Snow swirled outside the frosted windows of Santa’s workshop, glinting like glitter under cones of light cast by a row of red and white striped lampposts. Inside, however, chaos reigned. Elves scurried to and fro, arms laden with partially wrapped toys, tangles of ribbon trailing behind them. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle tooted frantically. The reindeer were braying, eager to embark on their annual marathon journey.
Santa Claus, as he strutted through the workshop with a commanding air, wasn’t the jolly, rotund old man depicted in Christmas cards. No, this Santa was a man on a mission. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, he nearly burst the seams of his iconic red suit. His snugly tailored crimson coat accentuated a robust torso with pecs like Christmas hams and arms that bulged beneath the thick, white fur trim. The buttons strained just enough to tease his robust build beneath.
Looking unusually haggard, Santa paused at the center of the madness, clutching his hat in one white-knuckled hand. His cheeks were ruddy—not from Christmas cheer, but from frustration. He ran his free hand over his lush cascade of snowy white whiskers, magically putting every hair back into place.
“This is a disaster,” he bellowed, echoing through the cavernous workshop. “Only three days left until Christmas, and Jingles quits to start an apiary in Portland, Oregon. I can’t manage this circus alone. How will I get by without my Chief Elf?”
Nearby, Steve—a mild-mannered man in his late forties who had no business being in the North Pole—shifted uncomfortably on a candy cane–shaped stool. His sweater vest was too thin for the Arctic chill, and his knitted brows suggested he regretted tagging along to his new boyfriend’s office.
“Listen, Nick,” Steve began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s your busy season and everything, but I was hoping we could talk about… us. Our relationship. I’m not sure I’m cut out for the whole ‘boyfriend of Santa’ gig.”
Santa turned, seeing Steve as if for the first time. He and Steve had only been dating for a few weeks. Like most of Santa’s exes, Steve had had trouble adjusting to his unique occupation. He liked Steve and might even love him, but now wasn’t the time for the stereotypical “Where is this going?” conversation. If only he could buy some time until after Christmas.
Santa’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
He approached Steve, the gold accents of his suit glinting under the lights with each step. He rested one hand on his gleaming silver belt buckle and let the reflections dazzle across Steve’s face. Placing the other hand on Steve’s shoulder, he leaned so close Steve could feel his body heat and breathe in the musk of a man who loved deadlifting as much as he loved desserts and treats.
“Oh, Steve, you’re perfect for the gig. And I mean perfect.” He plopped his hat back on his head and clasped his gloved hands, rubbing them together as his plan coalesced. “You’re great with people. You’re organized. And—” he hesitated, his grin turning sly beneath his whiskers. “You’re pliable.”
“Pliable?” Steve bit his lip.
Before Steve could question further, Santa retrieved a glowing snow globe from his desk and handed it to Steve. It shimmered with an unsettling, iridescent blue light. Steve gazed into it, his attention captured without protest.
“Hold still, sweetheart,” Santa said, a hint of growl in his voice.
“Wait, what are you—” Steve tried to get up off the stool, but the snow globe pulsed, and suddenly his limbs felt like jelly. He slumped back down, his mind swimming as the light grew brighter.
Santa’s voice, warm and velvety, poured into his ears. “You’re going to love this, Steve. Trust me. You’ve got everything it takes to be the perfect elf. A little jingle, a little sparkle, and a lot of Christmas cheer.”
Steve’s protests died in his throat as a strange sensation washed over him. He felt… smaller? No, that wasn’t right. It was more like everything around him was getting bigger. His hands and feet seemed to inflate like overfilled balloons, and his middle began to round out, his sweater stretching over a belly that hadn’t been there five seconds ago.
“Wait. Wait!” Steve finally managed to gasp. His voice was an octave higher than usual. “I don’t want to be an—”
With a pop and a shimmer of glitter, his sweater vanished, replaced by a tight, shiny green PVC tunic and a belt cinched around his newly rotund waist. His pants were equally snug and metallic, and bells jingled somewhere as he shifted.
“—an elf,” he finished weakly, staring at his reflection in a nearby mirror. His ears were pointed, his cheeks bright pink, and his formerly graying hair now bright blond and curled into a perfect swoop under a jaunty hat.
“Oh, you look darling,” Santa cooed, admiring his handiwork. “And those proportions! Classic Chief Elf material.”
Steve struggled to his feet, the bells on his curly-toed shoes jingling with every step. “This is insane, Nick. I can’t run a workshop. I’m an accountant from Milwaukee! I don’t even like—”
Santa pressed a finger to Steve’s lips, cutting him off with an exaggerated “Shhh.” Steve obeyed.
“You’ll be great, Steve. I believe in you. Now, let’s get you acquainted with the team.” Santa spun on his heel and called out to the room. “Everyone, meet your new Chief Elf!”
A cheer erupted from the gathered elves, though a few of them cast Steve sidelong glances that suggested they knew precisely how he’d gotten the job.
“Santa, I mean Nick,” Steve hissed as he was dragged toward the throng of cheering elves, “this is not what I signed up for!”
Santa leaned in close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Technically, you didn’t sign anything. But don’t worry—you’ll warm up to it. Besides,” he added with a wink, “you said you wanted us to spend more time together, right?”
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