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Now, heres someone Masamune never expected to see again.
Ursula smells, looks, sounds the same. Alone at night, walking on the road, just like he used to see them way back when. Eric used to say, (it's been so long since he's spoken with Eric), if they wont be mine, I want them gone, and Masamune used to repeat this so often that Eric's possessive 'mine' turned into his own sense of ownership. It's been a while. It's easy to remember. He hisses.
They spin around, recognize him- he tenses up to chase- there's nothing to chase, they don't run anywhere. Instead, they throw open their arms. He mimics the pose uncertainly, and they seem to take it as permission to rush forward in a useless, pathetic tackle that can't even knock him over. When they pull away, his chest is wet. Huh.
"Masamune!!"
How long has it been since someone said his name?
"Ohhh my god, you're back, I'm so glad. I'm... I'm so sorry, we felt so backed into a corner, I didn't want to-" they're babbling. "-Cried all night, you can ask Rowan, they'll tell you it's true, and then I took all of you- even the you that's everyone else, that's you too- and I brought it to Eric, and, I don't know about now but at the time he was desperate to make things up to me, so I made him promise, yeah, to fix you as soon as he felt, you know, stable enough-" they take a step back, look him over. "Are you doing okay? Got a place to stay, and all that?"
The rest washed over him, but this he can nod to. He lives in the forge basement, same as ever, except now the rest of it is empty. One day he woke up again and Eric slammed the trapdoor and said And stay there! Just be glad you're alive! Don't make trouble!, but Masamune was human enough to think this order laughable, human enough to get hungry, and blade enough to cut through a lock. There's a lot of scrap metal down in the forge that people will buy. It's a living.
"Good, good," they say, nodding like those little plastic dogs people hang in car windows. "Not that I thought you can't take care of yourself- I was just worried, sorry, again-"
Theres a hesitancy in their voice he doesn't know what to do with. It's not fear, or they'd be running. If anything, from the way they keep reaching out, nearly touching him, pulling away, it's more like.... they're scared of hurting him. All alone? With just flesh? Even their nails are cut short. Laughable.
"-Overheard you like cookies, once-", that gets his attention. "Macaroons, yeah? It's almost the season for them, right, I'll bake you some if you want, I'm renting an apartment here again, did you know? Just for a bit, and then I'm moving in a few months later- with Rowan, actually, you know them, they killed you with me, sorry, again, anyway, it's fine if you don't want, I'm just, I'm sorry we barely know each other I'm just so relieved-"
So much time has been spent thinking about want them gone that now that he does have Ursula all to himself, he doesn't know what to do. And truly, this is all to himself. With others, they are bold and confident, and laugh loudly, shove their friends good-naturedly. He's seen them get mad and yell, and blush and smile differently than the way they're smiling at him now. Even with Eric they are cold, flat, emotionless. This apologetic-worry-babble is something for Masamune alone, and that's something to treasure.
"I'll follow you", he settles on, and they grin widely at him and set off down the street. They invite him inside- it's a different apartment than their last one. He didn't even know where it was. They start pulling out ingredients and it starts smelling like baking in there.
"You want to mix this?" they ask, holding out a whisk. "Only if you want to, again, if you just want to hang out that's fine-"
"Whissssk," he says, and takes it from them. It's got a good hiss to it. He collects words like these.
It's too good to be true, of course. These strange brown lumps that smelled so good in the oven have not become the light pastel delicacies Eric used to reward him with.
"Liessss," he sneers, and Ursula's face goes paler than when he tried to kill them.
"What?! No, no lies, I made you macaroons! I'd never lie to you, look-" they start typing frantically on their phone, and then-
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"Did you mean macarons. Oh my god I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, it's like one O's worth of difference but a totally different cookie-" there's that babbling again. Music to his ears. "Look, uh, try one, maybe you'll like it, only if you want to of course, I'd never want to make you-" he takes one, and bites into it. It's sweet, and very thick. He takes a second and they breathe a deep sigh of relief.
"Can I try one?" they ask.
It's weird that they're leaving that decision up to him. Part of him wants to say no, just to be mean, and more just to see what they'll do. Part of him... is growing tired already of this just-for-him attitude. He'll bear sharing the other emotions with everyone else if they can be directed at him too. He'll bear sharing the plate if they'll smile at him with that confident grin he's seen on them from far away.
The first impulse wins.
"No."
"Oh! No problem. I'm going to get us something to drink, then-"
They just let him call the shots on that one, no questions asked. Huh.
They sit across from him with a glass of milk as he eats and don't stop that stream of words. They tell him about everyone inside him- an honest and kind estoc who's recently, finally, escaped the expectations crushing him. A talwar who sees the shadow of death in every face and dances anyway, half out of an admirable playfulness and half out of a despairing what else can he do. A quick-striking, art-loving dagger, trying to let herself be more open to love. A dedicated, loyal scythe who knows a lot about magic and lashes out under pressure. A talented, passionate laser saber who's fame has made him guarded. A cheerful glaive who knows little of the world but is eager to learn. A furry brass knuckle set who cant decide if he wants to be in or out or in or out or in or outdoors.
"I dont mean this as gossip," they add. Gosssssssip, there's a word that feels nice in the mouth. "Really, I don't! It's that I think you deserve to know everybody that makes you up, good parts and bad. So you know what you're dealing with. It'll... well, I don't know anything for sure. But I'm hoping that it'll help you get to know yourself better."
There's nothing to really say to that. He puts the last cookie in his mouth and thinks it over. Ursula's finally quieted down, and is staring into their empty cup.
"So..."
"Sssssssso."
"It's kinda late, I need to go to bed," They don't invite him to stay, he notices. He knows from Eric and his old rants that they've invited some others. If Eric were here he would feel enraged and jealous by this but he hasn't spoken with him or dwelled on Eric's feelings in what feels like forever. It feels, to him, fine to leave now. He's full of good food and a lot of care and attention directed squarely his way. He's satisfied.
"Do you want to... hang out sometime again?"
"I'll find you again," Masamune hisses, and immediately leaps out of their window into the street below. It's like something he'd've said a year ago, except now when he looks up they're waving. It's the same distance he used to see them at all the time except now they know he's there and want this anyway. Now the waving is for him.
Hm. He likes it better this way.