Something you would never have counted on was that you’d have to drive around a 190cm boy around to go trick-or-treating.

You declined at first just because you really didn’t want to pay for gas to drive down to whatever neighborhood Jade had heard handed out the full-sized bars, but he was persistent. Sulking, pouting, vague manipulation: “I’ve no license,” he’d said, “and nobody else will drive me. I’ve always wanted to go trick-or-treating like the landdwellers, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden to you…”

Of course you felt bad about it just like he wanted you to, so you grit your teeth and begrudgingly agreed to drive. He immediately brightened up, serrated teeth displayed with an eager grin.

Your car wasn’t the fanciest—low to the ground, but it was speedier and took you from A to B without issues. Unfortunately, it was a little on the smaller side. A few minutes trying to adjust the passenger seat just for Jade to fit in, his knees uncomfortably high in his seat with an empty pillowcase in his lap (as you told him to bring, he’d get more candy that way). He continued to adjust his seat here and there on the drive, but he didn’t complain much.

What was annoying was his costume. The loose fabric dangling from his shirt constantly caught in the car door after each house, getting in the way of the gearshift, and he seemed aggravatingly cheerful about how it inconvenienced you.

It’s just a night, so you pressed on.

His favorite thing to do for the last half hour was asking what each and every single piece of candy that he’d received was, regardless if it blatantly stated exactly what was in it on the wrapper.

As you drove down one of the many streets he insisted on going down, Jade rummaged through his pillowcase and pulled out a candy bar and all but shoved it in your face, causing you to swerve before straightening the car.

“Now, what’s this one?” he asked. It was like every other one he’d asked about: some sort of combination of chocolate, nougat, caramel, peanuts, whatever else.