Deep down, he always wanted to be an interior decorator, but his father (the Smith) always expected him to become an adventurer.
So he over-compensates by resorting to force at the slightest provocation.
His adolescence was complicated by a secret relationship with the butcher's boy Bruce. The two always planned to run away together.
To a happier place where they could decorate castles and run wild through the forest, and take long walks on the beach at sunset.
But last year he and Bruce had a falling out. Over a girl, of all things.
Since then he's become more withdrawn, darker. Decorating his rooms in brick red and gunmetal, rather than the gleaming steel and crimson of his youth.
Bruce used to talk for hours about growing up to become a famous pastry and desert baker, a cake decorator extrordinare.
Now Thack can hardly look at a cake without bursting into tears.
Even the sight of a frosted bun or a bit of fondant causes him to unleash his defensive fury in a berserker rage, concealing his inner vulnerability by lashing out at anything and everything around him.
His younger brother's 9th birthday was his last day at home. The party was... a disaster.
The party was held in the family's side yard, it was a gorgeous spring afternoon, the yard gaily decorated with streamers.
Thack went outside to wish his younger brother a happy birthday. He walked around the corner of the house, and then he saw it.
In a flash, all his internal dams broke. The longing, the anguish; it all came flooding back. Thack lashed out in a blind rage, a red velvet haze.
When he came to, surrounded by the shredded remains of the party, nothing remained of the cake save part of the uppermost layer, sliding indecorously down the shed.
In the distance, he could still see some of the guests, fleeing for their lives.
His tears tasted like frosting.