Elvis One Shots/Imagines

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Elvis

A/N: sorry i can't update more

"Elvis?" You called out as you knocked on his dressing room, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. He didn't answer. You tested the knob and it gingerly opened to his room, wide and seemingly void of any other human. "Elvis?"

You poked your head inside, roaming before making the decision to step inside. As you did, something tapped your shoulder and made you jump with a gasp. You turned to see Colonel Tom Parker.

He looked slimy in his beige suit and brightly colored bow tie, his shoulders hunched and eyes thinned as he looked at you. Those eyes were soulless and no matter how many times you'd interacted with him, you could never look at him directly. It was too intense.

"God, Tom.." you said, bringing a hand to your chest to stop your heart from exploding.

"Y/N..." he said in that sickly sweet voice, candied with high pitches that only made him more unsettling.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you," he gestured to your body. "Looking for Elvis."

You paused, blinking away the shaken energy he'd given you. That's when you noticed the black button his lapel with large letters proclaiming, 'I Hate Elvis.' You pointed to it, "what the hell?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said with a laugh, "what is hate worth if it's free?"

"That's ridiculous."

"There's a reason I am the manager, dear child."

You scoffed and tapped your foot, craning your neck to see if you could see Elvis. But you couldn't catch a glimpse so you started to move towards the door, taking Tom with you. "C'mon, he's not here and-" you paused. In the mirror you could see a glimpse of him, dark hair embedded between his knees and a white clad body shaking. You pressed forward, "he's not even here. Let's just leave."

Tom didn't seem to notice it, and awkwardly shuffled from the room. You walked with him around the corner until he got into the elevator, then sprinted back to the dressing room.

There, on the floor of beneath a rack of bedazzled costumes, Elvis sat clutching his hands to his chest. He was a mess. You felt your chest tighten in response, the sight of Elvis just completely wrecked tearing into your own soul. But you pushed it down and went to sit next to Elvis. You didn't ask why he was upset, you knew he couldn't explain. Not now. He leaned his head on your shoulder, sobbing until his body hurt from sobbing. He cried until he had no more tears, until it was only limp wails coming from his mouth in spurts. He was dehydrated and exhausted from the shows and the day, but the emotions kept him awake. It forced him to replay each moment over and over, anything that could make him upset a constant reminder. He was a failure in his eyes, a dud.

His music felt subpar. He felt like he was only loved for his looks and not his abilities. He was a failure. If he died tomorrow, what could he look back on? It certainly wouldn't be dancing with Ann Margaret, so what would be his shining moment? What could he be proud of? The words of the Colonel played over and over in his head. How he'd railed at him after the show, telling him how he couldn't sell a goddamn ticket with Tom's interference. Worthless, worthless, worthless. His chest felt like it was on fire and he sobbed and sobbed. He was dry heaving. He couldn't believe this had gotten to him so much. Years of a career and yet, one random evening, he couldn't handle the criticism.

You just held him. The arrow of pain that punctured his heart went through and lanced your own, and you prayed that if there was a God that he would give it to you. Let you deal with it. Elvis has been through enough. His body seemed to give out eventually and Elvis fell asleep in a ball against your body. You didn't dare move, didn't dare disturb the only peace he would have right now.

Eventually you fell asleep against the dressing room wall as well, until Elvis slowly rose. He wiped at his dry face and began to apologize profusely to you.

"Elvis, stop. I'm here to support you. I don't know what happened, or what's going on, but I love you. Please cry on me."

"Baby..."

You brought his head to your chest and rubbed his back, "what's that song the audience went crazy over? Bridge Over Troubled Water? Baby, I will always be your bridge. Always, always, always."

He cried softly and held you to him.