Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 332: ’Shameful, Shameful’

"Florian..."

The name slipped from Heinz’s lips slower than usual—soft, low, almost like it weighed him down. There was no bite, no command, just... gravity. Yet the sound of it curled tightly around Florian’s spine, making him straighten on instinct.

He took a few steps forward, heart beating a little faster than he’d like to admit, and stopped just short of the throne. He dipped into a practiced bow, letting his gaze fall to the floor. Behind him, he sensed Lucius follow with crisp grace, Lancelot with stiff reluctance, and Cashew with nervous precision. A practiced routine—well-honed, well-rehearsed.

All except Azure.

The little dragon perched stubbornly on his shoulder, head raised, expression unimpressed as he blinked up at the king. He let out a soft huff, tail flicking lazily. Azure had always held a casual disdain for royalty—especially this one—and Heinz had returned the sentiment in kind. Their mutual apathy was almost impressive.

But Heinz didn’t look at Azure. His eyes were locked on Florian, and that—that—was what made Florian’s hands clench at his sides.

He dared a glance upward.

The King’s expression was unreadable. Pale skin, regal posture, blood-red eyes that flickered with nothing. No warmth, no displeasure, no smugness, no curiosity.

Just... blank.

’I can’t... read his expressions. Why is he just standing there like that? Why does it feel like the air’s heavier than it should be?’ Florian thought, the weight of Heinz’s gaze settling over him like a storm cloud refusing to break.

"Your Majesty?" he finally asked, his voice low, cautious—each syllable carefully measured. He needed to say something—to disrupt whatever strange silence had overtaken the room. The knot in his chest was tightening.

Heinz blinked slowly, as if roused from a deep thought, and cleared his throat. The sound felt foreign coming from him.

"Is that... the outfit Drizelous tailored for you?"

Florian’s brows furrowed slightly. Of all things to say, that question felt... oddly pointed.

Still, he nodded, clearing his throat. "Yes. This is exactly it."

It was a half-truth. Drizelous had tailored the outfit, but it wasn’t the one he originally designed. That one had been ruined beyond repair. What Florian wore now was a hastily reimagined version—stitched together in a rush, reworked in a single night. Elegant, yes, but undeniably different.

He felt his cheeks flush. His shoulders tensed under the weight of Heinz’s unrelenting gaze.

’I... I don’t like this. He’s staring more than Lucius and Lancelot do—and that’s saying something.’

Heinz said nothing. He didn’t blink. His gaze roamed—slowly, intently—and Florian had the absurd feeling that he was being studied rather than looked at.

A beat passed. Then another.

Finally, Heinz spoke.

"I see."

Just that. Two words. Neutral, flat—no hint of emotion. And yet they made Florian’s heart skip.

The silence that followed felt louder than anything else.

Desperate to think about anything else, Florian found his eyes drifting to Heinz’s attire. The King wore the same colors he did: black, red, and gold—the signature palette of the Obsidian family. On Heinz, the colors looked regal, inevitable. On Florian, they felt borrowed, like ill-fitting royalty he didn’t ask for.

Heinz’s long black hair was tied back, neat and elegant. His tailored suit was pristine beneath his cape, the Obsidian insignia stitched proudly across it. He stood like he was the kingdom—solid, unmoving, dangerously unreadable.

’He looks good.’ The thought came unbidden. ’Well... of course he does. He’s Heinz. The most handsome man in Concordia. There’s no law against noticing that.’

But then Heinz moved.

Without warning, he reached behind his shoulders and unfastened the clasp of his royal cape. The heavy fabric slid free in one elegant motion.

Lucius stiffened beside him. "Your Majesty, what are you—"

Heinz ignored him completely.

He stepped down from the dais, cape draped over one arm, and walked directly toward Florian—unhurried, unblinking.

Every step echoed through the hall like a slow drumbeat, and Florian suddenly forgot how to breathe.

’What is he doing?’

Azure, sensing the shift in tension, let out a small chuff and took flight with a beat of his wings, circling upward to perch on a beam above. The moment he left, Florian felt something else take his place—something heavier.

The cape.

Heinz had closed the distance and placed his royal cape over Florian’s shoulders—his arms moving around him with a deliberate slowness. It wasn’t rough. If anything, it was strangely gentle.

Too gentle.

Florian’s fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the edge of the fabric.

His heart pounded.

"...Your Majesty... why are you putting your cape on me?" His voice cracked, quiet with confusion. There was no mistaking it—this was his royal cape. The very same worn during official court. Florian shouldn’t be wearing it. Not like this.

Heinz looked down at him, gaze firm and direct.

"To cover you up."

The words struck harder than they should’ve. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

Florian’s stomach twisted. His fingers curled into the folds of the fabric, eyes wide.

"...Oh." His voice was small.

His heart sank.

’Does he really think I look that shameful?’

He looked down at himself, at the outfit he once thought was flattering—maybe even a little charming. It hugged him in the right places, flowed when he walked. It wasn’t vulgar. It wasn’t supposed to be.

But Heinz had covered it.

’Fuck. I didn’t even consider that Heinz might think it’s shameful... Ah...’

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

It hadn’t even been that long since Heinz had come to terms with it.

The desire.

The pull.

The maddening want.

He was sexually attracted to Florian.

That much, he could no longer deny—not when his own body betrayed him so easily, so frequently. Not when he found himself craving those flushed reactions, those startled gasps, those shy glances Florian gave when teased.

The same expressions he had burned into memory the night Florian was drugged by that cursed aphrodisiac.

Lust.

It simmered beneath his skin, hot and restless. It taunted him every time Florian did something so innocent—like biting his lip in thought or fidgeting with the hem of his clothes—and yet, it felt anything but innocent to Heinz.

But even now, especially now, Heinz knew he should not indulge. He could not.

He didn’t love Florian.

Not truly.

Not in the way people should.

In his first life, he had barely acknowledged Florian’s existence. Not even looking at him once.

So what had changed?

It was simple.

This Florian wasn’t the same.

This Florian made it impossible not to look. He was real—sharp-tongued, unpredictable, full of reactions that Heinz wanted to wring out of him again and again.

It was too easy to notice how his throat bobbed when nervous. How his lashes fluttered whenever caught off guard. How his slender waist curved just right when he turned too quickly. How Heinz’s hand remembered the way it fit there, once, briefly.

And every single one of those things...

Every sinful detail...

Was on full display now.

Florian stood before him in that damn outfit—cropped, bold, impossible to ignore. The gold embroidery hugged his figure, leaving just enough skin to tease, to tempt. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, lips parted in uncertainty, and those green eyes stared up at Heinz, wide and unguarded.

He looked beautiful.

He looked ruinable.

And Heinz wanted to ruin him.

’No. No. Stop it. Not here. Not now.’

It was wrong. All of it was wrong.

It was shameful.

He shouldn’t want him. Not when their nation was on the edge of chaos. Not when the summit still hung in the balance. Not when danger loomed with every passing day.

Especially not Florian. Of all people, it had to be him?

What made it worse, what stoked that dangerous fire inside him further—

Was the way Lucius and Lancelot were looking at him.

His most trusted aids. Men who, in his first life, had shared Florian’s bed.

’They’re not even trying to hide their stares.’

The possessiveness burned deep. He could feel it clawing at his chest, bitter and irrational and all-consuming. For a brief, violent moment, Heinz imagined obliterating the entire hall—using his magic, using Azure, anything—to burn everything down, take Florian by the wrist, and disappear.

But that was madness.

So instead, he reached for something else. Control. Composure. The last thread of restraint he had.

He unclasped his cape and stepped forward.

And when he wrapped it around Florian’s shoulders—his royal cape, heavy with the weight of the Obsidian crest—he did it without saying a word. Just action.

The dragon fluttered away in protest, but Florian remained frozen, stunned.

And Heinz didn’t dare look away.

Mine.

’He’s mine.’

The thought seared through him unbidden.

Fuck.

He narrowed his eyes, biting back everything he couldn’t say.

’It’s easier to deny these thoughts when he’s not standing right in front of me. But now...? Now I can’t even think.’

And it wasn’t even the first time Florian had worn something seductive. No, Heinz had seen worse—more revealing, more sinful—but he had ignored them then. Pretended not to care.

But now?

Now, those memories clawed at him, made his breath shorten, made the fabric of his trousers feel too tight.

He had to step back. Before he did something he would never be able to take back.

So, with practiced coldness, he composed himself.

"Are you ready, Florian? The Dukes are already inside. We can go in if you are."

His voice was detached, disinterested. The perfect imitation of the version of himself Florian expected—the cool, unreadable King.

Florian blinked at him, lips parting, clearly shaken. "Yes, I’m ready, I—" He suddenly paused, eyes darting down, patting his sides.

His face paled. "Shit."

Heinz’s eyes narrowed. "What?"

"M-My notes," Florian muttered, panicked. "I forgot them in my room."

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