Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 174: ’The Prince Brighter Than The Sun’

Chapter 174: ’The Prince Brighter Than The Sun’

The orphanage had never felt like home.

It was just a place where children with nowhere else to go were stuffed into cramped rooms and given just enough food to survive. No one really cared about each other—at least, not in the way a family should.

For as long as he could remember, the other children had tormented him. It wasn’t enough that he had no family, no real name—his eyes made him a target too.

"Monster eyes," they called him. "Freak."

Purple wasn’t a normal eye color, they sneered. It was eerie, unnatural.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that something he had no control over made him different. Made him hated.

Today was his birthday. He had just turned thirteen.

No one celebrated it.

Instead, the teasing was worse than usual. The whispers were crueler, the laughter sharper. And when he couldn’t take it anymore, he did what he always did.

He ran to the orphanage’s garden.

The one place where he could cry without shame.

The place that reminded him of her.

His mother used to tell him that if he ever had to cry, he should do it over flowers.

"Flowers like water, my love," she had said, brushing his hair back as he sobbed in her lap. "So no matter how sad you are, no matter how much you cry, at least your tears will grow something beautiful."

His mother had loved flowers.

And now, even though she was gone, he still took care of them. Even when the other orphans laughed at him for it. Even when they trampled the petals and ruined his hard work.

He sniffled, letting his tears fall freely onto the soft petals below. The flowers wouldn’t hate him for crying. They wouldn’t call him names.

They would just keep growing.

He barely noticed the hushed voices of the other children in the distance, excitedly talking about some tour going on today—something about the king’s harem.

He didn’t care.

Royalty, nobles, people who lived in castles—they had nothing to do with him.

He was just an orphan. A nameless, worthless orphan.

So he kept tending to his flowers, sniffling quietly, lost in his own world—until a shadow fell over him.

A soft voice, like wind chimes in the breeze, spoke.

"Are you okay?"

He flinched, looking up—and his breath caught in his throat.

Standing on the other side of the fence was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

Long, slightly curly hair the color of lilacs cascaded down their shoulders, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. Their eyes—bright, striking green—shimmered like fresh spring leaves after rain.

He had never seen anyone like them before.

For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if they were real.

The person smiled. It was warm, bright—like sunlight breaking through a storm.

"You have the prettiest eyes," they said, tilting their head slightly. "And this garden is lovely."

His breath hitched.

No one had ever said that before.

No one, except his mother.

He ducked his head, wiping his face with his sleeve, embarrassed that he’d been caught crying. "I... I don’t have pretty eyes," he muttered. "Everyone says they’re weird."

The person frowned. "Then everyone else is wrong."

He blinked up at them, unsure what to say.

The person rested their hands on the fence, leaning forward slightly. "Do you live here?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

"Do you have any family?"

Another nod. "No."

The person was quiet for a moment, then suddenly beamed. "Then... do you want to come with me?"

His head snapped up.

"What?"

The person laughed—a soft, musical sound. "I’m serious! If you don’t have anywhere to go, then come with me."

He stared, wide-eyed, his heart pounding.

No one had ever said that to him before.

No one had ever wanted him before.

"But..." His voice wavered, barely more than a breath. "Why?"

The person simply smiled again, serene and knowing, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Because you remind me of home."

His throat tightened, a lump forming so suddenly it ached.

This had to be a joke. A cruel trick.

Yet, there was no mockery in their eyes—only warmth, steady as sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

The person tilted their head, studying him with quiet curiosity. "What’s your name?"

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. "I... I don’t remember," he admitted, his voice a whisper of shame. "I forgot. I only remember my mother."

A soft hum. The stranger tapped their chin in thought, then, with a playful giggle, said, "Then can I name you?"

He blinked. Stared. "Name me?"

They nodded eagerly, eyes bright with something impossibly tender. "Of course! If you don’t have a name, then I’ll give you one."

He didn’t know what to say. It felt unreal, like he had stumbled into a dream too kind to exist.

But when he slowly nodded, the person’s smile bloomed even wider, golden and radiant.

They pondered for a moment, then suddenly lit up.

"I’ll name you Cashew!"

"...Cashew?" he echoed, dazed.

"Mm-hm!" They beamed. "I love cashews. They’re my favorite! And you’re adorable, just like them."

His cheeks flamed. No one had ever called him adorable before. No one had ever looked at him like this—like he was something precious.

He parted his lips, searching for words, for anything that could capture the weight in his chest, the strange warmth curling around his ribs.

But nothing came.

Because all he could think about was that this person—this stranger, this breathtaking, impossible person—was choosing him.

Him.

An orphan with nothing to offer.

A nameless child no one had ever wanted.

His chest clenched, a fierce, unfamiliar heat behind his eyes. He felt like crying again—but this time, not from sorrow.

For the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t alone anymore.

The person suddenly extended a hand toward him, palm open, waiting. "Come with me."

Cashew looked at it—the delicate fingers, the gentle callouses, the unshakable warmth. Then he lifted his gaze, meeting the prince’s sunlit smile.

And in that moment, he knew.

He would never cry in this garden again.

Because he had found his new home.

And his new name.

Cashew.

The name given to him by the prince brighter than the sun.

The prince who called himself Florian.