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.
The 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.
Finally, Noctis moved smoothly and silently, swinging his legs out of bed and creeping toward the larger man's back. He held his breath, fists opening and shutting at his sides. Clenching his teeth, he threw himself at Santa, catching him by surprise. Noctis yelped as Father Christmas fought back with unexpected strength, flipping the prince's hold over. Back pressed to the floor, Noctis looked up at the man pinning him down with both anger and confusion. Lively brown eyes stared back at him and a curly, white beard that smelled of plastic tickled his chin. Santa looked at a loss, scrambling for words.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" shouted an awkwardly deep voice, right into Noct's face. The prince cringed, tilting his face far away from the odd man's. This felt so familiar, this exact weight and those eyes and those heavy brows that peeked from underneath a white and red hat—those certainly didn't match the beard. "Merry Christmas, Noct!"
With that, Santa jumped up and ran to the window, dropping down into Shiva-knows-where. Noctis blinked at the crumpled gray pillow on his floor, a souvenir the imposter left behind. Huffing, the prince picked up the cushion. He caught a whiff of a familiar smell he couldn't quite place. With a frustrated groan, Noct launched the pillow at the base of the tree and threw himself into bed. Buried under heavy blankets, he swore he would catch the guy sooner or later.
It was Gladio. It had to be.
Noctis was fifteen, his thumbs rushing across the buttons of his console controller. Prompto sat beside him, stuffing his face with popcorn Ignis dropped off earlier. Lost in thought, Noct watched his character revive itself and jump right back into battle. Gladio. It was ridiculous, but he had to be right. "Santa" was really buff last time he visited. With brighter lights on his tree, Noct saw that the man's eyes were amber, not brown. He swore the gray pillow he threw under his tree was the very same pillow Gladio had on his bed. Noct saw it during Iris's birthday party and he knew. But why would Gladio pose as a fat old man for eight years? Surely he knew Noctis was too old, and besides, Gladio hardly advocated for hope in fat old men that stalked children.
"Gotcha!" Prompto cheered, throwing a fist in the air as Game Over flashed across Noct's half of the screen.
"Yeah," Noctis yawned, leaning back in his seat.
He would get to the bottom of this, if not force "Santa" to reveal his true identity at the very least. Prompto left Noct's apartment with a cheerful "Merry Christmas!". Noct was too busy thinking to reply.
The next night, Noctis prepared to pounce. His eyes narrowed, he hid in the darkest corner of his room. Never one to disappoint, Saint Nick leaped into the bedroom at the same time he always did. Noctis watched him work for a moment before stepping into the open and casually leaning against the doorframe.
"How's it goin'?" he asked, a sly smile tugging at his lips.
Santa jumped, looking up at the teen before grinning back from beneath the tangled white hair of his beard. However, he didn't speak, didn't flinch when the prince crouched beside him, closer than most would be comfortable with.
"Do I really gotta wait until morning to get a surprise?" he crooned, raising a dark eyebrow. Santa looked the slightest bit uneasy now, glancing at the boy and balling the empty, threadbare green bag at his side up.
"You should."
The sound was oddly off, Noct gave him that. It was like someone trying to force their voice lower, not that Gladio needed the help. He sounded more like he was choking on air than the hallmark symbol for the holidays. Santa moved to stand, but Noctis was quick. His hand stretched out and plucked the red hat off the imposter's hand to reveal a head of dark hair just starting to grow long. Without the hat, the man was so obviously Gladio. Noctis couldn't help but laugh; Gladio grinned back, keeping his composure.
"Happy holidays, Princess."
He pulled that ridiculous hat away from Noctis with gloved hands and tugged it back onto his head before flicking two fingers off his forehead in a playful salute and jumping outside. Noctis smiled, shaking his head. But why? The shield had no reason. Noctis shrugged, rolling back into bed. Mission accomplished. But he supposed that meant there really was no Santa, and that made him the slightest bit disappointed. Oh well—it was better this way. At least he believed in someone.
Noctis merely rolled his eyes the next time Santa Claus came to town. At seventeen, it was hilarious to him that Gladio insisted on the tradition—at least, that's what Noctis assumed. If Santa really looked like what Noctis saw standing before him, then damn, Mrs. Claus was a lucky woman. Not every day an old man with a beer belly also happened to be impossibly muscled. Gladio merely grinned at Noct's eye-roll, unceremoniously dumping the bag of gifts out in the general direction of the Christmas tree.
"Really?" Noctis asked, arms crossed. "Santa" headed closer to the prince than he bothered to in all the years he'd visited Noctis specifically. "You can drop it, y'know. I'm not a kid anymore and your dad stopped paying you to do it years ago."
"I'm having fun," Gladio shrugged. Huffing, Noctis curled his fingers into the white trim of the well-worn Santa suit and dragged his clown of a shield closer to him. His other hand pulled the gross beard down roughly so Noctis could kiss the cocky grin off the lips hidden beneath. He pulled away with a sly smile, looking up with an innocently devilish gaze through thick black eyelashes.
"But we could have even more fun."
Something like a growl came from Gladio's throat and he shoved Noctis back onto the bed in the center of the room, his lips harsh against the prince's. When he dragged himself away, much to Noct's irritation, his hands pinned the teenager's wrists down heavily. He grinned, cocking his head to the side.
"Yeah. We could." Gladio lowered his mouth to Noct's ear, chuckling when the body below his shuddered violently. "Merry Christmas, Prince Charmless."