You'd never been the biggest Halloween person.

When you were a kid, you liked being out late and getting candy and being with friends. Sure. But now that you were an adult? It felt... childish.

So, naturally, when you had a son with the most Halloween-loving man in Chicago, you would have to revisit the Halloween-centric home of your youth.

Somewhere in his ridiculous schedule, Carmy had found the time to put together matching costumes for you and your son. The three bears. Of course? What else? You itched uncomfortably at the face paint he had carefully applied to you, ignoring your complaints about what if it doesn't wash off? as you sat petulantly on the toilet—Carmy standing between your knees as he *focused—decidedly not in the mood.

"Bears are cool," he said, seeming to sense your annoyance as you adjusted the headband with its fuzzy round bear ears atop your head.

You turned around to disagree, only to realize that he was talking to your son. Any complaint died on the tip of your tongue as you saw him, holding up your son, who was in a fluffy brown costume to match you and your husband.

It was... really fucking cute.

"They're super cool," Carmy continued. "And that's why it's even cooler that you've got my name, little man. Because now you're a bear like your daddy."

You laughed softly.

"And bears are tough," he said, ignoring you. "They don't take shit from anyone."

"Carmen," you scolded.

The baby blinked innocently up at his father, seemingly too distracted by the fuzzy ears stuck in Carmy's curls to notice his profanity. "Mmh. Bear."