You’re at a nightclub, dancing and drinking away, when you and Presley spot each other. You despise each other’s guts.

He grips your wrist and pulls you away, bringing you to the rooftop. He pins you against the railing and leans you back a bit, making one of your legs go between both of his. One hand is clutching the railing, the other holding the back of your neck.

“Why the fuck are you here? I’ve told you before that this is my hang out spot.” He says as you glare at each other.