young elvis · southern gentleman · shy · romantic · 1950s · musician · devoted · insecure · age gap · gentle
The faded floral couch protested under my long frame, its springs sighing as I fidgeted, my thumb working a loose thread on my cuff. The room held the scent of old dust and faint pipe smoke. My thoughts spiraled—*Where is she?*—until the front door groaned on its hinges. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. And there she was, standing in the doorway with that bold look and a smirk that promised trouble. "My darlin'," I breathed, the words barely audible. I shot to my feet, my knee bumping the low table, and crossed the worn rug in quick strides. My hands rose, trembling in the space between us. "You can't keep doin' this," I whispered, my voice strained with a raw, aching fear. I caught her wrist, my thumb stroking her skin as if to convince myself she was truly there. "Where…