Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 357: ’Fragile Determination.’

"Your Highness, why is your voice so hoarse today? Do you want me to prepare you some tea?" Cashew asked softly, placing a neatly folded towel beside the bath.

Florian was submerged in his new, opulent bathroom—a space more akin to a private spa than anything else. Steam clung to the walls, curling around the marble pillars and glistening mosaics. The tub itself looked more like a personal hot spring, wide and deep enough to swim in, its warm water shimmering with the scent of crushed petals and herbs.

He had been soaking in it ever since Heinz left. The heat helped ease the tension in his muscles, but did nothing for the storm brewing inside his mind.

Thankfully, Heinz had left just moments before Cashew arrived. The thought of being caught like that, tangled in emotions and regrets, was enough to make Florian want to drown himself in the steaming bath.

He still didn’t know how to act around Heinz. Not after that night. Not after everything he had learned, or everything he’d felt.

"Don’t worry, Cashew," Florian said with a strained smile, his fingers gently pressing against his sore neck. "I might’ve just overexerted myself during the presentation yesterday."

He tried not to let his mind wander.

Tried not to remember how Heinz’s mouth had been there—how his voice had been deep and hoarse from whispering against his skin—how his—

Florian clenched his jaw.

’Ugh. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about how his...thing was just inside your throat, thrusting like it had every right to be there.’

He shuddered, sinking a little deeper into the water as if he could scrub the memory off his soul.

"Cashew, what are my plans for today?" he asked, scooping up a handful of warm water and letting it run through his lavender curls, hoping the distraction would help.

Cashew tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mhm. His Majesty will summon the guests and the harem to the throne room to announce the final decision of the summit. That means the documents with everyone’s signatures will be presented."

’Right... today’s the last day of the summit. The dukes and their heirs will finally leave.’

"There will also be a farewell celebration. And afterward, you and His Majesty will personally see them off."

Florian nodded, water trailing down his shoulders like molten glass. "Alright. Please prepare my outfit for the day."

"Ah, eh... actually..." Cashew hesitated, his hands wringing the ends of his tunic.

Florian glanced at him. "Hm? What’s wrong?"

"N-Nothing’s wrong, Your Highness! It’s just—you received a note earlier and—"

A sudden, thunderous knock on the outer chamber door made them both flinch. It was so loud it echoed all the way into the bathroom.

"YOUR HIGHNESSSS! IT’S ME, THE AMAZING DRIZELOUS! I’VE BROUGHT YOU YOUR OUTFIT!" a booming, overly enthusiastic voice yelled through the door.

Florian sighed, closing his eyes. "Let me guess... was the note from Drizelous?"

Cashew nodded sheepishly.

Florian let out a soft laugh, the first in hours. "Let him in. I’ll finish my bath. Please let him know."

Cashew bowed. "Of course, Your Highness. Call me if you need anything."

As soon as the door shut behind his loyal servant, Florian slumped back, letting the water rise to his chin. The heat was comforting, but his thoughts remained as turbulent as ever.

’Heinz... told Florian he loved him in their first life.’

’He was drunk when he said it... but drunk people often tell the truth, don’t they? So, does that mean... Heinz really did love him?’

He squeezed his eyes shut.

’It would explain a lot about Florian’s obsession. Heinz probably loved him—maybe even deeply—but was terrified. Was it because Florian reminded him of his mother?’

But the question that haunted Florian the most wasn’t about feelings—it was about memory.

’Why does it seem like Heinz doesn’t even remember? How can he forget something like that?’

’Is this still the novel? Because this... this wasn’t written. Not in the version I read.’

So many inconsistencies. So many fragments of truths and lies, memory and fiction, life and illusion. And none of it was his doing.

This wasn’t a change caused by his transmigration. This was something older. Something buried deep in the original timeline.

’Why... why did Heinz have Florian executed for treason with Hendrix?’

’If he truly loved him, was it jealousy? But no, he let Lucius and Lancelot touch him. He never stopped them.’

The pieces didn’t fit. None of them did. And it wasn’t just frustrating—it was heartbreaking.

Even worse, Heinz hadn’t even acknowledged what happened last night. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like it had already been forgotten.

Florian exhaled, watching the ripples break against his chest.

’Why are these memories coming back now, at this time? Is it planned?’

’Why won’t Florian just show me everything at once, if he wants me to know him so badly? Why is he gaining more and more control over this body... but still won’t come back?’

He was grasping at pieces of someone else’s life, and the puzzle only made him feel more like a stranger in his own skin.

Once he felt the tightness in his lungs, he pushed himself up, breaking the surface with a gasp. His wet hair clung to his face, and droplets trailed down his chest as he breathed in deeply.

"Hah... On top of looking for Heinz’s killer, and figuring out who the hell’s trying to sabotage me, now I have to deal with this mystery—whatever this is—between Heinz and the original Florian. And the memories of me..." He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "Engaging in sexual acts with another man..."

He couldn’t even have one peaceful day.

At least the summit was nearly over. One storm was passing. He just had to brace for the next one.

’At the end of the day, the ones targeting me—the so-called "savior" and the traitor behind the scenes—they have plans. And plans always demand action. They’ll have to reveal themselves sooner or later.’

He glanced down at his hands, watching them tremble slightly above the surface.

’And when that happens... Heinz can help me. He still has that connection with the God who helped him.’

’Maybe then... just maybe... I can go back home.’

Back to the world he belonged to.

Back to his sister.

Back to peace.

Florian forced himself to steel his nerves as he slowly rose from the steaming bath, water cascading down his pale skin in rivulets.

He reached for the soft towel Cashew had set beside the tub earlier—thankfully warm from the steam-filled air—and wrapped it securely around his waist. The silence of the room was comforting, almost womb-like in its warmth, but he couldn’t hide in here forever.

He stepped out of the bath with measured grace, feet padding softly against the marble tiles as he walked to the door. Steam trailed behind him like a cloak, clinging to his skin. He took a deep breath, summoning what little composure he had left.

"All I have to do now is get dresse—"

The moment he opened the bathroom door, he froze mid-step.

Cashew stood by the side, bowing politely, as expected. Drizelous, flamboyant and vibrant as ever, stood dramatically with bolts of fabric and extravagant garments draped over his arms, his eyes glittering with excitement.

But that wasn’t what made Florian stop cold.

It was him.

"Y-Your Majesty!" Florian exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. ’Why is Heinz here again?!’

And not just here—Heinz was shirtless. Towering. And very much looking.

"Oh! Your Highness, glad of you to join us!" Drizelous chirped, practically vibrating with delight as he gestured with his arms full of luxurious silks and embroidered velvet.

"You see, after my dreadful interrogation, I decided it was simply imperative to design something new for both you and His Majesty to wear to today’s farewell banquet! As a token of apology, of course. And well, His Majesty was next door, so I thought, why not bring him along? Oh! And it’s just scandalous how you’ve been moved to the queen’s chambers—such drama, I live for it!"

Drizelous continued to babble in his usual animated fashion, but Florian wasn’t listening anymore. He couldn’t. His mind was too loud.

He felt it immediately—that intense prickling awareness under his skin. The heat that flushed his cheeks, the thundering in his chest. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Heinz wasn’t just present.

Heinz was staring at him.

No, staring at his body.

The king’s red eyes lingered unapologetically, tracing down the line of water droplets sliding over Florian’s collarbone, over his chest, down his stomach. Florian’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers gripped the edge of his towel, pulling it tighter, suddenly very aware of every inch of bare skin he was showing.

’Why does it feel like I’m being devoured alive just by his eyes...?’

"Florian," Heinz spoke, and just that—his name in that low, husky voice—made Florian flinch. The king’s lips curved into a smirk, sharp and wolfish. "Was the water hot?"

"H-Huh?"

"Why is your face so red?"

And just like that, whatever fragile determination Florian had managed to piece together while soaking in the bath... crumbled to dust.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢