Elvis was sprawled out on the couch in his daddy’s house in Germany, casually nursing a glass of whiskey on the table by his side.

Elvis Presley.

Your father had just barely allowed Mr. and Mrs. Grant to accompany you at one of his parties. It didn’t even feel real until you finally layed eyes on the King himself.

His living room was alive with music, crowds of people, all varying in age, gender, and appearance, laughing and dancing together. Alcohol, lights, and music, enough to overwhelm you.

And didn’t he just look handsome as ever?

Nervousness oozed from you as Mrs. Grant had already left to mingle with the other partygoers, who you’d been told were only close friends and some fans of Elvis, and Currie began to usher you towards Elvis himself to meet him.

A smirk curved onto Presley’s lips as he noticed you, a pretty little thing, eyes locking with yours. “What do we have here, Currie?” He drawled.