[Siddon/Riscor] I Need to Talk

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>Siddon was dressed, or at least partially, in normal clothes. He had on a kind of baggy hooded sweatshirt one might jog or shadowbox in that was a faded-with-age Violet over patient scrubs that stuck out awkward and beige from beneath it in a pressure-pleated skirt of a shirt and baggy, straight-leg pants. His hair was unstyled and the Ex-King sat looking out of the window of his private room, perched on the edge of his bed. The room was full of flowers, some new and some old, and various get-well cards and baskets of goodies he hadn’t had the appetite to touch or even unwrap.

Tonight, he was finally allowed visitors. He was waiting for one in particular to show up.
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Riscor meanders near the door for a moment before taking a deep breath and knocking. Gotta know if hes ready after all "uh...Siddon? can i come in...?"
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>"Yes, of course." He called from where he was sat, his voice strong enough to fill the room without even forcibly projecting. "Please do."
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Riscor hesitates before actually opening the door and stepping inside. He had on a gray parka coat, jeans, and his usual boots. He even had his glasses on! That's definitely first. Either he hadn't shaved in awhile, or he was working on growing a beard because he had that 5 o' clock shadow going on. He seemed...tired mostly. He definitely looked different since the last time Siddon saw him, not his usually peppy self, but more anxious and downtrodden. He closes the door behind him and gives a slight smile to the seadweller, putting his hands in his coat pockets "hey Siddon. how're ya feelin'?"
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>Siddon doesn't turn to face him, not out of animosity or disinterest, but because the sky from the hospital, cracks in the cavern ceiling that shone in oranges and pinks as the sun was setting beyond them. His attention was divided, though, between the cavern's sunset and a small metal object that he was worrying, turning over in his fingertips and obscuring from view. It had a golden chain coming down from it.

"I am well. My chest does not hurt anymore. I am getting used to the vibrations of the new pusher." His voice is warm and likewise tired, quieted now from how loud it had been before.
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Riscor follows his gavze to the sunset, moving a little closer to Siddon to watch it. He didn't get close enough to see what he was holding, but that wasn't important to him at the moment "...s'good yer chest ain't hurtin' anymore. s'a nice view, ain't it?"
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>At Riscor's closeness, Siddon shifted over on the bed, making room for the Jadeblood to sit beside him. "It is, it is beautiful." One of his hands clenched around the trinket he'd been fidgeting with, and his eyes turned to meet Riscor. He offered a warm smile. "Glad you could make it. Have a seat."
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Riscor looked down at the bed before sitting next to him. He glances at his clenched hand for a moment, putting his own hand over it before looking back at the view "...'m glad ta see ya again. feels like ferever 've actually seen ya 'n not just...in a video i guess? i dunno. i missed ya..."
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>Siddon's free hand came to rest on top of Riscors, sandwiching it between the closed fist and the open palm. His thumb ran over the Jadebloods knuckles idly.

"Riscor... I need to talk. Is that alright?"
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Riscor's ear twitched a little at the mention of talking. Of course they needed to talk...a lot had happened over the past few wipes. And he had fucked up majorly with Siddon. But the mention of talking still made him anxious, moreso than he already was. Siddon's hand over his was at least a little bit comforting...he missed small gestures like those. He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, then looks up at him

"yeah. it's fine. what...didya wanna talk 'bout?"
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>Siddon was stoic, but not cold. His expression was unreadable but lacked any kind of malice or anger. The Seadweller's fingers curled slightly, embracing the curves of Riscor's hand. His eyes, too, turned back out the window.

"I have... been lying." He starts, setting an unsteady framework for what he was about to say. "About who I am, about how I feel, about what I want. It started a very long time ago, long before I ever came to Verdant, long before I ever met you. I have attempted to deceive myself for so long that I had started to believe what I was telling everyone." He removes his fist from beneath Riscor's hand, shifting so that he can, instead, interlock the fingers of the other with the Jadeblood's fingers.

Opening his fist, a small locket was cradled in his palm. It was far too small for the seadweller to wear, both in scale of the fob and length of the chain. It was weathered, scratched, but despite that it held Conquera's Symbol etched in the face of the front plate, as well as a Identification Number for the Fleet.

"...This locket belonged to The Artefice. She was the Psionic Battery and Helmsman for The Astroite, a Fleet warship of which I was Commurdant." With the nail of his thumb, he opened the locket with practiced ease. Inside was an image of a goldblood with missing horns, metal caps embedded into geometrically scarred skin. She had a slender face with a sharp chin and various metal implants framing her cropped bald head. In her image, she looked neutral, only the barest whispers of a smile in the shape of her almond-shaped, bicolored eyes.

“The Artefice was the strongest Psionic I had met, able to control both Computers and Trolls with a single word, but had accepted her place within the Fleet and never raised a single claw towards rebellion despite being more than capable of it. She respected her work and the conquest of Trollkind over her own comfort and pledged herself to her work. I was honored to have worked alongside her.

I was even more honored to be her Matesprit. She...” He paused for a moment, the scaled webbing of his fins twitching as they came to rest flatter against his horns.

“...Nomane had fancied me since I began my Commurdant Service to her ship. It took 6 Sweeps for me to realize that we were Matesprits, something she had already decided when she discovered that I did not enforce strict Hemoloyalty and did not use my Caste to lord over her while not in active duty. We had grown close, talked, ate together, watched the stars. We were together for several Sweeps like that; never intimate, just existing beside eachother and serving the Fleet. We were flush in symbolism, which served us both perfectly. We... we never even kissed. Neither of us ever felt the need to, simply being in proximity was close enough.

I lost her. I wish I could say I lost her to the Virus, like so many others can, but I lost her to my own Hubris. She was injured in the line of duty due to my negligence and selfishness and I held her as she died. Even if I had never done such a stupid thing, she would have died of natural causes sooner rather than later. My Caste would have me survive her regardless.

But... That. That coexistence, that autonomous shared individuality had been the only Relationship I had never had to lie in. I had never had to force myself to be intimate, I had never had to force myself to display affection in any ways that did not come naturally to me. I did not have to change my life, nor my direction of focus, nor the way we interacted, and it spoiled me. So... all things being said, I have been lying; for your sake, for the sake of every other partner I’ve ever been with. I am not this... affectionate thing. I am a broken, selfish, and disinterested man who cannot stomach the idea of being lusted after, of being touched, of being found attractive. You do not deserve to have such important parts of a Quadrant restricted from you because I am incapable of performing the way you wish me to. I do not deserve to continue having to pretend that I am fine with acting, with lying just because I do not want to upset you or hurt you.

I believe... I rushed into things. I believe that I have rushed into far too much here on Verdant because I have been upset and cocky that Death did not find me, and yet at every turn it comes for me. The Pre-Emperor, my Pusher... I.” He pauses, having spoken a lot with very little time between his words.

“I do not know how to proceed. I am afraid of hurting you, and in turn I am afraid of continuing to hurt myself.”