The first time Elvis crawls into your bed, it's the night after the two of you visit Mattie at the funeral home.
You wake from a troubled sleep to a dip of mattress, a wrestle of duvet, a biting draft.
The cold breadth of his back aligns with yours.
Then it's all knobby shoulders.
Clammy skin over tense sinewy muscle.
And you watching the blue lights on the alarm clock tick over from 1:45 to 2:00.
You don't realise you're waiting for it until it comes.
"You asleep, Dom?"
"Are ya tired?"
The tick of the clock.
The thud of your heart.
Elvis's little heartbreak voice, whispered all confession into the dark, "I am, man... I am..."
You're not thinking when you roll over with outstretched arms.
And you're not thinking when you press your chest against his shoulder blades or tuck your forehead against his crown.
It's automatic. Out of your control.
You, who doesn't really do physical affection very well.
Not with other blokes. (Not unless you’re drunk.)
Not like Elvis.
Elvis who's totally okay with grabbing your hand and grabbing your arse and saying I love you around the shameless bark of his laugh.
Elvis who doesn't care how gay he might look. Who doesn't fret about it. Doesn't give a fuck.
But you're getting better.
Giving it a go.
And even though you wake up in the morning to an empty, Elvis shaped space in your bed and no trace of his memory other than a pillow that's a little bit damp, you know that you're trying.
And you know that he fell asleep feeling a little bit less alone.
And you know that's what matters the most.
——————————————————————— (sorry it’s an oooold photo. Haven’t taken pictures of the idiots together in yonks.) #bjd #balljointeddoll #doll #writing #fiction #lltneil #supiagiyom