“Because they’re not performing monkeys.”
“No, Thomas,” Scott replied. “They’re deer, quite different to monkeys.”
Thomas inflated like he might shout but instead shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down. He dropped his hand to his lap, calm again. “They’re suspicious of us,” he said. “Once they’re comfortable, they’ll act natural, circling in a group huddle to discuss how to kill us.”
“Lovely.” Scott patted his thighs. “Sandwiches.”
Thomas snorted as he reached for the box in the back.
Comfortable silence descended over them again while they ate. Most of the deer stopped staring and began grazing the grass. Scott pointed out the fawns, awing at them as they bounced around with each other.
It was picturesque, and it was peaceful, and dared Scott think it, but it was the perfect calm. He thought about the storm, though, unable to help it.
Once they’d finished eating, Scott shuffled closer in his seat to rest the side of his head on Thomas’s shoulder.
“This…is nice.” Scott sighed.
“You enjoying yourfirstpicnic?”
“Not to be technical, but we didn’t leave the car, which I thought you said was integral to a picnic.”
“A picnic is anything you can make, then consume somewhere else; we’reoutsidethe grounds of the mansion.”
“But inside a car.”
“Not for long if you keep on, I’ll kick you out.”
“But we finished, so that still won’t technically be a picnic.”
“Unless you vomit it up and re-eat it.”
“Yum.”
Scott snorted, snuggling into Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas didn’t tell him off.
“Have you heard anything from Russell?” Scott asked.
“Not really. The last text he sent said he’d be there for me when it blew up in my face.”
“When what blows up?”
The top of Scott’s head burned with Thomas’s glare. “I have no idea.”
“Oh…”
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Thomas murmured. “I’m sorry that you saw that.”
“You told me not to look.”
“Still… It’s not nice…I know.” Thomas took a deep breath. “I know the damage things like that can do to you. Trolls. Negativity. Threats. How much it can affect every thought about yourself… And that was before I made myself look like this.”
Scott lifted his head. He didn’t ask, he waited, knowing it was coming. Thomas was about to share one of his secrets, if not all of them.
“I’ve had my fair share of trolls,” Thomas whispered. “It comes from being famous, I guess, but famous and not…handsome…or fit or whatever the public thinks you should be… Fame when you’re overweight, with long scraggily hair, and bad acne, it’s no picnic, Scott.”
“You’re…” Scott squinted, attempting to see through the tattoo. “Famous?”
“I used to sing. I released my first album at ten years old, a choir boy.” Thomas snorted. “My voice has been used on countless adverts over the years, and I’m still paid in royalties, but I only becamefamousat fifteen when my parents made me audition for a talent show.”
