Archive of Our Own ^beta

The mall had gone feral for Christmas.

There was no other way to describe it. Lights were draped from every railing and wrapped around every column, blinking in soft reds and golds that reflected off polished floors and glass storefronts. Fake snow clung stubbornly to plastic pine branches, and somewhere overhead, the speakers were playing the same three carols on an endless, cheerful loop. The air smelled like cinnamon pretzels, coffee, and artificial pine—festive in theory, overwhelming in practice.

Right at the center of it all sat the Santa station.

It was impossible to miss.

A raised platform dressed up like a winter cottage, complete with a towering Christmas tree, oversized gift boxes, and a throne that could only belong to Santa Claus himself. A red velvet rope guided families into a neat little line, children bouncing on their heels with excitement or clinging nervously to their parents’ legs. A large banner overhead read MEET SANTA! in aggressively cheerful lettering.

Taki stood in front of it, dressed like an elf. Not even a cute elf or a whimsical elf.
More like a Kermit the Frog looking elf.

The mall staff had given him green tights, a red-and-green leotard that felt far too thin for public consumption and the worst of it all, a pair of curled shoes with tiny bells that jingled every time he moved—which, unfortunately, was often. Too often. Every step felt like an announcement: Hello! I am here! Please perceive me!

He stared down at himself, tugging uselessly at the hem of the costume. “I look,” Taki said quietly, “like a seasonal prank.”

“Oh, stop,” K  replied cheerfully, already halfway into his Santa suit. “You look festive.”

K on the other side, looked… comfortable. Infuriatingly so. The red coat sat easily on his shoulders, the fake beard already secured as he adjusted his hat in the mirror propped behind the station. He had volunteered for this position with an enthusiasm that should’ve raised red flags immediately.

Of course, Taki now knew why.

The Santa station was positioned directly across from a large sports store, its glass storefront offering a clear view inside. K had claimed it was a "coincidence." Taki had later learned that coincidence was code for perfect line of sight to my boyfriend.

Fuma waved from inside the store.

K waved back, grinning like he’d personally won Christmas.

“I hate you,” Taki muttered.

K didn’t even pretend to feel bad. “Sucks for you.”

Behind them, Harua spun slowly in place, hands on his hips as he admired his reflection in the shiny surface of a nearby storefront. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” he said. “This outfit is doing wonders for me.”

“It’s doing crimes,” Yuma said flatly from where he sat on one of the oversized fake presents. His arms were crossed, his elf hat slightly askew, his expression one of deep and enduring resentment.  He hadn’t even bothered pretending to smile since they’d arrived. “Crimes against dignity. And children.”

A child waved at them from the line. Harua waved back enthusiastically. Yuma stared straight ahead like he was being punished for something he didn’t remember doing.

Taki exhaled slowly.

He hadn’t meant to drag them into this. Not exactly. But when K had announced—far too brightly—that he’d signed up to the Santa Station “for the season,” Taki had known he was doomed. There was no universe in which his older brother volunteered for public humiliation alone. And there was certainly no universe in which Taki was going to endure it solo.

So he’d dragged Yuma.
Yuma had dragged Harua.
And now the three of them stood here together, united in festive suffering.

K clapped his hands. “Alright! Places, everyone. Showtime.”

Taki swallowed, heart thudding.

He glanced around the floor again, unease settling low in his chest. The Santa station was too open, too exposed, placed directly in the path of holiday shoppers and curious onlookers. Stores lined the perimeter, glowing warmly with window displays and garlands.

Including a café across the way.

Taki didn’t really look at it. He clocked it only vaguely, another storefront, another source of background noise. The hiss of a coffee machine. The clink of cups. Nothing important.

He had bigger problems.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s temporary. No one you know is here. This is survivable.

The bells on his shoes jingled as he shifted his weight.

Somewhere across the floor, a coffee machine hissed again.

Taki still didn’t look up.

He really should’ve.

The first hour passed in a blur of noise and motion.

Families streamed through the mall in uneven waves, coats half-zipped and hands full of shopping bags, children darting ahead with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that suggested they had not yet learned fear. The line for Santa grew steadily, looping back on itself as parents checked their phones and kids bounced in place, eyes fixed on the red suit and the promise of magic.

Taki was assigned to crowd control.

This, he quickly learned, was a mistake.

“Okay—hi—no, sweetheart, the line starts there—sorry—sorry—oh—”

He lunged for a stray candy cane before it hit the floor, nearly tripped over his own feet, and caught himself on the edge of a fake snowbank just in time to avoid taking the whole thing down with him. The bells on his shoes jingled wildly, betraying him at every movement.

Harua watched from nearby, biting back a grin. “You’re doing amazing,” he said earnestly. “Truly. Very slapstick. Very seasonal.”

Taki shot him a look. “I hate you.”

“You dragged us here,” Harua reminded him sweetly, adjusting the collar of his elf outfit for the third time in five minutes. “I’m simply leaning into the aesthetic.”

And he was. Harua moved through the space like he belonged there, crouching to kids’ eye level, posing dramatically for parents’ photos, even striking a playful stance next to Santa’s chair when no one was looking. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a holiday commercial, all confidence and sparkle, grinning like he was having the time of his life.

Yuma, meanwhile, had been stationed by the gift handoff table.

His job was simple: pass the kids their candy cane and gently guide them toward the exit.

He did neither gently.

“Here,” he said flatly, placing a candy cane into a small child’s hand. “Yes. You can go. That way.”

The child stared up at him, unblinking.

Yuma stared back.

Eventually, the child left.

K boomed laughter from the Santa chair, his voice carrying easily over the din. He was fully in character now, deep and warm and theatrical, hoisting kids onto his knee and asking about wish lists like he’d been born for it. Parents melted. Children squealed. Somewhere behind the fake beard, Taki knew his brother was thriving.

Every so often, K glanced toward the sports store and winked.

Fuma always sent a kiss back.

Taki pretended not to see. For his mental health.

He focused on his task. On the rhythm of it. On the way the bells jingled when he walked, the way the fake snow crunched softly underfoot. On the fact that, despite everything, it was… kind of working. No disasters yet. No trees toppled. No public injuries.

He let himself relax just a little.

That was when a kid tripped.

It happened fast. One second the boy was walking beside his mom, the next he was down, startled and teary-eyed, mittened hands pressed to the floor as his face crumpled.

Taki reacted on instinct. He crouched immediately, bells jingling as he lowered himself to the kid’s level. “Hey, hey—okay. That was a surprise, huh?”

The kid sniffed, bottom lip wobbling.

“You’re okay,” Taki said softly. “See? No blood. Just a sneaky floor.”

The boy hesitated, then laughed a little, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Taki smiled, relief washing through him. “Happens to me all the time,” he admitted conspiratorially. “These shoes? They are on the naughty list.”

That earned a real laugh.

The kid stood, steadier now, and ran back to his mom, crisis averted.

Taki straightened, heart still thudding, warmth blooming in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, he could survive this.

Harua gave him a thumbs-up. Yuma raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.

K watched from the Santa chair, smiling beneath the beard.

The mall hummed on around them, festive and chaotic and alive.

—

It was only when Taki was starting to relax that it happened.

Not with drama, or fanfare, or any sort of warning that Taki could have prepared for. Just a shift in the rhythm of the mall, one of those subtle moments where something in the background snaps into focus and refuses to blur again.

Taki turned to guide the next family forward.

And looked up.

The café across the floor was busier now, its warm lights glowing against the glass, the counter crowded with cups and pastries and customers waiting for their names to be called. Behind the register stood a boy Taki knew so well it felt unfair.

Maki. 

For half a second, Taki’s brain simply… stopped.

It was him. Exactly him. Broad shoulders filling out the café uniform, sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he always did in class, hair slightly messy in that way that suggested he’d run a hand through it too many times. He was laughing at something a coworker said, head tipped back just enough for the light to catch his face.

Maki.
Basketball team Maki.
Theater club Maki.
Been-in-love-with-him-since-I-was-fourteen Maki.

Taki felt his soul leave his body. “Oh no,” he whispered.

The bells on his shoes jingled as he froze in place, panic flooding through him in one hot rush. His stomach dropped somewhere near his feet, and suddenly the mall felt far too bright, far too open.

No no no no no.

Maki was not supposed to be here. Maki was supposed to exist safely in the abstract, at school, in class, in memories Taki had carefully learned to live with. Maki was not supposed to be standing ten meters away while Taki wore green tights and curled shoes.

He spun on his heel so fast he nearly took out a fake snowman.

Harua and Yuma looked at him in unison. “You okay?” Harua asked.

Taki grabbed his sleeve and leaned in, whisper-shouting with the intensity of someone confessing to a crime. “What is Maki doing here?”

Harua blinked. “What Maki? Your Maki?”

Taki shook his head violently. “He’s not my Maki,” he hissed. “But yes. That Maki. How many Maki’s do you know?”

Yuma turned slowly to look toward the café. He took one glance. “Oh well,” he said. “That’s unfortunate.”

Harua’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh. That’s hilarious.”

Taki’s face burned. “Don’t,” he begged.

“You did say you wanted to make him notice you,” Harua said, already grinning. “This is a Christmas miracle.”

“I didn’t mean notice me in the most humiliating moments of my life, this is a public elf emergency,” Taki snapped, ducking instinctively as Maki shifted behind the counter. “I need to hide.”

Yuma eyed him and the Santa station. “You are dressed like a highlighter.”

“I know,” Taki said miserably.

From the throne, K leaned forward. “Hide from what?”

Taki flinched, “Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Just—uh—crowds.”

K squinted at him. “The job literally consists of handling crowds.”

Harua stepped in smoothly. “He has elf fatigue,” he said. “Very real. Very tragic.”

K hummed, unconvinced, but was immediately distracted by the next child in line.

Taki sagged with relief. “This is bad,” he whispered to his friends. “This is so so bad.”

Yuma glanced back at the café again, thoughtful. “He hasn’t noticed you yet.”

Taki’s heart stuttered. “Yet? Why would you say yet?”

Harua grinned. “I mean, we see him everyday in school, he’ll recognize us soon enough.”

Taki groaned, pulling his hat down over his eyes. “I can’t let him see me like this. He’ll never like me if he sees me like this.” He stops for a second, thinks and groans. “And I definitely can’t let K find out.”

“Why?” Harua asked.

Taki shot him a look. “Because if my brother finds out I like a guy who’s conveniently working right in front of us, while I’m dressed like an elf, he will never let me live it down.”

Yuma nodded solemnly. “That would be so funny though.” Taki glares at him with the intensity of a puppy, Yuma can only sigh, “And fatal, we obviously can’t let that happen.”

Across the floor, Maki reached for a cup, fingers brushing the counter as he turned slightly—

Taki yelped and ducked behind a stack of oversized presents.

The bells on his shoes gave him away instantly.

Harua laughed softly. “You’re so doomed.”

Taki closed his eyes.

Across the mall, the café continued to glow warmly, oblivious and dangerous all at once.

And Maki, completely unaware of the chaos he’d caused, went back to work.

For now.

In reality Taki lasted all but three minutes without being noticed.

December was a special kind of hell.

Maki had known that going in. Everyone did. The café was packed from opening to close, the line snaking past the counter and out into the mall walkway, customers shuffling forward with the determined expressions of people who had places to be and no patience left to get there. Milk steamed. Cups clinked. Someone called his name for the third time in two minutes.

Maki wiped his hands on a towel and reached for the next order.

He hadn’t really looked up since his shift started.

There wasn’t much point. December blurred together after a while, faces, coats, holiday sweaters, the same recycled playlists humming through the speakers in a way that made him have one-sided beef with Mariah Carey. So he focused on the routine instead. Muscle memory. Efficiency. Get through the day.

It was only when the coffee machine hissed particularly loudly that he glanced up.

Across the floor, the Santa station was in full swing. He clocked it absently at first. Red suit. Big chair. Kids. Parents taking photos. Normal. Expected. December. Christmas.

Then something green moved fast.

Maki’s gaze drifted back, unintentionally pulled by motion more than interest. One of the elves, the tallest one, not by much though, dressed in the same aggressively festive outfit, was attempting to guide a family forward, by walking backwards.

Attempting really is the word to describe it. The elf took one step. Then another. Then his curled shoe caught on… something. He windmilled slightly, grabbed at a decorative snowbank, and only barely avoided taking it down with him.

Maki paused mid-motion.

The kid beside him laughed. The elf froze, clearly mortified, then waved awkwardly like he meant for it to happen.

Maki snorted before he could stop himself. He went back to work, shaking his head. Poor guy.

A few minutes passed.

Another glance, just as automatic really, the green was easy to spot..

The same elf was crouched down now, bells jingling softly as he spoke to a kid at eye level. His posture was gentle, his hands expressive, animated in a way that felt earnest rather than forced. The kid laughed. The elf and the kid hugged for a second and Maki found himself lingering on the sight longer than necessary.

Huh.

He pulled a shot of espresso, attention snapping back to the counter. “Latte for Amanda.” he said absentmindingly.

But after that, it was harder not to notice.

The other two elves moved with ease, one was clearly more into it than the other two, the other looked like he was on top of Santa’s naughty list. Santa himself was solid and loud and confident, booming laughter echoing even over the café noise.

The clumsy elf, though—

He ducked behind decorations that were not tall enough to hide him.
He nearly collided with a fake tree.
He bent down to pick something up and bonked his head on a gift box.

Every time, Santa’s head turned sharply, concern clear even from across the floor.

Maki found himself glancing over more often than he meant to.

Not because anything big happened.
But because the elf was… consistent.

Consistently awkward.
Consistently clumsy.
Consistently trying very hard to hide from something that Maki couldn't pinpoint.

At one point, the elf looked up suddenly, startled and Maki instinctively looked away, heart jumping like he’d been caught staring.

Weird.

He handed off another drink, slid a pastry across the counter, and tried to focus. But even as he worked, his attention kept drifting back to the Santa station, to flashes of green and red and jingling bells.

The elf crouched again, talking softly to another kid.

Maki smiled before he realized he was doing it.

Eventually, the rush slowed just enough for Maki to breathe. Not much though, Christmas didn’t allow mercy for hospitality workers, but enough that the line thinned, the counter cleared, and he could step back for half a second to stretch his shoulders. He rolled his neck once, exhaled, and glanced up again without really meaning to.

The elf was working. Once again guiding a family out of the Santa station now, hand extended politely, posture careful like he was afraid of knocking something over if he moved too fast. He nodded at the parents, waved at the kid, stepped back—

And then looked up.

Straight toward the café.

Maki’s gaze caught.

For a fraction of a second, their eyes almost met.

Almost.

The elf’s body language changed instantly. Panic, sharp and unmistakable. His eyes went wide, and before Maki could even register what he was seeing, the elf flailed—actually flailed—arms jerking awkwardly as he spun around and dove behind a fake Christmas streetlight.

Maki blinked.

The streetlight was… not large. Decorative, more aesthetic than functional, wrapped in garland and lights. It hid approximately nothing.

The elf pressed himself against it anyway, peeking around the side with the intensity of someone playing the world’s worst game of hide-and-seek.

Maki bit his lip.

A kid wandered over. Small and curious little thing. He tapped the elf, but it should look like he was tapping the streetlight. If the streetlight actually hid the elf.

“Hello?” it looks like the kid asked.

The elf froze.

Maki watched, fascinated, as the elf slowly—painfully slowly—leaned around the pole, gave the kid a tiny wave, then immediately snapped back into hiding.

The kid giggled and ran off.

Maki laughed under his breath. Well. That was super odd… but cute anyway.

He shifted his weight, gaze drifting over the rest of the Santa station now, scanning it properly for the first time all day. The other elves were in plain sight, one of them striking a pose as a parent took photos, the other handing out candy canes with the enthusiasm of someone completing a chore.

Maki frowned slightly.

Wait.

He knew them.

Yuma, dry as hell, perpetually unimpressed, usually hovering nearby and only smiling at his friends. And Harua, always unapologetic, always dramatic, impossible to miss in the school hallways. It seemed that he was easy to miss in the mall though.
Recognition settled in easily, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

“Oh,” Maki murmured.

He glanced back at the streetlight.

The elf peeked out again, eyes scanning the crowd like he was checking for danger.

Short. Clumsy. Hiding badly and in plain sight, just like he does at school.

Maki’s mouth curved into a smile before he could stop it.

Taki. Of course it was Taki.

Those three came as a unit. Always had. Buy two, get one free—Taki always in the middle with his backpack half-open and his shoelaces perpetually untied, the other two flanking him and listening to him rant, Harua always joining in, Yuma nodding at their delusions. Maki had known them for years, had passed them in hallways and shared classrooms and watched from a distance without ever really meaning to. 

He hadn’t expected to find Taki here.

He definitely hadn’t expected to find him dressed as an elf and trying to disappear behind a streetlight.

Maki shook his head, amusement warm and fond in his chest.

That tracked, actually.

He looked back toward the counter as a coworker called his name, hands already moving to grab the next cup. But even as he worked, his eyes flicked back once more, catching the edge of green fabric as Taki shuffled away from the streetlight, pretending nothing had happened.

Maki snickered softly.

Yeah.

Definitely Taki.

—

Taki truly thought he was well hidden.

Objectively speaking, this was not true. The fake Christmas streetlight did not conceal him in any meaningful way. It was narrow, decorative, and offered approximately the same coverage as a toothpick.

But Taki felt hidden, which was what mattered.

He pressed his back to the pole, holding his breath, heart hammering so hard he was convinced it could be heard over the mall music. If he stayed very still—if he became one with the garland, with the spirit of Christmas, with the concept of seasonal decor—this could still be salvaged.

Then a small voice said, “Hello.”

Taki nearly ascended. He peeked around the pole and was immediately met with a child staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Hi,” Taki whispered back, eyes darting wildly. “Um. Hey. Hi.”

The kid tilted their head. “Why are you hiding Mr Elf?”

“I’m not hiding,” Taki said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m… guarding kids.”

The kid squinted. “From what?”

Taki swallowed. “From… uh. Naughty snowmen.”

The kid gasped and Taki seized the opportunity, waving his hands towards Santa Claus “So. You should probably go. Right now. Before they come back. I’ll—uh—I’ll put in a good word for you for extra presents.”

The kid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes,” Taki said solemnly. “But only if you go. Now.” The kid ran off immediately and Taki could only sag in relief, pressing his forehead briefly against the streetlight. I’m so sorry, he thought vaguely in the direction of the kid’s parents.

When he finally stepped out from behind the pole, trying to look casual, he spotted Harua and Yuma watching him.

Harua had his arms crossed, lips pressed together like he was holding back laughter. Yuma looked… fondly unimpressed.

Taki walked towards them, chin lifted. “I’m rocking this going unnoticed thing,” he said.

Harua blinked. “You are physically impossible to not notice.”

Yuma nodded. “You glow with panic.”

Taki scoffed. “You’re exaggerating.”

From the Santa chair, K leaned forward. “Hey,” he called, concern slipping into his voice. “You good, baby? Do you want to take a break?”

Taki straightened instantly. “What? No. I’m fine. Completely normal. Why would I need a break?”

K squinted at him.

Taki smiled too hard, praying that his older brother wouldn’t press further. After a moment, K shrugged and turned back to the next kid in line.

Taki exhaled shakily and the three elves went back to their positions.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe twelve.

Then Yuma spoke, voice low and unhelpfully calm. “Crush incoming.”

Taki’s stomach dropped as he glanced sideways.

Maki was walking toward them.

Tall. Relaxed. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, café apron tied loosely around his waist. He looked… so unfairly good, like he always did, like he had no idea the damage he caused to Taki simply by existing.

The only logical thing for Taki to do as he panicked was to immediately crouch behind a stack of oversized presents.

Smooth, he told himself. Incredibly smooth.

“Hey, Harua,” Maki’s voice said easily. “Hey, Yuma. Looking festive.”

Taki heard Harua’s grin in his voice. “We’re professionals.”

“You’re doing great,” Maki said. “Really selling the magic.”

Harua chuckled. “We do what we can. Some of us more than others.” Taki kicked his ankle lightly from behind the presents. “Ow,” Harua said, not sounding affected at all.

Maki laughed. “I could’ve sworn there were three elves working here today.”

Yuma replied without missing a beat. “Nah. Christmas magic really did a number on you, buddy.”

Maki snorted. “Sure.” There was a brief pause. “Well,” He started again, “looks like we’ll be seeing each other a lot. Good luck with the kids. See you around, Taki.”

Taki popped up from the present stack instinctively. “Bye, Maki .” He said with his widest, most whipped kind of smile, then he realized.

Silence.

Taki’s eyes widened.

“Oh—” he squeaked. “I—uh—sorry—I mean—I was looking for Rudolph, ha ha, you know how that reindeer is—I mean—”

Maki turned fully toward him now, smiling, clearly amused. “Sounds about right.” Taki wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “I should get back to work,” Maki continued easily. “Maybe we can talk later? Tell me when you find him” He lifted a hand in a small wave and turned back toward the café, disappearing into the crowd.

Taki stood frozen for exactly three seconds. Then he collapsed sideways into Harua, fake-crying loudly. “I’m never leaving my house again. My social life is over. I’ll be single forever.”

Yuma patted his shoulder. “Make sure to adopt some cats.”

Taki glared at him.

“Positions!” K called from the chair.

Taki groaned and pulled himself upright, wiping at his eyes dramatically as the bells on his shoes jingled once more.

Christmas, he decided, was a mistake. Halloween was so much better.

—

After that, things became… strange.

Not in a loud or dramatic way. Just strange in the quiet, insistent way of something that refused to be ignored. Taki couldn’t help but become acutely aware of the space between the Santa station and the café.

Every movement felt amplified. Every step carefully measured. He stayed very still when he could, hands folded in front of him, posture rigid like maybe—maybe—if he didn’t move, he’d blend into the scenery. Like a statue. Like an ornament.

It did not work.

Every time he glanced up—accidentally, obviously accidentally—Maki was there. Behind the counter. Wiping down the espresso machine. Handing over drinks. Laughing at something a coworker said. And every time their eyes met, Maki smiled.

Not in a teasing way. Just soft. Familiar. One could even say fond.

Taki’s ears burned. He looked away immediately, pretending to be deeply invested in a string of lights that had absolutely nothing wrong with it.

Across the floor, Maki started to notice the pattern.

The way Taki froze when he thought he’d been spotted.
The way he once again tried to disappear behind props that were far too small.
The way he stayed close to Harua and Yuma like they were anchors keeping him from floating away.

Maki found himself slowing down without realizing it—turning cups more carefully, lingering a second too long at the edge of the counter. His gaze drifted back to green and red and jingling bells again and again, drawn by movement, by awkwardness, by the quiet sincerity in the way Taki interacted with kids.

“Maki.”

He blinked. “What?” he asked, turning toward his coworker.

“You’re staring at that elf again.”

Maki scoffed lightly. “I’m not.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

But he glanced back just in time to see Taki trip over absolutely nothing, catch himself, and glance around guiltily like he’d committed a crime.

Maki couldn't help but smile into the foam of the latte he was making.

At the Santa station, Harua noticed too. “You’re doing the thing,” He murmured under his breath.

Taki didn’t look at him. “What thing?”

“The thing where you pretend you don’t know someone’s looking at you,” Harua said. “While absolutely knowing.”

“I don’t do that and no one is looking at me,” Taki hissed.

Yuma handed a candy cane to a kid. “You’re vibrating.”

“I am not.”

“You are jingling more than usual, Maki must think so too, with the amount of times he has looked at you in the past 10 minutes” Yuma added.

Taki pressed his lips together and stared very hard at the floor. “He must find this hilarious, that’s it.” The bells betrayed him again and there was a red in his cheek that matched his hat.

Every few minutes, their eyes met again.

Across the crowd. Across the noise. Across the chaos of December shoppers and crying kids and looping Christmas music.

Each time, Maki’s smile lingered just a second longer.

Each time, Taki’s heart tripped over itself.

He was painfully aware of how he must look—short, flushed, dressed like a walking holiday decoration. And yet, Maki never looked away first. Never laughed. Never made it feel like a joke.

Eventually, Taki dared to hold the eye contact for half a heartbeat longer.

Maki lifted a cup in a small, almost imperceptible salute.

Taki squeaked and immediately turned around, pretending to fix something that did not need fixing.

Harua grinned. Yuma sighed.

From the café, Maki’s coworker nudged him again. “The drink’s getting cold.”

Maki shook his head slightly, refocusing, but not before one last glance across the floor.

Taki was crouched down, talking softly to a kid again, smile gentle and unguarded.

Maki’s chest tightened in a way he didn’t quite have a name for.

—

Taki was mid-nod, crouched slightly beside the Santa chair, listening with intense focus as a kid rattled off a very serious list of Christmas wishes involving a skateboard, a puppy, and something about a dragon that Taki wasn’t sure was negotiable.

He smiled and nodded anyway. “Wow,” he said softly. “That’s a really good list.”

Behind him, someone whispered, “Pssht.”

Taki startled so hard he nearly knocked over a stack of letters to Santa.

He turned around, heart in his throat—

And there was Maki.

Standing way too close. Smiling. Holding a cardboard drink carrier and a small paper bag like he belonged there.

“Maki,” Taki blurted, voice cracking. “What—hi—what are you doing here?”

Maki raised his hands slightly in surrender. “Relax,” he said, amused. “You guys have been here for hours. I thought you might appreciate a sweet treat.”

Taki followed his gaze downward.

A latte, the foam still swirling gently at the top, syrup visibly clinging to the sides of the cup. And a chocolate muffin—one of the good ones, thick and soft, the ones that smelled like sugar and comfort.

Taki’s brain stalled. “Oh,” he said faintly. “You—you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Maki replied easily.

Taki hesitated, then shook his head quickly. “No, really, it’s not necessary, I’m fine, I—”

Maki nudged the cup a little closer. “Please.”

Something about the way he said it—gentle, casual, like this wasn’t a big deal at all—made Taki cave immediately. “…Okay,” he whispered. He accepted the drink and the bag, fingers brushing Maki’s for half a second longer than necessary. His ears burned.

“Thank you,” Taki added quietly, glancing down at the cup. “You, um. You really hit the nail with the choice. I really like sweet stuff.”

Maki’s smile softened. “I know.”

Taki looked up sharply. “You—what?”

“You’re always eating something sweet at school,” Maki said, like this was common knowledge. “Cookies, candy, those weird gummies you like.”

Taki stared at him. “You noticed that?” he asked, incredulous.

Maki shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Before Taki could recover—or ask how long Maki had apparently been paying attention—Yuma’s voice cut in smoothly from his left.

“Huh,” Yuma said. “And where is my sweet treat, Maki?”

Maki startled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. Sorry. I was told sweet treats are only for cute elves.”

Yuma narrowed his eyes.

Taki choked on air. His face went red, heat rushing up his neck as he spluttered, “I—I’m not—I mean—”

Maki laughed softly, clearly enjoying himself now, and shot Taki a quick wink. “I’ll see you later.”

Then he was gone, slipping back into the crowd toward the café like he hadn’t just caused irreversible damage.

Taki stood there, clutching his latte and muffin like lifelines, completely baffled.

Yuma glanced at him sideways. Smile all knowing. “You might not need to adopt those cats after all.”

Taki shrieked and buried his face in his arms, bells jingling wildly as a kid’s laugh could be heard from nearby.

Harua appeared at Taki’s side almost immediately. He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned in, wiggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, and glanced pointedly at the latte and muffin still clutched in Taki’s hands.

Taki stiffened. “Don’t.”

Harua grinned. “Don’t what?”

“This,” Taki hissed. “Whatever this is. It’s nothing.”

Yuma raised an eyebrow. “Nothing usually doesn’t come with baked goods.”

Taki clutched the muffin closer. “He’s just being nice. He’s a nice classmate. That’s it.”

Harua made a thoughtful sound. “Interesting. Because that looked suspiciously like flirting.”

“It did not,” Taki insisted, voice cracking slightly. “You’re delusional.”

Yuma hummed. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

From the Santa chair, K glanced over as another family shuffled away, adjusting his beard. “Hey,” he said casually. “Where’d you get that?”

Taki froze.He looked down at the latte, then back up at his brother, plastering on the most innocent smile he could manage. “Christmas miracle?”

K narrowed his eyes. Taki held the smile.

After a long moment, K turned back to the next kid in line, muttering something about little brothers being suspicious this year.

The rush eased not long after that.

The line thinned. The mall’s noise softened into a steady hum instead of a roar. Taki took advantage of the lull, sneaking a sip of his latte when no one was looking.

It was perfect. Sweet and warm and comforting in a way that made his shoulders finally relax.

He took a bite of the muffin.

And another.

Soon, he was humming softly to himself, completely unaware that his cheeks were puffed out, crumbs clinging traitorously to the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly, gaze drifting across the floor—

And met Maki’s eyes.

Maki was leaning against the counter, clearly mid-task, but his attention was unmistakably elsewhere. He was smiling. Softly. Fondly.

Taki froze, cheeks still full and Maki laughed under his breath. Then, very deliberately, he mouthed, cute, before turning back to work.

Taki’s soul left his body for the second time that day.

He swallowed hastily, nearly choking, and ducked his head, face burning so hot he was convinced the fake snow around him would melt.

He was not making it to New Years.

The Santa station closed for lunch with significantly less fanfare than it had opened.

The velvet rope was unhooked, the line dispersed, and the fake Christmas village was left eerily quiet—lights still blinking cheerfully as if nothing had happened. Taki helped tidy up on autopilot, mind still buzzing from sugar, embarrassment, and the lingering echo of cute.

As they gathered their things, Taki glanced instinctively toward the café.

Maki wasn’t there.

His chest dipped slightly, a frown tugging at his mouth before he could stop it. He scanned the counter once more, hoping—unreasonably—to catch a glimpse of messy hair or familiar shoulders.

Nothing.

Oh, he thought, immediately disappointed. Okay. That’s fine. Normal. Healthy.

They headed down the corridor toward the staff room, the noise of the mall dulling as the door swung shut behind them. The space was small but warm, filled with mismatched chairs, a battered table, lockers, and the steady hum of microwaves doing their best.

And there—

Standing at the counter, lunch container in hand—

Was Maki.

Taki’s soul left his body for the third time that day.

Harua snorted.

Yuma leaned in slightly, voice low. “You really are going to need a Christmas miracle to save you from this one.”

Taki said nothing. He was too busy internally screaming. Maki turned at the sound of the door, expression lighting up immediately. “Oh—hey!”

K slowed, confused. “You guys know eachother?”

Taki reacted on instinct. “K, this is Maki,” he blurted. “He goes to our school. Maki, this is K. My older brother.”

Maki stepped forward without hesitation, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said easily. “You’re a legend at school, dude. Coach won’t stop talking about you.”

K blinked. Then smiled. “Well,” he said, shaking Maki’s hand firmly. “That explains a lot. You play basketball?”

“Yeah,” Maki replied, grinning. “I’m trying to get a scholarship.”

K nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ve got the build for it.”

Taki stood there, clutching his lunch like a lifeline, dressed head to toe like a festive joke, watching his crush and his older brother bond over sports.

This was it. This was how he died.

Harua shot him a sympathetic look. Yuma patted his shoulder once, solemn.

As the microwaves beeped and lunches were heated, Maki and K fell into easy conversation—practice schedules, drills, coaches. Taki tried very hard to make himself small, which was difficult considering the bells on his shoes refused to shut up.

No one is ever going to take me seriously again, he thought miserably. I’m an elf. I’m a punchline.

Maki glanced over at him mid-sentence, smile softening when their eyes met.

Taki looked away immediately.

They sat.

Which, somehow, made everything worse.

The staff room settled into the familiar sounds of lunch break—microwaves humming, wrappers crinkling, chairs scraping softly against the floor. K and Maki ended up across from each other at the table, still deep in conversation, leaning forward with the easy familiarity of people who spoke the same language.

Taki sat two seats away, hunched slightly over his food, determined to disappear into it.

“So,” K said casually between bites, “you guys friends at school?”

Taki’s grip tightened on his fork.

Harua answered before Taki could choke on his own food. “I mean,” he said lightly, “not really in the same circles. But it’s kind of impossible not to know Maki.”

Maki waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not true.”

Harua smirked. “It absolutely is. You’re basically a socialite.”

Maki laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, I’m just in a bunch of clubs. But it’s also hard not to notice them. These three are a chaotic trio. Always up to something.”

Taki stared very intently at his lunch. K blinked, then turned toward him. “My baby brother? Up to something?”

Taki felt dread crawl up his spine.

K laughed. “I’ll celebrate the day he gets detention. He spends all his time drawing and reading those little fantasy novels.”

Taki groaned and dropped his head onto the table. “Please shut up.”

K grinned. “Why? You’re a baby. My cute baby brother.”

Taki made a strangled noise somewhere between a whine and a plea for mercy. “This is not happening,” he muttered. “This is a nightmare.”

Across from him, Maki slid a glass of water toward him without comment. “Here,” he said gently. “You okay?”

Taki looked up.

Their eyes met.

Maki’s expression was soft, amused, warm in a way that made Taki’s chest ache. “It is cute,” Maki added quietly. “Don’t worry.”

Taki forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t notice K narrowing his eyes.
Didn’t see Harua and Yuma exchange smug looks.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m—uh—I’m going to get some fresh air before we go back,” he said quickly. “This costume is really stuffy.”

Before anyone could stop him—or say anything worse—Taki fled the room.

The door swung shut behind him.

And only then did he let himself breathe.

—

The fire-exit stairs were dim and quiet, lit only by a strip of fluorescent light that hummed softly overhead.

Taki sat on the step halfway down, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. The elf hat had been shoved off and rested beside him, bells mercifully silent. The costume felt heavier here, like the walls knew how ridiculous he looked and were judging him for it.

He groaned softly.

Why, he thought, for what had to be the hundredth time that day, am I like this.

Footsteps echoed faintly from above.

Taki froze.

The door creaked open.

“Hey,” Maki’s voice said, gentle but unmistakable. “There you are.”

Taki lifted his head slowly.

Maki stood in the doorway, holding two paper cups, his jacket half-zipped, expression somewhere between relieved and amused.

“I thought you were going outside,” Maki added. “I had to play detective to find you.”

Taki huffed weakly. “Yeah. Sorry. I was too embarrassed to go out alone.”

Maki smiled and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Fair.”

He moved down a few steps and sat beside Taki, leaving just enough space to not crowd him. The quiet settled comfortably around them.

“You know,” Maki said after a moment, “you shouldn’t feel embarrassed, you’re making a lot of kids’ Christmas today pretty special.”

Taki blinked. “I am?”

“Yeah,” Maki replied easily. “You’re really good with them. They calm down when you talk. That’s important, you’re good at your job.”

Taki ducked his head, heat creeping up his neck. “I suppose that’s true…  until I go and knock something over.”

“That too,” Maki said, smiling.

Taki glanced sideways. “What are you doing here?”

Maki lifted one of the cups. “Well. I was going to give this to you after lunch. But you vanished.” He held it out. Hot chocolate. Steam curling up into the air, rich, sweet-smelling and so inviting. “Here,” Maki said. “Chocolate keeps the embarrassment away.”

Taki laughed softly despite himself and accepted it. “At this rate you’re going to have to pay for my dentist.”

Maki chuckled. “Yeah, because all the sweets you eat normally aren’t the problem.”

Taki groaned, hiding his face behind the cup. “I hate that you know that.”

Maki nudged his shoulder lightly. “Hey. I’m joking.” He lifted his own cup and held it out between them. “Come on. Let’s cheer.”

Taki hesitated, then tapped his cup against Maki’s. “What are we cheering for?”

Maki’s smile turned a little softer. “Getting what we wish for from Santa Claus.” His eyes flicked to Taki, smirk lingering just long enough to mean something.

Taki laughed, warmth spreading through his chest as much as from the drink. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I can cheer to that.”

Their cups clinked again, soft and steady in the quiet stairwell.

Taki cradled the cup in both hands, warmth seeping into his fingers as the silence settled again—no longer awkward, now it just felt easy to be next to him.

“So,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways. “Do you work at the café just for Christmas? Or… like. All the time?”

Maki leaned back slightly on his hands. “All year. Just fewer shifts during school. Right now it’s double shifts because”—he shrugged—“tuition.”

Taki frowned. “Your parents won’t help?”

“They offered,” Maki said. “I just don’t want them to have to. I’ll take what they give me, but I want to pull my own weight too.”

Taki looked at him, genuinely impressed. “That’s… a lot. With basketball, theater, good grades, and work?” He shook his head in awe. “You’re like. The parents’ dream son.”

Maki laughed, soft and a little tired. “Don’t tell my parents that. They already think I’m doing too much.”

“You are doing too much,” Taki said immediately, then winced. “I mean—sorry—that came out wrong. I just mean—”

Maki smiled at him. “No, you’re right. It’s exhausting.” He stared at his cup for a second, then glanced back at Taki. “Honestly? Working at the café is my least favorite part of my routine. December especially.”

Taki nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I can’t imagine.”

“But,” Maki continued, a grin slowly tugging at his mouth, “I feel like the mall gods really came through this year and decided to entertain me with a cute, clumsy elf to brighten my day.”

Taki immediately choked on his hot chocolate. He coughed, sputtered, and waved a hand frantically. “You are—cough—you are so corny, stop it.”

Maki burst out laughing and reached over instinctively, patting Taki’s back. “Easy, easy. I don’t want to be responsible for elf-related injuries.”

Taki finally caught his breath, cheeks burning. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but I made you smile,” Maki said lightly.

As Taki lowered his cup again, Maki’s smile softened. He lifted a hand without thinking, fingers brushing gently through Taki’s hair, fixing a piece that had been sticking up ever since he’d ripped off his hat earlier.

Taki froze in his seat. He was scared to look into Maki’s direction, but when he did and their eyes met, the stairwell felt very small all of a sudden.

Before either of them could say anything else though, Taki’s phone alarm rang sharply in his pocket.

They both startled.

Taki fumbled to turn it off, mortified. “Lunch break is done,” he said quietly.

Maki cleared his throat and stood, offering a hand. “Mine too, actually.” Taki took it, standing a little too quickly, suddenly shy all over again. “We can… walk back together?” Maki offered.

Taki nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

They headed toward the door side by side, shoulders brushing just slightly as the noise of the mall crept back in.

As they stepped back out into the mall together, the noise rushing in all at once—music, voices, footsteps echoing off polished floors. The warmth of the stairwell lingered for just a moment longer before reality settled back around them.

They hadn’t gone more than a few steps when a small, broken sob cut through the noise.

Taki stopped instantly.  A kid stood a few feet away, hands clenched in the sleeves of his jacket, face red and wet with tears. He looked around wildly, panic rising with every passing second.

Taki was already moving. He crouched in front of the kid, bells jingling softly as he lowered himself to eye level. “Hey,” he said gently. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. What happened?”

The kid hiccupped, lip trembling. “I—I can’t find my mommy,” he whispered.

Taki nodded like this was the most solvable problem in the world. “Okay. That’s scary. But you know what? You did the right thing by stopping instead of running.”

The kid sniffed. “I did?”

“Yeah,” Taki said seriously. “That’s very brave.” The kid’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “We’re going to walk around together,” He continued, calm and steady. “Slowly. And we’re going to look for her. Okay?” The kid nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “Good,” Taki said, smiling. He stood and offered his hand. The kid took it without hesitation.

Maki watched from a step back, stunned into stillness. As they started walking, the kid glanced up at him. “Who’s he?”

Taki didn’t miss a beat. “That’s Maki,” he said. “He’s an undercover elf.” Maki blinked. Taki continued, completely serious. “His job is to protect kids when they’re lost.”

Maki straightened immediately. “Absolutely,” he said solemnly. “Top priority.”

The kid giggled.

They walked slowly through the floor, Taki narrating quietly like it was an adventure rather than a problem—pointing out decorations, asking gentle questions, keeping the kid grounded and calm.

Then—

“There you are!” A woman rushed toward them, relief written all over her face. “Oh my god—thank you—thank you so much.”

The kid let go of Taki’s hand and ran into her arms, talking all at once. “Mom! Santas elves helped me! They’re real!”

Taki laughed softly. “He was very brave,” he told her. “Top of the good boy list.”

The kid beamed. The mom thanked them again, voice thick with emotion, before leading her son away.

Taki watched them go, smiling.

When he turned back around—

Maki was staring at him. His eyes were incredibly soft and he looked, just… fond. Warm. Something unmistakable in his eyes.

Taki faltered. “What?”

Maki shook his head slightly, smile slow and genuine. “Nothing.”

But the way he looked at Taki said everything.

—

They made it back to the Santa station just before the first family of the afternoon was ushered in.

Harua spotted them first. He didn’t say anything. Just wiggled his eyebrows so aggressively Taki almost tripped again.

Yuma crossed his arms. “I’m reporting you,” he told Maki flatly. “For elf kidnapping.”

Maki laughed. “Totally worth it.” Taki felt his face heat up instantly. Maki glanced at him, smile easy and warm. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taki said softly.

Maki gave a small wave and headed back toward the café, disappearing into the flow of shoppers like nothing monumental had just happened.

The moment he was gone, Harua leaned in. “You’re definitely getting a boyfriend for Christmas.”

Taki sputtered. “Shut up Harua!” He didn’t deny it though.

The afternoon passed differently.

Taki was still clumsy—he tripped once over a ribbon, knocked over a basket of plush toys, and had to apologize to a decorative reindeer he nearly decapitated—but the panic was gone. He laughed more. Smiled easier. When kids tugged on his sleeves, he knelt without hesitation, fully leaning into the elf role like it belonged to him.

And every so often, he looked up.

Maki was there. Behind the counter. Across the floor. Watching.

Sometimes Maki caught him mid-laugh and smiled like he’d won something. Sometimes Taki caught Maki staring and felt brave enough to smile back. Once, Maki’s coworker nudged him and said something Taki couldn’t hear, and Maki ducked his head, grinning like he’d been caught.

At one point, Taki waved.

Maki waved back.

The mall lights blinked softly overhead, carols looping endlessly, the day stretching warm and bright around them.

Taki jingled when he walked.

And for the first time, he didn’t mind at all.

After such a long day, the mall was finally quiet.

The lights were dimmed, storefronts dark, music reduced to a distant hum that echoed softly through the empty corridors. The Santa station looked smaller now without the crowds—less chaotic, more intimate. The fake snow glittered under the remaining lights as the elves and Santa tidied up, folding ropes, stacking gift boxes, straightening decorations one last time.

Taki was adjusting a string of lights when someone cleared their throat.

He turned.

Maki stood at the edge of the Santa station, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, expression relaxed but eyes bright. Like he’d been holding onto something all evening. “Hey,” he said. “Uh… I was wondering.”

K looked up from the throne. “What’s up, kid?”

Maki gestured vaguely. “Can I make my Christmas wish?”

K laughed. “You serious?”

“Completely,” Maki said. “Mall workers should get their turn too.”

K eyed him for a second, then grinned. “Alright. Get over here.” He plopped back into the Santa chair and patted the space beside him. Maki laughed and sat down, the absurdity of it all making Taki’s heart beat a little too fast.

Taki hovered nearby, very aware of his bells. Very aware of everything.

K dropped into full Santa voice. “Well then. Have you been a good boy this year?”

Maki nodded solemnly. “The best.”

“And what would you like for Christmas?” K asked.

Maki didn’t look at him. He looked straight at Taki. “I’d really like a date,” he said. “With the clumsy, cute elf.”

Taki felt every system in his body crash at once.

K blinked. “Oh.”

Silence stretched. Taki didn’t think. If he started overthinking he might die on the spot. “Yes,” he said.

K turned sharply. “Hey—Santa should have the final say on this matter—”

Yuma stepped forward calmly. “Santa should shut up before the elves overthrow him.”

Maki laughed, eyes never leaving Taki. “Yeah?”

Taki took a step closer, heart pounding, voice steady despite everything. “Yeah. I’d really like to go on a date with you.”

K stared between them. Then, slowly, he cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, dropping the Santa voice entirely, “Santa believes in Christmas miracles.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel real. “And I think this one’s approved.”

Taki laughed shakily.

Maki stood, stepping off the throne, and held out his hand. Taki took it without hesitation. The bells on his shoes jingled softly as they stood there together, framed by twinkling lights and fake snow.

K watched them for a moment longer, then smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Clean-up crew. Let’s wrap it up.”

Maki squeezed Taki’s hand once before letting go. “I’ll text you?”

Taki nodded, grinning. “Okay.”

As Maki turned to leave, Taki caught his eye one last time.

Maki smiled like he’d gotten exactly what he had been wishing for all year long.

And for the first time all day, Taki believed a little in Christmas magic too.