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

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.