presleyhearted - Tumblr blog

presleyhearted · 12 days ago

Text

How Long Will I Love You ?

pairing : Elvis x female reader

genre: angst, fluff, mystery.

summary: In which you suddenly find yourself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom you have never met and who died 45 years ago.

words: 5495

warnings: angst. A nightmare or two. Collapse.

A/N: Hi! As I said in my previous post, this is a one shot of my series “yours truly.” I’ve decided to discontinue the fic and turn it into a one shot. Please find my full explanation in the post I wrote. Thank you. So here we are. Prepare some tissues and I have some recommended songs if you look at the playlist I posted. Please comment, I read every single one. Enjoy reading!!

“Gatsby waited five years for Daisy,” The literature professor said, tapping the desk in emphasis. “Five years building a dream around a woman who existed only in memory.”

The projector flickered, casting pale light across your open notebook. You sat near the front, hair pulled into a loose twist, a few wisps framing your face. Your eyes scanned the page, tracing the words that Professor Lloyd just uttered.

You underlined the line again.

“Do you think Daisy ever dreamed about him during all that time?” someone said softly from the back.

No one answered.

You closed your book quietly. For a moment, you weren’t sure if it was the classroom air or something inside you that had gone cold.

——————————————————————

The apartment buzzed with warm light and soft chatter. You lingered near the entrance, glancing over your small table of birthday presents. Colourful wrapping paper, cards, ribbons. Your eyes settled on one package, worn and simple, the paper frayed at the edges.

Curious took hold of you, as you reached out and carefully peeled back the wrapping. Inside was a battered copy of The Great Gatsby. The spine was cracked, the cover faded from years of handling. There was no card. No hint of who had left it.

Your fingers traced the title, a strange pulse stirring beneath the calm.

The party eventually comes to a close, and as you lay in bed - the events of the day took hold of your mind. You sighed heavily, attempting to focus your mind on one singular thought. You make a birthday wish, one that almost feels like you owe yourself to push to come true, ‘I wish to finally be brave enough to step outside my comfort zone.’

Before you knew it, darkness took you like a wave.The steady rhythm of train wheels drumming beneath you was the first thing that you noticed when you woke. Then the scent - faint smoke, polished wood, something old and lingering.

You blinked, disorientated. Outside the window, the world blurred - trees, flickering lights, shadows you couldn’t name. You sat upright, heart tightening. This wasn’t your apartment. This wasn’t anywhere you knew.

‘How the heck did I get here? This has to be a dream.’ You thought.

Your fingers clutched the edge of a worn leather seat. The fabric was rough beneath your palm- real, tangible. How the-

“I found you… finally,” a voice said, full of relief.

You froze, your head snapping toward the source.

A man sat across from you in the train compartment. The moment your eyes met, your breath caught.

His eyes were impossibly blue—ethereal, almost unreal—and so piercing they made it hard to hold his gaze. Her throat went dry. That strong jawline, those high cheekbones, and the perfectly symmetrical face made him look like he’d stepped out of a myth. Black hair fell effortlessly against his tanned skin, and his lips were curled into that infamous smirk—the one the whole world knew.

It was impossible not to recognize him.

“I… how? You?” You stammered, pointing at him, lost for words.

He chuckled, shaking his head with amusement. “Hi, honey,” he said, voice thick with a familiar Southern drawl.

You inhaled sharply. “You’re… him. Elvis Presley.”

He nodded, the smirk never fading. “Yeah. . . yeah I am.” He stood up, slow and steady, “Just hold on now.”

He left the compartment briefly and returned with a glass of water. “Here, darlin.”

You took it with a stunned “thank you,” barely processing the moment. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. His presence surrounded you, heavy and electric, and your mind swirled with questions.

His gaze never wavered. Within those piercing blue eyes was disbelief—but also undeniable joy. Only sparking even more confusion within you.

Then he leaned in, smiled gently, and said, “I’m glad you’re awake, ___”

You took a few more sips of water, then gently set the glass on the floor, noticing there was no table. You looked back at him.

You shook your head firmly. “No. . .this… this doesn’t even touch reality.”

Elvis smirked, eyes twinkling. “Well, darlin’, what makes you think you’re dreamin’?”

You glanced away, trying not to get distracted by the way he leaned on the windowsill, thumb and finger resting on his lip. Then you met his gaze again. “I was in my bed seconds ago. At the end of my birthday party. Now I’m on a train — one I don’t remember boarding — with Elvis Presley sitting right here.” You gestured between you two, emphasizing the absurdity.

His blue eyes locked on you. “You got that right.”

“So you agree I must be dreaming, then?” You pressed.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, honey. I’m sayin’ I’m who you say I am, and we’re on this train.”

“But none of it makes sense!” You scoffed, rubbing your temples, “Dreams are from the subconscious mind. . . I’m not even a fan of yours, no offense.”

Elvis pretended to look hurt and laughed, “You wound me, honey!”

Her eyes drifted to the window, where lush green hills rolled past beneath evergreen trees, the quiet hum of the wind soothing her restless mind. Then you looked back at him, catching his intense gaze and feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“When I opened my eyes, you said you were glad to finally find me. What exactly did you mean by that?”

Before he could answer, the train screeched to a halt. He patted his knees and stood. “Looks like we’re here.”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, you’ll see.” He offered his hand.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

His forehead creased in thought. “I have.”

“No, about why you said that.”

Elvis looked down, then chuckled and looked back up, hair falling messily around his face. “You.”

“I know you said those words, but—”

“No, I mean… you. I said it because you found me.” His eyes searched yours, waiting.

Seeing your confusion deepen, he sighed. “Don’t worry ��bout it, honey. You coming with me, or staying here?” He gestured outside.

You sighed, “This dream just keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You muttered under your breath, “Fine. . . where are we?”

“Trust me, okay?” He squeezed your hand.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, you said you don’t know me. So come with me. Get to know me.”

It’s just a dream. You reminded yourself.

You nodded, and he flashed that infamous smirk, licking his bottom lip. “Let’s go.”

———————————————————————

Unbeknownst to you, that was only the beginning. Elvis showed up in your dreams consecutive times. In each dream, he tried to push you to your limits. Pushing you to try new things. He made you cross a bridge that was so high up you swore your heart would’ve dropped to the ground, but you managed to cross it - facing your fear of heights. Then there was a dream where you were on a hot air balloon, and you couldn’t for the life of you open your eyes because of fear. The uncertainty. But Elvis somehow managed to talk you into calming down and appreciating the view, or ‘bird’s eye view’ as he calls it. Even managing to get a laugh out of you, as he amusedly said “My, oh my, Miss___, aren’t you somethin.”

It didn’t stop there.

In one of the dreams he was riding a motorbike, with you right behind him - arms wrapped tightly around him. Then, he suddenly turned to you and told you to stand - yes, STAND - whilst the motorbike was moving. Of course, you had to call him out for his insanity, but Elvis being Elvis simply grinned and never took no for an answer. So you did, with shaky hands at first, but eventually you yelled out in a joy of euphoria.

He found this beautiful lake with a waterfall, and that became the time you got over your fear of swimming. Then that time you crashed a party - the pure spontaneity of it. But then there was when it was a heavy, torrential rain - and somehow you ended up dancing with him. Just you two, clothes drenched, in the midnight moon with neon signs lighting up your figures.

There are many others. So many more dreams. In each dream, it was always an adventure with Elvis - and unbeknownst to you, you were changing in your waking world too. It was subtle, and maybe small, but it kept happening. You took a different route from your apartment to your literature class, took yourself out on a date at a cafe that you haven’t heard of before, joined a painting class that you saw advertised at your local library. Your friends and family noticed it too, and they couldn’t help but be happy for you and also curious. They asked you about it, specifically asked if there was someone new in your life - a boyfriend? that brought about these changes.

But you shook your head at this, as it wasn’t even close to the truth. But when they asked that question, your mind loved to trace back to that laugh, the cheekbones, tanned skin, and the grin of that man in your dreams.

Because Elvis changed you, for the better. You never told anyone about the dreams, of course, worried that they’d call you crazy. You wouldn’t blame them if they did, but how do you even begin to explain something that you cannot understand yourself?

You don’t know when or how, but you somehow just accepted the dreams. Elvis being in your dreams became normal. Even if you couldn’t figure out, why him, out of all people? You weren’t a fan of his. Sure, you knew who he was, heck, he was the center of American culture. Everyone knew his name.

Surely, only people who are fans of his would dream of him - right? That would make more sense. Fans dreaming of their celebrity idols, now that wouldn't be an unusual phenomenon.

But you? It doesn’t make any sense.

That was not the only part that rendered you speechless.

As the dreams went on, you formed this sort of. . . bond with him. You would be lying to yourself if you called it friendship. That would be an understatement. No, it wasn’t that. It’s this bond. You felt it. It felt so. . . easy to talk to him. You found yourself never thinking twice about what to say, not like you normally do, you just say it and he always listened.

Always.

With that same look in his blue eyes. Intently listening, but also as if he was memorising every inch of your face and the way you spoke. As if you could vanish any moment, which is logical, since there is the dream and the reality. But no, it’s something else. He looks at you like he is desperately trying to not to reread the chapter of the book that he already knows all too well.

All too well.

There have been moments in these dreams. Moments that make you believe that Elvis is hiding something. He talks, but you notice him changing the subject, and there is always that glimmer in his eyes - a teardrop he is holding in, never letting it fall down his face. He would say certain things that made no sense to you, but seemed to have an emotional impact on him and you couldn't figure out why.

You told yourself this is just your subconscious. But then why did everything feel so real every time you wake up in this dream world? Every touch, every scent, every sound, each laughter. Why did he seem so real?

And most importantly, why does he look at you like he knows you?

No, gosh, you must be going crazy. Elvis Presley knowing you? Heck, you weren’t even alive when he existed. It hurt your brain to think, but why did that organ - right beneath the center of your chest - beat differently?

In the dreams, sure there are adventures. But there are also the other moments.

That moment when he ordered red velvet cake. Your favorite. Without letting him know that it is your favorite.

The moment when Elvis would talk about his life. His army days, the death of his mother, what it felt like performing on stage for the first time.

The moment when you asked Elvis why he keeps appearing in your dreams, and he said “a promise.”

And that moment when you wake up in the dream world and told him, “You always know how to make an entrance.” In which he replied to you saying, “And you always know how to find me, hi again.”

He always repeated this. About you finding him. It could mean nothing, if it wasn’t for the fact that he kept saying it, and you cannot help but feel like it does mean something.

But what?

It’s been three months now. Three months since you started to appear in your dreams, and changed your life.

It was the end of a long day, and so you closed your eyes with a smile on your face because you know you’ll see him again.

And so, another dream begins. You two appear to be in a quiet bar. All amber light and shadows. The atmosphere felt intimate and peaceful. There were a few people. You don’t know why, but when you saw the empty mic on the small stage and the guitar. Your feet took hold before your mind could do anything, you were talking to the stage and looked out. Elvis smiled at you, it was a smile that brought that rise in your cheeks and made you want to look away. Because it wasn’t just a smile, it always came with that gaze of his.

Those impossibly beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Um, hi everyone,” You greeted, as you held onto the microphone on the stand. You managed to get a few ‘hellos’ back.

“My name is ___, and I’d like to sing a song if that’s okay.”

Everyone cheered.

You took a deep breath and began strumming the guitar. It felt a little foreign to you, your fingers on the strings, but quickly became familiarised with it. It’s been a while. You decided to sing the song ‘All through the night’ by Cyndi Lauper.

It just came to you. It felt fitting.

‘All through the night

I’ll be awake, and I’ll be with you

All through the night

This precious time when time is new

Oh, all through the night today

Knowing that we feel the same without saying’

You didn’t look at the crowd. Your eyes found him. Like they always do, as if it was the most natural instinct in the world. Familiar. Elvis was sat at the back, trying not to look like he was hanging on every breath you took. But his gaze, as it always did, betrayed him. Warm, fixed on you like he’d known you his entire life. The longing. Your eyes, for the first time, was focused and steady and unflinching as you met his.

Elvis watched you. Not with hunger or possession, but with something quieter. Something deeper. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable to most, but you could see it in his eyes. That flicker of softness. The weight of everything you haven’t said to each other but could feel it.

Your heart felt like it was climbing up your throat as you finished the song. You were met with applause by the crowd, in which you sheepishly smiled gratefully and bowed, before heading off the stage. Never in a million years did you think you’d do that.

Elvis walked towards you, and you wrapped your arms around him. He was taken aback, but quickly recovered and returned the warmth of your arms.

“Thank you,” You whispered, voice soft and your breath hitting his neck - an action he tried not to think about too much.

“For what, honey?” He asked.

“For everything.”

Then you woke up. It was always like this, there is no warning. But you found that it became harder and harder to not feel frustrated to be pulled back into the real world.

As you get pulled back into the real world, Elvis sighed. Your figure vanished from his grasp, an action he knows all too well. But it doesn’t mean it hurts less.

Elvis walked out of the bar and it started to rain. He lets it soak his clothes. He stood there, lost in thought and quiet frustration.

Suddenly, he noticed an umbrella hovering over him. The act of the figure beside him, and Elvis already knew who it was without turning around.

“Not yet.” Elvis said, already knowing the reason for the appearance of the man cloaked in black.

“You are only exhausting yourself.”

“No.”

“Mr Presley, need I remind you there is a limit. It is not wise of you to take hold and attach yourself like this. You know the inevitable. For your sake, I am here to warn you.”

Elvis shut his eyes as he shook his head and let out a bitter laugh, “Warn me?”

“You have done more than enough. Let go.”

“No, I can’t,” Elvis’ voice cracked, “I need more time with her. Please.”

The man sighed, “Let go.”

“No.”

“I shall see you soon, Mr Presley.”

———————————————————————-

“And then one fine morning- so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Professor Lloyd dramatically read out the final line of the Great Gatsby. It was the day you submit your assignment.

From the first time you read that line you knew immediately the book was going to be your favorite.

Now, with it being read again…why do you feel a sense of dread in your chest?

———————————————————————-

Whispers. Shadows. More shadows.

You tried to squint your eyes at the bright light that seemed to grow brighter and brighter in your direction. It suddenly dimmed and you are met by pitch black nothingness. The whispers seemed to have stopped. But different sounds replaced it.

Rushed footsteps. Yelling. Camera flashes.

And is that beeping? The kind of beeping that seems to be triggering the worst headache of your life.

“Control the crowd!”

You hear a voice yell out, in a tone of panic.

“Careful!” Another voice yelled out.

The nothingness merged into a blurred scene. But you still can’t figure out what is happening around you. All you see is white, pristine white it seemed.

What is happening?

Why can’t you remember how you get here? What even is here?

“I’m here, I ain’t leavin’ you. I’m here.” A gentle voice says to you, and why does it sound so familiar? But your brain can’t place it. His voice is clear and you swear you can match it to a person, but it’s like your brain has built a wall - preventing you from passing through

Your voice caught in your throat.

“Please, I love you.”

Suddenly, blaring sound. You bolted awake. Hand on your chest. You are in your bedroom. Your alarm ringing. You hit the snooze button, still trying to control your racing heart. Sweat stuck to your skin.

What the heck was that?

It must be a nightmare of some kind, you thought. The intensity of it all.

It was the first dream you’ve had without Elvis in it, you thought.

What’s happening?

————————————————————————-

The memory of that strange, intense dream remains at the back of your mind.

Before you knew it, it was Christmas. Your favorite time of the year. Luckily, the joy of Christmas never faded away. You still feel that same excitement you did when you were a child.

Your day was spent cooking and opening presents with family around you.

After the eventful day, you drifted off to sleep.

Your eyes shot open. You were wearing winter clothing, as you appeared to be stood in the middle of a beautiful vast landscape. All covered in the rich, heaviness of winter snow. Snow fell delicately around you.

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

You turned around to see Elvis. Also in winter clothing. He appeared to be the 1960s Elvis. In each dream, he tends to show a different era of himself. He still looked as good as ever in any era, anyways. His hands were tucked in his pockets, as he grinned at you.

But there was something different. Something else in his grin - it felt small. Hesitant.

“Merry Christmas, Elvis.”

“I-,” He stopped, running a hand through his hair and muttered something under his breath.

He bit his lip, smile gone. Expression serious. The only time you’ve ever seen him like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“Walk with me?” He asked, offering his hand in which you accepted without hesitation.

You ended up at a train station. Elvis was quiet on the walk there. An unusual thing for him, it made you nervous.

He stopped and turned to you. He looked like he was having an internal battle with himself, stopping and starting his sentences.

“Elvis, just say it. Please, it’s only me.”

He looked at you then.

“That’s what makes it harder, darlin.”

“Did I do something wrong?” You said, a frown on your face. Elvis cursed himself and held your hands, planting a kiss on them.

“No, no. Baby, don’t think that.”

You sighed in confusion, “Then wh-“

“I’m in love with you.”

You froze.

The words were there and he said it and you both knew it all along. But to hear it - that’s a different thing entirely.

“Always have been, honey. And I-I-I know it don’t make sense when I say that. I know I keep leavin’ you with questions. But I, I can’t answer them as much as I want to. But just hear me out, darlin. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair again, you nodded.

“You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met in my life. It’ll take me seven goddamn lifetimes to get over you. And I wished I didn’t have to do this. . but I need to say goodbye.”

Your vision was blurred a little, that’s when you realised that you were crying and Elvis had tears streaming down his face.

His words were overwhelming and painful. Like waves you are trying to handle.

“You’re leavin?” You said, your voice sounded soft and there it was again - the heaviness in your throat.

“This is all a loophole that I found. Gave me one last chance to see you ____” He gestured around the surroundings.

“Elvis, I-“ Your heart felt like dropping out of your chest. But you caught it just in time, you grabbed his face and kissed him. Lips soft and cold and the kiss was tender, and mixed with tears.

You broke apart, forehead against each other.

“I can’t explain it. But I, I feel like I’ve always loved you. It doesn’t feel new. It feels familiar.” You confessed to him, in which he smiled in the middle of the tears.

He took your hand and placed it above his chest.

Suddenly, the screeching tracks of a train made you both turn. The door of the train opened by itself. Elvis sighed, he knew it was time. He looked back at you, and admitted to himself that this will be the hardest thing he’ll ever do.

“I’m so proud of you, Baby. I want you to keep livin. Keep chasin’ life.”

You broke into a sob, “Elvis, please don’t leave me.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

He pressed your foreheads together again, “I have a Christmas present for you, honey. One day. You’ll see. For now, thank you ___, for letting me have one last adventure.” He looked at you in the eye, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Elvis breaks apart and you watched him walk to the train.

“Elvis!” You yelled out.

He turned and tried to smile.

“Goodbye, ______. Remember that I love you.”

————————————————————————-

Two years later

You stirred your tea absentmindedly, eyes flicking up to the entrance every few seconds. You didn’t know why you said yes. The email had been vague — “Someone from the Presley estate would like to speak with you privately. It concerns something he left behind. Very personal.”

You almost deleted it.

But something in your gut… tugged.

A man in his eighties, dressed simply in a black jacket and dark jeans, approached your table...it’s Jerry Schilling. You recognised him. Saw him in a red carpet interview when the Elvis movie was released.

“Miss ___?” he asked.

You stood slowly. “Yes.”

“I’m Jerry Schilling,” he said, offering his hand. “I was one of Elvis’s closest friends.”

“Oh,” you said, stunned. “I…know.. wow. Okay. Um—please sit.”

He did, eyes searching yours with a gentle urgency.

“I know this is strange,” he began, “but I need to show you something Elvis left this with me years ago. Told me to keep it safe until… well, until I met you.”

He pulled a worn leather journal from his bag, placing it on the table with reverence. It looked decades old, the corners softened from handling.

You stared at it.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said carefully. “I never met Elvis Presley.”

Jerry just nodded slowly, patiently. “You don’t remember. I expected that.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He pushed the journal closer. “Just read the first page. Please.”

With reluctant fingers, you opened it.

June 1956

“She ran straight into the fire for me. Knocked me out of the path of that falling light rig like she knew it was coming. She looked right through me. Like she’d seen me before. I asked her name. She didn’t answer. Then she vanished.”

Your heart dropped.

You flipped forward.

1968

“Same woman. Still the same face. She doesn’t age. Doesn’t belong to this time. But she keeps saving me. And I keep falling in love with her more each time.”

Your throat tightened, “What is this?”

“It’s all real,” Jerry said gently. “He loved you. He never stopped.”

You shook your head. “No. No, that’s impossible. You’re saying Elvis Presley - the Elvis - wrote about me. . . like he knew me?”

Those dreams. You thought to yourself. Oh, God. Were they real after all?

“He didn’t just know you. You were the love of his life. Even if time didn’t let you stay.”

You stood too quickly, your chair screeching. You were breathless.

“I don’t remember this. Any of it. Why would I—how would I have ever—?”

Jerry’s voice was soft, breaking. “Because you saved his life. Over and over. You were a time traveller. And when your body couldn’t take it anymore, Time made him choose. He chose to save you. Even if it meant losing you.”

The journal trembled in your hands. You pressed a palm to your forehead, overwhelmed, your mind spinning.

Your breath caught. Your vision blurred.

Jerry whispered, “He waited for you. All the way to the end.”

You sat down again, the journal still open in your hands. This time, you didn’t look away.

Your hands tremble as you turns the page. Jerry watches you closely, his eyes damp. Your pulse races. The scent of the leather journal — old, worn — mixes with the clinking of cups around them.

Then it happens.

As you read the next entry, your surroundings fade.

FLASHBACK #1:

Location: Backstage – Louisiana Hayride, 1956

The world explodes in sepia and static.

The sound of a crowd screaming. Your younger self stands just offstage, wide-eyed, denim jacket out of place in the old world. A heavy rig above Elvis shakes as he sings.

You see it coming.

You sprint.

Tackle him out of the way just as the light crashes to the stage where he was standing. Gasps erupt from the crowd.

Elvis groans, winded, and blinks up at you.

“You alright?” You pant, your hand pressed to his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath your palm.

He’s staring at you — astonished, grateful, transfixed.

“You… you saved me.”

You tried to stand. You’re already fading, the air shimmering around you like heat.

“What’s your name?” he calls, reaching out.

But you’re gone.

FLASHBACK #2:

Location: NBC Studios – 1968 Comeback Special

Black leather. Hot lights. The echo of amplified strings.

You are backstage again, more confident now. You knows something bad is coming — one of the backup speakers shorting out, overloaded. You move fast, pulling Elvis’s stool away just as a burst of sparks erupts behind him.

He jolts back. Confused. “You again?”

You smile. “Hi.”

“You’re not real,” he whispers, walking toward you. “You don’t change. You ain’t from here.”

“I’m real enough to keep you breathing.”

He touches your face gently, like it might disappear. “You’re from the future, aren’t you?”

Before you can answer, you begin to shimmer again.

“No, don’t go—wait—!”

Gone.

FLASHBACK #3:

Location: Graceland – 1972

A quiet evening. Rain taps against the stained glass windows.

You sit across from Elvis in his private music room. For once, there’s no threat. No rescue. Just time — fragile, precious, ticking.

He’s playing something soft on the piano. You hum along, your voice faint.

“I don’t get to keep you, do I?” he asks, not looking at you.

Your voice cracks. “I wish I knew.”

“You feel like a dream I had once,” he says, barely audible. “One I didn’t wanna wake from.”

You reache for his hand. “You’ve always found me. Even across decades.”

He presses your fingers to his lips. “And I always will.”

The vision blurs.

FLASHBACK #4:

A heart monitor beeping.

Panic.

Your body in his arms. Cold. Shaking.

1972.

He’s shouting for help. Desperate. Uncaring who hears.

And then, a presence — not human. A force, a whisper in the space between seconds:

“She cannot remain. Her presence fractures time. One of you must pay the price.”

Elvis doesn’t hesitate.

“Take everything from me. But let her live.”

Light floods the room. Your eyes flutter shut.

Darkness.

————————————————————————

You gasped sharply, nearly falling off your chair.

Jerry steadies you, eyes wide. “You saw something.”

“I… I remember,” you breathe, clutching the journal. “Oh my God. I remember him.”

Tears roll silently down your cheeks.

“He loved you,” Jerry says, voice rough. “You saved his life — and he gave up everything so you could have yours.”

You nods slowly, a single tear falling on the page. You thought back to that final dream, that last goodbye with Elvis. How he spoke about a loophole. A final chance to see you again.

The journal. This must be what he meant by a Christmas present.

Oh god. He was real.

You go home that day in shock and overwhelmed. You glance back at the journal that reads on lap, its pages worn, your fingers tracing each sentence as if touching his voice.

The last entry isn’t like the others. It’s not a date. It’s not an account.

It’s a letter.

Folded carefully, tucked in a pocket at the very back of the journal, yellowed with time and sealed with a trembling kind of care.

You unfold it, and Elvis’s handwriting sprawls across the page in rich, familiar loops.

Hi Darlin’,

If you’re readin’ this, I reckon time finally did its thing — took you away for good. But that don’t mean I ever stopped waitin’. Hell, I’d wait forever if it meant knowin’ you were somewhere out there still breathin’, still smilin’, still makin’ the stars jealous.

You showed up like a bolt outta heaven — never aged a day, always disappearin’ before I could even ask what your favorite song was. And somehow, I still knew… I loved you. Deep down in my bones. The kind of love that don’t care about rules or years or reasons.

I don’t pretend to understand time — but I know it don’t scare me half as much as losin’ you did.

When they gave me the choice… it wasn’t even a choice, not really. I picked you. Every time, I’d pick you. I just wish I had a little more of you to keep.

Now I don’t know if you’ll remember all we had — maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll feel it in your chest sometimes and won’t know why. But if there’s ever a moment where you hear my voice on the radio and your heart skips… baby, that’s me.

You were more than a dream. You were a miracle.

And I’ll love you ‘til the stars burn out.

Yours truly,

Elvis

The letter trembles in your hands, ink faded but every word burned into you.

You almost knock over your drink onto the Great Gatsby copy on your table. You remember back to when you opened this at your birthday party, back before the dreams started happening. You picked up the book and opened it, and right there in the corner - a message you didn’t notice before.

‘I’ll wait forever for you - E.’

This made you sob harder. Music from your record player plays in the background, a lyric from a song catches your ears and goes straight into your heart:

‘I’ll be getting over you, my whole life.’

THE END

#elvis fic #elvis presley #angst #fluff #elvis fanfic #yours truly #mystery

28 notes · View notes