Copia sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, a wide, childlike grin spreading across his face as he looked down at the carefully wrapped present in his hands. The soft rustle of wrapping paper and the faint scent of pine filled the air, making his heart feel warm and light.

He wore his beloved blue Christmas pajamas—fleece, a little too snug, and patterned with tiny snowflakes and cartoon rats. He adored them. They were tradition. A silly, cozy kind of tradition he clung to with more joy than he’d ever admit aloud.

The room around him looked like Christmas had exploded in it. Tinsel draped over bookshelves, twinkling lights lining the ceiling, and ornaments dangled from every possible surface—even the horns of his ceremonial mask sitting on the dresser. He’d spent hours decorating, humming carols off-key as he worked. No corner was left untouched by the holiday spirit.

In the corner, his light blue sparkly stocking bulged with gifts, barely able to contain them all. A few had even spilled out onto the floor, wrapped in metallic paper and bows that glittered under the string lights.

Copia’s gaze flickered to the ceiling for a moment, as if checking for sleigh bells.

Yes, he knew it was silly. He was a grown man, Papa IV, the leader of the band…

But maybe—just maybe—he still believed in Santa Claus.