You find Candice with Elvis's cousin Billy awhile later, watching as she turns the boy into a flustered mess in the kitchen.

"You mean you've never taken a girl dancing before?" She says, playing up her exasperation.

Billy shakes his head, face tomato red.

"Well honey, you're in luck because I happen to be a fantastic dancer."

You and Elvis watch from the open backdoor, peaking your heads in slightly. You stifle your giggles as Elvis shakes his head above you.

"Guess we're goin' dancin' tonight." He whispers to you.

Billy catches sight of you both, letting out an indignant "hey!". This sends you and Elvis running, giggling like little kids as you dash through the kitchen and up the stairs.

"It ain't polite to eavesdrop!" Billy yells from below, but Elvis is shuffling you up the stairs too fast for you to look back.

You're breathless by the time you reach the main landing, one shoe hanging off of your foot and the strap of your shirt falling down your shoulder.

Elvis is laughing, leaning on the railing with his elbows. He looks up, mouth open in a breathless grin. His eyes are hooded as he moves toward you, adjusting the strap of your shirt for you.

As he leans closer, you think he's going to kiss you, but his lips come close to your ear instead.

"I move pretty fast for a thirty-three year old, don't I?" And then he's off down the hall, leaving you laughing as you chase after him.

This is a side you'd never really seen of Elvis. Sure, he was goofy in most of his movies, and his sense of humor made an appearance on stage every now and then, but this was a whole different side of the man.

A side that you can't help but sort of fall in love with.

You catch up with Elvis just as he reaches a door to the left of the hallway, dashing into the room just as you grip his shoulder.

The two of you stumble through the entryway, laughing and breathless. You fall into Elvis's arms, and he wraps them around you tightly.

"Well honey, you've caught me," the timber in his voice makes you shiver. "now what're you gonna do with me?"

You pretend to think for a moment, running your hands up his broad chest.

"Hmm, let's see," you say, leaning in close to his lips.

"I could kiss you," Elvis follows your lips with his eyes. You plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling away before he gets his lips on yours.

He groans, head falling to your shoulder.

"You're killing me, babydoll." Elvis mumbles, and you laugh as you run your fingers through his hair.

Over his shoulder you spot a record player. The set up is huge, grand wooden cases holding what looks to be thousands of records.

"Oh my god," you gasp, untangling yourself from the older man, who let's out a sound of confusion.

"Y/N?"

"You have so many!" Excitement is clear in your voice.

It takes a moment for Elvis to understand what you're talking about, head still foggy from your teasing, but he catches on when you open the glass case of the shelving.

"Oh, yeah!" He says, coming up beside you to help.

"I got all kinds a things, anything you wanna listen to just put it on, baby."

You turn to him with an enthusiastic grin, and it makes him smile in return.

You run your fingers over the covers of the vinyls, painted nails clicking softly across the titles. Your finger lands on Etta James's At Last, and you excitedly pick it up, presenting it to Elvis.

"Etta's my absolute favorite of all time, we have to play it!"

Elvis takes the record from you, removing the cover and heading over to the record player.

"You got it, baby."

Pretty soon you hear the crackle of the needle drop, Etta's voice filtering through the large speakers in each corner of the room.

The window is open, curtains drawn back to let sunlight filter through the room.

You twirl in front of it, humming softly to the music with your eyes closed.

You're beautiful.

Elvis can't take his eyes off of you.

You feel a hand around your waist, turning you towards him.

"Wanna practice a little before we go out tonight?" Elvis asks, sly grin on his face. "I'm a little, uh, rusty."

You giggle, wrapping both arms around his neck.

"I'd be more than happy to teach you a thing or two, Presley."

You lead, him following your movements effortlessly.

You take the time to look at him, taking in the features of his face.

Elvis's eyes are half lidded as he gazes right back, lips parted slightly. A piece of hair falls across his forehead. You move to brush it away, fingers dusting the smooth skin there.

Your breath hitches a little, fingers trailing down to cup his cheek.

He leans into the touch.

Like this, he looks a bit like that shy little kid you saw in him earlier. The urge to protect, to nurture hits you full force.

"Elvis," you mutter.

"Y/N." He responds, and the way Elvis says your name makes a swell of emotion rise up inside if you. You can't help the rush of words that leaves your lips.

"Why me?"

His brow furrows.

"What do you mean?"

You trail your hand down to his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath your palm. It's beating fast, and it's safe to say yours is too.

"Out of all of the girls onstage with you the other night, what was so special about me?" You feel your face heating up, embarrassed by your own insecurities.

It's not that you're not confident in your looks or personality, but this is L.A., a city swarming with beautiful people. As a realist, you find it absolutely baffling that a man like Elvis Presley would pick you out of a crowd.

Yet, here you are, in his arms.

The question is, why?

Elvis doesn't respond for a moment, his hands coming up to rest at the small of your back.

This makes you nervous, and you feel like pulling away when he speaks.

"It was that kid, Christian I think his name was."

This gives you pause.

"The stage hand?"

Elvis nods.

"You were so nice to him, Y/N. He can't be older than nineteen, and everyone was treatin' him like a kid underfoot."

He smiles.

"Everyone but you."

You think back to the other day, how you had made polite conversation with everyone on that set.

"Elvis, I was just treating him like a person." You say, smiling a little in your confusion.

"Exactly!" Elvis laughs. "Nobody in this city does that. If you aren't beautiful, rich, or important, nobody takes a second look at ya."

Elvis rubs his hands up your back, palms resting against your shoulder blades.

"You don't treat me like a celebrity, Y/N. You look at me like you've known me all your life, and in some ways it feels like I've known you all a mine."

The butterflies are back in your stomach, trapezing around.

"Elvis, we hardly know each other."

Elvis pulls you closer, and it occurs to you that the record has stopped playing. It's silent, except for the sound of birds outside.

Songbirds.

"But we could know each other real well, baby, if you give me a chance."

This is so surreal, you think, mind and heart racing. Here is one of the most famous, sought after men in the country begging you to give him a chance.

You take a moment to think about your life, how devoid of love and affection it has been up until this point. You think of the man infront of you, of what your life could be like if you do as Elvis says.

"Whaddya say, Y/N?" Elvis says, and that unsure look is back in his eyes. "Be my girl?"

The butterflies kick it up a notch, making your stomach feel tight and your heartbeat quicken.

You take a deep breath. While looking into Elvis's eyes, you say three words that are sure to change your life forever.

"I'm your girl."

*

*

*

The club the boys take you and Candice to is packed full, the parking lot a sea of cars. It makes you excited, always one for big events and crowds.

You find yourself giddily gripping Elvis's hand, which is resting comfortably on your thigh.

"You nervous?" He asks, pulling up to the vallet.

You shake your head no.

"I love things like this!" You exclaim, flashing a bright smile his way.

He offers a grin in return, letting go of your thigh to hand his keys over.

"Well, then let's get goin' girl!"

Candice and Billy make their way out of the backseat, Elvis coming around to open your door and help you out.

Your dress is a short blue number, strappy and form fitting. It only boosts your confidence when Elvis's hands linger a little longer on your waist, a strong arm wrapped around you firmly as he guides you to the entrance of the club.

There's the telltale flash of camera's, paparazzi calling Elvis's name from the sidelines of the club. You pay them no mind- your focus is solely on the feeling of his arm around you, the warmth of his body against yours.

Nothing could bring you down in this moment.

"Are they always like this?" You hear Candice ask over the sound of the paparazzi.

You turn to see Billy guiding your friend in a similar fashion, nodding his head.

"Unfortunately, darlin'."

She shrugs, pulling the shawl she paired with her dress tighter around her shoulders.

"At least I photograph well!"

This makes you laugh, throwing your head back.

It feels good to be out like this- the bright lights and summer air giving a high like no other.

The bouncer at the door recognizes Elvis instantly, opening the door for the four of you.

"Enjoy your evening, Mr. Presley."

The arm around you tightens the slightest bit, and Elvis replies with a polite nod of his head.

You notice for the first time tonight how shy Elvis is acting- turning away from the flashes of the camera's and acknowledging the shouts of his name with a simple wave. You move closer to him, pressed up together tightly as you enter the building.

It's louder inside, music bumping and people milling about everywhere.

The bass of the music gets your heart racing, and you turn back to look at Candice whose already swaying her hips slightly.

"This is gonna be fun! C'mon Billy boy, buy me a drink!" She takes Billy's hand in hers and drags him off to the bar, but you notice he doesn't complain too much as he goes.

You bump your hip into Elvis, whose scoping out a place to sit.

"Looks like they're getting along."

He looks around at them, a sly look on his face.

"Billy's a big fan a pretty girls."

"How about you?" You tease.

Elvis smiles down at you, leading you to a booth near the dancefloor.

"Shoot, I got the best lookin' girl in this place!"

You snuggle into his side, feeling the eyes of other patrons of the club on you. It makes you feel proud to be on Elvis's arm like this, special.

Loved.

You mentally shake off that word, not ready to face feelings as big as that so soon. One of your favorite songs comes on- a fresh, fast paced number that leaves your heart racing- and you're quick to pull on Elvis's arm.

"Come on, pretty boy, come dance with me!"

Elvis laughs, following you easily.

"Don't have to ask me twice, darlin'."

Dancing has always come as natural to you as breathing, the way the music flowed through you replicating the feeling of air in your lungs. The world seemed to melt away in moments like these.

Elvis moves with you easily, though you notice his movements seem a bit reigned in, as if conscious of the people around him.

You move closer to him.

"What's got you so anxious?" You ask over the music, but he shakes his head.

"Don't worry about me, Y/N." Elvis gives a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just enjoy yourself."

But you can't help but worry about him. You draw closer to the older man, placing his hands on your hips.

"Don't focus on these people," you tilt your head, gesturing to the crowd. "Whatever they have to say or think about us doesn't matter. Just focus on me."

You're all too familiar with the symptoms of anxiety Elvis is showing right now. You decide, then and there, to distract him.

"How do you like my dress tonight?" You pitch your voice a little, words coming out slow and sweet.

Elvis's hands twitch a little of your hips.

"Honey, when you came down those stairs tonight I nearly fell up outta my chair."

You giggle, swaying impossibly closer to him.

"I've had this dress for years, never had a good enough excuse to wear it until tonight."

Elvis raises an eyebrow.

"Waitin' for someone to show you off, darlin'?" His hands squeeze your hips once.

You press up against him, both hands on his chest. The position reminds you of your first meeting, and you grin wide.

"You showing me off, Mr. Presley?"

He tilts his head back, sly grin on his lips.

You feel him loosen up, the anxiety draining from his limbs. Suddenly, Elvis takes one of your hands in his and twirls you quick, the skirt of your dress flaring up a little as you center yourself.

This elicits cheers from the patrons around you, making you blush as you lean back into Elvis's touch.

"Proud of what's mine, is all."

You dance real close as the music changes to a softer, slower number.

"Where'd you learn how to dance anyway, doll?" He asks as he takes your hand in his, other hand coming to hold your waist.

"I've been at it since I was a kid, my mother put me in ballet when I was six."

Elvis looks surprised.

"Like real ballet? The pink frills and everything?"

You nod enthusiastically.

"Ever since then, I fell in love with it! Any and all kinds of dancing, it makes me happy."

Your enthusiasm drops, however, when you speak next.

"I wish I had a few pictures to show you, little me all dressed up in pink." Your smile is a little sad, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Elvis.

He puts a finger under your chin.

"What's got you down, Y/N?"

You shrug, shaking your head.

"It's not a big deal, my mother just has all of of my things stowed away somewhere." The music comes to an end, and you don't really feel like dancing anymore.

"Can't ya call her up and get 'em from her?"

You lead him back to the booth.

"They don't talk to me, remember?"

Elvis pauses, and then nods his head.

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that." He sits beside you, looks as if he's about to says something, and then closes his mouth again.

You giggle.

"You can ask, Elvis. I don't mind talking about it anymore."

Elvis looks reassured.

"What's the deal with your parents, Y/N?"

The bluntness of the question makes you want to burst into laughter.

What is their deal, indeed.

"They kind of disowned me because I supported my older brother, Kerry." You say in a rush.

Elvis furrows his brow.

"Whaddya mean?"

You think about how to approach this, taking a moment to sip on a complimentary glass of water before you answer.

"Kerry is. . . Well, different I guess."

This doesn't explain much, and you know it by the look on Elvis's face.

"Different how?"

You sigh. Talking about Kerry always makes you sad, nostalgic for a time you can never get back to.

"Our father wanted Kerry to study law, but Kerry is fantastic with paints, you see." You wave your hand as you talk, and Elvis nods.

"Well, one day Kerry came home and told us he was moving to New York- Soho to be exact- to become an artist with his, uh," you struggle to find the right word, but Elvis is patient. "with his roommate."

"And dad, God he about flipped his lid. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack."

Remembering these events is never pleasant, how you stood by Kerry's side as your father shouted and raged, how Kerry begged your mother to listen as she wept.

"But I stood up for him, told Kerry there wasn't anything wrong with wanting to pursue something- someone- that made him happy."

You grimace.

Elvis takes your hand from across the table, sympathy in his eyes.

"You're a good sister, Y/N. Kerry's lucky to have you."

You smile.

"Thank you."

You sigh, squeezing his hand.

"Hey, at least they waited until I was eighteen to kick me out." You laugh, but the humor is bleak.

Elvis shakes his head.

"They missed out on gettin' to know a real talented girl. I feel sorry for them."

You shake your head.

"It's alright. Some people just aren't meant to be parents, I guess."

Elvis snorts.

"Don't I know it."

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, hands intertwined across the table when a man in a suit comes up behind Elvis, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Presley?"

Elvis turns suddenly, not dropping your hand.

His looks a little confused, and then slightly annoyed.

"Yes?"

You watch as another man comes up behind the first, and you furrow your brow.

"The Colonel would like to set up a meeting with you, right away." The man's tone leaves no room for conversation, and you squeeze Elvis's hand tight.

Elvis just glares.

"I told that son if a bitch not to contact me again. There isn't gonna be any meeting."

The hand on his shoulder squeezes.

"The Colonel insists."

You don't like the way the man hisses that last sentence, looking at Elvis with big, worried eyes.

"Elvis," the anxiety is noticable in your voice.

He turns back to you, expression dark.

Elvis grips your hand in both of his, kissing it once before standing.

"It'll be alright, angel. This won't take more than a second."

He stands to his full height, intimidating as he stares down the two men.

"We just gotta straighten out a few things."

And with that, the men are leading him away from you, down a dark hallway.

All you can do is watch, and hope for the best.