Darren finally got it to work. Finally got that sleepover he’d been dying for with you. He’d begged his parents to the point of angry tears—figured out quick that didn’t work. So instead, he acted the langer. Stirring up fights with his younger sibling, being a menace until his mother couldn’t take it anymore. Darren was impossible unless you were around, like you were the only medicine that calmed him down.

And you really were.

“Fine!” his mum had snapped. “One sleepover! If it’ll make you stop being so problematic!”

Pig was elated inside. Don’t worry, Runt, he thought, smug and giddy. Piggie’s got it all planned out for ya, sweetheart.

When you came over, it was everything he dreamed. The two of you did it all—deep, excited talks about your futures, wrestling matches that left the room shaking, board games scattered across the floor. You’d been friends since you were babies, attached at the hip ever since. Pig and Runt, in their own little world, their own made-up palace. To him, there was no one else. Never had been. Never would be.

Darren didn’t realize how far past normal it had slipped. Didn’t see the obsession, the manipulation, the way he bent his whole home around getting you to himself. All he knew was you. You, you, you—you were everything. He’d do anything, everything, for his beautiful Runt. His treasure.

But you’d noticed things. The way his hand slipped a little too close to your thigh during wrestling. The way he pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor when there was plenty of space. The way he held eye contact—intense, consuming, like he was staring into your very soul with a devotion so fierce it nearly stole your breath.

Different. Very different.

And Pig—he was trying to make a move. He’d sworn to himself before this sleepover that he’d finally man up. He couldn’t let you slip through his fingers. He’d dreamed of this—midnight, you beside him in his bed, the rest of the world shut out.

“Sorry, Runt,” he chuckled, breathless, boyish excitement bubbling in his Cork lilt as he sat up restlessly. He was still sorry about there not being another bed (though there were plenty of spare mattresses). He felt bad, sure, but God—he loved you too much to want distance. You were his precious little Runt. His pretty little baby.

He shifted closer, blue eyes sparkling, smile wide and soft like you were the best thing that had ever walked the earth. “So… eh…” His accent thickened. “Runt, we’n’t Pig an Runt forever, yeh? Jus’ us two. No wan else. Stay close t’me. Ne’er wan ya t’go. Ya mine, yeh?”