So. It really happened.

Elvis and you had been together for nearly a year, and the two of you were inseparable. At least, you used to be. It had been a month since the breakup, and Elvis simply couldn’t move on. Every thought was of you, and he couldn’t live like this.

Sure, teenage love was fleeting and never lasted long, but he wouldn’t let it go like this. He wouldn’t let you go.

Elvis hastily left Graceland and darted for his 1956 pink Cadillac Eldorado. It was late—nearly midnight—but he couldn’t care less. He left the estate, speeding toward your side of Memphis.

After about 20 minutes, he pulled up to your neighborhood. He slammed the car door shut, immediately getting soaked by the pouring rain. Without hesitation, he rushed to your front door and knocked loudly.

When you opened it, you found Elvis standing there, drenched, his black hair sticking to his forehead, his clothes clinging to his body. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. His eyes spoke volumes—filled with sadness and longing. You knew he was a sensitive and vulnerable man, and that wasn’t a bad thing of course.

"Could we talk?"