both are good. But I can't say that I've seen all the pictures that Cary Grant was in, so I couldn't make a fair judgment." She replied, every assessor and the analytical tendency jumping out of her, all second nature.

Felicity simply shook her head, "Very well, then, Attorney Song." She teased, as she smirked.

Angel laughed, "Oh, shut it."

At the corner of her eye, she saw a server that was about to pass their table. Angel quickly planned that she would stand up, which she did, and turn around and browse the food options that the server held. The turning around and standing did certainly go to plan, however, the latter most certainly did not.

In fact, what did end up happening is the abrupt movement from Angel caused the glass of beverage on the tray to lose balance and slam right into her. Spilling her dress. The server's eyes widened, as he profusely apologized, Angel was quick to tell him that it was not his fault and most certainly hers due to her clumsiness. Felicity gasped and handed Angel the few paper towels that were on their table, but despite this, the stain was still very noticeable.

"Oh, great," Angel groaned.

Then she remembered. She remembered how she always brought spare clothes with her in case of anything. A situation precisely like this. With that, she bids Felicity a temporary goodbye, in which the redhead reminds her to hurry as the show is about to start.

five minutes. The clock read as she ran past it, through the doors, and into the hallway of the first floor of the hotel.

Angel sighed in relief at the sight of the female restrooms and was about to push the door open when she noticed a sign - 'out of order, please use the next available restroom. we are sorry for the inconvenience.' Shit.

"Hi, excuse me," She said at the receptionist sat behind the desk.

The lady nodded for her to continue, "Yes, Ma'am. How can I help?"

"I saw the restroom is out of service. Are there other restrooms located on this floor?"

The lady sighed, "There are no other restrooms on this floor, Ma'am. The next one is located on the third floor."

Third floor. She glanced at the clock - three minutes.

Shit. There is no way that she will make it, well at least not to see Elvis' first walk onto the stage.

She nodded, "Alright, thank you for your help."

Angel then makes a run for it to the elevators. She pressed a button and well, it is definitely taking its time, as she found herself tapping her feet impatiently on the carpeted flooring.

She surveys her surroundings, there is the option of taking the stairs, but that will just make her sweaty. An image that Angel definitely does not want to add to the already spilled drink on her dress. She bites her lip anxiously and stops her eyes at a door in a corner. There is no room number, only the sign saying 'supply closet.'

Aha, perfect.

She quickly looks around, making sure that no one is around to see her. Once she is satisfied that the coast is clear, Angel quickly runs to the supply closet, swings the door open and locks the door. She breathes out a sigh of relief and mutters to herself, "Thank the Lord."

She mentally thanks her past self for choosing a dress that was easy to remove, as she begins to pull down the sleeves of her dress, and pull down the top part.

The supply closet was exactly what is sounded like - towels and various cleaning supplies filled four shelves. The space was tiny, but that didn't matter, just enough space for one person to quickly change into clean clothes and make a swift exit. A good plan before any member of the cleaning staff encounters her.

Because yes, this is most definitely not a changing room.

But then again, nothing is quite going to plan this evening. So, well, it should not be a surprise for Angel to discover that yet another part of her plans has been thrown out of the window.

A clearing of a throat made her jump, Angel's eyes widened as she quickly grabbed onto the top of her dress to cover herself, and pulled her sleeves back up. She turned around, "What th-"

Her words get caught in her throat, she spun around expecting a complete stranger and was ready to hit them with her bag. But she paused her movements, for it was not a stranger that was before her. Yes, she did not know him personally, but my goodness she knew him in a way. Tanned skin, effortlessly cool black hair, fancy jumpsuit adorned with glittering stones, and the few rings that occupied his fingers.

Elvis Presley.

He was sat down with his back against the wall.

His azure blue eyes held contact with her brown ones, with both of his hands up as if in surrender. He vigorously shook his head, "I-I-I. . .honey, I swear to ya. I-I wasn't," He stammered. A bright bloom in his cheeks.

She immediately knew what he was trying to say, albeit a stuttering explanation from him.

"I didn't look at nothin', " Elvis ran a hand through his hair, seemingly stressed out about the situation.

Angel raised an eyebrow and Elvis nodded.

She then most certainly realized that he was waiting for her to say something. Anything.

Angel took a deep breath and tried to find the words herself, "You. . how. . . but it's just. . . fuck." She ended up cursing under her breath, completely mentally kicking herself for not being able to articulate one simple sentence.

cute. Elvis thought.

Elvis felt himself smile but fortunately controlled himself enough not to continue to do so. Thinking to himself that a smile won't help her right now.

Angel held her head in her hands, muttered a few words to herself that Elvis realized must be in a different language, and then looked back at him.

"Okay. I- uhm, I believe you. It's just. . . what is actually happening?" Angel asked, seemingly been able to calm down her racing heartbeat but her brain not yet fully comprehending the situation.

The complete impossibility of it.

Elvis nodded and gestured to the floor, "Why don't ya sit down, honey. I'll tell ya."

There. That southern drawl, a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. But she was quick to snap herself out of it.

"I uhm, I need to change." She gestured to the spill on her dress.

" I won't look. " Elvis held his hands up in defense and immediately turned around to face the wall. Angel bit her lip a little apprehensively, but then thought to herself that there is quite literally no other way around this. So, she turned around and began to change. The space in the closet was not very generous, if Angel were to step backward just a step - the back of her legs would surely be hitting Elvis' head.

Angel tried to calm her breathing.

I am getting changed when Elvis Presley is right behind me. What in the world.

She changed into a regular mod dress and turned back around. Just in time to see that there was a clock on the wall, right above where Elvis sat. The countdown is over. It was done approximately ten minutes ago, but there were two things that Angel was certain of;

One; the countdown for Elvis to appear on stage has long been finished.

Two; Although the countdown was over, the one that it was for was not present on stage and instead he was - right here. Sat down, turned around, in a cleaning supply closet and Angel is about to find out why.

Kismet, Kismet ✨🤍 | Part 2

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, illness, panic.

wc: 3841

genre: 70s!e x college!student!reader. fluff, angst, smut.

taglist: @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a @obsessedwithurlove

author's note : Here we are with Part 2! Thank you for the attention on part 1. I hope you like the name change, trust me there is a reason for it. I've always made a playlist for this fic! It is in the link below, but I will be adding songs as I go along. Happy reading! <3 - Rose playlist -

“It’s fine now.” Angel breathed out, signaling to the raven-haired star that it was clear for him to turn around. The split second that Elvis was turned around provided Angel with a small inkling of time to well, breathe. To somehow force her brain to process that this is the reality, even if she does not know how or why. 

Elvis, on the other hand, was ever the gentleman. But the very thought of a beautiful woman changing clothes right behind him - well, he was a man, after all. This was merely a passing thought though, as the realization that he owed her an explanation for this strange happenstance, made him truly forget what words were. She was a stranger to him, and well, judging from the wide-eyed gaze from her a few seconds ago - He was the complete opposite to her. Whether she is a fan of his, or merely one of the members of the population who know him from the enormity of his fame - there was a crossroad.

If he were to tell her the truth about why America’s favorite rock ‘n’ roll star is hiding in a cleaning supply closet - that would fracture the carefully curated image that he knew the people see him as, most certainly including her. Words spread like wildfire, and the nation is always hungry for new information about the world of the people under the spotlight. Hell, even the rumors that are not even remotely true - people inhale and whisper from ear to ear as if it were a section in an academic textbook. For a situation like this, that is true and is real, it would be on the front page news by the morning of the next day. 

It’s better this way. Elvis tried to tell himself. By upholding the immaculate persona that the public has carved out for him, he would not only be saving himself but also saving her idea of him. He does not want to leave her with a memory of Elvis Presley revealing that the man underneath the glimmering spotlight, has never felt more engulfed by the waves of darkness than he does now.

So, that is it. He decides to conceal an ugly truth in exchange for keeping the beautiful idea of him that she most certainly has. And just in time, she tells him that it is fine to now turn around. 

So, he does. And goddamn it, Elvis thinks to himself. The choices and thoughts that occupied his mind suddenly went to a standstill. It was as if the time that he took to think about what his explanation would be, made him briefly forget to truly have a look at her. Albeit, he did not have time to earlier due to letting her change, now - Elvis found himself finding the space of the supply closet shrink at a rapid rate. He was sat down, and she was stood up - Elvis could not help but find his gaze traveling from her long, slightly tanned legs, to the dress, and to her face that seemed to turn a charming shade of crimson under his gaze. 

A pair of hazel eyes looked into his azure eyes. The very same pair of hazel eyes that when she blinked - perfectly captured the appearance of double eyelashes that accompanied her eyes.  Elvis’ gaze traveled further - a small button nose, and a full, inviting burgundy-colored lips. Her skin radiated a glow - she was pale, but slightly tanned, a sure result of the Vegas heat. Like the mix of milk and honey. He noticed her black, wavy hair reaching almost her waist - Angel was certainly not tall, but also not short. She was like an oil painting personified, like an art piece that somehow felt the need to step out of the confines of the frame that she was in and step her hand out to him. A beauty that he never believed existed, never encountered before, and felt that he was the admirer intruding. He was so entranced by Angel, that he hardly realized that she had sat herself down on the floor. 

Angel cleared her throat, “It was . . .  um odd for me to be standing up.” She explained. Her voice was soft, but firm. There was a timidness to her tone, that she noticed very quickly, and tried to desperately fix it because well - I can’t make a fool of myself in front of Elvis Presley. She told herself, but how does one steady herself when he is looking at her with such blunt intensity? It was an intensity that rippled through every part of her being, as he did not fixate on one part of her, he was studying her - every detail of her. She wished she could take a glimpse into his mind and know what he was thinking. She prided herself in being able to read people easily, ever the analytical mind of hers - as her friend Felicity would say. 

But not this time. Angel tried to shake herself out of it and thought to herself ‘It won’t matter. He’ll say what he needs to say, and we’ll part ways.’

Angel then thought to herself that it most probably be the easier and smarter choice to apologize to him, apologise for barging in and invading personal space, and then be on her way out. This would make more sense since he does not owe her an explanation. Yes, she was initially shocked to find him in such a random place, but it did not mean he had to explain anything to her. Then Angel also realizes that Elvis has not said anything since turning around, he must be thinking the same thing. Angel thought. 

So, with that, she shakes her hand at him and starts to stand back up, “I’m so sorry, Mr Presley. You don’t have to explain anything to me, I’ll go.” Her words rushed out of her mouth, words that filled a sudden dread in Elvis. 

“No, honey, it’s alright.”  He said softly, making Angel pause her actions. She was frozen in confusion. She was in a rush a few moments before getting changed because she was afraid to miss her favorite star walking out onto the stage for the first time in front of her eyes. But that was before she discovered that he was sitting down in a supply closet and before she also became aware that the time on the ticking clock in the small confined space - showed it had been well past the time Elvis was supposed to be on stage. 

“But, I don’t want to intrud-”

Elvis cuts off her sentence, “You wouldn’t be, darlin.” 

Angel finds herself biting her bottom lip, in a mental battle of her thoughts. An action that does not go unnoticed by Elvis. Angel felt her cheeks blush again at the sound of the name he called her, she was aware it was probably a habit of people from the South, but it made her blush nevertheless. 

“I shouldn’t have barged in like that,” She finds herself saying, still standing. 

Elvis shrugged, “It’s my fault.” 

Angel profusely shook her head, “No, it’s not. I-”

There she is again, biting her bottom lip - a habit that Elvis found became keenly aware of. 

“If you keep doin’ that honey, you’ll cause a bleed,” Elvis said, a smirk now on his lips. Yes, Angel did make eye contact with him, but not for long. The eye contact was overwhelming, so she found herself catching her eyes on everywhere else, but him. Which has been proven unsuccessful now, since that comment of his - with that teasing smirk on his lips, was a powerful weapon in making her hold the gaze of his blue eyes again. 

She stopped biting her bottom lip, and found herself mumbling under her breath, “What am I doing.” 

“Sit with me. Please.” Elvis said, his tone soft. 

“But-”

“Are you in a hurry, darlin?”

A question, loaded with the hopes of a specific response. Elvis was aware that they were likely searching endlessly for him, hands probably in their hair in distress, but he could not leave. Not yet. Jerry knows. Knows where he is, even if Elvis did pull out a lie about the reason why he needed to ‘step out’ for a while and not be where he needs to be. 

Words were caught in Angel’s throat, “Yes. No. Yes,” Upon seeing the amused grin on Elvis’ face, she sighed and attempted to clarify herself, “I mean, I was - I’m here to see your show.” 

There it was. The very reason why she could not know the truth behind why he was here, and not out there now. She is a fan, and for his fans - telling the truth would be shattering something in them. He could never do that to them. 

Elvis hummed, “I know what you’re thinkin’, I’ll tell you.” 

Angel somehow found herself sitting back down. Slowly. Of course, it would’ve been smarter if she just left. But there is a curious part of her, the part that wanted to know why Elvis Presley was in a supply closet when he was supposed to be on stage by now. Even more so, why his infamous entourage was not in sight. 

Having her at the same eye level as him, Elvis swore he felt his breath caught in his throat and a distant knock of the heart within his body. 

“You must be thinkin’ why’s that fool hiding in a supply closet?” Elvis said, chuckling a little. But also realizing that he said the word ‘hiding’ implies a surface of the truth. The truth that he told himself he would never reveal to her. But he just did, even if it was a tiny particle of the truth, and he did it subconsciously. With no control at all, as if his mind wanted her to learn it. Somehow. 

And he very well knew that Angel caught wind of the word. 

She did not know what to say, so Elvis continued. 

Elvis ran his hand through his hair and sighed deeply, “I lost one of my rings. I was gonna ask the cleaning staff who was in here, thought she was ‘cus the door was open. But nah, no one was in here. Only me,” He then let out a laugh, a laugh that somehow sounded difficult to let out. 

Only me and my foolish self. Elvis thought to himself. 

Angel found the sound of that laugh to be quite forceful, a habit that was similar to what she did when conversing with her relatives when asked about certain subjects at family gatherings. She knew that kind of laugh too well, heck, she was the expert in it. Knew it well enough to know that the explanation Elvis just gave her, held no truth in it at all. Except for the last part. That she was sure of. 

“Did you find it?” She asked instead, despite somehow having a feeling that he was throwing out an elaborate story of this ring. 

Elvis shook his head in an attempt to keep that crooked grin on his lips, somehow looking strained - Angel thought to herself. 

“No, I haven’t. I-”

It was Angel’s turn to interrupt this time. 

“My name is Angel.” She found herself blurting this, not out of randomness, but because she somehow could feel he was sharing something personal with her when she hadn’t even told him her name yet. It was unbalanced. She knew him, well the image of him, and then now sharing this information with her - she had to tell him her name. She owed him that. 

Elvis paused. He couldn’t help but. Of course, it is. There could not be any other name for her out there in the universe, it is the only name that belongs to her. It belongs to her. 

“I thought it was only fair I told you my name. It’s not simple to be sharing this information with me, a stranger, Mr Presley.”

Heck, Angel could not even comprehend why he chose to share this with her, or why he wanted her to stay and sit with him for a while. 

Elvis nodded, “Angel.” He said as if testing the way her name rolled off his tongue. Something was blissfully enchanting but illicit about the way he said her name, which sent a trickle of warmth through her body and locked her breath for just a second. 

“It suits you very much,” Elvis said honestly because it truly did. 

“Thank you, Mr Presley.”

Elvis shook his head, “Just ‘Elvis.’ Mr Presley is my father.” A wide smile overtook his face, an actual smile that Angel knew was genuine. She just did. 

Angel nodded sheepishly and somehow found herself smiling, a contagious effect from him. 

A sight that Elvis couldn’t help but think that he was possibly in a deep slumber, a daydream of some kind that involved this mesmerizing being with the face of heaven sent and the name to suit it. And now that smile of hers, a smile that dares to rival the morning sun. Not that Elvis saw much of the daytime, but if he did, he was pretty certain that the young woman in front of him could easily overshadow it. 

Elvis paused then from drinking in her existence when he saw the frown on her face and her hazel eyes of hers pooling with a sense of sadness. 

Damn it. She must be thinking ‘bout the show. I’ve disappointed her, she’s here tonight to see me perform. Not this. Elvis thought. 

“I’ll be out on stage soon, don’t worry ‘bout it, Angel.” Elvis says, as if sensing that was what Angel was thinking. 

But Elvis was wrong. He’s not even remotely close to guessing what she must be thinking. 

Angel does not know why she has not noticed. Surely, it must be the shock of the strange situation that must’ve made her not realize. Not realize that Elvis Presley was profusely sweating and that made his raven hair stick to his pale skin. Angel was no medical expert, but it was the kind of pale that called for rest and a good break. It wouldn’t even make sense why he was sweating when he had not stepped foot on stage yet. Even more so, the way his chest would rise and fall at an abnormal rate. 

Perhaps also the reason why he has been sitting down the entire time. 

Elvis Presley looked tired. 

She pulled out a handkerchief from her bag, an action that caused an eyebrow to quirk from Elvis. 

The realization of how. . . vulnerable he looked. It pinched her heart in a way that made her ask the next question, forgetting momentarily that they had only merely met each other a few moments ago. 

“Can I. . . ?” She gestured at his face, and somehow Elvis understood. 

Somehow in that split second of her sad, hazel eyes meeting his blue eyes - Elvis knew that Angel saw behind it all. Behind the facade. That the veil of protection he put over the truth and the crafted lie - has now dropped, revealing him. Revealing that he is everything but fine. Elvis Presley crafted his public persona in such a masterful way, to the degree that people would not even notice the energy and shine he once had, was slowly fading away. 

But Angel did. 

And so, with her question, Elvis nodded. Angel put herself closer to him and pulled her knees underneath her as she sat down, so she would be sat on her heels. Elvis closed his eyes, as Angel neared him with the handkerchief in her hand as she slowly, but surely was wiping the sweat from his face. The closer proximity to her made Elvis naturally inhale her scent, she smelled of vanilla and a hint of what smelled like rose oil. A combination that was sweet, but playful. A tease to his senses. Elvis dared to open his eyes again, meeting her hazel eyes. Angel felt herself tense at the intense gaze of his eyes, as she tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The feeling of the cloth wiping the sweat on his face away was not much of an effect compared to the gentleness with which Angel did this. The genuine concentration, and worry in her knotted forehead made his heart sore and trip simultaneously. 

She instinctively put the back of her hand on his forehead, as if realizing that she may be overstepping she withdrew her hand back like a flash of lightning. But Elvis was quick to reach for her, his hand enclosed around his wrist. 

“It’s okay, honey.” 

He let go and she reluctantly, but with Elvis’ nod, touched his forehead with the back of her hand once again. 

“Mr. Pre- Elvis, you are burning up.” She said, her tone not even hiding the worry swimming in it. 

Angel finds herself looking around and grabbing her bag, “I don’t, I thought I had a bottle of water or something. I don’t know. Sorry.” She said, oblivious to the smile on Elvis’ face as she rummaged through her bag. 

Despite feeling the fatigue build up in him again, he found himself smiling at her. 

“Say it again.” He said, despite breathing deeply. 

Angel was puzzled, “Huh?”

“My name, say it again.” He wanted to desperately hear her say it again, a sound that was beautiful and was the opposite of the horrifying state that he felt his body being engulfed in. 

A saving grace.

“Elvis, “ She sighed, “I know I’m in no position to tell you what to do, but you are not well. You need to rest.” She said honestly, gone was the timidness beforehand, and in its place was a woman running in a spiral of worry. 

Worry for him, and it was a sight that Elvis had not seen in a long time. 

Elvis shook his head, “I’m fine. I need to perform. ” He said, almost mumbling his words. 

“You are not well for it. People will understand.” Angel found herself saying. 

“Will you understand?” He asked. 

“Of course. Any of your fans will.” She said with an encouraging nod. 

Angel waited years to see him perform live, and if that first performance happened to be when he was feeling like this, she couldn’t watch him. Can’t let it happen. Heck, she’ll wait years even - she’ll wait till he is better enough to perform. 

“Not the Colonel.” He responds, a sad smile on his lips. 

Angel assumed this must be his manager, remembering his face and the name of newspaper pages. What kind of person, let alone manager - would let him perform like this? 

“It’s too hot here, you need to be someplace else,” Angel said, knowing that the supply closet was not the appropriate place for him to rest properly, “Does anyone know that you are here? How do I get ahold of them?” 

She was in full-on panic mode now and leaped up onto her feet. Elvis sprung his arm forward and grabbed hold of her hand, “Angel, don’t leave. Please.” The tone of his voice was void of the confidence and teasing from moments prior, in place was the pleading voice that was filled with fear. True fear. A fear that she would leave him like this. 

She shook her head quickly, “No, no. I-I just was thinking how to get you help.”

Angel is smart enough to know that she could not just waltz out of here, and find a helpful passerby because it is not just anyone she is getting help for. Elvis Presley. Somehow, she just knew that he wouldn’t want his vulnerable state to be known to any other person than the ones who work for him and know him. 

She was just a fan. But somehow through a happenstance of naturality or not, she saw right through him - saw right through the armor that he lets dazzle everyone else. And even if he realized that she stepped over that veil - he let her. Let Angel walk right through it. 

As if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Like now, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to have her hand in his. An action that was so quick, but she swore sent a flicker of something through her bloodstream. 

And just in time, there was a knock on the door - a look exchanged between both of them. But a breath of relief escaped them simultaneously as it was the familiar face of Jerry Schilling who walked through and shut the door behind him. Angel knew that he worked for Elvis, and saw him in that one article of Elvis’ entourage being labeled ‘The Memphis Mafia.’ 

So, she was glad that a stroke of luck hit, as her prayers were answered. Because otherwise she really did not know what to do. 

Jerry Schilling’s eyes found Elvis’ and scanned the state that his friend/boss was in, before shifting his gaze to the woman who was standing up and whose hand Elvis gripped tightly. As if signaling to help him, Jerry nodded and advanced towards Elvis, at the same time Angel dropped her hand from Elvis. 

“Come on, E. Let’s go.” Jerry said, but Elvis’ gaze was on the black-haired beauty who was currently getting her bag off the floor. His eyelids were half-closed. 

She turned with the handkerchief in her hand and planned to hand this to him, to let him keep it. But found him tugging her hand again, closer to him. 

“Stay.” He said. 

“I-”

Angel turned to look at Jerry Schilling as if silently asking for his opinion on this. 

“I’ll go if she goes with me,” Elvis said, almost mumbling his words. 

Jerry Schilling then nods to her. 

Angel sighed, not quite sure how and why this is happening all of a sudden. The probability of their meeting, and now with Elvis’  reluctancy to go with someone who could help him. Someone who he knows far more than her, her who was a mere stranger not that long ago. She tried to make sense of and understand why Elvis would want her to be there when he would have more than enough people around him soon. People who knew him personally, and who will help him. 

She could not wrap her head around it at all. 

But with the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Elvis seeming to not have any plans to get up from his spot yet, she realized that he was waiting for her to say something. 

“Okay.” Angel said. 

Kismet. Kismet.  Perform. Mask. facade.  My name. Your name. Angel.  Pale. The truth. Elvis.  Elvis. Angel.  If she goes.  Kismet. Kismet. 

Yours Truly - Chapter 14: Jump Then Fall.

・❥・pairing: Elvis x original female character

・❥・genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・wc: 7427 words (grab some popcorn, this is a long chapter aha).

・❥・summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & warnings: descriptions of fears of drowning.

❥・a/n: Finally on chapter 14! so, so much happens in this chapter. Thank you all for your patience. If you have not read this fic before, please refer to my masterlist as this is a multi-chaptered series. Thank you. happy reading :)

dividers by @cafekitsune

chapter index | prev | chapter 15

“Oh be my once in a lifetime. Lying on your chest, in my party dress.” Lana Del Rey, Love Song.

NOVA

The hammering of the downpour painted the apartment's windows with its presence for the past hour or so. Some might say that weather like this gives the perfect ambiance to study. But instead of pursuing academic tasks at the moment, my mind somehow can't find the willingness to do those. The side of my body leaned against the couch of our living room, as I observed the rain bleed through everything outside. 

I've seen heavy rain a million times, but this is the only time that I am so transfixed by it. There is nothing particularly special about it, except that, my mind flashes images through like scenes of a movie; A Warm Cafe. heavy rain. the pull of my hand. laughing. his laugh. dark hair. my dress sticking to my skin.  dancing. 

"I'm me when I'm with you." 

"Do you trust me?"

His words are so clear and always seem to take the forefront of my mind, his voice being a lingering tune. It's like if I opened the window right now, and let my hand feel the drop of the precipitation - I could almost feel like I am back in that moment.  For some reason, a reason that I still don't know, it is the easiest thing in the world for me to lay my trust in the palm of his hand. I am certain that I am a practical person, and being logical has always been something that takes over me in everything. 

But for the first time in so long, I'm not quite sure about that. 

What makes it so easy for me to keep going with this, going with him, even with all the uncertainty? With no answers to the meaning behind it all? 

"What are you thinking about, bestie?" Luke's voice pulled me out of my reverie. I just then realize that he is standing right beside me, placing a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

"Huh?"

"Or who?" He mused, elbowing me playfully, with a curious smirk on his lips. 

well.

I shook my head, "Nothing."

He plops down beside me on the couch, "You have that thinking face on, and with that frown on your lips - it gives me heartbreak vibes." 

I laughed at his response, "Luke, I'm not even seeing anyone."

"And? I'm not seeing Henry Cavill and he still broke my heart."

I playfully throw him the cushion, which he easily catches and dramatically responds, "It's the truth!"

"Whoever you were daydreaming about, heartbreaker or not, he had you in your own world there." He said in a sing-song voice. 

I don't respond and throw him a simple smile. 

I never realized that I was so deep in my thoughts that I failed to notice that Luke walked up to me. He was right in the fact that I was in my own world. But he was wrong about the heartbreaker part, because no, Elvis didn't break my heart. It's something else. It's this feeling I get whenever I am with him. It's thrilling, but so terrifying, but so fun at the same time. And I am certain that I have never felt that way before. 

I just hope that when my mind finally stops spinning for answers, that feeling will remain. It has to. 

But then again, I have never been one to cling to hope. Not that I am a pessimistic person, but if you didn't know all the angles of a situation, how could you ever put your all into hope? It's like unknowingly walking through active flames and arriving on the other side with imprints of ashes. 

Hope is not immune to turning into hurt. 

As much as my love for literature and the art of reading, I do love movies as well. Sometimes there is a particular nostalgia to them, especially those movies from the 90s and early 2000s. Luke and I try to have a movie night once a month. Back when we first became friends at the start of college, we would have movie nights every Saturday. But that was before we found out how unpredictable and laborious the schedule is as a college student, therefore it was hard to keep up with that. So, we decided to just have a movie night each month, whenever there is a free day. We normally take turns in picking which movie to watch, but it is Luke's turn this time. 

Due to my momentary 'daydream' as Luke described it, it is only now that I fully become aware of the movie of his choice. His Netflix account is open and put on pause.  I turned to him in sheer surprise, "Really? The Great Gatsby?"

He shrugged, "I wanna know what the hype is."

I gave him a look. 

"Listen, everyone and their mother watched this, except me." He said dramatically as if it was competition.

I watched the movie a while ago. The cinematography is insane. But of course, now that I have to analyze the story through the literature piece, it's a whole different experience from watching. Luke doesn't fail in doing his usual commentary about the costumes, the acting, and his hatred for so and so's character. One thing about my best friend, he might not be a reader, but he will not hesitate to yell at a television screen when he has this passionate hatred for a particular character in a film or TV show. 

He calmed down for a while and paused the film, "I mean, I know Gatsby be lying through his teeth. But the commitment is immaculate." He dramatically clapped. 

"Definitely. I can't lie to save my life." 

"No, bestie. I'm not on about that." He chuckled, taking a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

I raised my eyebrow at him.

"Oooh, you are Miss Daydreamer today, aren't you?" He said with a smirk.

I scoffed at him and laughed, "What? I'm simply asking a question."

He nodded at me, seemingly unconvinced. 

"Hm, right. Well, whoever he is, he better not give me the ick." 

"There is no one."

"You just said you can't lie to save your life, point proven."

"I am not lying."

Once he saw that I was no longer saying anything more, Luke sighed and simply said, "Yeah, right. "

I snapped my fingers, "But really, what did you mean about Gatsby's commitment?" If I didn't navigate it back to the topic at hand, there is no doubt that even Luke himself would forget what he was talking about in the first place.

"I was saying that about how he is with Daisy. Homeboy really hosted all those parties in case the girl he is in love with showed up all of a sudden. Even if Daisy never showed up that quickly, I think Homeboy still be throwing those parties until she does. And I can't even get a text back for fuck's sake." Luke said, sighing dramatically. 

I can't help but chuckle at him, "It's fiction."  

He shrugged, "Yeah, but what if there are some people out there that do keep waiting and waiting for the love they lost all those years ago?"

I squinted my eyes at him in surprise and amusement, as I playfully elbowed him on the side, "Aw, didn't know I'm friends with Cupid."

Luke scoffed, "You aren't. But you ever see him around, tell him he is long overdue to fix my shit of a love life."

I laughed, "Will do."

It's becoming easier and easier to know that I've slipped into the land of dreams. Before, I would find myself taking a second to make sure that I was in fact dreaming. But now, it feels all second nature to me now. I am definite in knowing that I have been whisked away into my dreams, and are no longer in the real world. So, the only question that I really ask is, "Where am I now?" which I didn't realize I said out loud, but the only indication that I blurted my question out loud is there is someone who answered. 

"Are you lost, Ma'am?" A familiar voice. It seems like the only voice I expect and hope for, whenever I awake in these dreams. 

I turned my head to the source and direction, and there he was. Elvis was standing on the tree branch, the very tree that I was standing under it seemed. He crouches down, both feet still on the branch, and my heart cannot help but leap out of my chest at the sight of the possibility of an imbalance occurring. But the man before me is the picture of anything but fear.  His hair appears to be meticulously oiled back, and with that hint of youthful appearance in his face, and the same striking pair of blue eyes. It appears to be 1950s Elvis. His clothes seem to also confirm my guess; He wears a Cuban collar shirt, wide-legged pleated black trousers, a black jacket, and black loafers with striking pink-colored socks. He also appears to be holding a jacket over his shoulder, as he shoots me a grin. 

I cannot help but chuckle, "What in the world are you doing up there?" 

He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, strands of his dark hair falling over his face. 

"Oh," He shrugged, "Nothin' unusual, just searchin' for a damsel in distress."

"The way you trust that branch so much is putting me in distress." 

He tilted his head in amusement, "You worry for me, honey?"

"Solid ground here. Stable. Safe. You should try it." I said, smiling at him. 

It's a dream, which means technically he won't be hurt, but that still doesn't mean I'm not my usual worried self. I mean, if this is my dream, then I can control it. But dreams and control have never been two things that agreed with each other in my case. And not to forget, the raven-haired man before me's unpredictable tendencies, to say the least. 

He sighed calmly, "I would. But I'm likin' the view from up here." He shoots me one of his infamous grins, his gaze fleeting through me from head to toe unabashedly. An action that made my face grow hot all of a sudden, as I averted my gaze from him quickly. 

In my previous dream, we were walking under the night sky and I remember vividly that he told me he wanted to show me something. But that never happened because my body jolted me back awake. Back into reality. 

"Didn't you say you were going to show me something?" I questioned him, hoping that it would throw him off from him noticing my reaction to his comment. Hoping that it distracts me from feeling that familiar warm sensation that sits in the depth of my chest. For if I don't distract myself, and I start to think about all the other times - all our previous encounters - I might be forced to turn my back on him, and only face him again once I can fix my flustered state. I am no stranger to his flirtatious nature, but I am a stranger to who I am when I am with him. 

And I am not sure how to connect those puzzle pieces. Not right now, at least. 

Elvis nodded, stood up from his crouched position, and jumped off from the tree branch - an action that happened in the blink of an eye, and made me shut my eyes in fright. He thankfully lands safely and stands right in front of me.

"Yeah. Before you disappeared." He said teasingly. 

I shrugged, my smile dissipating into a picture of guilt, "I can't control it, you know?"

I hope he knows. When these dreams first started to happen, I was directly asking him all those questions about the reason behind it all. I still don't have all the answers. But I believe that he is real. Based on all of these small hints that happened, and how he answered that he said yes, even if he didn't verbally confirm it. When I woke up in Graceland and apologized to him for being late, he jokingly said he thought he got stood up. That was the closest exchange of words between us that touched on the topic of the control of my dreams, and how I wake up out of nowhere and there is no real sign right before it happens. But this is the first time I am telling him that I did wake up all of a sudden, and I think he knows. But I say this as a question, in case he doesn't. Even if I think he does. 

Elvis nodded, "Course. Doesn't mean it hurts me less." He said, his voice so soft. 

He bites his bottom lip and releases a deep breath. There is a breeze in the air, a deep contrast to the chilling winter air of the real world. The leaves of the trees sway to the effect of the wind,  the blooming of the flowers that decorate the lush green grass, and the shine of the sunlight - all the elements that immediately make it known to me that it is Spring that greet me in this dream. The sunlight that shines from behind me is the perfect tool that magnifies the azure of his eyes. The glint of playfulness is not harbored within them, instead, it makes me see that there is a pool of tears that paint his eyes and look into mine. Elvis has seen me multiple times by now, all of these dreams, all these encounters - and yet, he studies my face now. As if it is the first and last time he ever will lay his eyes on me. His eyes moved from each inch of my face, like what people do when they try to memorize something. 

It's an action that would otherwise make me feel uncomfortable if it were someone else, but instead, all I feel is shreds of pain that poke at my heart and a haze of confusion that clouds my mind. And with those both combined? I feel a sudden lump in my throat, it's that feeling that builds up when someone is about to break into tears. And I am at a loss of words on why that is. Why my body, my heart, and my mind are reacting this way?

"I'm sorry," I said, surprising myself by the break in my voice. the instability. 

The rational part of my brain believes that Elvis is acting this way because of how abruptly I leave him in the world of dreams. 

Elvis shook his head. 

A loose strand of my hair blows in the spring wind, Elvis brings his hand up and tucks this behind my ear. All whilst never leaving his gaze from mine, "Nova. . . it's never not you." He said softly. 

I looked at him quizzically, "Elvis. . . "

Elvis looked down and shook his head, and when he faced me again there was that bright smile on his face. As if the tense nature and hurt in his face, and how words a second ago didn't happen. He takes the jacket off his shoulder and drapes it over my shoulders, "C'mon." He naturally intertwined our fingers and tugged me along in a direction. 

"Here we are." 

I gasped in astonishment at the scene before me, "This is insane."

From the moment he pulled me along with him and the way we made our way through a forest, there was a rush of excitement and curiosity that filled me. The chirping of birds in high trees and canopies accompanied our journey, but that sound was added by something else and I could've never guessed that it would all lead to this. The source of the sound is the rush of water splashing against rocks. Bees buzzing, birds chirping, the splash of the water, and the rush of the wind rustling through the trees - all working to elevate the beautiful sight before us. 

A waterfall. 

An almost crystal-like paradise blue water spilled over the rocks and cascaded effortlessly into the gleaming pool. The water that left the ledge was not producing harsh, strong sounds. It was a rush, but a more gentle affair, which explains the white lines at the edges of it as it met the serenity of the pool at the bottom. The amber glow of the sunset peeks through the branches of a singular tree that hung over the water illuminating a radiating glow to the pool. The height of the waterfall itself was not extremely daunting, but it appeared steep and tall enough to create such a picturesque image. 

I turned to Elvis, who through my awestruck reaction, I didn't even realize was now in only a pair of swimming shorts. His bare upper body was a beautiful shade of tan, his stomach was slim and there was an undeniable air of confidence in the way he stood there beside me. Half-naked he was, - shit, half-naked. 

"Am I interruptin' you, honey?" His voice filled with amusement, as I snap my head back up to look at him. His hands are set on his hips, that familiar smirk on his lips, as he catches me checking him out. 

Well, shit. 

"I- well. .you-," I spluttered out pathetically, he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. 

I sighed with my hands in my head in sheer embarrassment. Oh my God Nova, get it together. He isn't even naked. Well, only half-naked. 

"How did you change into shorts so fast?" I managed to say, thanking myself that I was able to contain my composture, despite the growing warmth in my cheeks. 

Elvis chuckled and tilted his head at me, "I'm glad that I impressed you, Miss Sinclair." 

I cannot help but feel the corners of my lips twitch up into a small smile. 

"Ocassionally." I teased him. 

He advanced in front of me and stopped and my heart found this the sign to beat erratically against my chest. Elvis leaned forward to the right side of my face until I swear I could feel his breathing tickle against my ear, "Darlin', I can be very impressive. " He pulled back and studied my face for a second, a smirk prominent on his lips. He fully stepped back and walked past me. I regained myself, for the second time in the conversation, and turned myself around. I was a statue for a second there, releasing a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I move my hands subtly, trying my best to get rid of the sweaty feeling of my palms. 

"W-Where are you going?" 

Damn it, Nova. Did you have to stutter?

He squinted his hypnotic blue eyes at me that were filled with mischief, "To cool off." He chuckled.

The meaning behind his words unmistakenly indicated my flustered state. 

He was walking backward, facing me while he neared the water. Elvis turned around and jumped into the water, making a splash in which I gasped. He appeared from the water not a second later with a grin on his lips, as he pushed his hair back with his one hand. 

He looked at me expectantly, "C'mon, honey." 

His invitation for me to join him in the water rendered my knees weak. Practically shaking. No matter how beautiful the entire atmosphere was and how ethereal the flow of the water seemed to be, I couldn't bring myself to step closer. My palms were welcomed with the familiar feeling of sweat, at such a speed that almost matched the the pulsing of my heart. A sound that I swear I can almost hear, matching the shallow breaths that escaped my lips. My lips felt very dry all of a sudden. 

"No. I-I-I can't. " I stepped back. 

He looked at me, his eyes a beautiful shade of blue. Full of empathy and gentleness. 

"Yeah, you can. C'mon, I've gotcha." He encouraged me, his voice was soft with his hand stretched out to me. 

"Elvis, n-no. I-I can't swim." I replied, feeling my breathing becoming more of a sport. An action that was natural now quickly becoming unnatural. 

"Darlin', I know that. Let me teach you." He offered me a small smile, and for a second I felt a sense of comfort. But that was quickly whisked away by the idea of the depth of the water and the sound of it splashing against each other, hitting the rocks nearby. 

I shook my head, "W-What if the water takes m-me? H-How deep is it? W-What if I drown?"

Elvis interrupts me, "Nova, breathe. Breathe." He repeated.

He instructed me, starting with closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing. I did this a few times until the only sounds that filled my ears were the soft swaying of the trees and the chirping of the birds. The sound of the water was barely present anymore. And so, I continued to do this until I could feel my heartbeat steady. Elvis' voice guided me. 

I regained the normal pattern of my breathing. 

"Okay, now what?" I asked, with my eyes still closed. 

Silence. 

"Elvis?" I repeated. 

No response. 

Just how fast dread seeps into one's chest in moments. 

I opened my eyes and everything was exactly how it was. Except that, the water before me did not house the familiar raven-haired man. 

"Elvis!" I yelled, my head snapping in each direction. 

Now, I am the most logical and risk-free person if one were to ask the people closest to me. I do not make any decisions, whether it be heavy ones or light ones, impulsively and in a 'spur of the moment.' Never. 

But such things as those require thinking. One thing that I can say for sure is that I do it all the time. 

Except this time I wasn't. I was being led by something else other than my brain. 

And so, I feel an energy-like force almost pulling me to glance at the water again. 

"Elvis!" I called out again. 

No response. 

Before my mind could register my actions, I slipped off the dress that I was wearing and found myself near the body of water - and I jumped. 

Shit. 

Oh god, I can't breathe. 

I tried to pull myself from the power of the water but felt my legs sinking down as well as the rest of my body. My eyes kept snapping shut due to the pressure and how I uncontrollably swallowed amounts of water as I tried to breathe. 

But I am sinking. 

and sinking. 

and-

"I've gotcha." That familiar voice rings in my ear, as I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and a body against my back. I turned my head to see him with that smirk on his lips, as I felt that I was no longer sinking. 

I furrowed my eyebrows at him once I relaxed, "You!" I turned around to hit his chest in anger. 

He groaned at the contact, "Ouch! Calm down, Nova." 

I scoffed, "Oh, I am not calming down Presley! Where the hell did you go? I thought you were with me and- and you just disappeared? I thought you were gone! I-"

I didn't realize it, but drops of tears escaped my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. 

Elvis interrupts me by pulling me closer with his arms tighter around me, and his forehead against mine. Gone was the mischievous smirk and instead, he breathed slowly, "I'm right here, baby. I'm here. I can never leave ya." He whispered, eyes looking into mine. He then grabbed hold of my hands that were against his chest and positioned them so that they were wrapped around his neck. 

"You better not," I muttered, which Elvis heard perfectly judging by the smile that crossed his lips.

I glanced down and like a shot of fear upon the realization of the depth of the water and the probability of me sinking again, as I only have my arms around Elvis. 

"Wrap your legs around me," Elvis instructed, quickly noticing the fear that struck my face. 

With no hesitation, I wrapped my legs around his waist. I must be a shade of crimson now, judging by the warmth I felt that flooded my cheeks. But who can blame me? The sheer proximity of our bodies - I have never been in a situation like this before. I only had my underwear and bra on, and Elvis was only in his shorts. And not to mention, I am in a body of water - something which I swore myself I would never do due to my intense fear of drowning. There it goes again - the beating of my heart, as I feel blood rushing from my veins to the very tip of my fingers that clung onto him. The pulse acted like a catalyst for hot waves of that beating against my chest. 

I looked at Elvis again, but his azure eyes were already on me. He was biting his bottom lip, as he groaned in what appeared to be pain. 

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm too heavy-" I started to profusely apologize. 

"No, darlin.' No." He said, his voice strained. 

"But-"

I started to detach myself from him slowly and move my body, feeling embarrassed about the way I practically clung onto him and put all my weight on him. 

"Nova, stop movin.'" He said, not in a harsh manner. But in a tone that was strained and I swore I heard him mutter under his breath, "Lord, help me."

"What is it? You look hurt, Elvis." I said, trying to find more of an explanation for his pained expression that adored his features. Sweat trickled down his forehead. 

He shook his head, "Keep close to me, I'm not hurt."

"You swear?" I questioned, still unsure of his words.

He nodded, "Yeah, yeah I swear."

I secured myself around him again, believing his words. 

I feel something hard against my thigh, I look down quizzically and gasped at the sight of a bulge from his shorts poking my thigh. I avert my gaze. I feel that sudden warmth in my cheeks and seems to travel to my neck as well. 

Elvis must've seen my reaction, "Aw, hell. I'm sorry, darlin.' I-" He sighed deeply, his head facing the sky above. 

To not further the obvious awkwardness that was surely rising between us, I pretended to clear my throat and said, "Were you talking about teaching me how to swim?" 

His chest seemed to relax as he breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, "Uh, yes, yeah okay." 

Swimming was a skill that my parents were not fond of me learning. Their protectiveness over my safety wins priority over learning a life skill. And so, I grew up with the fear of water as a result.

After that awkward moment between Elvis and me, slowly but surely he did exactly what he promised. He taught me how to swim. Well, almost did. My fear of drowning and losing control would creep up on me every now and again, which would make me stop and cling to him or the rocks nearby. But even with that, his patience never wavered. Nor did he make me feel embarrassed. No, I never felt any of those emotions. Only comfort and dare I say, some excitement when I feel like I am getting the hang of it. By the end of our swimming session, I was no expert in swimming, but I at least had less fear of the water and trusted myself more in gaining control of how I moved against the water. 

Not to mention, I became accustomed to the touch of his skin against mine and the closeness that was unavoidable in the situation. It was like the rapid changing of seasons - hot and cold. But in the end, no matter what, all I felt was familiarity. To the point that no contact of my skin against his was more unnatural than natural. 

Soon, the greeting of the amber glow of sunset alerted our tired bodies. Therefore, we made our way out of the body of water and back onto dry land. We dried ourselves with a towel that was nearby, one that I didn't question, for this was all a dream. And I learned now that questioning things in this world leads me to nowhere. I pulled my dress back on and Elvis put his clothes back on. However, albeit the warmer season in this dream compared to the real world, there was a chill in the air - the sign of the day nearly coming to a close. 

Elvis must've noticed my shivering state as I ran my hands up and down my crossed arms, he slipped his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders. 

I protested quickly, "What about you?"

He shrugged with that lopsided grin of his, "I'm fine, darlin'."

"Elvis-"

"Yes, Miss Sinclair?" He tilts his head at me and that's when I knew that there was no use in arguing with him. 

So I sighed and playfully rolled my eyes, "Alright, you win."

He chuckled and grasped my hand into his, the action more effortless than when I said my own name. We walked quickly beside each other in silence, in which I broke, " Thank you."

Elvis turned to me, "For what, darlin?" He asked, his thumb gently caressing my hand.  

"Well, teaching me how to swim even if I'm still not completely there yet. But thank you anyway for being so patient with me." 

"Of course, " He nodded, "You gotta believe in yourself more, honey." He said softly.

I sighed, "I know, but it's easier said than done." I cannot help but shrug. 

Elvis stopped walking and faced me, "The things that last, the most important things - they take time. Always do." He said to me, but somehow it felt as if the words were scattered notes across a broken piano - one that still plays beautifully, but long forgotten. One that remembers the melody of a beautiful thing. His tone of voice resembled one of a person who was recalling a memory of some kind before it faded away. The reminiscent kind. One that is mixed with the taste of nostalgia. 

"Very wise, who said that?" I mused. It was becoming harder and harder to find a way to ease the tension when he grew serious all of a sudden. It is not a tension that is negative by any means, but there is something in my chest. This feeling. And before I could even think more about it, I had to lean into a half-humored response. A light response, but sincerity and honesty all the same.

Elvis winked.

Before I could question more into his confusing response, he tugged my hand intertwined in his closer as he led me through more of the forest. Shortly after that, I find that we are somehow on the other side of the waterfall but perched on a hill. So, there was a distance from the water, but not too far. Just the right enough distance to take in the picturesque view. A red and white patterned picnic blanket was draped over the grass, and atop it was a picnic basket and a bouquet of flowers. 

Elvis tugged me along as we sat down on the picnic blanket. 

"You did all this?" I asked, more of a rhetorical question than most. 

"You like it?"

"This is incredible." I marveled. 

Elvis smiled, letting go of my hands and taking hold of the bouquet - presenting them to me. 

"For you, Nova." 

I gladly accept the bouquet and admire the flowers. These flowers were rare, only appearing in spring and summer. The sky blue color of the petals that surrounded the mild yellow centre - a flower that I had seen all my life, and I breathed it. It was a flower that always grew so abundantly all around my parents' house growing up. 

Which is why it so easily became my favorite flower in the entire world. 

"Elvis, thank you. These are beautiful."

"it's a. . . Forget Me Not."

"-Forget Me Not."

We ended up saying it simultaneously, and I burst out laughing at the way we said it in sync. Elvis is frozen, his eyes are wide as his mouth opens in an 'o' shape. He starts to say something, but mumbles and stopped himself. 

"Obviously, there is that clear meaning behind its name. But also for some reason, I don't why, but they always grew in the garden of my childhood house. My parents' home. My parents never raised them. I guess it came with the location of the property. That's how I happened to know what they are called. They then ended up being my favorite flower, I don't know if it was because it was the only flower that I saw constantly and thought I was a smart kid. But-"

I stopped my ramblings, as I noticed that Elvis has grown silent. His eyes are no longer looking into mine but instead appear to be looking far away out into the distance. But his removal from me wasn't what gravitated my interest, it was what was contained in his azure eyes. A build of tears seemed to be rising higher and higher in his eyes. I've only ever seen him in a state of tears like this once before, a while ago, when I asked him questions with one-word answers. 

The image makes me reach my hand out to him as I wrap it around his, "Elvis?" I said, my voice quiet, "Are you okay?" 

He doesn't respond. Instead, he shuts his eyes rapidly and those tears escape down his face. He keeps his eyes closed, appearing to be squeezing his eyelids shut. 

Oh god. What did I say? 

"Did I say something?"

My questions seemed to shake him out of his trance, and he opened his eyes, and the very moment he did - I felt my heart collapse. Like the earth-shattering quake that makes even the strongest buildings surrender to the ground. His eyes are swollen, evident by the droplets of tears that still cascade down his cheeks. He shook his head and with shaky hands, he brought his hands up to cup my cheeks, "Nova." 

"Tell me, did I say something wrong? I'm sor-"

"No, no, no." He said quickly, voice cracking. 

In that moment, there is something within me that reigns over the attitude of thinking over my decisions and choices. 

The space and distance between us suddenly felt wrong. 

I reached my hands out to push his hair out of his face and wipe the tears off his cheeks. I leave my hands resting on his shoulders, as I tuck my knees beneath me and feel myself pulling him close to me - enveloping him into a hug. The action caused the raven-haired man before me to erupt into sobs, his arms gripped around me grow tighter. I find myself running my hand through his hair in a soothing manner. Now is not the time for questions, sometimes in life, we have no choice but to speak and let words be spoken. But this time? Elvis does not need me pestering him with questions. 

"Shh, it's alright."

A while goes by, but I do not pull back until Elvis does. 

And when he does, I try to brush off that feeling of emptiness that rushes into my system - into the very corners of that organ that sits inside my chest, all too quickly. 

It took a while before the atmosphere between us goes back to lighteharted, and tear-free. Whatever it was that was on Elvis' mind that caused him to zone out like that - I hope he never delves into that again. It breaks me. He never tells me what it was, and I never ask. Instead, he apologises profusely and presents the food that was in the picnic blanket. We have the food and soon flow into happier topics of conversation. 

"No way, really?" I asked as Elvis retells a story of how he first started to learn guitar. All of my knowledge of Elvis was from the Elvis movie, and nothing further than that. 

Elvis nodded, "Yeah. I think I was eleven at the time and  I wanted a bicycle, but my mama didn't want it." 

"Why?"I asked, taking a sip out of the glass of wine. 

"Couldn't afford it," Elvis shrugged and continued, "But Mama also believed that a bicycle would end up hurtin' me. She feared for my safety all the time. "

"So, she instead opted for buying you a guitar instead? I guess, it makes sense. How protective your mother was. " This I knew of. How Elvis had a twin brother, but was lost at childbirth. A reasonable experience for the constant fear and protectiveness his mother had over his safety. 

Elvis chuckled, running his hand through his hair, "Yeah, I didn't know what I was doin'. Knew nothin' about playin' the instrument. Only learned from my Uncle Johnny and the pastor, Frank Smith from the church we would go to." He explained further. 

"That's why I never understood when people called me gifted. I was far from it, honey." He shook his head in embarrassment. 

"I disagree with you. Talent doesn't always mean waking up and being a prodigy at something, sometimes it takes learning on your own and then combining that with practice. I don't think anything is effortless. So, whatever you said, Elvis - I fully believe you were a talented one. A once in a lifetime." I said, not realizing that I was using my hands to speak. 

Elvis smiled at this, his cheeks a shade of crimson as he looked down whilst scratching his neck.

"Well, uh, thank you darlin."

The duality of him continues to amaze me. 

"Sorry, I rambled away like that. Saying so much in one sentence - I hope it wasn't annoying." I chuckled, as I admitted this to him. 

"I love listening to you speak." He said, with no hesitation. 

I feel myself blush at his gaze and turn to look at the scenery, that's when I realize that the landscape has been engulfed by the dark blue color of the night sky. A thousand stars dotted around it, looking down on us. 

I turned to face him again, "Oh gosh, I never even realized it was already dark. "

We must've been talking for hours and hours, getting lost in conversation and not realizing it was the sky's turn to rest. 

Elvis frowned, "Oh, do you want to go?"

I shook my head, "No, not yet."

He sighed in what appeared to be a relief, "Good. I'm not ready yet."

I tilted my head, "And why is that, Presley?"

His hand reaches out behind him, in which he extracts a guitar.

"Since when was that behind you?" I laughed. 

Elvis simply winked, "I told ya, Miss Sinclair. I can be very impressive."

I cannot help but smile, "Uh-huh."

His fingers strummed a few chords, "Any special requests?"

I thought for a moment, I don't know his discography that well. 

"Any song. Whatever comes to mind."

He nodded and started to strum the strings of the guitar, and when he began to sing - I swear I no longer felt the coldness of the evening air around me. Instead, there is the warmth that fills his voice and surrounds me. The first verse of the song is gentle and evokes the very definition of a peaceful night. But not one that makes one fall asleep, it makes you keep listening and hanging onto every word. I do end up closing my eyes very briefly, but open them again and when I do - he is already looking into mine with a smile on his lips. 

"Love me tender, 

love me true, 

all my dreams fulfilled

for my darlin' I love you 

and I always will." 

Elvis' voice was flying through the breeze of the evening air like a gentle companion walking through the vacant streets of a quaint town. One thing that the movie portrayed was how powerful of a performer Elvis was. Especially the era of the 70s. The extravagant jumpsuits, the international hotel ballroom. The way he moved on the stage. But they rarely captured how, even without all of that, there was the tenderness and sweetness to his voice that can mesmerize anyone just the same. 

"Love me tender, 

love me dear,

Tell me you are mine, 

I'll be yours through all the years, 

Till the end of time." He finished singing and holds onto that last line - almost speaks it, instead of singing it. 

And just as he stopped strumming the guitar, thoughts evade my mind. Yes, I feared the water earlier because what else does one do when they don't know how to swim? I didn't know the depth of the water, and it can be unpredictable at times. No matter how serene the atmosphere. I know all can be solved if I had the skill of knowing how to swim. But I didn't. 

But the one catalyst that drove that swimming session to even happen - well, it was him. Through my actions that did not align with my rational thinking, I went straight into the water to look for him. To find him. To see him safe. To make sure. If I didn't do any of that, I doubt I would be in the water at all. 

I simply - jumped. 

It was only now, at this moment with him across from me as he finished singing a song so sweet and pure - that I realized it was never really about jumping into the water. 

Whether I dared to say it out loud or not, I know it is true. A feeling that triumphs over my anxieties and fear, which I proved to myself by jumping into that water - I care about him. 

Elvis, I care about you. I say this in my mind. Words unspoken. 

I clapped, "That was amazing Elvis."

He smiled shyly, "Thank you, honey."  He said, placing the guitar back down on the picnic blanket. He hesitates, about to say something, and scratches the back of his neck as he mumbles something under his breath. 

His hands delicately get hold of a loose strand of hair falling over my face, and gently tucked this behind my ear. The action tickles me and I end up giggling a little, "Oh gosh, that tickles." 

Elvis grinned and leaned in again. "Hmm?"

"Yes, it does. I am ticklish, okay?" I chuckle, shaking my head. 

Oh gosh, wrong words Nova. Unfortunately, he caught on to my words very quickly. Elvis started to tickle me on my sides, and I couldn't help but gasp with my eyes going wide. I am lying down on the picnic blanket now, falling over from the actions.  My hands frantically attempt to push him off me, but with that infamous smirk on his lips - he doesn't hold back. 

"Elvis! oh my god, stop!" I said, in between gasps and laughter.

"Nope." 

Okay, two can play a game, Presley. 

I tickled him back, and he gasped with a picture of momentarily surprise. He stumbled back, now being the one lying down whilst I have the upper hand. Unfortunately, Elvis does not appear to be as ticklish as I am. He is quick to grab hold of both of my hands. Our laughter stops, once we both realize the position that we are in. I am lying on top of him, with both of my hands engulfed in his hand and his right hand wrapped around my waist.  Our faces were inches apart from each other, that I could feel his breathing against my cheek. 

"The power you hold over me, Nova." He said softly, with a wide smile. 

His words register through my mind like a faint wave, for I couldn't help but admire him. His tanned skin, those piercing eyes of his. His lips looked so soft. A strand of his perfectly groomed hair overshadowed part of his face. 

"You're beautiful," I said, unable to stop myself. 

Elvis grinned and shook his head, "Nah, you should see the view from 'ere. That's the breathtaking one." 

I blushed but shook my head still. 

"Oh, here you go with your flirting again," I replied, chuckling. 

"Always with you."

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