Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Let Yourself Go - Elvis

A/N : request by ScarlettBlack413

Late at night, the ring of the phone woke you. You shook awake, rubbing at your eyes and groaning before answering.

"She left me," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. Elvis. Just three simple words, and you knew exactly who it was and what he meant. You could practically imagine his face red with tears, and your own heart broke.

"Oh baby."

"She don't love me no more," he sobbed quietly into the phone. You could hear rustling, as though he was curling up tighter into himself.

"I'm so sorry," you said.

He hiccuped, "She took Lisa Marie."

"Oh EP, baby," you didn't know what to say. What does one say to that? How do you comfort someone over something so devastating? A break up is hard enough, but when you're a celebrity and you have child, you just know some of the things that will be said about him. The newspapers will rush to Priscilla's side. It wasn't as though she was wrong to leave him, it's her life, but you knew the pain that was wracking Elvis's body. You wanted to hug him, to hold him, to remind him that he was loved by so many. He was loved by you. But that wouldn't make it better, it wasn't what he needed right now. You glanced at your watch, "I'll be there in an hour."

"What?"

"Give me some time to drive, but I'm coming baby."

He sobbed into the phone and his voice was barely audible, "thank you."

You got there by in 45 minutes. You were tired, having barely slept two hours before he called but it didn't matter. Elvis was in pain and you'd been friends with him for years. Friends sacrifice some sleep for each other. Your hand was still lifted to knock when the door swung open.

Elvis looked a mess. His hair was sticking in just about every direction, his skin was pale and blotchy, his blue eyes puffy from crying. His lips were chapped and red as though he'd been picking at them, an anxious habit. The red robe he wore hung loose on his frame like he'd forgotten it existed, and his chest took deep, uneven breaths. You dropped your bag and held out your arms.

He practically fell into your offered arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he sobbed. You stood there for minutes, simply holding Elvis as the tears flowed freely. He hiccuped and coughed, and you just rubbed his back softly. You didn't judge him for a second, how could you?

Eventually you went inside, leaving your bag by the steps and sitting on the living room couch with Elvis. His head was in your lap and he clutched his abdomen tightly.

"I ain't ever gonna recover baby," he said, tears hitting your pants but you didn't mind.

You put your hand through his hair and gingerly scratched his scalp with your nails. He loved the feeling and you knew it. "It's going to be okay. It doesn't feel like it, but it will."

He didn't say anything else, just cried softly and wiped at his nose with the tissues you offered. Eventually he fell asleep with his head still on your lap, and you didn't have the heart to move him. So you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, feeling his deep breaths against yours and falling asleep. He wouldn't know this, but he was your everything. He was your best friend and he was starting to become your love, so you would help him recover over anything. Elvis had his issues, but you never wanted him to feel this type of pain.

The next morning you brought a steaming cup of hot chocolate to the living room, placing it on the coffee table and gingerly shaking Elvis. He looked at you with red eyes, taking the drink and thanking you. He barely slept, though he tried to pretend halfway through the night that he was so you could go to bed but you refused.

The following weeks, which bled into months, you did all you could for him. He was your best friend and you knew that his heart was hurting in the worst way possible.

One evening you were sitting and watching television with him. He'd started to fall back into his regular routines, and you and him had a standing appointment of movies on Sundays. His hand had wrapped around yours, as he tended to do. Elvis was a very physical person. He loved to just touch someone to show his love, and you didn't mind.

As the movie came to an end, he ran his thumb along your knuckles and spoke softly, "Cilla left me cause of you."

You looked at him quickly, "what? I thought she liked me?"

"She does," he said, looking at your joined hands. "But so do I, that's the problem."

"We've been friends for years, of course you like me."

He cleared his throat and finally looked into your eyes, "not like that, Y/N. I've been in love with you and Cilla knew it. Knew it before I did."

Your jaw opened a little and you just stared at him. How were you supposed to react? This man has been your best friend for ages, and you've watched him evolve into this superhuman. And he loved you. Silly, plain little you.

"You don't gotta love-"

"Of course I love you," you cut him off. "But I always pushed it away. I never thought you loved me."

Elvis nodded shyly and lifted a hand to cup your face. You took a shaky breath, "don't kiss me unless you mean it Elvis."

He smiled and leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You gasped under him, shocked at the intensity and power of his mouth. He was gentle with you, cherishing each moment. You let yourself fall into his touch, thrumming with the electricity that he filled you with. He was everything, he always had been and he always would be.