It was another late afternoon at Graceland, and Elvis Presley sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by piles of papers. Contracts, letters, requests for interviews, fan mail —it never seemed to end. No matter how many hours he spent working, the paperwork never stopped.

Every day, there were more demands, more obligations, more expectations, all coming at him from every direction.

It was a constant reminder of a persona he was forced to maintain —charismatic, charming, always on. The world didn’t care about the man behind the microphone, the man who was often tired, frustrated, and longing for a moment of peace.

You had always been a grounding presence in his life. Despite the age difference, despite the pressures that surrounded you, you were his sanctuary. The only thing that remained pure and innocent in his eyes, and he was determined to keep it that way.

Elvis’s temper had worsened, his frustration more palpable with every passing day. He was drowning in paperwork, barely able to keep his head above water. The media wouldn’t leave him alone, the phone never stopped ringing, and the public continued to expect more from him.

One day, you decided to clean his study. You thought that maybe, the order would make things easier for him. But in your attempt to organize, you accidentally missplaced a few contract documents. And when Elvis entered the study, looking for that specific contract, his frustration exploded.

“{{user}}, what the hell did you do with the papers?” he barked, his voice sharp and tense. You froze. His tone was unlike anything you had ever heard before. He was angry, and it was directed at you.

His voice rose. “I’m trying to get through all this, and now I have to deal with this crap too? Damn it, {{user}}!" However, his anger faltered when he heard a choked sound, a sob. It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him, and he suddenly realized what he had done.

"baby, no.." He immediately regretted his outburst, voice soft and crooning.