I Still Believe

The first time Noctis saw him, he was seven years old.

"Goodnight, Prince Noctis."

The young woman tucked thick, warm linens up toward the small boy's chin. With his black hair splayed out on the white pillowcase behind him, the boy watched her turn to leave with heavy eyelids. The bed was enormous; he felt like he was drowning in space. He sat up abruptly as the woman turned on the lights for the glittering tree in the corner of his expansive bedroom.

"Will he really come?"

"Of course," the woman smiled, nodding respectfully. "He always does, does he not?"

"I don't..." The boy crinkled his nose. "I don't think I believe in him."

"And why not?"

"I dunno."

"I promise he is," she replied steadily, walking toward Noct's door smoothly. "You'll see tomorrow, Prince Noctis. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Noct murmured, falling back against the pillows.

His eyes shut, but he never found sleep. He tossed and turned in his large bed, clutching his stuffed Carbuncle. Hours passed and they felt like centuries. Santa's not real, he repeated to himself. He can't be. Huffing, he flopped onto his back, gray-blue eyes screwed shut. Annoyance flooded his little chest. He would be too tired to fully enjoy his presents the next day, on real Christmas. That new boy, Ignis, his new "friend," would try to understand why Noct was so sleepy. Who was the prince to complain about his nerves as he clung to his disbelief in Santa Claus? Ridiculous.

His heart leaped into his throat. The window creaked open and he held his breath. No way. The soft thud of boots against the wooden floor practically echoed through his head. Noctis very carefully peeled an eye open, stifling a gasp of pure shock.

Hunched by the glowing tree was a man dressed head to toe in fluffy red and white clothes. He was crouched, digging into a velvety green bag and setting perfectly wrapped gifts under the tree. When he straightened, he was a lot slimmer than Noctis ever imagined him to be. Sure, there was an odd, lumpy shape to his large stomach, but long, thin limbs stuck from the large middle like toothpicks in a clay figure.

Noctis really did gasp when Santa turned, looking him dead in the eyes. The boy watched in stunned silence as one dark eye shot him a wink and then the strange man of holiday magic leaped from the prince's window. Stunned, the prince threw back his blankets and peered out the open window. No trace of the man was to be found. Noctis pulled away from the window, sitting cross-legged by the bright tree. His pale hands reached for a present and held it up to the lights on the tree. To Noctis, from Santa. He blinked into the darkness, setting the present back down. Okay, maybe he did believe after all.

~|~|~|~|~

Year after year, Noctis awoke on Christmas Eve to see Santa placing a pile of presents under his bedroom's Christmas tree. While his classmates pompously claimed they were grown up and moved on from believing in such childish tales, he sat by and wondered who exactly was entering his room every year. None of the others ever saw Saint Nick, and he found it bizarre. By the time he was twelve, he was determined to forget the magic of Santa Claus and discover who it was that posed as the fat old creeper.

That Christmas Eve, Noctis refused to sleep, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to know. It wasn't Dad, Ignis would never, and Gladio... Gladio would never either. A guard maybe? As expected, "Santa" climbed into his room right on time, kneeling by the tree with great ease. Noctis watched in silence. Santa still had a weird lumpiness to his stomach, but his once spindly limbs were growing larger every year. Through the suit, it was hard to tell if it was muscle or fat that was growing. If the former, Santa was getting ripped.