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The morning light crept into Perth’s luxurious estate, but there was no warmth between the two figures who shared its silence. Santa sat on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in a long white shirt that brushed his knees, his short shorts barely covering his milky thighs. His arms were crossed, and he stared coldly at the floor while Perth tried to keep a distance, his eyes full of restraint.

Santa didn’t let him touch. No cuddles. No kisses. No hugs. Not even the brush of a finger.

The room felt split in two—Perth, the once untamable mafia criminal now obedient and helpless, and Santa, the wounded yet defiant beauty who held all the power in his soft hands and sharp tongue.

That morning, Santa stood, fixed his disheveled clothes, and left for the hospital without a word. Perth didn’t stop him. He knew better now.

One of Perth’s most trusted guards, Leo, escorted Santa to the hospital for an emergency operation. A woman had gone into labor too early, and panic had struck the entire ward. But Santa—Doctor Santa—walked in like a storm cloaked in silk.

“Scalpel,” he said sharply.

The nurses obeyed.

Sweat lined his brow, but his hands never trembled. The woman screamed. The tension was thick, but Santa’s focus never broke. Minutes stretched like hours until—

A cry pierced the air.

Then another.

Twins.

“Thank you, Doctor ” the woman sobbed, clutching his wrist. “You saved us.”

Santa gave her a tired, small smile. “Get some rest. You did all the hard work.”

Leo walked behind him proudly as they left. Even the mafia’s finest couldn’t ignore the shine in their doctor’s eyes.

They returned to Perth’s mansion by late evening. As Santa stepped in, he heard Perth in the distance, talking to his men over the phone.

“No, move the cargo to the Romanian route. We’ll need a clean extraction point—”

Santa rolled his eyes and walked into the hallway, straight into his bedroom. He changed into his white shirt and those sinful shorts, the ones that made even Perth’s guards swallow nervously.

Then he walked right into the living room, where Perth had just ended his call.

Santa sat on the armrest of the chair in front of Perth, stretching his legs deliberately, thighs fully exposed, milky skin catching the light.

Perth’s jaw clenched. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

Santa smirked. “Doing what? Existing?”

Perth leaned forward. “Santa…”

Santa raised a brow. “Touch me and I’ll stab you with your own knife, VaZe.”

Perth sat back, groaning.

Santa rested his chin in his hand. “Want me, don’t you? Desperate little mafia boss. Can’t even touch his own hostage. Or am I the guest now?”

“I’m trying to earn your trust,” Perth muttered.

“Good. Keep trying.”

Perth swallowed hard. “Can I at least—”

“No,” Santa cut in. “No hands. No lips. No breathing near me unless I say so.”

Perth looked like he was being tortured.

“Now,” Santa stood, yawning dramatically, “carry me to my room.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Santa…”

Santa pouted, already turning away. “Fine, I’ll walk barefoot, stub my toe, cry, and haunt your room all night.”

Perth sighed, stood, and without another word, scooped Santa into his arms.

His fingers accidentally pressed against Santa’s bare thighs.

Santa’s arms draped over Perth’s neck lazily. “Careful, VaZe. One wrong squeeze and I scream bloody murder.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Perth whispered.

Santa narrowed his eyes. “Then prove it. Don’t touch unless I say.”

Perth’s steps were slow, cautious. His guards, standing at the corridor, watched in absolute shock. Their boss—the ruthless, cold-blooded VaZe—was carrying someone like a princess.

They stifled laughs.

“Sir?” one dared to ask. “Everything… alright?”

Santa grinned. “He’s tame now. Like a guard dog who bites only on command.”

The guards nodded quickly, suppressing their smiles.

Perth reached Santa’s room and gently placed him on the bed. He crouched and handed him a small teddy bear Santa had brought with him.

“I want you to feel safe,” Perth whispered. “Even if I don’t deserve your trust yet.”

Santa hugged the bear, avoiding his eyes. “Goodnight, VaZe.”

Perth closed the door behind him and left.

—

Later That Night

Perth lay in his room, sleepless. But eventually, he passed out.

A soft creak in the hallway stirred the guards.

Santa, in his oversized shirt, tiptoed silently. The guards stared.

“Sir?” one whispered.

Santa tilted his head. “Just making sure your boss gets his goodnight kiss.”

The guards blinked.

He slipped into Perth’s room and walked up to the bed. Perth was asleep, shirtless, breathing steadily.

Santa stared down, eyes softening just a little. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Be patient, VaZe,” he whispered. “Even thorns bloom.”

He tucked the blanket gently over Perth and stepped out.

The guards were waiting.

“Don’t tell him,” Santa said, finger to his lips.

“We won’t, sir.”

Santa walked back to his room, smiling to himself.

For the first time, he slept peacefully.

—

The next morning, Leo walked into Perth’s study, holding a cup of black coffee.

“Boss?” he asked.

Perth glanced up from his documents. “What is it?”

Leo hesitated. “About Dr. Santa…”

Perth’s pen paused mid-signature. “Did something happen?”

Leo cleared his throat. “Last night, he kissed your forehead while you were asleep.”

Perth blinked. “What?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but he told us not to. I thought you should know.”

For the first time in days, a smile tugged at Perth’s lips.

“Thank you, Leo.”

Leo blinked. “You’re… welcome?”

Perth leaned back in his chair, the image of Santa leaning over him burned into his mind.

“Even thorns bloom,” he whispered to himself, eyes sparkling.

ARGHHHHHH I AM  BLUSHING ...... 😭🥀