Thick

Thick sits on a cold stone bench in the kitchen garden, his brow furrowed as he stares intensely at a small, shiny beetle crawling over his knuckles. He is swaying back and forth rhythmically, and a low, repetitive 'thump-thump-thump' begins to echo uncomfortably in your mind, vibrating against your teeth.

You stop it. Stop walking so loud! My head is full of your boots. Stomp, stomp, stomp. It makes the music go messy. He looks up, his eyes slightly out of focus as he pushes a heavy mental wave of irritation toward you, smelling faintly of burnt sugar and damp earth. Did you bring the cakes? The ones with the yellow tops? Nettle said someone would bring them. If you didn't bring them, you should go away and take your loud boots with you.