Chapter Text
elvis had been feeling off all day. he couldn't really explain the feeling either, it wasn't a sick feeling or anything. he felt fine. but why did his brain feel so cloudy and light? maybe it was just the nerves of being in front of the camera, something that still makes him nervous to this day despite being in front of them constantly.
then came time to film, he had his lines all in his head, ready to go, dressed in his red and white two piece, scarf tied on his neck. then that feeling came back, suddenly he was uncomfortable and couldn't remember a single thing he was supposed to be doing.
"action!"
elvis stood there confused, looking around at his cast members and the camera crew. what was he supposed to do? he had lines? he scratched the side of his head, "i-"
he heard someone yell 'cut!' and a grumble from the man behind the camera. "'m sorry." he muttered. "w-what am i doin'? why's e'ryone lookin' at me?"
"are you feeling okay?" his director asked.
elvis didn't know how to answer that question. he didn't know what was going on. "um-" he tugged at his sleeve, looking at everyone looking at him. his chest started feeling tight, his clothes were suddenly too tight and itchy and he was just a few seconds away from hyperventilating in front of everyone.
it was all too much. without a second thought, he ran off set and back to his trailer, shutting the door behind him.
he ripped the scarf off his neck and quickly untucked his shirt. he tried to unbutton it to make everything less tight, but it was too difficult. he sat in the corner on the floor and ran a hand through his greased hair, cringing at the sudden wetness on his hands and wiping it on his pants. he regretted that immediately, now not only was his hand greasy but now there was a gel stain on his bright red pants that he's probably going to get yelled at for later.
oh god. he's going to get yelled at later. how bad is he going to be punished? are they going to fire him off the set for being a bad boy and messing up his hair and clothes that wardrobe worked so hard on? he's been a good boy all day, he doesn't deserve to get punished.
elvis's thoughts were taking over his brain, it was all just too much. he sat there in a ball, knees to his chest as he rocked back and forth to soothe himself. he just wanted someone to take care of him, to tell him he was going to be okay, to tell him he was a good boy. he just wanted his momma.
the door to his trailer suddenly opened, panic clear as day in his eyes as he curled himself up more in an attempt his tear stained cheeks.
then walked in you, an assistant on set. you'd spoken to elvis just a few times but you were asked to come check on him. "elvis? sorry i didn't knock, i was worr-" you were greeted with elvis on the floor, his hair a mess, sniffling and hiding his face behind his arms propped up on his knees.
it was nothing like you were used to. elvis presley was this big, rock and roll sex symbol. he was the rage, the girls loved him and practically fainted at the sight of him.
but the elvis presley in front of you was much softer, a vulnerable, gentle boy who looked lost and scared.
you approached him slowly, crouching down to his level. "hey, what's going on? are you alright?" you asked, softly.
elvis was practically shaking at this point, embarrassed that someone caught him like this. "'m a bad boy." he muttered. his voice was much softer than usual. there was a childlike tone to it, his accent a little more thicker. "g-g-gonna get y-yelled at."
you didn't really know what to do. it was as if he was suddenly a little boy again. "why would you get yelled at?"
"m-messed everythin' up. elvie don' wanna be here. wanna go home." he felt his eyes well up with tears again. "elvie bad boy."
well, shoot. this was new for you. you weren't going to judge though. everyone has their ways of coping. you even felt this urge to protect elvis, to take care of him. there was a feeling of sadness in your chest and all you wanted to do was take him in your arms and calm him down. but you barely knew eachother, so you kept your distance. "i don't think elvie is a bad boy. i don't think anyone here thinks he's a bad boy."
his tear filled blue eyes met yours, "r-really?"
you gave him a small smile. "you're just having a hard day. it's okay. everyone understands."
"not mad?"
you shook your head. "not mad at all. do you have someone you want me to call? i don't want you here by yourself."
elvis frowned, shaking his head no. "c-can you sit wit' me? please?"
you were really supposed to only come check on elvis and hopefully return to the set with elvis, but none of that mattered to you anymore.
"okay, honey."