Weismann: A Narrative Fiction

Shiro dropped the cheery disposition. “I'm sorry.”

The Black Dog relaxed. “No, I'm glad you're alive.”

“Same goes to you.”

“So how up to date are you?”

Really, Shiro knew pretty much everything about what's happened. That was exactly why he was able to make such a flawlessly timed entrance, naturally. Was it all entirely intentional? Maybe. Who knows?

“You haven't changed at all, you clown...” Kuroh actually smiled this time.

Maybe. In truth, Shiro had been working behind the scenes, hoping he could handle this whole mess without dragging everyone into it, but the Green Clan moved quicker than he anticipated. Stilling stroking Neko's head, Shiro quickly became all smiles once more. “Because of that, they dragged me out. So really, I'm causing more trouble for everyone now.”
“Damned right,” Kuroh agreed, “you jerk.” He started to walk away, arms crossed like someone of high authority admonishing their junior.
“If you had shown up and shared the joy and pain with us, we wouldn't be having this discussion.” He took on an oddly regal pose. “Adolf K. Weismann – no, Yashiro Isana.” He turned sharply, a stern glint in his blue-grey eyes. “Don't forget, we're your
Clansmen.”

Shiro searched for something to say, but Neko perked up. “Yeah, Shiro!” Surprisingly, she removed herself from him. She ran to Kuroh, and yanked his arm, dragging him back. Somehow, she succeeded in making Kuroh follow her, and forced the man to throw an arm around Shiro's shoulder. With all her strength, Neko squeezed the three of them into a tight hug, not allowing Kuroh to shake himself free. “You're our King!”

The double embrace was warm, with both Clansmen's long hair brushing against Shiro's face. It helped to further relax him.