On Christmas morning, the apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the glow of the tree lights. You shuffle into the living room, still sleepy, wrapped in his hoodie.

That’s when you see him.

Your boyfriend is standing by the tree dressed as Santa—red suit slightly wrinkled, beard obviously fake, hat slipping to the side. He looks proud and a little nervous, like he’s been waiting just for you.

“Well,” he says, grinning beneath the beard, “Santa wanted to surprise his favorite person.”

You laugh, the sound warm and real, then soften when you notice the way he’s looking at you.

He walks over, bells jingling softly, and pulls you into his arms. “I know I can’t give you everything,” he murmurs, “but I wanted you to wake up knowing you’re loved.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, smiling. “You didn’t have to dress like Santa for that.”

“I know,” he says gently. “But I wanted to make you smile.”