hopeless romantic

The lights of the Humes High Schools hallway hummed with their usual indifferent buzz, casting long shadows across the scuffed linoleum as you stood before your locker. Hands nervously twitching. Anxious about what you would find hidden in the box.

Your classmates eagerly chirping about the upcoming fair. It only fills you with dread. You hated high school. You had no friends. You hated it so much so that you didn’t even go to prom nor the dances.

Your fingers moved with memory, gathering the dog-eared textbooks and loose papers that had accumulated over another interminable day of senior year. The metallic clang of lockers echoed around you, punctuated by the distant laughter of peers who had long since stopped trying to include you in their circles.

Your hand brushed against something unfamiliar at the back of the metal shelf a small square of yellow paper that hadn't been there when you'd arrived that morning.

The handwriting was unmistakably crude, the letters slightly smudged as if written in haste or by someone unused to such delicate tasks. "Meet me at the Ferris wheel, 6pm, June 20th." No signature, no explanation, just those few words that seemed to pulse with possibility and threat in equal measure.

The weight of your journal felt different as you slipped the note between its pages, the leather cover worn soft from years of carrying your private thoughts.

The classroom windows, the June sun cast everything in that golden light that made even the most ordinary moments feel weighted with significance.

The graduating class field trip loomed just days away, and you'd already decided you wouldn't be joining. You couldn't imagine spending an evening trapped on a bus with people who had made your high school years a study in exclusion.

Only one face among them had ever given you pause, and even then, it was more the absence of cruelty than any particular kindness. He moved through the hallways with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere, his presence marked by the way conversations seemed to pause when he entered a room, then resumed with slightly different energy. You'd never exchanged more than accidentally locking eyes, and you were fairly certain he didn't know your name existed beyond the roll call.

The possibility that Nancy and her carefully curated circle of followers had orchestrated this note felt almost certain they'd made an art form of finding new ways to make you feel small, their laughter echoing in empty hallways and whispered conversations that stopped when you approached. Yet as you closed your locker door with deliberate care, something in your chest refused to fully dismiss the alternative. The note felt too personal, too specific to be merely another cruel prank. Or maybe it was just foolish hopeful thinking.

Your footsteps carried you through the emptying corridors, past the trophy cases and motivational posters that had become as familiar as they were meaningless.

The weight of the journal against your side seemed to grow with each step, the hidden note creating a secret that belonged only to you, regardless of its ultimate source.

The afternoon light slanted through the windows in long, dusty beams, and somewhere in the distance, you could hear the marching band practicing for graduation, a sound that felt both celebratory and mournful, like the end of something you weren't sure you'd ever truly begun.

The kitchen smelled of coffee and the faint sweetness of the pie cooling on the windowsill, the late afternoon light filtering through the lace curtains in soft, golden patches that danced across the tiled floor.

You sat at the table with your hands folded tightly in your lap, the journal lying open before you like a confession waiting to be spoken aloud. The note had become a living thing in your mind, its words echoing with each passing day as the fairgrounds grew louder beyond the edge of town, the distant music and laughter drifting through open windows like a taunt.

Your mother moved with the confidence of someone who had learned to read the silences between words, her hands busy with the evening's preparations even as her attention remained fixed on the tension in your shoulders. The radio played softly in the background, some crooner's voice warbling about love and regret, the melody seeming to underscore the weight of the decision that had been growing heavier with each passing hour.

"I found this.” Your voice barely above a whisper as you slid the yellow paper across the table. "At school. In my locker."

She paused in her work, her hands stilling as she studied the messy boyish handwriting with the careful attention of someone who understood that small things could carry enormous weight. She knew you. All of you. She could read you like the back of her hand. Sometimes you felt as if she were your only friend. She loved all of your mannerisms and traits. Sensitive, kind, generous. She just prayed that others would catch on.

The kitchen clock ticked steadily in the background, marking the seconds that stretched between you like an invisible thread.

"And you think it's a joke.” Not quite a question, her voice carrying the gentle certainty of someone who had watched you navigate the cruelties of high school with a quiet dignity that broke her heart.

"I’m positive it’s Nancy." The name tasting bitter on your tongue. “She’s done worse.” As you trail off you remember the lunch incident. The incident where they stole all of your food and called you a pig for asking for more.

Your mother settled into the chair across from you, her manicured fingers tracing the edge of the note with something that might have been recognition.

The light through the window had shifted, casting longer shadows across the table, and somewhere in the distance, the fair's carousel music drifted through the evening air like a promise.

"What if it isn't? What if you don't go, and you miss the opportunity of a lifetime?"

The words hung in the air between you, weighted with all the possibilities that had been keeping you awake at night. Your fingers found the edge of the journal, the leather warm from being carried close to your heart, and you could feel the note's presence even through the closed pages.

"But what if it is?" Your eyebrows raised in sorrow you whispered, the fear making your voice smaller than you intended. "What if I show up and they're all there, laughing? Like it’s just another cruel joke?”

Your mother reached across the table, her hand covering yours with a warmth that had always been there, steady and unwavering through every disappointment. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath around you, the ordinary moment stretching into something that felt almost sacred.

"Then you'll know and knowing is better than wondering for the rest of your life."

She gives you a small smile. The comfort radiating off of her and wrapping you in a soft blanket. You smile wryly. Half believing, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. She stands with watchful eyes as you wring your hands. Your mind questioning a thousand possibilities as she continues making dinner, her back turned. You imagine his eyes. Those deep blues that you’ve dreamed of looking at you. His full lips that he chews on when he doesn’t know an answer for the pop quiz. His witty banter he shares with his friends. The charismatic warmth that radiates through him. He makes anyone feel special no matter who you are. Like a nobody, such as yourself. As you wrangle and determine good and evil your mother brings your mind back to the kitchen.

“And I know how much you want it to be that boy.”

The fair's lights were beginning to glow against the darkening sky, and the distant sound of the Ferris wheel's machinery carried through the open window like the promise of something you weren't sure you were brave enough to reach for.

The fairgrounds pulsed with life as you stepped through the entrance, thirty minutes behind the time you had agonized over for days. The bus had crawled through traffic like it was savoring every red light, and you had spent far too long in front of your mirror, adjusting the collar of your dress, smoothing your hair, checking your reflection until your own face had begun to look unfamiliar. You had to be perfect. Perfect just for him.

The air was thick with the smell of popcorn and spun sugar, the ground trembling beneath your feet from the distant thump of the carousel's calliope music. Bright lights swung overhead in arcs of red, blue, and gold, catching on the faces of children darting between the legs of adults, their laughter sharp and bright against the low murmur of the carnies hawking their games.

You clutched your tickets tightly, the paper already damp from your palm, and moved through the crowd with your shoulders drawn inward. Every step felt heavier than the last as you approached the towering silhouette of the Ferris wheel, its spokes turning in a slow, deliberate rhythm against the deepening twilight. The metal groaned softly with each rotation, a sound that seemed to echo the anxious flutter in your chest. You rubbed your arm absently, the gesture doing little to ease the tightness that had settled beneath your skin.

Your eyes swept the faces around you, searching for any hint of the boy from your dreams, the one whose voice had lingered in your memory long after the applause had faded. The lights caught on sequined jackets and cotton candy, on the glint of coins changing hands at the ring toss, but none of them belonged to him.

Instead, your gaze landed on Nancy and her circle, clustered near the cotton candy stand, their laughter cutting through the noise like a blade. They were pointing at some poor boy struggling with a game, their voices carrying just enough to make your stomach twist. You turned away quickly, the shame of being seen here alone settling over you like a second skin.

Minutes stretched into something unbearable. The wheel kept turning, its passengers rising and falling in gentle arcs, their silhouettes framed against the sky. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes, and felt the first sting of tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

The thought that he might not come that this had all been some elaborate joke pressed against your ribs until breathing felt like work. You had been foolish to hope, foolish to stand here waiting like some character in a story that would never be written.

You turned to leave, your steps already carrying you back toward the entrance, when a hand closed gently around your wrist. The contact was warm, unexpected, and you gasped softly, the sound barely audible over the fair's din. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you turned, the world narrowing to the point where his fingers met your skin.

It was him.

He stood before you, his inky dark hair catching the lights, his eyes moving over your face with a mixture of relief and something softer, something that made your breath catch. His cologne swirling around your head and making it fuzzy. He reached up with his free hand to smooth the back of his hair, the gesture shy and self-conscious, and when he spoke, his voice was low, carrying the faint drawl that had captivated you from the first time you heard it.

"Where ya goin'?"

Your eyes dropped to your shoes, the scuffed toes suddenly fascinating. "Thought you weren't gonna show." You managed, your voice barely above a whisper. Although you were late, he had every reason to leave. You’re just grateful he stayed. Grateful the chicken scratch on the yellow paper was him. It felt like a gamble. A gamble that’s odds somehow came out in your favor.

He laughed then, a breathless sound that seemed surprised by its own existence. "Waited by the entrance since four. Thought you walked past so I waited here." The admission hung between you, weighted with the same nervous energy that had kept you awake for nights on end.

You nodded helplessly. There’s a quiet yet electrifying pause between the two of you. Basking in the other's presence. He breathes in your perfume as you breathe out his musk.

He breaks that silence. The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "I'm sorry I didn't ask ya in person, jus' got too nervous. Saw ya aroun’. Thought you were purty and all."

He sighs as you follow him to stand in line for the Ferris wheel. The groans of the machine a distant echo. His eyes start to scan the dirt before a realization floods over him.

“I must sound like a creep! I didn’ mean it like I wasn’ watchin’ ya I jus-“ His fingers released your wrist, but before the absence could register, he held his hand out to you, palm up, an offering. As a way to start over fresh. "I'm—"

"You're Elvis Presley.” The name leaving your lips before you could think better of it.

He blinked, taken aback, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You performed at the talent show. I was there." The memory of that night rising unbidden the way his voice had filled the auditorium, the way the room had seemed to hold its breath.

He nodded, the color deepening on his face. The conversation came in fits and starts, shy and halting at first, then gaining momentum as the line inched forward. The crowd advancing only when another metal basket descended with a protesting groan, its hinges crying out into the warm Memphis night.

The wheel carved slow circles against a sky slipping from dusty black into bruised shades of stars, every spoke strung with glowing bulbs that blinked one after another until the entire thing looked less like a carnival ride and more like a constellation someone had lowered close enough to touch.

The air was heavy. It settled over your shoulders like velvet, carrying the sweetness of spun sugar, roasted peanuts, fried dough, and the earthy scent of trampled grass. Bottles clinked together as another game began. A little girl shrieked with delight over a prize nearly as big as she was. The calliope played somewhere in the distance, its cheerful melody drifting through the grounds like something remembered from a dream.

You did everything in your power to act cool and nonchalant. But you were everything but cool. You could feel the sweat droplets rolling down your spine.

The fair, should have felt noisy. All you could hear was your own heartbeat. It thudded against your ribs so insistently you were almost certain he could hear it too. It was so dreamy his bloused shoulder occasionally touching your bare one.

You kept your eyes fixed stubbornly on the ground. The dirt beneath your shoes was littered with footprints going in every direction imaginable. Scattered peanut shells. A crushed ticket stub. Cigarette ash caught between the grooves of someone’s boot print. Anything was easier to look at than him. Because every time you did, every time your eyes wandered upward almost against your own will. He was already looking. And then both of you would immediately look somewhere else. It was almost funny. Almost. In a senseless way you never entertained the thought that he could be as nervous as you. The talent show basically blasted him into popularity. Never entertained the idea he would’ve even known a little bit of who you were. Or even him planning to ask you out.

Elvis shifted his weight.

The movement was barely noticeable, but you caught it in your peripheral vision the scrape of leather against packed earth, the quiet rustle of denim as he tucked one hand into his pocket before pulling it out again scarcely two seconds later.

He smoothed the back of his hair. Realized he’d already done that. Dropped his hand. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. When he sang at the talent show it packed a school auditorium shoulder to shoulder, had no problem. Yet standing beside one girl in the Ferris wheel line somehow felt infinitely more terrifying. His palms were damp. His stomach had tied itself into knots so tight he wondered if they would ever come undone again.

Say something.

Anything.

Nothing came. Not one of the clever things he’d rehearsed while lying awake staring at his bedroom ceiling. Not the charming introduction. He already fumbled that. His thoughts scattered like birds startled from a fence.

“So…”

The word escaped before he could stop it. Soft. Almost swallowed by the sounds of the carnival. You looked over lashes brushing the tops of your cheeks.

“…So.”

The reply left your lips just as uncertainly. The silence that followed somehow managed to become even larger. Your face grew warm.

Interesting.

You’ve become the sort of person who answers “so” with “so.”

You wished, briefly, that the earth would simply open beneath your feet. Elvis exhaled through his nose. One corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“We’re awful at this.”

You looked at him. He still wasn’t looking at you. His eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the Ferris wheel turning overhead as though he’d delivered the observation to the clouds instead.

A laugh escaped you. Small. Breathy. The sort that slipped out before permission had been granted. His head turned so quickly it almost startled you. There it was again. That look. Like he’d stumbled across something precious without expecting to.

His own smile arrived slowly, almost cautiously, as though afraid too much happiness might frighten the moment away.

“I made you laugh.”

Your cheeks warmed another shade.

“I was laughing at us.”

“I’ll still count it.”

“You would.”

“I sure would.”

Another pause settled between you. Not empty. It felt strangely alive. Like the hush before summer rain. Holding your breath underwater just long enough to wonder whether you should come back up. Neither of you seemed eager to break it.

The line lurched forward unexpectedly. Without thinking, you both stepped at exactly the same time. Your shoulders brushed. It wasn’t much. The lightest contact imaginable. Just the graze of skin against blouse. But it seemed to travel through you with astonishing clarity, settling somewhere beneath your ribs before blooming outward into something warm and fluttering. You instinctively stepped away.

“S-sorry.”

“No, I-”

The words collided. You stopped. He stopped. For one bewildered second neither of you knew whose apology belonged to whom.

“You first.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You were already talking.”

“So were you.”

“I interrupted.”

“I think I interrupted your interruption.”

You blinked dumbly.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do I.”

A helpless grin spread across his face before he ducked his head, laughing quietly at himself. The sound was softer than when he’d laughed before. Warmer. It curled around you more than it reached your ears. You found yourself smiling without meaning to. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His laughter faded into something gentler.

“I’ve spent two whole weeks thinkin’ about what I’d say to you. Took me another just to write the letter.””

The confession emerged so quietly you almost missed it. Your eyes lifted to his. His ears had turned rouge.

“So…”

You hesitated. Processing his confession. It took him the entirety of three weeks to conjure up the courage to talk to you. Even then he couldn’t even really. He had to write it shamefully on paper.

“What were you going to say?”

He stared at the dirt for several long seconds. When he finally answered, his voice carried all the bashfulness of someone admitting a secret he’d never intended another soul to hear.

“I don’t rightly remember.”

You couldn’t help smiling.

“Forgot?”

The smallest sheepish nod.

“The second you looked at me.”

His fingers curled around the edge of his pocket.

“I reckon every thought I had just packed up and left.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Because the awful, embarrassing truth, the one you would never have admitted aloud, was that yours had done exactly the same thing.

The line carried you forward at last. One hesitant step after another. The wooden rails disappeared behind you, replaced by narrow iron steps worn smooth beneath countless pairs of shoes. They gave a faint metallic groan beneath your weight as you climbed, the Ferris wheel humming softly above your heads a great skeletal giant turning patiently against the evening sky.

The ride operator leaned lazily against the gate, ticket roll looped around two fingers. Before you could reach for the few folded bills tucked carefully into your purse, Elvis was already fishing into his own pocket.

“Oh-”

You caught his wrist instinctively.

“You don’t have to.”

His hand paused beneath yours. For just a second neither of you moved. The warmth of his skin startled you. Not because it was unexpected, but because it felt so natural. He looked down at your fingers resting lightly against his wrist before lifting his eyes to yours. There was something impossibly gentle in them.

“I want to.”

“I can pay for mine.”

“I know.”

“So let me.”

His smile tugged crookedly at one corner of his mouth.

“Now what’d be gentlemanly about that?”

A tiny laugh escaped you.

“You don’t even know if I’ll let you call this a date. I just followed the letters on a piece of paper.”

His cheeks immediately colored. He carefully slipped your hand away from his wrist, almost as though he were afraid of dropping something fragile, before placing waded money and the tickets into the operator’s palm.

His voice lowered just enough that only the man behind the gate could hear. “…Think we could have one to ourselves?”

The operator raised an amused eyebrow.

“You sweet on this girl, son?”

Elvis’s face went scarlet so quickly it nearly made your own cheeks burn in sympathy.

“I-”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Yes, sir.”

The older man chuckled knowingly.

“You ain’t foolin’ anybody.”

Elvis fumbled another couple of dollar bills from his pocket and slid them discreetly across.

“If it ain’t too much trouble.”

The operator glanced toward the slowly turning wheel before pocketing the money with a grin.

“I suppose we can make that happen.”

Your heart fluttered. You pretended not to notice. Elvis pretended not to notice that you’d noticed. The gate creaked open. One empty gondola drifted down toward the platform, swaying gently as it settled into place with a metallic clunk. Its little painted door swung outward. Elvis stepped aside immediately. His hand found the edge of the doorway before he looked toward you.

“You first.”

You hesitated. The cabin shifted with the breeze. It sent tingles down your spine.

“I don’t-”

You laughed nervously.

“What if I fall?”

His smile softened.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause,”

He extended his hand. Waiting.

“I’m here.”

For reasons you couldn’t explain, you believed him. Your fingers slipped into his. His hand closed around yours with surprising care. Firm enough that you felt secure. Gentle enough that you never felt trapped. He steadied the little cabin while you climbed inside, one careful step after another. The floor rocked beneath your feet. Instinctively, you grabbed his forearm. He laughed quietly.

“Told ya.”

“I know.”

“I’m holdin’ it.”

“I know.”

“Still scared?”

“A little.”

“Me too.”

You looked up. Eyes wide.

“You are?”

“I ain’t exactly eager to make a fool of myself in front of you from twenty feet in the air.”

That earned another laugh. Only then did he climb inside after you, ducking his head carefully to not ruin his hair beneath the doorway before settling onto the seat beside you. The operator latched the door shut. There was a solid metallic click. The wheel lurched. The cabin gave a gentle sway. Slowly. Almost imperceptibly. The ground began to fall away beneath you. For several moments neither of you spoke. The silence settled around you as comfortably as an old quilt.

The carnival unfolded beneath the rising cabin. The games shrank into little patches of colored canvas. Strings of lights blurred together until they resembled rivers of stars spilled across the fairgrounds. Music floated upward in fragments, carried by the evening breeze, growing softer with every slow turn of the wheel.

The tiny gondola, it felt as though the rest of the world had quietly slipped away. Only the occasional creak of old metal reminded you that you were moving at all. You folded your hands tightly in your lap. He rubbed his palms against his jeans. Every few seconds one of you glanced toward the other. Every few seconds you looked away again. Elvis finally broke beneath the weight of the silence. He always does.

“…So…”

You laughed before he could finish.

“You always start with ‘so?’”

His shoulders lifted helplessly.

“It keeps happenin’.”

“I noticed.”

“I swear I know more words.”

“I was beginning to wonder.”

He laughed under his breath.

“I finished high school. First in my family.”

He pushes his chest out and dusts off his shoulder. You roll your eyes and push that shoulder. He smirks.

“So you say.”

“I did.”

“Proof?”

“My diploma’s at home.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Another smile passed between you. Small. Shy. Growing easier now. He leaned back against the seat, his long arm swung over the back of the seat behind your head.

“Did you like school?”

The question seemed harmless enough. Something inside you tightened. Your smile faded. Your eyes drifted toward the tiny people moving below.

“Not really.”

He noticed the change immediately. His face falling, he frowned slightly. Eyes becoming soft with sympathy.

“‘M sorry to hear that.”

“No.”

You shook your head slowly. Staring at your shoes, never daring to look at him in his curious gaze.

“It’s alright.”

Your fingers twisted together.

“I hated it.”

The words emerged quietly, choked. Your body feels warm and the cabin feels claustrophobic. Memories rush back to you.

“So much.”

The breeze wandered through the open windows, lifting a loose strand of your hair across your cheek. You tucked it behind your ear before continuing.

“I figured if I stayed quiet enough…people would leave me alone.”

A humorless smile brushed your lips.

“They didn’t.”

Your gaze remained fixed on the glowing carnival below.

“They’d whisper when I walked by.”

You swallowed.

“Make jokes.”

You shrugged one shoulder.

“Sometimes louder so I’d hear.”

The confession left your chest strangely light. Painful. But lighter.

“I used to eat lunch in the library.”

Your voice became little more than a whisper.

“It was quieter there.”

When you finally looked back toward him, he wasn’t smiling anymore. His expression had softened into something that looked remarkably like recognition.

“I get it.”

You blinked. He stared out through the opposite window.

“I wasn’t exactly popular either.”

His thumb traced absent circles against his knee.

“Folks thought I was strange.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

“Too quiet.”

He gave a small shrug.

“Too poor. They’d laugh at the clothes Mama patched together.”

His eyes lowered.

“Laughed at the clothes I got new. I’d spend most days hopin’ nobody noticed me.”

You stared incredulously.

“You?”

He nodded, loose strands whispering against his forehead.

“’Fore the talent show,”

He smiled faintly to himself.

“I mostly just kept my head down.”

The wheel climbed higher. The fairgrounds seemed impossibly distant now. Tiny. Quiet. Almost unreal. He turned back toward you.

“I wish I’d met you then.”

The words were scarcely louder than the breeze. You held his gaze. Each of you not having to speak on the shared emotion for it to be understood.

“I think,”

His smile carried a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“Maybe school would’ve been a little easier.”

Your throat tightened.

“So would’ve mine.”

The cabin continued its slow ascent until, all at once, it reached the very top. The wheel paused. Everything below stretched endlessly beneath you. The fair shimmered like scattered jewels across the dark countryside. The lights reflected in his eyes as he looked out over them. Then he sighed.

“I been thinkin’.”

He laughed nervously.

“Which usually gets me in trouble.”

You smiled widely, teeth glinting.

“I noticed.”

“I probably oughta apologize.”

“For what?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“This.”

He gestured vaguely around the tiny cabin.

“This ain’t much of a first date.”

You frowned, brows furrowed.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve stumbled over every sentence.”

“You have.”

“I embarrassed myself.”

“A little.”

“I’ve probably made you so uncomfortable.”

You smiled softly.

“…No.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

“I just-”

His voice became almost painfully quiet.

“I wish I’d asked you sooner.”

The words hung between you.

“If I’d found the nerve sooner.”

He smiled sadly.

“Maybe I would’ve known you longer.”

The admission settled over your heart with unexpected tenderness. You watched the lights flicker below. Watched children become little moving shadows. Watched the world spin quietly beneath the two of you. Then, before fear could stop you, you spoke.

“I’ve never had a first date.”

The confession barely rose above a whisper. It floated into the little cabin and seemed to stay there. Elvis turned so quickly his knee bumped lightly against yours.

“What?”

You laughed once. Demurely. More from embarrassment than amusement.

“I’ve never-”

Your eyes dropped to your intertwined fingers.

“Been asked.”

The silence that followed wasn’t pity. It wasn’t disbelief. It was heartbreak. The quiet, aching kind. He searched your face as though trying to reconcile your words with the person sitting before him. Finally, he shook his head ever so slightly.

“I don’t understand.”

You looked up, bashfully meeting his eyes.

“How could nobody ask a girl like you?”

For the first time that evening, neither of you looked away. His question lingered between you.The words seemed too large for the tiny gondola, settling into every quiet corner until even the gentle creak of the Ferris wheel felt distant.

You looked away first.

Your eyes drifted toward the horizon leaving only the carnival below to push back the darkness. Thousands of tiny bulbs shimmered beneath you, blurred softly by the sting gathering behind your eyes. You smiled. Not because you were happy. Because it was easier than explaining.

“I don’t know.”

Your voice came quietly.

“So many people ask that.”

“They do?”

You shrugged.

“They say I’m pretty.”

He looked at you as though that much should have been obvious.

“You are.”

The compliment landed with astonishing gentleness. There wasn’t an ounce of performance in it. No practiced grin. No wink. No expectation that you’d blush or flirt back. He simply sounded confused that anyone could think otherwise. You laughed softly through your nose.

“They say that but being pretty doesn’t always mean people are kind.”

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn wooden slats of the seat. He nodded quietly. The breeze slipped through the open sides of the gondola, lifting loose strands of your hair until they danced across your cheeks. He reached to smooth them back, the gesture gentle and sweet. It made your heart seep with adoration.

“I was always-”

You searched for the right word. Eyes flicked across his face as he fixed your hair.

“Different.”

He waited. He never rushed you. Never filled the silence simply because it existed. Once he finished fixing your hair he just leaned back into the corner of the booth.

“I never knew what to say.”

You smiled faintly. His serious eyes stayed on yours. It made you feel slightly more confident given his attention.

“Still don’t.”

A tiny laugh escaped him.

“I’ve noticed.”

You looked over, surprised. He looked horrified.

“Oh.”

His eyes widened.

“I didn’t mean-”

“No.”

A genuine smile found you.

“I know what you meant.”

He exhaled, relieved.

“I thought I’d ruined it.”

“I think we’d both know if you had.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“Probably.”

The cabin rocked almost subtly as the wheel began its slow descent. Neither of you noticed.

“I used to practice conversations.”

Your confession surprised even yourself.

“I’d go home after school and stand in front of the mirror.”

Your cheeks warmed.

“I’d pretend somebody wanted to talk to me.”

The admission came with a small, embarrassed laugh.

“I’d think of all the things I should’ve said.”

Silence. Not because he’d lost interest. Because he was listening. Really listening. When he finally spoke, his voice had become so soft it almost disappeared beneath the wind.

“I used to practice introductions.”

You blinked.

“You did?”

He nodded.

“‘Hello.’”

A tiny smile.

“‘Nice to meet ya.’”

Another.

“‘How’ve you been?’”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’d say ’em over and over.”

He laughed quietly at himself.

“Then forget every last one the second somebody looked at me.”

You stared at him. Slowly, very slowly, your shoulders relaxed. Not because the nervousness had gone away. It hadn’t. It simply no longer belonged to you alone. You recognized it in him. He recognized it in you. And somehow that made it lighter.

“I always thought people like you weren’t supposed to get nervous.”

He looked genuinely puzzled.

“People like me?”

“You sing.”

He shrugged carelessly like singing was natural to him. It was, it was the performing in front of hundreds that was nerve wracking.

“So?”

“So…”

You searched for the words.

“You stand on a stage.”

“Mhm.”

“In front of everybody.”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not scared.”

He looked out over the glowing fairgrounds. A wistful smile crossed his face.

“I am.”

You frowned.

“You don’t look scared.”

“‘Cause I’m singin’.”

He glanced back toward you.

“When I’m singin’.”

His fingers tapped absently against his knee.

“It don’t really feel like people are lookin’ at me.”

He smiled sheepishly.

“It feels like they’re lookin’ at the music.”

You held his gaze.

“But this this is just me.”

He laughed once, almost under his breath. The honesty of it wrapped itself gently around your heart. You understood. Perhaps more than anyone else could have.

The Ferris wheel creaked again, beginning another slow turn downward. The lights below drifted past the windows like fallen stars. You became aware that the distance between the two of you had somehow grown smaller. Neither of you remembered moving.

Your knees were only inches apart now. Close enough that every gentle sway of the gondola threatened to let them touch. Neither of you leaned away. Neither of you leaned closer. You simply stayed there.

Hovering inside that fragile, uncertain space where every inch suddenly felt impossibly important. Elvis looked down at his hands.

“They’re sweatin’.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He turned his palms upward with an embarrassed laugh.

“They’re sweatin’ somethin’ awful.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

“They are not.”

“They are.”

“You can’t even tell.”

“I can.”

He wiped them dramatically on his jeans.

“There.”

“Better?”

“No.”

You giggled.

“I think you’re overthinkin’ it.”

He looked at you with exaggerated seriousness.

“I have thought about every single thing I’ve said tonight.”

“So have I.”

“You have?”

“I’ve replayed every sentence in my head.”

He smiled.

“I think we’ve both apologized about twenty times.”

“Twenty-one.”

“You countin’?”

“I had nothin’ else to do.”

His laugh filled the little cabin, warm and unguarded, and before either of you realized it, you were laughing too. The kind that loosened something deep inside your chest. The kind that made breathing easier. When the laughter finally faded, you caught him looking at you again. As though committing the moment to memory. As though he already knew that years from now, if someone asked him about his first real date, he would remember this exact evening. The girl beside him who smiled like she’d only just remembered how and he would remember thinking, with a certainty that both thrilled and frightened him, I hope this isn’t the last time I get to hear her laugh.

The Ferris wheel turned lazily behind you, its weathered frame groaning with each slow revolution, while somewhere farther down the midway the carousel sang its familiar tune, the melody drifting through the warm evening air with a wistfulness that made the whole fair feel suspended in time.

The scent of fried dough, roasted peanuts, caramel apples, and fresh-cut hay wrapped around you in slow waves. Beneath your shoes, the packed earth had been softened by hundreds of footsteps, carrying the faint vibration of generators humming tirelessly behind the booths. Children’s laughter rose and fell like birdsong. Glass bottles clinked together at the milk-bottle toss. Someone called out the winning number at the cake walk. Somewhere nearby, a teenage couple laughed so hard they nearly stumbled into each other.

The world continued exactly as it always had. It felt quieter. As though everything beyond the few feet surrounding you and Elvis had been gently muffled. You walked beside one another without really deciding who would lead. Your strides found the same rhythm almost immediately.

Every few moments your shoulders brushed not enough to force either of you apart, only enough to make you both acutely aware of how little space existed between you. Neither of you apologized anymore.

That felt like progress.

Your conversations arrived in gentle fragments, stitched together by comfortable stretches of silence neither of you seemed quite so afraid of now. He spoke about the talent show. About how he’d nearly turned around before walking onto the stage.

“I was so nervous my knees were shakin’.” He admitted with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought everybody’d laugh ‘fore I even opened my mouth.”

You smiled.

“They didn’t.”

“No.”

His eyes drifted toward the lights.

“They listened.”

There was still a hint of disbelief in his voice, as though part of him hadn’t entirely accepted that evening had really happened.

“I kept thinkin’ if I messed up that’d probably be the end of it.”

He shrugged.

“It wasn’t.”

“No.”

A small smile softened his face.

“Guess it wasn’t.”

You watched families pass in front of you, children darting between their parents with paper tickets clutched tightly in sticky little hands.

“I didn’t really belong anywhere at school.”

The words slipped from you so quietly they almost disappeared beneath the sounds of the carnival. His head turned. You kept your eyes ahead.

“It always felt like everybody else knew some secret I didn’t.”

Your fingers traced absent circles against the strap of your purse.

“They all seemed to know how to talk.”

A small laugh escaped you.

“I never did.”

You glanced toward him.

“I still don’t.”

He smiled to himself.

“I couldn’t tell.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No.”

“You’ve barely heard me talk.”

“I know.”

His smile widened ever so slightly.

“I just like listenin’.”

The words settled somewhere warm inside your chest. Neither of you spoke again for a while. You didn’t need to. The silence between you no longer felt like something waiting to be filled. It felt like somewhere the two of you could simply exist. Elvis stopped. You nearly walked into him.

“What is it?”

His gaze had fixed itself on one of the game booths. Stuffed bears. Dozens of them. Brown. Cream. Honey-colored. They dangled from hooks overhead with little stitched smiles and round button noses, swaying gently whenever the evening breeze wandered through the midway. A boyish grin spread across his face. One that reached all the way into his mischievous eyes.

“I wanna win you one.”

You followed his gaze before looking back at him.

“They’re rigged.”

“I know.”

“You’ll lose all your money.”

“Probably.”

“So why bother?”

His fingers were already digging through his pocket for loose change. He looked back at you. The grin softened into something almost impossibly earnest.

“’Cause I wanna be the fella that won you a bear.”

Your heart stumbled. He stepped up to the counter. The carnie, a broad man with suspenders stretched across his stomach and a cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth, looked Elvis up and down before dropping a handful of baseballs into his waiting eager palms.

“Knock all three bottles down.”

Elvis nodded with far more confidence than he actually felt. He just felt lucky with you around.

“Got it.”

The first throw sailed wide. Not even close. It smacked harmlessly into the wooden backboard before bouncing into the dirt. The carnie didn’t bother hiding his grin. Elvis frowned at the empty bottles. You folded your arms, smiling despite yourself.

“Off to a strong start.”

“I was calculatin’.”

“You missed by nearly two feet.”

“I was calculatin’ poorly.”

Your laugh slipped free before you could stop it. He smiled immediately. Worth it. The second throw clipped one bottle. It wobbled dramatically. Then settled right back where it had started. Elvis stared.

“You’re kiddin’.”

The carnie shrugged. One game became two. Then three. Dollar bills disappeared from Elvis’s pocket one after another with quiet crinkling. Each time he stepped back from the counter, he glanced toward you first as though checking whether you were growing bored. You weren’t. Not even a little. Watching him was strangely endearing. Every missed throw earned the tiniest wrinkle between his brows. Every near miss drew a determined little breath through his nose. Every time he failed, he somehow looked even more resolved to try again.

His dark hair had begun to fall loose across his forehead where he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. His blouse grew taut tucked into his jeans. The muscles in his arms and back sore from the constant abuse. His cheeks had grown warm with equal parts embarrassment and determination.

“You know…” you teased gently. “You can quit.”

He looked over his shoulder. His eyes cut through his dark lashes. The intensity of his gaze made the hairs on your skin rise.

“I absolutely cannot.”

“You’ve spent enough to buy ten bears.”

He considered that. Before turning to face the game again. He looked back toward the bottles.

“That’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?”

“So I can give you one.”

The simplicity of the answer stole every clever reply from your mind. The next baseball left his hand. One bottle toppled. Then another. Only one remained. The midway seemed to pause with him. He picked up the final ball. Rolled his shoulders once. Exhaled. Every tense muscle in him easing. The throw struck dead center. The last bottle tumbled backward with a satisfying crack. The carnie blinked. Even he was surprised.

Elvis laughed a bright, disbelieving sound that seemed to escape him before he could catch it. He looked younger when he smiled like that. Lighter. The carnie reached overhead, plucking down a small brown bear with soft caramel-colored fur and a faded satin ribbon tied neatly around its neck. It wasn’t the biggest prize. Or the fanciest. But somehow It felt perfect. Elvis accepted it carefully, turning it over once in his hands before walking back toward you. For just a moment, he looked oddly uncertain. As though standing onstage before an auditorium full of people had somehow been easier than handing one stuffed bear to one very quiet girl.

He cleared his throat.

“This one’s yours.”

You accepted it with both hands. Your fingers brushed his. Electric. The touch was featherlight. Barely there. It lingered long enough for both of you to notice. The sounds of the fair soften once more into distant echoes. When your eyes lifted to meet his, you saw the same shy wonder reflected there that you felt blooming quietly inside yourself. It wasn’t really about the bear. It never had been. It was the thought that had emptied his pockets. The determination that had refused to let him walk away. The quiet, unwavering hope that somewhere in the middle of all those missed throws. He might make you smile.

The little brown bear rested comfortably against your side as the two of you drifted farther down the dirt path, no destination in mind, neither of you seeming particularly concerned with where your feet carried you. The carnival stretched endlessly around you, alive with movement and color, yet it somehow no longer felt crowded.

It felt as though the world had quietly stepped aside. Strings of colored bulbs hung overhead like suspended stars, casting shifting ribbons of amber, crimson, and pale gold across the path. Every few moments one of those colors would catch in Elvis’s dark hair or wash softly over the curve of his cheek, changing him for the briefest instant before another light replaced it. You found yourself watching those little transformations more often than you cared to admit.

His smile looked different beneath every color. His eyes caught the light in ways that made them seem softer.

Every now and then he laughed, never loudly, never to draw attention, but with a quiet warmth that gathered at the corners of his eyes first before finding his mouth. The type that comes from the chest. You caught yourself studying it without realizing you were doing so, committing each little expression to memory before it disappeared.

The way one eyebrow lifted whenever he teased you. The tiny crease that appeared between his brows when he was thinking. The habit he had of ducking his head after every compliment, as though embarrassed by his own honesty. You wondered if anyone else noticed those things. Or if they belonged only to moments like this.

“What?”

His voice pulled you gently from your thoughts. You blinked.

“What?”

He smiled, almost shyly.

“You’ve looked at me three times in the last minute.”

Heat rushed into your cheeks.

“I have not.”

“You have.”

“I was…”

Your eyes darted toward the nearest game booth.

“…Looking behind you.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“There ain’t nothin’ there.”

“I know.”

“So that story fell apart pretty quick.”

You laughed despite yourself, lowering your head in surrender.

“A little.”

His grin widened.

“I’ll pretend I believed ya.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

A comfortable silence settled between you again, broken only by the distant music drifting from the carousel and the rhythmic creak of the Ferris wheel somewhere behind you. Warm fingers slipped around your hand. Suddenly enough to startle. Catching yours before gently tugging.

“C’mon.”

You looked up in surprise.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He was already smiling. There was something wonderfully boyish about the excitement dancing across his face, something that made him look less like the somewhat confident young man who had stood beneath stage lights only weeks before and more like someone discovering the fair for the very first time. You hurried after him, your fingers still enclosed within his.

Neither of you acknowledged it. Neither of you let go. He stopped in front of an old photo booth tucked into the narrow space between two larger attractions. It looked as though it had been there for years, its paint slightly faded, its little striped curtain stirring lazily whenever the evening breeze wandered through.

“I always wanted to do one of these.”

You looked from the booth to him.

“You’ve never done one?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

“You?”

You smiled sheepishly.

“I’ve never had anybody to do one with.”

His expression softened so completely it almost hurt to look at.

He reached for the curtain. Long nimble fingers wrapping around the red velvet.

“Now you do.”

The little booth felt impossibly small. The air carried the faint scent of old velvet and developing chemicals, warmed by the summer evening until it wrapped around you like a blanket. The bench was hardly wide enough for two people, forcing your shoulders together the moment you sat down. Your knees and thighs touched. They stayed touching. The forced proximity made breathing a chore. He was so close. So much so that you knew what toothpaste he used before coming.

The curtain fell shut behind you with a soft whisper, muffling the carnival until only distant echoes remained. It was strangely quiet. Almost private. You suddenly became aware of just how close he was. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. The faint scent of pomade lingering beneath his cologne. If you turned your head only slightly your noses might brush. Neither of you seemed to know where to look. You stared determinedly at the blinking red light on the camera. He studied the floor. Then the ceiling. Then the tiny instruction card pasted beside the lens. He looked at you.

“So…”

You smiled immediately.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“‘So.’”

He huffed a chuckle.

“It might be the only word I know.”

“I’ve heard you use at least four.”

“I’m makin’ progress.”

The machine clicked. A little red light began to blink faster. You both straightened instinctively. The timer had begun.

Three

Two

One

Elvis swallowed. His voice had become almost impossibly quiet.

“Will you kiss my cheek?”

Your heart seemed to forget how to beat.

“What?”

“My cheek.”

His ears turned pink almost immediately.

“I thought it’d make a nice picture.”

The sincerity in his eyes erased every ounce of hesitation. You nodded. Carefully and slowly. You leaned toward him. The space between you disappeared inch by inch. You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin before you ever reached him. Your lips brushed gently against the smooth skin beneath his strong cheekbone. The flash exploded around you. White light swallowed the tiny booth for an instant. At that exact moment he turned. Perhaps to thank you because hearing the shutter made him instinctively look your way. Neither of you would ever truly know.

His mouth found yours. The kiss lasted scarcely longer than a heartbeat. It wasn’t practiced nor planned. Two startled people occupying the same impossible second. His lips were warm and welcoming. Motionless with surprise. Yours froze just as completely. Another brilliant flash filled the booth.

When the light disappeared, the silence that followed felt enormous. You both pulled back at exactly the same time. Your eyes wide. So were his.

Your fingertips lifted slowly to your mouth as though they might somehow confirm what had just happened. You’ve dreamt of kissing him but never like this.

Your lips still tingled. You looked at him. Then away. Then back again. Your voice emerged as little more than a whisper.

“That was my first kiss.”

The confession settled softly between you. Elvis didn’t move. For one suspended moment he simply stared, as though the words had taken several seconds to find their way to him. Then understanding dawned across his face. His expression softened until it almost seemed illuminated from within.

He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing once beneath his breath.

“I didn’t exactly mean for it to happen like that.”

You looked at him in surprise.

“You didn’t?”

He shook his head almost frantically.

“I was turnin’ to say thank you.”

Another embarrassed laugh escaped him.

“I guess my aim is bad on all fronts.”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. The nervousness dissolved between the two of you in an instant. He laughed too, relief flooding across his face the moment he realized you weren’t upset. A mechanical whir interrupted the moment. Both of you turned.

The machine rattled for several seconds before a narrow strip of photographs slowly emerged from the slot beneath the camera. Still warm. Still smelling faintly of fresh ink.

Elvis picked it up carefully between his fingers as though it might tear if held too tightly. The first photograph showed you smiling shyly at one another. The second captured the instant your lips touched his cheek.

The third. Both of you stared at it. Two astonished faces. Eyes wide. Lips barely meeting. Caught forever in a moment neither of you had expected. His thumb brushed gently across the tiny picture before he smiled to himself.

His eyes lifted to yours.

“Thats one neither of us is ever gonna forget.”

The Zipper towered over the grounds like some impossible machine built to challenge the stars themselves. Its long steel arms glimmered beneath rows of carnival lights, each cage twisting independently while the entire ride spun in great sweeping circles. Every few seconds, delighted screams erupted from somewhere overhead before dissolving into laughter as the riders disappeared into the darkness again. You stopped to watch it.

“So…” Elvis smiled nervously. “Still wanna ride it?”

You looked up just as another cage flipped upside down.

“Ask me again in five minutes.”

He laughed quietly.

“I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“I think that’s generous.”

“You think I’ll have to drag you on?”

“You’d certainly try.”

“I don’t know if I’d win.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His grin widened.

“I figured.”

The line wasn’t terribly long. Couples stood shoulder to shoulder beneath strings of colored bulbs, teenagers shoved each other playfully while pretending not to be afraid, and younger children watched from behind the fence with wide eyes. Without saying anything, Elvis reached down. His fingers found yours. The gesture was so natural that neither of you stopped to think about it. Your hand simply settled into his. As though it had already learned the shape of his.

You looked down for the briefest moment. He did too. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Neither of you commented on it. You simply stood there together. The bear rested beneath your arm. His thumb brushed absent circles across the back of your hand. To soothe him or you? You didn’t know. The carnival buzzed around you in a thousand overlapping sounds.

The Zipper rattled overhead. Someone nearby rang the bell at a strength game. A baby cried. Someone laughed. Another voice. Sharp enough to cut through everything else.

“I’m surprised she didn’t exceed the weight limit.”

The words arrived so casually they almost didn’t register. Almost. Then they did. It felt as though someone had reached inside your chest and squeezed. The warmth that had settled there throughout the evening vanished all at once.

Your stomach dropped. Heat rushed into your face so quickly it almost hurt. You knew that voice. You didn’t have to turn. Didn’t have to see the smirk that surely accompanied it. You’d heard that tone one too many times before. The one that disguised cruelty as humor. Your fingers slipped from Elvis’s. You stared fixedly at the dirt.

Suddenly the ground seemed much safer than anyone’s eyes. The sounds of the carnival became muffled. Distant. Like you were hearing them from underwater. Your throat tightened painfully.

Not now.

Please.

Not tonight.

You blinked hard. Too late. The first tear blurred the lights into shimmering streaks of color. Another followed. Then another. Before Elvis could say your name you turned. The little bear was clutched tightly against your chest. You barely noticed where your feet carried you. Past the game booths. Past laughing families. Past children running with balloons dancing above their heads.

The lights stretched into long ribbons through your tears until the entire carnival became nothing more than color and noise melting together. Behind you his voice sounded.

“Hey!”

Closer than you expected.

“Wait!”

You kept walking. Almost running now. Your breathing had become uneven. Embarrassingly loud. You hated crying in front of people. You hated giving them proof they’d gotten to you. By the time you reached the quieter edge of the fairgrounds, the music had softened into a distant hum carried by the breeze. There were fewer lights here. Only the occasional glow behind you spilled across the grass.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. Or perhaps around the little bear. You weren’t sure anymore. Gentle fingers touched your arm. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just enough for you to know he was there.

Stopping you slowly turned. Elvis stood only a step away. His chest rose and fell with hurried breaths from chasing after you.

A lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. For several long seconds he didn’t speak. He simply looked at you. Really looked.

At the tears you were trying so desperately to hide. The way your shoulders trembled despite your efforts to steady them. His expression changed. The playful smile from moments before disappeared entirely. In its place came something quieter. Something that looked remarkably like heartbreak.

“Hey.”

His voice was scarcely louder than the breeze. That was all it took. The careful wall you’d spent years building cracked clean through. You laughed once. A broken, shaky sound that wasn’t laughter at all.

“I-”

Your voice failed. You tried again.

“I don’t know why it still-“

Another breath.

“Still hurts.”

Your eyes dropped.

“It shouldn’t anymore.”

Elvis shook his head almost immediately.

“It would hurt anybody.”

You swallowed.

“I keep tellin’ myself it doesn’t matter. But then somebody says somethin’.”

Your words dissolved into another shaky breath.

“And suddenly I’m fifteen again.”

Silence. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Because he understood this wasn’t the moment for perfect words. He stepped closer. Before you had time to think, his arms wrapped gently around you. Securely. Like he was offering shelter instead of trying to fix anything. For a heartbeat you remained perfectly still. Then something inside you gave way.

Your forehead rested against his chest. The little bear became trapped between the two of you. Your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his blouse.

It smelled faintly of clean cotton, pomade, and the cologne that had become so familiar over the course of the evening.

Beneath your cheek, you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You matched your breathing to it without even realizing. He rested his cheek lightly against your hair.

“I don’t know who told you that you had to earn bein’ treated kindly,”

His voice caught for just a moment.

“But they lied.”

The tears came harder then. Not because his words hurt. Because they didn’t. Because, for the first time in a very long while someone was speaking to you with uncomplicated tenderness.

Not asking anything. Not expecting anything. Simply wanting you to know you mattered. When your breathing finally steadied, you drew back just enough to look at him. His eyes searched yours with quiet concern.

“There she is.” He said softly as his warm palms held your face. His thumbs swept the fallen tears.

“I look awful.”

He looked almost offended by the suggestion.

“You look like somebody who’s had a hard time.”

Despite yourself, a little laugh escaped. He smiled.

“There it is.”

The breeze stirred the trees surrounding the edge of the fairgrounds. Somewhere beyond them, the music continued. The world had kept turning while the two of you stood still. Elvis rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost as nervous as he had outside the Ferris wheel.

“There was actually..”

He glanced toward the ground, trailing off.

“Somethin’ I wanted to ask you.”

His boot nudged absentmindedly at the grass.

“I was gonna wait.”

He laughed awkwardly. Eyes scanning the sky. Begging God for confidence.

“Thought I’d find a better time.”

“You don’t have to ask now.”

“I know.”

A long breath escaped him.

“But I don’t wanna leave wonderin’.”

He finally lifted his eyes to yours. There it was again, that same vulnerable honesty that had been there from the very beginning. Just a young man hoping his heart wouldn’t be handed back to him.

“I’m leavin’ for that show tomorrow.”

You nodded. The show that would lead to many more. The show meant he would be gone traveling the south for the next couple months. The show that meant he wouldn’t be here anymore.

“I know.”

“I’ll only be gone a little while.”

Another nod.

He smiled nervously.

“I’d sure like somethin’ to come home to.”

His fingers found yours once more. Tentatively. Giving you every opportunity to pull away if you wished. You didn’t.

“I was wonderin’,”

His voice had become almost impossibly quiet.

“If you’d be my girl.”

Everything else disappeared. The music. The lights. The laughter. Even the carnival itself. All of it seemed to fade until only the two of you remained beneath the soft glow.

Your throat tightened again. Only this time, for an entirely different reason. You nodded. Somehow it seemed louder than every ride in the fair. His shoulders fell with a breath he must have been holding for weeks maybe even months. The smile that spread across his face wasn’t triumphant. It was relieved. Joyful in the quietest way. Like someone who had been hoping for sunshine and suddenly found himself standing in it.

“You mean it?”

You laughed through the last of your tears.

“I wouldn’t nod if I didn’t.”

He ducked his head, grinning so broadly that his dimples appeared.

“I didn’t actually think you’d agree.”

The words sounded almost disbelieving. As though he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to say them. Then he looked back at you.

This time, when he reached for your hand, it felt different. Not because the touch itself had changed. But because something between the two of you had. It no longer felt uncertain. It felt chosen.

Together, you walked back toward the bus stop, your fingers intertwined, the little bear tucked safely beneath your arm. The carnival lights grew smaller behind you with every step until they looked like scattered stars resting upon the earth. Neither of you spoke very much. You didn’t need to.

Your head gradually found its way to his shoulder. He smiled to himself but said nothing, only tipping his head ever so slightly until it rested against yours.

When the bus rumbled to life and rolled away from the fairgrounds, you watched the lights disappear through the window until they became tiny pinpricks in the distance.

Your eyelids grew heavy. The warmth of his shoulder. The gentle vibration of the road beneath the tires. The quiet rhythm of his breathing beside you. It all wrapped around you like a lullaby.

The next dress you put on, gives you shivers. It's made of silk, with pleats and boning, accentuating your waist perfectly and the dropped shoulders make you look angelic and sexy at the same time. This is it. "I found it!" You squeal, coming out of the dressing room in a heist, giggling and kicking your feet happily.

"Wow!"

"OH my god this is it!"

"You look wonderful!"

"I'm going to cry!"

"Please don't cry mom!" You giggle, blinking back tears, as you turn around to take a look in the big mirrors. The dress hugs your waist, the silhouette complimenting you so beautifully, your breasts look amazing in it too and magically it's your size, so no alterations will be needed. "I can't believe it! I finally found it!" You say, your voice breaking as you still try very hard not to cry. Taylor comes up from behind you, hugging your shoulders and resting her chin on your shoulder, her eyes watch you through the mirror and you notice her glossy blue eyes, tears in them as well. "I can, because it was meant to be!" She sniffs, kissing your cheek before sticking a veil in you hair. You take a better look at it in the mirror, immediately panicking when you recognize the piece, starting to take it out of your hair, but Taylor stops you before you can.

"Taylor I can't, this is..."

"Your something borrowed!" She assures, smiling bright. The veil somehow works perfectly with the dress, like it was meant to be. Looking at it you remember as clear as now the day you saw Taylor in a boutique not much different from this one, find her dress and her veil. She got married to Joe wearing this, the memories of one of her best days are tied to this piece of material. "Ok ok..." you breathe out, smoothing your dress. "What about gloves? I know Taylor already gave you the veil, but mom insisted I give you these?" Timothee says, handing you a pair of silk gloves. "Thanks Timmy!" You say hugging him tight as you put them on. The look seems now complete and you feel complete.

You walk through the dark apartment, tip toeing, trying not to make too much noise, knowing Austin is probably asleep. He was away filming some projects for the past week and you were supposed to be here when he got home, but he insisted that you don't rush your day with the girls and Timmy. "Y/n?" You hear Austin's groggy voice and it stops you right in your tracks. "Baby?" You feel his arms circle your waist in the dark and your body turns to slime. He places a kiss on top of your head, inhaling your scent. "I missed you!" Austin tells you honestly, squeezing you so tight you think you might burst at the seams, but you love feeling like this, engulfed in him. "I missed you too!" You sigh into him , happy to feel him on you, rubbing your cheek on the soft hairs on his chest. "I found the dress." You announce , biting your lip excited for his reaction.

"The dress? You mean THE dress?" Austin takes a step back looking at your face, trying to see if you're lying. "The dress!" You nod, smiling at him. He grabs your face and smashes his lips onto yours. You let him take control, while his mouth dominates you, his tongue explores your mouth and your heart flutters in your chest. "Can I see?" He asks breathless, "No! It's bad luck!" You chuckle, shaking your head, threading your hands in his soft hair. "Hmm ok, then show me everything else you got done while I was gone?" He arches a brow, smirking at you. "Oh yes yes, come on!" You say jovially, grabbing his hand, dragging him to your shared bedroom to get your wedding binder.

"Ok so I got done with the sitting chart, I might have done it a little risky, but, it'll work." You open the glitter decorated binder and show him the sketch you made. "So we sit, Katy and Orlando at the same table as Tom and Daya, ok" Austin says, reading closely over the guests , seeing where your brain has decided that they each should sit. "And I thought we could get away with having Baz sit with your dad and sister, I mean it would be a family table, right?"

"Mhm, yes , it works, honestly this looks fine to me. But what about your mom and dad?" Austin asks, not being able to make full sense of the chart. "We'll have a long table, we sit in the middle, my bridesmaids of my side your groomsmen of yours, for dad I'm saving a seat at the table with Baz and your dad, he hasn't RSVP ed yet" you explain and he nods following your chain of thought. "Ok it sounds like a plan, I think it would work, but I think Ash wants to bring Robbie, would that be fine?" He asks, referring to his nephew. "Hm sure, then I'll have Baz and Cathrine as the table with Pedro, move around Roxy and Joshua, then Ashley and Robbie and Zac can sit with Joe" You try and Austin seems to consider it for a minute, even if he know he'll agree anyway. "Good thinking baby!" He admits and you move on to showing him the flowers you picked "No purple star flowers?" He asks, looking at the white gardenia bouquets, thinking how you left out your favorite flower. "I have a theme, ok? It's white and creams and stuff." You defend.

"But honey, I think we could play with the colors a bit, don't you?" Austin suggests and you swipe on the next doc, titled: back up flowers. "Are you sure they look fine, tho?" You question, fearing the white and purple bouquets would be too much or too out of theme. "There's my girl!" He says, kissing your cheek. "They look like something that should be at our wedding, don't they? The purple star flowers, the sunflowers and you even put my favorite in, the pink magnolias" Austin can be so over the top sometimes, but he's an actor, so that's so in character. "I wanted to have something from the both of us."

"Well I think it look so beautiful way better then the white boring ones you had as a first option" he argues. "Oh ok miss I know everything about flower arrangements" you joke, kissing him, throwing the binder to the side, turning to face him and straddling his hips. "I want it to be perfect!" You whisper, playing with the baby hairs around his forehead. Austin grins and pulls you closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "It's you I'm marrying, it's already perfect." His hands squeez your hips and you sigh, inhaling the smell of him. "I know, I can't believe it's happening!" You admit absentmindedly, drawing circles with the tip of your finger on his shoulder. Austin sighs and kisses your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin, leaving goosebumps down your spine. "Me neither." He admits, laying back on the pillow, with you on top of him, head resting on his heart. You enjoy the soft beat of it, as your cheek absorbs the heat of his skin. "I cried yesterday, in the shower." You tell him and he tenses underneath you. One of his hands moving from your waist to your chin, forcing you to look as him, his blue eyes wonder over your face, looking over every freckle, curve and shadow. "Why?"

Austin is a bit scared to ask, he fears you might get cold feet and put an end to all of this, which to be fair he wouldn't mind, he loved you ten years without you being he wife, he'd love you a thousand more just the same. "I'm scared, I - my parents made it sound like marriage ruined them. I don't want it to ruin us." Tears prickle your eyes as you speak, and his thumb caresses you cheek catching a falling tear. "It won't, we are not them, we love each other too much. Y/n I want you to marry me because I can't see a life without you, but I want you to know, if you even feel like this isn't what you want, I'll love you just as much for as long as I live." Austin confesses and you can't even find a speckle of doubt that he means every syllable spoken. "I want it, I want to have your name, I want to be your wife, I'm just defrosting my girlhood heart, cause I used to love weddings." You tell him, pulling closer to his face and connecting your lips to his soft ones, time standing still, as your bodies stay intertwined. "I know baby, take your time!" Austin says rubbing you back and you hide your face in the crook of his neck, yawning, which makes him chuckle. "Sleep mrs Butler, I'm home now!" Austin lulls you, pulling the duvet over the both of you, as you fall asleep on his chest, snoring softly.

"Have you written your vows?" You ask halfway asleep, which makes Austin laugh, knowing that no matter how tired you are you'll always make sure to have everything checked for the day, before letting your mind disconnect. "Oh my Virgo baby, ever so organized. I have!" He tells you in a low voice, barely above a whisper, hoping you'll finally let yourself sleep. "Hmm, can I hear them?" You ask, blabbering, Austin grins knowing your having the fight of your life to stay awake right now. "Yes, in a month on august 13th." You groan and wrap your arms around his neck, falling asleep without another word, and Austin does the same as he massages your back, the soft brush of your breath against his neck and the comforting weight of you on him, being his favorite sleep medicine.

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@dacreshoney

You hike the tail of your dress higher as you descend up the stairs to the red carpet, inhaling as much oxygen as possible to tame your nerves. It does nothing for you beside provide a placebo effect of calmness. Your publicist, Jane, stands next to you with her eyebrows furrowed in permanent worry, a crinkle she’s had since the day she took you on. “[Y/N], did you get a chance to look at your seating arrangement?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” You respond slowly, wincing slightly as you brace yourself for her reaction. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning towards you.

“You know what, that’s fine, sweets. Just go stand on the carpet so we can take these pictures,” She goes back to her clipboard full of tedious things like timing and interviewers and stupid seating arrangements, and you’re trying to stay focused, but how can you do that when Austin Butler is standing 8 feet away from you, posing on the red carpet?

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling.

Whoever keeps leaving his shirts unbuttoned is a menace to society and needs to be locked away for endangerment to the general public.

This whole idiotic schoolgirl crush began relatively long ago, when he was still deeply in love with Vanessa Hudgens and playing a teen heartthrob on The Carrie Diaries. You weren’t even famous at that point, just a mediocre commercial actress trying to get her big break. Once you finally booked your first big role, the crush faded away (only the tiniest amount) but that all came crashing down like an avalanche when you saw Elvis with your best friend.

They probably could’ve posted the entire movie on a porn website and made the same amount of money. And, thus, your crush ensued, full throttle and invading your every thought at the worst moments. Including this one.

Jane kicks the back of your leg, cursing under her breath as you tear your eyes away from him. You’re not new to this scene, you’ve been in major leading roles and you’ve been nominated for Oscars. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that at your core, you are a complete and utter mess. A klutz. A loser with some money in the bank.

So, you take the pictures, with not too many mistakes as you expected, just a few shots of you blinking while smiling. You’re sure they’ll end up on Twitter where your fans will laugh about it while saying how much they love you.

This part always goes by fast. It’s camera flashes, smiles that are strained under the bright lights, talks with interviewers that always go far longer than expected, and then before you know it, you’re being ushered into a tight room with celebrities you had only dreamed of seeing in real life. Jane is glued to your side as you wait for your turn to enter the theater.

Despite the cool temperature of Los Angeles, you’re somehow drenched in sweat. You’ve done this before, you know that. But that doesn’t stop your entire body from going into fight or flight mode, teetering towards flight.

“What’s the hold up?” You hear a female’s voice yell out, and you almost think it’s Jane before you hear her chuckle beside you.

“Speak that truth. I am so sick of these fucking Oscars dimwits wasting my time,” Jane says loudly enough for the girl to hear it, and before you know it, they’re enthralled in a full-blown conversation. If you weren’t trying to fan your armpit sweat, you might’ve joined.

Maybe it’s a good idea to find out where you’re sitting. Probably will need to know that before you enter. You can only assume they’ll sit you next to your last co-star, Timothee Chalamet. What a delight that would be (and that’s not sarcasm, he always smells like cashmere and some type of forest.)

You turn your body slightly, eyeing Jane and the girl she’s talking to. She’s a redhead, also wearing a suit and clearly another publicist that has been in the position for far too long to enjoy it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a male figure standing next to the redhead. Hm. A black suit. Your eyes trail over his body, a soft black lace shirt that is half-unbuttoned peeking over the hem. How nice. You love that look on men.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Your body freezes. Mouth runs dry. Sweat shrivels back up into your body only to start forming at impossible speeds. Heart palpates so quickly you think you might be going into cardiac arrest.

In front of you, is Austin Butler. And he completely, totally, entirely, caught you checking out his entire body, head to toe.

There’s a smirk on his face that is undeniably directed towards you, eyes glimmering with amusement. You can’t even believe that you’re looking directly at him. He can’t be real, he has to be a figment of your imagination.

“Come here often?”

You did not just speak.

No, you didn’t. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have been what you just said. After years of dreaming about this moment, that can’t have been what your brain and tongue agreed on.

He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles through his chest, and says, “I try not to make it a habit. You?”

You entangle your fingers with each other, hoping the sweat that has gathered on them just slides right off. “Me either. Trying to cut down on my presence and all that.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, that soft smile that curves upon his lips widening a little, “Well, can’t say the Oscars is the best place to do that.”

“Yes, well…” You trail off. Thoughts empty. Brain just a shallow void with nothing but dirty, filthy fantasies about him floating around. Oh god, get a grip.

And he should end the conversation right there, then back around and not acknowledge the weird girl who clearly hasn’t had enough media training. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and says, “I’m Austin. Austin Butler.”

“I know,” You say almost immediately. His facial expression contorts into something unreadable, and your lips flap again to try and salvage the rest of your dignity. “I’m [Y/N].”

You shake his hand, praying to some otherworldly creature above that he won’t feel the sweat on your hands. It’s a little weird, when you touch his hand. Feels like you’re envisioning yourself with him, like you’re some kind of wizard that can tell it won’t be the last time you see him. It feels a little like something out of a rom-com, with the electricity zap and the sounds of your hearts beating erratically.

You both pull your hands away, smiling to the ground. You really, really, really hope he’ll keep talking to you.

“Nervous?” He asks, taking note of the way your thumbs twiddle and the sidestep you keep doing with your heels.

“A little. Kinda. Maybe,” You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not really the most organized.”

“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be great,” His grin widens just enough to show off his pearly white teeth that glimmer under the remaining sunlight that California has to offer.

“Thanks,” You smile back. “How about you? Nervous?”

“Always,” He responds, almost taken aback by the transparency he’s having with another celebrity. He’s never had a conversation about nerves, never felt validated enough by someone to open up about the fear that comes along with being at this level of fame. “It’s my first Oscars.”

“Right,” You say, “Well, I’ve been to a few, and honestly, I’ll let you in on a secret. Even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself a little when the nominees are announced.”

He lets out a laugh, a real one, one that sounds like all good things in the world and you would be more than happy to capture it in a jar and keep it on your bedside forever. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” He switches gears, shifting his body around a little. “What afterparty are you going to?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve been asked numerous times by other people in the industry. It usually offers a sense of dominance over who got the better invite. “Er, yes, that would be a question for my lovely publicist, Jane, because I don’t have a rat’s ass idea of where I’m supposed to go.”

He laughs. Again. Part of you is enthralled, part of you is confused as to why he thinks you’re a comedy show. Maybe he thinks you’re a joke. Yes, that makes good sense. “That honestly makes me feel better because I don’t really know where I’m going either,” He admits.

“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously. “You look like that and you don’t know where you’re going? I think the President of the Academy Awards has a personal invite waiting for you.”

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But really, it has to be blamed on the fact that there are a swarm of murderous bees flying around in your stomach that are making you feel woozy.

His cheeks turn a crimson glow, “Like that?”

“Oh, you know…” You trail, slowly laughing to brush off the fact that you basically just admitted your undying love to him. “Just…. That’s a great black shirt. I’m gonna buy one for my brother.”

His lips curve upwards a little more, blue eyes sparkling like little oceans. “Thanks. And, you know, you don’t look bad yourself.”

You blink twice. Did he just say that?

Before you even whip up a flirty comment, or even a funny one that’ll have him doubling over in laughter and proposing to you by tonight, you feel Jane gripping your forearm tightly. “Stop dicking around, [Y/N]. We need to go in.”

“Right, yes, totally,” You smile awkwardly over to Austin, and he returns it. You feel soft and warm and glowy inside, like you might levitate off the floor.

And then you really are levitating off the floor, because your feet miss the step and you’re falling before you even have a chance to stop yourself. Your arm extends to try and delay your inevitable fall, but it doesn’t work and you’re really sprawled out. Immediately, Jane rushes down to try and drag you up, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.

You nod slightly, balancing yourself on your knees. Thankfully, you think the vast majority of people have entered the theater and missed out on your embarrassment of epic proportions.

Well, maybe not everyone.

Suddenly, like a light peeking from beyond the clouds, you see an outstretched hand to your right. It’s tan, a male’s hand for sure. You look up to see who could possibly be nice enough to help you up. Maybe it’s God telling you it’s time to pass away.

It’s Austin. And he has a really worried look on his face that you’re shocked by, but his expression falters once he sees the look on your face. You’re smiling, a real big goofy one, because it’s so ridiculous and he’s so ridiculous and you’re pretty sure one of your heels is broken.

You place your hand in his, and his other hand wraps around your waist to help you up and steady yourself against him. Once you’re finally standing, he grins, leaning into your ear, “Remember, even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself at the table.”

You don’t even realize his arm is still wrapped around your waist until you notice the absence of it. You giggle lightly, biting your lip. “Of course. And I think I saw Brad Pitt throw up in the bathroom last year.”

“Austin, we gotta go,” His publicist grabs his hand, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You almost think he does too, his blue eyes turning grayish as he looks back at her.

“Right,” He clears his throat. “Well, good luck tonight, [Y/N]. I hope you win.”

“You too,” The smile on your face is probably permanently tattooed on. You feel Jane’s hand on your back, slowly moving you away from him although your feet beg to stay.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?” You turn back around to face him, “Big fan of your work.”

With that, he turns away with his publicist to go and find his seat amongst the crowd. You watch him disappear, an indescribable feeling washing over your entire body. You’re also being whisked away to your table, greeted by familiar faces and friends. But it’s pretty clear that’s not the reason why you’re smiling.

Some part of your brain decides on one thing: this won’t be the last time you see him.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

You decide that you like California. Not a whole lot, but enough to make you sign a contract for a new film. Normally, you believe that Los Angeles and all its surrounding cities are a dreadful structure that encapsulates all the worst features of privileged Southern California lifestyle. But the food is undeniably tasty, and your new apartment is decorated with high ceilings and well-lit rooms, so you’ll make do. You’ll be filming in sunny Calabasas, where the houses are painted a perfect shade of white, where time stills a little and every cloud is just the right amount of fluffy.

The Oscar’s had came and went, and you won, to no one’s surprise but your own. With that accomplishment came offers. People really, truly wanted to work with you, and although it baffled you, Jane was having the time of her life coordinating auditions and interviews.

Everything was truly perfect.

You flip through the pages of your fresh script, your manicured nails turning through the warm pages, the black ink bleeding onto the sheets. Jane sits across from you, feverishly scribbling something, negotiating your pay for your new film. She’ll deliver. In the end, she always does.

She hangs up her call, sighing from relief. You’re about to ask her how it went, if you got the price you wanted, before her phone blares again with that god awful ringtone she refuses to change. She answers it, a cheerful tone in her voice, “Kate? So good to hear from you! What’s going on?”

You tune out of her conversation, focusing your eyes back on the mass of paper in front of you. A new story to be told. A new character to embody. A new chapter of your life. It’s all very emotional and sappy and you almost want to cry tears of happiness, but you’ll save that for later, once you get home and crack open a bottle of wine.

You hear Jane place her phone down, and your eyes flicker back up to her. There’s an expression on her face that’s unreadable, and you’re unsure of how to process it. Oh, no. If you didn’t get the price you wanted, that would suck. Or, maybe you did and she’s just unsure on how to process emotion. You always thought she was a robot.

“I just had the weirdest phone call,” She finally speaks, scratching her forehead quizzically.

“What’s up?” You ask mindlessly, certain she’s going to tell you something personal like her cousin getting married to a farmer.

“That was Austin Butler’s publicist. She said he’s been asking about you since the Oscars.”

There’s no fucking way. She’s pranking you. Any second now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out behind the doorframe and say “You’ve been Punk’d!” and then maybe he’ll also bring out Austin to further your embarrassment.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“Yeah,” She seems just as baffled as you are. “She said he’s been trying to find a way to get in contact with you, but turns out, you guys don’t have a lot of mutual friends.”

Well, that makes sense.

She continues on, “Anyway, she gave me his number and then said he wants to ask you on a date. So, do with that what you will.”

She unlocks her phone, slides it across the table to you, and you see a phone number typed into her notes. Your hand trembles as you pick up the iPhone, copying the number into your own contacts. You feel woozy, just like you did on that red carpet, just like you did the moment you locked eyes with him.

“Right, well,” You clear your throat. “I’ll just step outside and call him real quick.”

She nods, raising one eyebrow. There’s a small grin that appears on her lips, a knowing one, and you slide out the door into the hallway.

You don’t know what comes over you, or what demon compels you, but you click the number. You hear the ring. There’s a pause. Your heart drops as you think that he might not answer.

And then you hear him. His voice.

“Hello?”

“Uh, h-hi. Hi. This is, um, [Y/N]. Your publicist gave me your number.”

It almost sounds ridiculous.

“[Y/N]. You know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you but turns out you’re not an easy person to reach,” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, you know me and my presence. All time low,” You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.

“Right. Well, congratulations on your win. Very well-deserved,” His voice is deeper than you remember. There’s a slight desire that pools between your legs for a moment before you snap yourself back into reality.

“You too. Some would call it the performance of the year,” And you can’t even believe it’s happening. You’re really flirting with him.

“Thank you,” He says so softly, so charming. He’s always grateful and humble, and it makes you even more attracted to him. If that’s even possible at this point. “So, do you think there’s a chance you would allow me to take you out to dinner? Somewhere lowkey, you know, for your presence and all?”

The question is so unbelievable that you can’t even take it in. You make a few sounds, splutter over your words and trip over them like you did your own two feet at the Oscars. Your heartbeat travels up to your eardrum, pounding with every ounce of blood that travels through you. “U-uh, umm… well, you know, let me go ahead and check my schedule.” There’s a pause. You cover the reciever and scream a silent yell into the void, jumping a few feet high.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Hm. Seems like I’m free tomorrow.”

“You can’t do tonight?”

The question takes you aback. Surely, he can’t be asking that because he wants to see you. “Oh, why? Are you leaving California tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” You hear him shuffle. “I just really want to take you out.”

“Right, yes, of course.” You let his question hang in the air. You know your answer, but you like letting him think there’s a possibility you might reject him.

“I am free tonight.”

“Great,” His voice is upbeat, a newfound excitement peeking through. “Well, text me your address. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“Yup, totally. Super duper cool. Looking really forward to it,” You babble on, pacing the hallway you’ve trapped yourself in.

He lets out a low laugh, “Me too. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, [Y/N].”

You say your goodbyes, leaning against the wall for stability before you collapse into a puddle. Later, a janitor might come to find your lifeless body glued to the wall. Cause of death? Man built like a Greek god asks woman on date.

But, everything is fine. You’ll somehow make it.

There’s a ridiculous feeling in your heart, a warmth that spreads to your toes and fingers. Now, everything is perfect.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It's late at night, the lights outside are already out, and the street lamps are the only ones left to light the wet road while everything around is sleeping and waiting for a new day to come. Not a sound, not a noise is bothering the atmosphere outside except for the sweet rustles of trees on the street as a black Range Rover nears the driveway.

Shortly after, the sudden noise of a door opening makes you skip a beat, taking you off-guard and waking you from your sleep. He is back.

Your eyelids open slowly and you instinctively look at the alarm on the nightstand. 1:30 am.

"As usual," you think.

It takes you a little to realize that you fell asleep too early and didn't wait awake for him— as you always do, but you had a very stressful day at college and you couldn't help yourself to give in to the comfy bed beneath you.

So you decide to wait for him to make his way into the bedroom before you can close your eyes again.

You hear him from upstairs while he tosses the keys on the side table at the entrance, then a series of muffled noises follow.

And then, again, silence.

You feel your eyes getting heavy and you know that you'll fall asleep soon. But not without him.

And noticing he's still not gone upstairs yet you decide to get down to him.

You rise from the bed and a breath of wind wraps around your shoulders as soon as the blanket leaves your body, leading you to wear your white satin robe before going downstairs.

Your bare feet meet every cold step unnoticeably, the high temperature difference between the two floors causing you to shrug.

You're searching for him, your eyes are looking at every corner of the living room while waiting to catch his figure until your feet finally touch the ground.

You see him.

Standing in front of the cupboard against the wall, bottle in his hand as he pours himself a large glass of whiskey.

Austin.

He is wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit from Prada that perfectly matches his blue eyes, the jacket left open to reveal a black mesh shirt, half undone and barely covering his toned, tanned chest.

It suits him heavenly.

His eyes look up to meet yours as soon as he feels your presence.

“Hey” he murmurs in a low and raspy voice.

“Hi” you respond and get closer to him, trying to greet him properly.

Seeing you lean in he puts the bottle back in its place and in no time you feel his arm around your waist. Austin lowers his head for his lips to meet yours in a chaste and tender kiss, the first one after an entire day away from each other.

Your hand travels up his spine, reaching the nape of his neck and starting caressing it, your fingers sneaking between his hair gently as you hold yourself closer to his chest. His body is so warm against yours, his warmth filling your heart completely and making you feel safe in the tight grip of his strong arms.

You’ve missed him so much.

The last period has been very exhausting for him, every day passes between interviews, photoshoots and premieres and he's terribly busy, and considering that you too have your things to do with college and all, you're both forced to be apart from each other. But despite all of this, you always try to do your best to support him, following him at the events when possible or watching him on TV, waiting for him until he gets home— like you should've done today too.

Soon your lips move away with a tiny 'pop' and your eyes meet, a shy smile appearing on both of your faces.

“How was your day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Great, just a lil tiring” he sighs, caressing your hip gently “have you seen the show?”

You nod without hesitation.

“Of course I did,” a sense of pride overwhelms you seeing him smile slightly at your obviousness “just for you.”

“Really?” he grins, pretending to be surprised as his eyes look down at yours and you nod again.

“Yeah”

“Good girl” he places two of his fingers under your chin, lifting it up for your lips to meet his again in a quick kiss before he pulls away from you and takes the full glass of whiskey in his hand.

You shudder thinking about the pet name.

Good girl...

“And what about you? How was college today?”

Your gaze never leaves him, following each one of his movements while he reaches the couch and takes a seat between the black leather cushions. A shiver runs down your spine, stopping right on your lower stomach. Your mind gets fuzzy, distracting you from his question.

Legs wide apart, broad shoulders resting on the back of the sofa, his right hand on his knee and thigh as the left one brings the edge of the glass towards his mouth, needing a sip. The bitter and yellowish liquid runs down his throat, and his eyes shut just for a second until he swallows it, licking his plump lips after.

You feel yourself throb around nothing at the sight of him manspreading, and your thighs instantly rub together at the thought of every single time you've seen him doing that same thing: eyes closed, lips and tongue wet— not from whiskey.

You don't know why, you don't even know how to explain it to yourself, but seeing him like this sparked something inside you since you saw him on ‘The Late Late Show’ tonight. Something able to keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to him.

He looks so confident. So dominant. So powerful. Right now, he could move mountains at his pleasure just by lifting a finger if he only wanted to.

And that damn suit... God, you want to sit on his lap so bad.

You'd do it immediately if only you weren't so shy to stand still at your place, merely biting at your lower lip while fantasizing about the mighty man in front of you, a gesture so simple but not enough to go unnoticed— not to him. Not to Austin.

His icy eyes linger on you again and this is the exact moment where you come back to reality and blush.

“What's up?” your awkwardness leads you to open your mouth and talk before you can remember a very important detail.

You still haven't answered his question.

“I asked you” he emphasizes, his tone sharp and deep as he takes in another sip and his tongue runs over his lips to wipe them more slowly and languidly than before, never taking his eyes off of yours “how was college today, angel?”

A mischievous grin appears on his face, the name that always knew how to make your stomach twirl makes you understand everything.

You got caught.

“G-good...” you stutter, coughing slightly as your cheeks are on fire for both arousal and embarrassment in front of that one clear consciousness.

You have a lot on your mind at the moment, a thousand thoughts are running through your head and Austin can read every single one of them.

And you know that he can, you know that he knows what you're thinking about.

Austin knows everything about you.

Because he knows you too well.

He can see from a mile away that something inside you snapped. Your body language is enough to let him know what you want and what you need.

He's tired, the only thing he needs at the moment is to finish his drink, take his clothes off and go to sleep with you, but seeing you wearing nothing but that white silk robe that barely covers your thighs as you bashfully bite your lip, thinking about all the shameless things you want him to do to you, is enough to drive him crazy too.

Because he'll never get enough of you.

He lifts his right hand and two of his fingers gesture you to get close.

“C'mere” his order is like liquid gold for you. You walk towards him without blinking, reaching the couch, stepping in front of him as if you've been waiting to all day.

Austin quickly swallows the last drop of whiskey, leaving the now empty glass on the table before grabbing your wrist and putting you between his spread legs.

His fingers manage to undo the tight bow of your robe, taking it off of you to reveal a lovely black satin nightie under it, one of the many he bought you to make up for the many others he ripped off of your body: soft to the touch, lightweight, with thin stripes and lace hems, short enough to leave your ass exposed.

No doubt that it's his favorite one. You're a goddess in it.

His forefinger traces a line up your thigh and reaches the hem of your nightie, your cheeks reddening as soon as he lifts it up, giving you goosebumps.

Austin feels his cock throb in his pants at the sight.

You aren't wearing panties. As he wished.

“No panties, mh?” you shook your head no, feeling the heat starting to pool right on your bare center and your heart pounding in your chest.

You feel so exposed under his touch, so weak, so small, so vulnerable at the feeling of your skin burning under his lingering hot gaze. Your body is completely at his mercy, poorly covered by that tiny piece of fabric while Austin still has his suit on, fully clothed from head to toe, looking at you like an uncompromising master who's thinking about the right treat for his good submissive. And in the darkest and deepest part of yourself, you're loving it.

You love that he always wants to be in control. You love being controlled by him.

At the moment you just want to follow his rules, please him, worship him, be punished if needed, because you want to be a good girl for him and him only.

“Get on your knees, angel.” and when his order comes, you can do nothing more than obey.

Your knees fall to the floor with a soft thud, hands anchored on his thick thighs as you're face to face with his crotch.

Austin's fingers are under your chin again, a gentle reminder for you to pull your gaze up to his face, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.

His baby blues are darkened, filled with craving and lust as they meet your shy and innocent ones waiting for mercy, for him to choose their fate and what is better for them.

Like an angel at God's feet.

“You're such a good little girl for me, you know this?” his voice gets deeper enough to make you feel soaked as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“So submissive” he praises you in a whisper, his calloused digits moving to caress your cheek, allowing you to surrender to his touch by resting your head on his thigh.

“So responsive” the intense feeling of the cold gold of his rings hits your warm skin and your spine tingles.

His voice is so soft, yet so firm while he praises you that a weak moan leaves your parted lips, Austin taking advantage of it to shove two of his long fingers in your mouth. You know what to do so you embrace them with no hesitation and start sucking, wrapping your lips and tongue around his knuckles as the metallic taste grows strong in your mouth.

“So greedy...”

You are a vision to him, you look so tempting that his hand falls on his crotch to palm himself, his growing erection begging to be freed from his slacks and swallowed up by your throat.

“Bet your pretty little head's just thinking about one thing since I came home, doesn't it?” you nod frantically, his wet digits still in your mouth before he retracts them.

“Use your words.” authority drips from his tone and you sigh.

“Y-yes...” not enough.

“Yes what, angel?” your head lowers again in front of his request but he holds you still in place, grabbing your jaw “Look at me”

“I...” words get stuck in your throat, too shy to let them slip out easily.

“C'mon, don't be shy. Wanna hear you say it” he spurs “what's on your mind?”

Your heart keeps pounding as never before, and at this point, you don't even know how but you say it.

“I want your cock.”

“And where do you want it, angel?” he smirks as he adjusts himself between the cushions, your thighs clenching together to hide the wetness between them.

You love everything about him and the thing you love most is that he's able to read your mind without talking, but right now it seems like he has forgotten about this ability of his own. And you're hating him for this.

Because you know he's doing it on purpose.

He wants to hear your voice.

He wants to hear you beg.

He wants to hear your innocent mouth tell him the dirty things you want from him, the things he knows that make you feel all small and weak.

For this reason you swallow thickly, and gasping with your heart on your sleeve, you answer.

“In m-my mouth.”

“Then take it.” his words are the only green light you needed to put your shyness aside and leave room for the actions you're going to do in silence.

You reach the fly of his trousers with both hands, unzipping it and slipping between the black fabric of his briefs, freeing his cock.

You take it in your hand, he's already hard as it springs free against his stomach, the contact of your fingers against his weak flesh making him gasp.

You feel him. Long, warm and veiny, the tip already reddened and leaking with precum.

Your mouth waters at the sight. You need to make him feel good so bad.

You sit better on your own thighs, adjusting yourself to avoid the feeling of your knees pressing against the carpet before running your hand along his shaft.

Your strokes are slow and gentle, your fingers applying a small amount of pressure, making him breathe heavily.

“Angel...” he's so eager to feel you, the way his hips are bucking up to meet your strokes is silently proving it. So you decide to indulge him.

You lean forward and your lips start kissing his length from the base to the tip. You tease his slit with your thumb before starting to leave kitten licks on his head, feeling his salty taste exploding on your taste buds.

“Mmm, little one...” a deep groan falls from his lips and goes straight to your soaked center, making you shudder in your place “I love feeling your mouth on my cock...”

He seems so much weaker than before, and a strong sense of power washes over you.

“Fuck...” he swears, adjusting the blonde locks falling on his forehead.

The sensation of your warm mouth around his girth already sending him into a state of pure bliss “I'm not going to last long”.

You take a deep breath through your nose and start sucking, slowly moving your head up and down his cock as far as you can, trying your best to please him. His hand ends behind your head, his fingers holding you close to him as he'd never let you go.

“Yes, baby” he grunts “you feel so good”

Arousal is growing more and more inside of you, your pussy getting wetter as juices start flowing out of you because of hearing him moan.

You feel so bold right now, a sense of euphoria takes over you all of a sudden and makes you grind uncontrollably, searching for friction to ease the ache between your thighs while your head bobs faster around him.

“Yes, just like that, keep going baby...” you do as you're told. You keep sucking, and Austin's grip between your hair tightens.

The cool metal of his rings presses against the nape of your neck, his knuckles turning white and his protruding veins popping out as he applies more pressure to guide your hips at his own pace, making you feel trapped under his grip— under his control.

Right now you're the one giving him pleasure but it doesn't matter. He'll always know how to control you and be in charge.

Your throat is becoming sore and dry, some locks are covering your sweaty forehead and falling on his pubic bone as little tears are forming at the corners of your eyes.

You're a complete mess.

“My pretty little angel- shit, I'm going to fuck your pussy so good” his promise hits you right at your core and a choked moan escapes from your lips, the vibration is so intense against the head of his cock that he jerks frantically.

“Oh god!” his eyebrows furrow, his tight grip around your neck forces you to swallow more of him until he's hitting the back of your throat.

You can't take it anymore. You pull away from him, your fingers never stopping to rub his cock. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you breathe feverishly, searching for air to fill your lungs but Austin is quicker than any move you can make and leans toward your lips.

“Wanna cum inside you.” he tugs you into his mouth hungrily and you moan in both surprise and excitement. You are both panting at the same pace, his tongue slides into your wide-open mouth starting a steamy make-out session where your lips crash between grunts and bite each other without mercy.

Austin moves both his hands on your covered back and you sit up to climb on top of him. Your legs surround his thick thighs and your hands run everywhere on his sweaty chest and around his neck.

“I love you” he breathes on your lips, between heated kisses “so much”

“I love you too, Aus- ah!” his throbbing cock pushes against your soaked folds, making you gasp and jolt. The thrill is too much, you're so desperate that you start grinding against him, searching for friction to stop the hundreds of shocks running down your spine and hitting your womanhood repeatedly.

Your skin burns under his touch. You want him. You need him. You crave him.

And he knows it.

His hand stops on your asscheek, underneath the fabric of your nightie as his teeth keep biting your bottom lip voraciously, his fingers squeezing your flesh before grasping the hem of your nightie.

Austin takes it off of you and tosses it to the side.

Now you're fully naked on his lap, your breasts are pressed against his half-covered chest and your stomach shakes at the sensation of being so exposed while he's overdressed.

He leans forward a bit enough to bring his hands behind his back and take off his jacket.

“No!” your voice leaves your throat in a worried shriek, bringing out a primal emotion hidden in the deepest part of you.

Austin halts and looks you in the eyes, urging you to give him reasons. You blush.

You can't run away.

“L-leave it on...” you swallow thickly, hair falling on your face, hiding your awkwardness from him. Right now you're ashamed to death for this implied confession and his silence is not helping to ease your feeling.

He simply keeps staring at you, with those damned eyes that know how to make you melt, and without saying a word he kisses you again.

His tongue hungrily pushes itself into your mouth, giving you goosebumps as his fingers slide down straight between your folds, coating in your juices.

Now he can feel it.

“Fuck, you're dripping” his touch is so slight and lasts only for a moment, making you moan against his lips "all this wet just for sucking daddy's cock and seeing him in this suit, mh?"

“Please, Aus...”

“Who knew a stupid suit would make my little girl so eager?”

You don't answer and your shyness seems to no longer exist.

You just keep grinding against him, more desperate than ever while his tip rubs against your throbbing clit; he grasps his cock with his hand, adjusting himself on the couch and lining up with your slit, teasing it as your heart aches in eagerness and you can do nothing more than keep begging him shamelessly.

Hearing you beg is making him crazy, he swears he could stand still for hours only to hear you beg with your tear-filled eyes, but right now he just wants you too much to do it.

“Please, I need you”

You don't need to say anything else. His tip pushes inside your cunt and right after he grips your waist forcefully. His entire length slides inside you slowly, your mouth curving in a perfect 'o' from which nothing comes out as you pull away from his lips. Your breath hitches as he makes you sink onto him until you feel his pubic bone hitting against your swollen clit.

You're stuck, unable to breathe. You squeeze your eyes shout and cry out.

“Oh!” you feel so full. Full of him.

He gives you a few seconds to get used to his presence inside you and a heavy breath releases from his chest.

“Shit, you're so tight” he curses under his breath, bottom lip between his sparkling teeth and eyes closed for pleasure.

And then he starts guiding you onto him and you let yourself get carried by his hands, feeble like jelly as you meet his thrusts, moving slowly, moaning weakly.

“Aus” you whimper, each one of your moves against him only stretching you open more.

“Shh angel, you can handle it” he coos softly in your ear, leaving sweet kisses behind your lobe, helping you to ease the pain.

Your thighs are trembling as they wrap around his and your fingers slide between his blonde locks, trying to hold him closer than ever.

From this position, you can feel him completely. Every inch, curve, vein, and single part of him is inside you to the brim and is filling you perfectly with a combination of pain and pleasure that only Austin can give you.

You open your eyes and look at him. He's already staring at you and now your gazes lock together, making you both feel more connected with your soul than just your bodies and skin.

Your breaths mingle, your lips only a few inches distant from each other and ready to touch again with each thrust.

“You're taking me so well” he murmurs.

His forehead is sweaty, his lips are plump and red like yours, his jaw clenching as he watches you fall apart on his cock and babble something in response before moaning, struggling to take him.

You feel that familiar coil growing in you, your walls clench around his girth and you feel the base of your stomach burn every time his tip caresses your cervix.

It's too much for you. You stop, ready to surrender to his touch, but Austin holds you in place.

“Ah-ah. Stay still, pretty girl.” his fingers force you to sit straight, impaling you more and more on his cock.

“I-i can't...”

“C'mon little one, don't be a brat” he warns you as he starts guiding your hips again, with slow but intense strokes, the stimulation leading a whine to escape your lips before you stop again.

“Hmmph... t-too much...” you babble, it's the only thing you're barely able to say. You can't even talk.

It's so good, you just wish you had the strength to ride him faster but his cock's hitting you so deep you swear you could die in his arms.

Suddenly something draws his attention and forces him to look down.

You feel his hand press on your belly and you gasp in surprise. So you lower your head as well and see the outline of his cock poking out of your stomach.

The vision makes his cock twitch and your walls squeeze around him. He's in your guts.

“God, you look so hot like this” his gaze is burning on your skin, and you can say he definitely loves the sight in front of him. His pupils are dilated, and his breath is getting heavier. He's addicted “Small, desperate, and full of my cock”

You moan hard, turned on by his words and seeing how much he's going deep inside you with every stroke.

“‘s so deep inside you, uh?” he mocks you, his thumb rubbing your tummy as your eyes meet each other again.

“Y-yes! S-so deep” hearing your voice cracked and desperate leads him to one conclusion.

“Think you need daddy's help” suddenly his grip on your flesh tightens and with no warning he pushes you down onto him brutally, slamming his cock into you, bucking his hips upwards to start thrusting deeper, harder.

In a matter of seconds, your nails dig into the back of his hands and you scream, tilting your head back in pleasure.

“Aus- oh, god!” you moan louder, your mouth wide open as ecstasy takes over you, leading you to shake uncontrollably against his hips, making him grunt and moan.

“Keep moving, angel, don't stop...” he whispers as you try to follow his orders as far as your body permits you.

His cock is buried in you, he is fucking you so good you're barely able to move properly.

“Yes, just like that, baby, you're so good” his words keep hitting at your core, only spurring you to push yourself to your own limits as he starts leaving wet kisses on your throat “My good girl...”

"Please, please, please!" the fire inside you is ready to burst, your peak is getting closer and you want more.

“You wanna cum, angel?”

“Yes, yes please, n-need to cum!” hot tears start streaming down your cheeks and you moan again, again and again, scratching his hands and leaving bruises on his knuckles.

Everything seems to be so intense. Sweat is soaking your bodies, immersing you both in a hot-as-hell shower. The wet sound of bones and skins slapping floods your ears, your juices flowing down your thighs ruining the fine fabric of his expensive trousers.

You're so close and so is he. You feel in heaven.

“Then cum baby, cum around my cock” his voice shakes you inside, his tip hits that sweet spot in you and your vision goes blurry.

“Austin!” you cry out, your throat rips apart for the strength of your climax. Your orgasm washes over you and you convulse, the shocks running through your body are too strong and leave you powerless as you collapse on his chest.

“Fucking god” soon a growl of satisfaction slips from his throat, and his abdomen tightens underneath you. His grip loosens, thick ropes of his white cum spill inside you and paint your walls, making you shiver.

The room is now filled with silence, interrupted every now and then by the racing breaths escaping from both of your lungs.

You're exhausted.

“You did so good, angel, so good” he starts caressing your head gently, his praises warming your heart as you try to recover from the passionate fuck you two just had, but before you can say anything he picks you up and gets off the couch.

You whimper in surprise, finding the strenght to tie your legs and arms around the soft fabric of his suit as Austin's cock is still hard inside you.

“Let's go t' bed, baby” he announces, a wicked grin crossing his face “Wanna see how deep I can fill this pussy if I let you ride me on the mattress”

a/n: okay sooo… what do you think? would you like to read anything else? i got five or six ideas to write in my drafts already 👀

Tag-list: @pennyroyalcreep @bcofl0ve @houndogsblog @gigisworldsstuff @emmaolsen @cryingabtab @slowsweetlove @fuckhoes1123 @cchl @auranightangle @spirited-away-to-mandalore @donnamarie23 @ab4eva @dancer4j @kibumslatina @denised916 @faeolwen @alqvarde @lilmisswoo93 @oldermenluverrr @eliseinmemphis @purejasmine @lillypink @sournatromanoff @lukedorkyhemmings @claudia-barnes @bo-burnhxm @lilac-presley @onlyangelssing @amorx

September 21, 1958

Your heart was heavy as you walked up the driveway. The house was illuminated by the lawn lights and the hum of people inside grew the closer you got to it. Graceland was always so beautiful, especially at night. The large Corinthian columns were so stunning and made the whole house stand out. It was made for Elvis you thought. No ordinary man could live here. It had to be someone as grand and special as Elvis Presley was. 

You walk up the steps to the front door and take a deep breath. Emotions were flowing through you today. You were going to say goodbye to one of your favorite people. Elvis was always there for you, in good times and bad, he would always listen. He was supposed to be gone for two years in the army. It couldn’t have been a worse time to be drafted. He was at the top of all the charts and his career was just taking off. You two had gotten close the last two years or so. You think it was a way to ground Elvis and keep him connected with the real world. You both loved to hang out with each other's family and have barbecues together. 

Now all of that was going to change. He was leaving and you knew you’d be a wreck without him. You don’t have a lot of friends as it is. But Elvis was special. There was no replacing him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry at this party. Elvis wanted everyone to have a good time and not think of it as his goodbye party. You took a deep breath before you decided to go in the house. You smoothed out your pale pink dress and opened the front door. 

The entire house was lively and some of the people that were standing by the stairs greeted you. Your eyes frantically search for Elvis. You wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left. Walking to the kitchen, you set down the bottle of champagne you brought. One of Elvis's housekeepers hugs you and tells you she’ll open the bottle for you. Someone hands you a flute already filled with champagne and you graciously take it. 

The bubbly drink danced on your tongue and went down smoothly. You squeeze your way through the sea of people and continue to search for Elvis. There had to be over fifty people crammed into the first floor of the house. You accidentally bump into a taller man and apologize for that. You decide to ask him if he knew where Elvis was. He has this awe-struck look in his eyes as he looks at you. You silently roll your eyes at him, you didn’t want to talk to him, all you wanted to do was spend time with Elvis. 

“I uhh… I don’t know. But you can hang out with me. I’m John, you’re y/n right?” He asks. You don’t have the patience to be making small talk with anyone tonight but you fear this guy won’t get the message. 

“Yeah, I am,” you say as you keep looking for Elvis and taking another sip of champagne. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around here. How long have you known Elvis?” He asks. You sigh unamused, you weren’t in the mood to have another one of Elvis’ friends hitting you. Maybe you would have actually given it a shot if it was another night but it was not the right time at all. Your mind was so focused on getting to Elvis. 

“Quite a while. He’s my best friend,” you say flatly. 

“Well, that’s something you and I have in common. He and I go way back. Can I get you another glass of champagne?” He asks pointing to your glass. 

To get through this conversation with you, I’m going to need ten, you think annoyed. 

“Yeah sure,” you say flatly, creeping your way in slowly to the living room. You stretch on your tippy toes to see if you can spot Elvis. He was almost always the tallest one in a crowd and you hoped you’d get a glimpse of his dark black hair. It was useless because all you see are other people’s heads and couldn’t see anything else. You huffed annoyed, time was ticking by and you hadn’t even greeted Elvis yet. 

You get tapped on your shoulder and you look up to find John with another champagne glass in his hand. 

“Thanks, see you around,” you say as you quickly push your way into the crowd and make your escape from the annoying man. 

The sound of the piano fills the living room and you just know that Elvis is the one playing in it. He did that so often at parties. He played so beautifully and loved to entertain even though it was his party. You finally squeeze yourself to the very front and see him. He looked so happy with all his friends around the piano waiting for him to burst out in song. He wore a white short-sleeved button-up that was ruffled on the chest and tucked into white pants. He cut his hair the shortest you’d ever seen it for boot camp but he still looks so handsome. 

His attention gets torn from his friends and he catches a glimpse of you. His face lights up when he sees you and instantly gets up from the piano bench. 

“There’s my favorite girl! Where have you been?” He asks excitedly, scooping you up in his arms and squeezing you tight. You can’t help but smile and giggle softly as you feel how happy he was to have you here. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re impossible to find in your own house,” you giggle.

He gently sets you down and looks at your outfit, taking your hand in his. “And you look like a million bucks too!” He says twirling you around. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad you’re here!” He says gleefully.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it!” You say with a smile.

“Perfect timing too. I was just about to play some songs, and you get to sing with me,” he says cheekily, pulling you onto the piano bench with him. You get extremely nervous, you do not like to be in a crowd of people and have the main focus on you.

“Oh no no no Elvis please I cannot sing,” you say nervously, trying to scoot away from him.

He wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you right next to him.

“Oh no, you’re not running away from me. You just got here! Come on, please sing with me. I love it when you do,” he pleads. He looks at you with soft eyes and a cute cheeky smile. God, you couldn’t say no to this man even if you tried.

You sigh defeated, “Okay fine. Only for a few songs, and then I’m hiding in the corner again,” you say jokingly, taking another sip of champagne. He lets out a big boisterous laugh, bringing his hands to the piano’s keys, and plays a few chords to warm up. He plays so effortlessly, stretching his long fingers across the ivories. 

Well it’s one for the money

Two for the show

Three to get ready now go cat go

But don’t you step on my Blue Suede Shoes…

He radiates so much energy when he sings. There’s no way anyone could have a straight face while he performs. A huge smile forms on your face and you start clapping along to the beat. He bumps your shoulder to join in and you sing along with him softly. His mood is contagious and you can’t say no to him and join in. 

The longer he plays, the less nervous you become. You don’t pay attention to any of the surrounding people in the living room. Song after song, it felt like it was just you and Elvis singing to each other. Or he was just singing to you. You honestly lost track of time as he continued to play more songs and you kept drinking your champagne. And come to think of it, you lost track of how many drinks you had too. But you didn’t care, you were having too much fun singing with Elvis. He was handed a few drinks and he was drinking them too. It surprised you because he normally never drank but the mood in here was so joyful and fun, you were sure he didn’t care tonight.

Before you knew it, the living room was slowly clearing out and the house was getting increasingly quieter. People were saying their goodbyes to Elvis and telling him how much they’d miss him. Some of the guys were going to go out driving and invited you both to join them, but Elvis wanted to stay here. You didn’t want to leave either, every second you had with him was precious. 

It was past 1 am and Elvis started playing slower ballads while humming the tune. You could sit next to him for hours listening to him play. You were entranced by the way he played, how his fingers almost danced over the keys and the most melodious sounds rang out. You put down the last glass of champagne down and felt your head spin a bit. You tried not to focus on it too much and tried to draw your attention back to Elvis.

I’ll never let you go little darlin’

I’m so sorry, ‘cause I made you cry

I’ll never let you go because I love you

So please don’t ever say goodbye…

He plays the song so beautifully, letting the chords ring out fully before he sings the next line. You wish you could snap a picture of this moment and never let it fade away in your memory. Sitting here, listening to him sing a ballad as it pulls at your heartstrings. You were going to miss him so much. He wasn’t going to be down the street from you anymore. You couldn’t just stop by to see how he was. He was going to be thousands of miles away, in a different country, on a different continent. You promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, but you feel the tears well in your eyes as he finishes the song. Damn, the alcohol getting the best of you and your emotions.

Because I love you, pretty baby

I’m so sorry ‘cause I made you cry

I made you cry

Yeah, I’ll never let you go

“Cause I love you, little baby

So please don’t ever say good-bye

He finishes the song so beautifully and you both sit there in silence. A few tears were rolling down your cheeks and you don’t bother to wipe them away. He looks over at you and sees your tear-filled eyes.

“Aww y/n, what’s wrong? Why you cryin’?” He asks as he gently turns your head towards him. His thumbs gently wipe the rolling tears off of your face but that only makes it worse. You take a deep breath before speaking and try to hold it together.

“I’m just… I’m just going to miss you,” you say weakly. He instantly pulls you into his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He rubs your back, trying to soothe you through your cries.

“I know, I am too. It’s going to be so different,” he admits.

“I don’t want you to go. You’re my best friend. Who am I going to talk to now?” You sob, holding onto his shirt.

“You’ll still have me. Write to me any time you want or put on one of my records when you’re lonely. Think of it as though I’m singin’ to you and only you. I love singin’ for you,” He coos. Your tears continue to pour down your face. That thought was too much. You couldn’t fathom the idea that the only way you were going to be able to hear his voice was on a record. You didn’t realize how spoiled you were that you could hear him sing right next to you any time you wanted.

You lift your head up off of him and nod your head. You look into his own tear-filled eyes and somehow his eyes look more blue and mesmerizing. Your head felt light after all the champagne but you didn’t care. Nothing could tear your focus away from Elvis right now. He wipes your tears away once more as his own fall down his cheeks.

“And what do I do if I find myself missin’ you?” He asks through sniffles.

You search for the right thing to say, not exactly sure what to say in a moment like this. You had nothing to offer Elvis. He was the man who had everything even though you both were so young. You look down at your hands, unsure what to do, and see your heart-shaped ring on your ring finger. It was something you found at a little boutique downtown. The band was gold with a black heart that had a sun and a small little diamond in the center. You thought it was cute and a nice find. You slide it off and lift it up for Elvis to see. 

“Then you take this with you. I’ll always be with you if you have this,” you say softly. He carefully takes it out of your hand and looks at it closely. He looks up at you in disbelief.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take something so valuable to you,” you waivers. 

“No please, I insist. It’s the least I could give,” you sniffle.

He pulls you in for another hug, squeezing you tighter than he ever has before. You so desperately wanted to freeze time so you could live in this moment forever. You didn’t want to let go of him. You were terrified he would come back from the Army and become a totally different person. But you had to stop thinking that, just enjoy these last few moments with him.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” he murmurs.

“Me too,” you say weakly.

“Don’t forget about me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Oh God I could never,” you tell him.

He breaks away from you, looking deeply into your eyes and placing his hand on your cheek. His thumb glides back and forth along your cheek and sighs to himself. You aren’t normally so close to him like this and can see so clearly how gorgeous he is. You swore his eyes sparkled when they looked at you. His nose was perfect and his skin was flawless. You watch as his eyes drift down to your lips and you do the same. Maybe you never consciously thought about it, but his lips were beautiful like the rest of him. They were full and plump with a soft pink color to them. They looked soft and pillowy almost. 

You can feel your breathing hitch in your throat the longer you stare at him. His hands tighten around your body but are still very gentle as though he’s afraid he’s going to break you. He leans in ever so slowly, biting his lower lips as he does so.

“Good, me too…I can’t forget you even if I tried,” he murmurs sensually.

The tension he is giving off makes your head spin more and you can’t wait any longer. You lean into him and crash your lips into his.

He felt like heaven. Each kiss was tender and soft and yet there was so much urgency behind it. You were right, his lips were softer than you could have ever imagined, and felt like you were kissing pillows. You can’t catch your breath as you both kiss each other with more passion. His hands roamed up and down your back, clutching onto the material of your dress. Oh, those hands, they felt so good on you. They were addictive and you wished you could feel them on your skin instead. You had no idea you needed his attention like this.

You boldly slip your hand into his shirt, feeling the soft chest hairs that resided there. He responds with a soft pleased groan into your mouth. Your heart races in your chest, not believing that this is happening right now. You felt on fire with the way he was kissing you. He was so needy and desperate for your attention as his hands kept moving along your body. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you both groan when he does so. You had never thought. You needed him like this, you were always so adamant about staying friends. Maybe things could be different…

There was a throbbing developing in between your legs and was only growing worse by the second. It was so different than other times you’ve felt this way. You had felt this way in private moments by yourself but with Elvis, it was amplified to a whole other degree. Your chest heaves and you feel yourself become more needy. You slowly stand up and try to get Elvis to do the same thing. He breaks the kiss and looks at you a little perplexed. You push him backward to the couch that is right behind the piano. He quickly sits and stares up at you wide-eyed. He smooths out his pants and spreads his legs apart slightly. Your eyes drift to his long legs and how good he looks like this. He just exuded sensuality and temptation without even trying.

You notice how his length was hard and pushing up against his pants. Oh God, you’ve never felt more needy in your life. You wanted to feel what he was like underneath you. You quickly straddle his hips and scrunch up your dress before sitting down on him. Your core rests on top of his length and the heat from him makes it hard to breathe. You let out a small groan as you feel him underneath you. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders and you’re left looking at Elvis’ luring eyes.

You both don’t say anything, just the sounds of your labored breaths fill the room. His hands drift from your back to the front of your body, gently cupping your breasts in his hands. You whimper softly, loving the way his hands feel on you. You look down as he does this, watching how his hands consume your soft breasts and have you reeling for more. He sighs as he continues to touch you, looking up at you with an awed gaze. You needed his lips once more and leaned in to kiss him again. The kisses somehow got even better with his hands on you like this. Your arms wrap around his neck and feel his soft hair with your fingertips.

Something instinctual takes over your body and your hips begin to move on him, grinding your core onto his hardened length. A bolt of electricity runs through you as you begin to move. You had no idea something like this could feel so satisfying. You break the kiss and gasp out, needing breath more than ever. Elvis lets out a deep groan and lets his head fall back with his eyes closed. Another wave of pleasure runs through you seeing him like this. He looked so attractive with satisfaction running through both you and him. His eyes pop back open with his mouth falling open slightly.

“Oh God honey… that feels so good,” he moans.

Honey.

Oh God he had never called you that before. Hearing that come from his lips made you feel like the actual word; a sweet sticky mess.

You nod your head at him and whimper in agreement as your breathing hitches. You keep eye contact with him as your core continues to throb with every movement of your hips.

“Elvis,” you whine.

He nods his head at you, his hands slithering to your back and grabbing handfuls of your ass. He helps you grind into him harder, his hands helping your hips move back and forth onto him. You gasp loudly, loving how this feels.

“I know honey, I know,” he groans, “You feel so good on my cock,” he whimpers into your ear. 

You helplessly moan at just his words. You hold onto him tighter and move more as he helps you. The friction of your panties against his slacks made a coil in your belly form and it tightens with every move. You couldn’t get enough of him. You didn’t want to stop having him make you feel this way. He stills you and you look at him with needy eyes.

He takes one of his hands and moves it to the front of your body. He scrunches the material of your dress in his hand and looks up a you with pleading eyes.

“Can I touch you?” He asks softly. You nod your head quickly and help him lift up your dress. His fingertips graze your mound and move down to your folds. Wetness had pooled in your panties and you squirmed underneath him. Elvis moves his fingers slowly, taking his time exploring you.

“Jesus honey you’re soaked,” he groans. Your hips move with his curious fingers and moan in agreement. You feel his finger pull your panties to the side and continue to slide them through your wet folds. You cuss softly, loving how he’s making you feel. He pulls you in for a kiss again and you both moan when you feel each other’s lips. He puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. Your body jolts forward with each touch and you are more breathless than you thought possible. You stare at him in awe as your pleasure builds and builds. He has a pleased smirk on his face as he watches you grind on his hand. You couldn’t imagine you could feel this good but it’s somehow possible with Elvis.

Your hands quickly work the buttons of his shirt and spread it open. You then work your way down to his pants and fidget with the button and slide down the zipper. Elvis stills you, not letting you go any further.

“Honey, wait,” Elvis sighs.

“Please, I want you,” you whimper.

“I know, so do I,” he grumbles into your neck.

“Please… please make me feel good. I want you,” you plead, grinding your hips onto him again. He lets out a loud groan, unable to denounce how good you feel. You move back a bit and your hand finds his length. You rub it softly, feeling how much heat is coming off of him and how it is throbbing from your touch. Your head spun when you felt him, you needed him more than anything. 

“Please honey, please. Make love to me,” you beg, looking up at him with needy eyes, your hands scratching down his arms. He looks at you in awe. He reacts to you like he’s never heard such beautiful words in his life. He looks like he’s feeling just as weak as you and his hand slowly comes out from underneath your dress.

His demeanor suddenly becomes sorrowful and melancholy. He lowers his gaze and shakes his head somberly.

“I can’t honey. We can’t right now,” he says low.

You can’t help but feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Being rejected by him hurt. You could have sworn he wanted you just the same.

He can see how you’re a bit hurt and taken aback by his words.

“It’s not that I don’t want to honey. Trust me, I would love to as you can see,” he says as he glances down at his hard length. “It’s just not the right time. I don’t want you regretting this kind of thing. I don’t want it to be because I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” he explains.

“It’s not because of that I just-,” you try to insist but end up stopping yourself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked for sucha thing,” you say embarrassed. You quickly get off of him and stand wobbly. Your head spins more than you were prepared for and almost stumble sideways. Elvis thankfully grabs you and holds you upright.

“I gotcha, it’s okay. I don’t mean to make you feel bad honey. You need to know I loved every second of that,” he says sweetly, taking your face in his hands and placing a soft, tender kiss on your lips. You sigh at the feeling once more, not wanting to forget how this feels. You gently pull away and take a deep breath.

“I guess I should be going,” you tell him.

“Oh no, you should not be driving like this. Just stay the night,” he insists.

You didn’t have any fight left in you and you just nodded your head. He keeps his arm around your waist and leads you up the stairs with him. It was a challenge walking up those stairs while the whole world was spinning. He opens his bedroom door and helps you in. 

His bedroom was warm and inviting. It smelled like him and made you want to put that scent into a candle. He turns on the lamp by his bed and you get a better view of the room. Most of his furnishings were black and there were piles of books on his dresser and on his nightstand. 

He’s such a little bookworm.

You glance at the clock on the wall and it is past two. You feel his arms go around your waist again and he steps in front of you.

“Did you want to go to the bathroom or anything? Or would you rather lie down?” He asks you.

“I’ll just lay down,” you say sleepily. He nods his head and turns to pull back the sheets for you. You reach your hand at the back of your dress as he does this and struggle to find the zipper. You let out frustrated little sighs and he turns back to face you, concerned with what you’re doing.

“Help me unzip this dress please,” you say defeated as you turn around and lift up your hair. Elvis doesn’t say anything, all you can feel is his fingers gently pull on the zipper and drag it down to the small of your back. He turns you around and he has that needy look in his eye. You reach up on your tippy toes to give him a small peck on the lips. You can feel the smile forming on his face as you do this. You step around him and go to the bed. Before stepping in, you let your dress fall at your feet and quickly get underneath the sheets. They were soft and silky and the heavy comforter made it feel extra cozy.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, honey. You let me know if you need anything,” Elvis tells you. You slowly roll over and give him a pouty face.

“No please, stay with me. You can sleep with me,” you insist. He looks like he’s going to denounce this request but you don’t let him. You hold the sheets across your chest and pull at his hand.

“Please, Elvis. I want you to sleep in your own bed before you leave,” you plead.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and nods his head.

“Okay, let me change real quick,” he says. You smile sweetly at him and close your eyes as you wait for him. The room still felt wobbly but lying down did feel better. You hear Elvis sift through his closet and walk back into the room fully changed. The shift of weight in the bed made your eyes pop back open to watch him get into bed. He was shirtless with only his underwear on. He was still hard and could clearly see the outline of his cock in these. You tried to subside the needy feeling you had for him and just focus on sleep. 

He lays down and gets underneath the sheet with you but leaves plenty of space between the two of you. You grumble annoyed, wanting him to get comfortable in his own bed.

You scoot closer to him, laying your head on his chest.

“You can get closer to me, I don’t bite,” you giggle. 

He chuckles softly to himself, “oh good I was worried about that,” he teases.

You feel his arms wrap around you as you start to close your eyes again. You had never felt so safe and comforted in someone’s arms before. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers.

“Mhmm, me too,” you slur sleepily.

“Don’t forget about me,” he says softly.

“Never,” you hum as you let the dark blanket of sleep take over.

*

The crack of sunlight shone in through the curtains making your eyes flutter open. You stretch your limbs and feel the soft silky sheets wrapped around you. Your eyes instantly pop open when you realize these do not feel like your sheets at home. 

“Shit,” you say as you sit up quickly in the bed. 

You look around and realize you’re in Elvis’ bedroom. You clutch the sheets around your chest and look down to realize you’re practically naked underneath them. Your heart hammers away, trying to scramble to remember what happened last night. 

Did we? No, we couldn’t have… you think to yourself. You feel you still have your panties on and see your dress crinkled on the floor next to the bed. You try to recollect last night’s events as best you can. You remember singing with Elvis on the piano, smiling and laughing at him. Then you remember those eyes. Those beautiful, seductive blue eyes peering into yours with an intense blazing heat… how good he felt underneath you as he moaned your name. The need that grew inside of you to have him take care of you in a way you didn’t know existed. 

But he stopped you… telling you that it wasn’t the right time. Your heart drops. That’s right, he stopped you from going any further. You sat there wishing he took care of you. Fulfilled the need he created inside of you. It still lingered in you as you sat there.

“Elvis?” You say out loud, seeing if he was still in the bedroom.

You frantically search for the clock and see it’s ten past ten. Your heart sinks again. Did he already leave? No, he couldn’t have, he would have said goodbye to you. You quickly put your dress back on and rush down the stairs.

Peeking into the dining room, the table was empty with not a trace anyone has been there. You go into the kitchen to see if you can find anyone there who might know where Elvis went to. You see one of his housekeepers at the sink rinsing off dishes. She hears you enter the kitchen and has a surprised look on her face.

“Oh hey darlin’! I didn’t know you were here!” She says excitedly.

“Yeah I stayed the night,” you say a bit timidly. “Where’s Elvis?” You ask.

She looks at you somberly, turning off the faucet and wiping her hands dry with a dish towel.

“Aww honey I’m sorry, you missed him. He left at dawn for New York. I’m sure he didn’t want to wake you. But you probably said your goodbyes last night right?” She tries to say positively.

You look down at the floor, trying to hide your flushing cheeks. Yeah, that was one hell of a way to say goodbye…

“Yes we did. I better get going. I’ll see you soon,” you tell her.

You make your way to the front door and stop dead in your tracks as you see an envelope on the side table with your name on it. You quickly grab it and make your way out the door. Your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest as you walk to your car. You quickly open the door and lock it as you stare at your name written in Elvis’ handwriting.

You hesitated to open it for some reason. A part of you thought he was going to confess how he regrets last night’s events. It scared you to see if that was the truth but had to see for yourself. You carefully tore the envelope open and pull the letter out. Your hands shook as you unfolded the paper.

My Girl,

I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too peaceful. I had a wonderful night with you.

I’ll carry your ring with me wherever I go. It’s the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.

I will be

With love,

Ep.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you stare at the words he wrote to you. You couldn’t help but feel like this was more than a goodbye letter. It was an end of an era for you two and he just put the nail in the coffin.

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