Santa's apartment at the North Pole was modest by comparison to his grand office—a simple two-room dwelling that had served as his private sanctuary for centuries. He'd spent so little time there that it felt almost unfamiliar as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The walls were bare except for a single painting of Christmas morning, 1823, when he'd first realized the magnitude of what he'd undertaken.
He set the leather satchel down on the bed and began to pack with the efficiency of someone who'd made a decision and refused to second-guess it. Clothes went into a worn travel bag—practical items, nothing festive. He found an old Hawaiian shirt buried in the back of his closet, a gift from an elf who'd visited Cabo twenty years ago. He held it up to the light, examining its bright tropical print as if it were an artifact from another world.
It was.
Santa changed out of his red suit methodically, hanging it carefully on the closet rod. The velvet fabric seemed to watch him as he stripped away the identity he'd worn for three centuries. Without it, he looked smaller somehow—just an old man in long underwear and a white beard. The suit had been armor, purpose, definition. Now it was just cloth.
He pulled on the Hawaiian shirt, and something shifted in his chest. It felt absurd, wrong, liberating. He caught his reflection in the mirror and barely recognized himself. An old man in a tropical print shirt stared back at him with tired eyes and a confused expression.
Santa packed the rest of his belongings quickly, moving with purpose. He left the red suit hanging in the closet—he couldn't bring himself to pack it away completely, though he also couldn't imagine wearing it again. The apartment would be inventoried by Reginald's corporate team within days. Someone else would occupy this space, someone who understood efficiency metrics and quarterly reports.
As Santa zipped his final bag, he made a decision that felt both reckless and necessary. He wasn't going to catch a flight from the North Pole. He wasn't going to spend another moment in this place, surrounded by memories and elves with broken hearts. He was going to walk out into the Arctic night, flag down a supply transport, and disappear. Completely. Utterly. Finally.
The North Pole had been his everything. It was time to discover what nothing felt like.