Sunset Valley no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face

he emerges from the woods ahead of his brother, eager to escape the crushing canopy formed by the trees around them. he's always needed to be able to see the sky; closed spaces feel like weight on his chest, like water in his lungs. quick footsteps take him further out into the valley, his gaze drifting upward. he slows, reluctantly allowing absynthe the opportunity to close the distance he's put between them.
he's in a mood. it's always been hard to explain his moods; they just happen, and he lets them, and god forbid anyone try to deny him this indulgence. maybe it's the weather, he reasons, hating the way the sun beats down on his shoulders. maybe that's just another excuse. he stares blankly and hatefully at the sun until his eyes start to burn and his vision starts to darken, and waits for his brother to catch up. he doesn't want to, but he finds he thinks little of what he wants these days.

He hates being left behind, even more so when it is his brother dearest leaving him in the dust. Absynthe scuttles after on tall stilt legs. It is obvious he refuses to be left behind. Fuck his brother's moods because he was in one himself.

The tattered raven draws closer and soon enough he is close enough to make contact. He traces his nose along the hip of his brother, not caring what he might receive for such a bold action. A low whine escapes him to announce his presence further.

Please stop staring at the sun. Absynthe pleads in a whisper with rough tones.

his brother is not far behind. the touch startles him, and he turns to sharply nip his brother's muzzle; not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. not here, his glare says, and he leaves it at that. his gaze returns to the sun at the same time his brother speaks. he laughs— a dry, humorless sound.
"it's taunting me," he tells him tiredly. he's silent a few beats, but finally relents and looks to absynthe. there's a deep purple blur across his vision; he can't really see him, but he knows his face well enough to imagine. "do you love me." the words come out dull and doubtful, only half posed as a question.

He pulls away shyly, trying to guard the scar tissue across his muzzle from his brother's nip. Purple eyes offer an apologetic glance a silent plea for forgiveness. Of course not here. How was he so foolish?

You're better than the sun's taunting. He coos softly. Abysnthe knows his brother can do better than staring at the sun. He feels both of them deserve more than days spent looking at the skies. A tattered ear and good ear press back against his crown at the words that fall from his brother's inky lips. Of course. The ebony male answers with an almost nervous tone to his voice as if to convey his internal question of what's wrong?

he sighs softly, blinking as his vision slowly clears. his gaze softens at absynthe's expression, but there is still something listless and melancholy in his face. "you shouldn't," he tells him, mouth dry. "you should hate me. you should want me dead." his throat aches suddenly, and he turns away. it isn't fair. he just wants it to be fair, for once — he wants to get what he deserves.

Of course the words were hard to hear when they spilled from his brother. A gentle throaty whine vibrated through Absynthe's neck and out lightly parted jaws -- as if the vibrations of his whine might shift the pieces of his brother back into place.

But I don't. He admitted softly as he sunk towards the earth slightly, quite literally hiding in this brother's shadows. I could never. No matter what.