Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 136: ’A Little Closer...’

Chapter 136: ’A Little Closer...’

The shift was immediate. The air seemed heavier, the silence that followed almost suffocating. Heinz froze, his expression unreadable, and Florian regretted the question the moment it left his lips. His chest tightened, panic clawing at him as his mind raced.

’Shit. That was too much, wasn’t it? What the hell was I thinking?’

"I— I didn’t mean to—" Florian stammered, the words tumbling out in a frantic attempt to backpedal.

Heinz raised a hand, cutting him off with a small, dismissive wave. "Calm down," he said evenly, his voice steady yet firm. "I’m not upset. I just... wasn’t expecting that question."

The tight knot in Florian’s chest loosened just slightly, and he let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. ’Okay, so he’s not mad. That’s a relief... I think.’

Heinz leaned back, his gaze now sharper, more calculating. "Before I answer, may I ask why you’re asking this?"

Florian hesitated, fingers curling tighter around the edge of his cup. He allowed himself a faint smile, more out of habit than ease, and dropped his gaze to the dark coffee swirling inside. Even in the novel, the question had lingered unanswered.

Kaz had kept Heinz’s true feelings toward Florian shrouded in mystery.

"I was just curious, really," Florian said at last, his voice cautious. "I know... that you had him executed, and that he would always pester you, and you ignored him. Sometimes... I feel his emotions, not just his memories."

Heinz tilted his head, a subtle but deliberate movement, as though weighing Florian’s words. "And what does he feel?"

"Sad," Florian said quietly, the single word heavy with meaning.

Heinz’s gaze didn’t waver. "Do you feel bad for Florian? Is that why you’re asking this?"

Florian blinked, his thoughts scrambling for clarity.

Did he feel bad? He wasn’t sure. Back when he’d read the story, Florian had never been his favorite character. If anything, he’d found him frustratingly weak, a shadow of what a royal or a main character should be. But now, living in the remnants of Florian’s memories, things felt... different.

"I’m not sure," he admitted with a soft chuckle, the sound hollow even to his own ears. "I never personally knew him to feel bad, but... I guess I do think he’s a bit pitiful."

Heinz’s response came not in words but in action. He reached for his cup, his movements slow, deliberate, like every second was being carefully measured.

He took a sip, his expression unreadable, before setting it back down with a soft clink. "I didn’t hate him," he said finally, his voice even and composed.

"I was only bothered by his persistence. I ignored him, yes, because there was no point. He was here simply because he was the only thing his kingdom could offer. I had nothing against him."

Florian nodded automatically, but the words gnawed at him. Something didn’t feel right. His gaze flicked up, meeting Heinz’s.

The king’s expression remained perfectly composed, but there was a darkness lurking just beneath the surface—a flicker of something Florian couldn’t quite place.

’He’s lying,’ Florian thought, his stomach twisting uneasily. ’If he didn’t hate Florian, why does he look like that? And...’

"That’s understandable," Florian replied evenly, forcing his voice to remain neutral.

’...if you didn’t hate him, why did you accuse him of treason when he did no such thing and have him executed?’

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

After a few more moments of idle conversation, Heinz called it a night. Despite the strange, tension-filled line of questioning earlier, the evening had been unexpectedly pleasant—much to Florian’s surprise.

As they walked back toward the palace, Florian’s thoughts lingered on everything he had learned about Heinz tonight. Beyond what the novel had revealed, there were facets of the king that had taken Florian completely off guard.

For instance, Heinz was a skilled swordsman—something the novel had barely touched on. He despised sweet things, with the sole exception of his preferred tea. And, perhaps most fascinating of all, Heinz was one of the few people who could fluently read, write, and speak the ancient language of Concordia.

And there was more—so much more.

Florian realized that Heinz wasn’t just "regressor" intelligent; he was, without a doubt, a certified genius. The sheer depth of his knowledge, the precision of his words, and the way he navigated every conversation with calculated intent left no room for doubt. But for all his brilliance, there was something undeniably missing.

If Florian had to put it into words, it was this: Heinz lacked empathy. He lacked a fundamental understanding of human connection unless it served a purpose or could be analyzed like a chessboard.

Still, Heinz was more expressive now than Florian had expected. In the novel, Heinz had always been vibrant and lively—except when it came to Florian. Yet, even now, there was a pattern to his expressiveness that Florian couldn’t ignore. Every smile, every laugh, every flicker of emotion seemed... purposeful, as if Heinz were performing rather than feeling.

Nothing about Heinz screamed genuine.

And yet, for all his cold calculations, Heinz was... okay. If he weren’t a powerful tyrant king or a character pulled straight from a novel—if it weren’t for the strange, precarious circumstances binding them—Florian thought they might’ve even made good friends.

Florian didn’t have many close friends in this world. He was fond of Cashew, sure, but their relationship felt more like that of a guardian and a younger sibling due to their age gap.

Then there was Lucius. Florian considered him a friend, but Lucius’s obvious feelings for him made their interactions heavy with unspoken tension.

It was... complicated, to say the least.

As for the princesses, Florian couldn’t say he was particularly close to them yet. He’d seen a new side of Scarlett today, but whether that changed anything remained to be seen.

’He’s still hiding a lot of things,’ Florian mused, glancing at Heinz as they walked side by side under the soft glow of the palace lights. ’But... I feel like we’re a little closer today.’

The quiet stretched between them, not uncomfortable but far from companionable. Then, a thought struck Florian, breaking the silence.

"Oh, Your Majesty, before I forget," Florian began, his tone light.

Heinz glanced at him, his golden eyes catching the faint moonlight. "Yes?"

"Who are you going to choose to accompany you for the ball?"

Heinz tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Mhm? Aren’t you the one choosing for me?"

Florian couldn’t help but laugh softly. "That’s what I thought at first, too. But over the past few days, I’ve come to realize there’s no doubt in my mind—you’re going to be the one to choose."

Heinz didn’t respond immediately. His steps were unhurried, and his expression remained amused as his gaze lingered straight ahead. Florian recognized the look—it was the same one Heinz wore whenever he thought he’d successfully orchestrated something without anyone noticing.

Heinz finally let out a breathy laugh, low and smooth. "You’ll find out tomorrow. I’ll be announcing my choice then."

Florian’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. ’I was right,’ he thought, the quiet thrill of holding his own against Heinz coursing through him. For once, he felt like he was able to think on the same level as the king. "I look forward to it," he said simply.