Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 328: ’It’s Me.’

Chapter 328: ’It’s Me.’

Lucius’s gaze shifted, flicking between Florian and Cashew like a silent plea caught in his throat. And Florian saw it—he recognized that look instantly. Lucius wanted to speak. He needed to say something. But with Cashew still present, he couldn’t.

’Now, he wants to talk.’ Florian thought dryly, already feeling a weight form in his chest. He turned toward Cashew, softening his tone as he masked his irritation with a gentle smile.

"Cashew, can you go with Drizelous? Just in case he needs help with anything," he asked kindly, voice calm like a breeze before a storm.

Cashew blinked, caught a little off guard. But after a moment, he nodded quickly. "Yes, of course, Your Highness. I’ll do whatever I can!" he said, a little too enthusiastically, his eyes filled with concern—concern not for Lucius, but for Florian. It was clear the boy was still focused on easing his master’s stress, too distracted to notice the tense silence simmering between the other two.

Florian offered a small smile, reaching out to pat the teen’s head. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

But then, a sudden flutter of movement.

Azure, who had been resting nearby, stirred and flew with unexpected grace—right onto Cashew’s head.

Both Florian and Cashew blinked in surprise.

"Wh-What’s... this?" Cashew stammered, frozen in place, clearly not sure whether to be honored or alarmed. Azure had never done this before. Voluntarily perching himself atop Cashew like some sort of royal hat? Unheard of.

The small dragon, in response, calmly pointed his tail toward the hallway.

’Oh?’

"Azure wants to come with you," Florian interpreted with a faint chuckle, his mood lifting for just a moment. It amused him—especially considering how the two had nearly torn each other apart the day they met. At least someone was making progress.

Cashew still looked puzzled, glancing up stiffly, but didn’t argue. "Okay...?" he mumbled before quietly heading out, the dragon still balanced atop his head like a crown.

And just like that, the door closed.

The moment Cashew and Azure disappeared from view, Florian’s smile vanished like sunlight behind a stormcloud. His expression fell flat—tired, guarded, cold.

Lucius flinched.

"It stings more to see both your expression and emotions matching, Your Highness," Lucius said with a strained chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. But the hurt in his voice betrayed him.

Florian didn’t budge. He folded his arms across his chest, shielding himself in silence.

"Just say what you want to say and go," he replied flatly, like a blade dulled but still dangerous.

Lucius looked as if the wind had been knocked out of him. His lips parted, but he bowed his head first, voice trembling just slightly.

"I’m... sorry, Your Highness," he murmured. "I know what I said, and how I acted, was uncalled for. You don’t owe me anything—not your time, not your kindness, not even your presence. And certainly not your forgiveness."

He exhaled, struggling with the words. "I was selfish. I let my emotions cloud my judgment. I have no excuse. I just... I just wanted you to know that I’m truly sorry."

"Okay," Florian replied immediately—without thought, without emotion. Just a simple, curt dismissal that stopped Lucius in his tracks.

Lucius’s eyes widened. He probably hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

But Florian wasn’t done.

’He only apologized because I got mad.’ he thought bitterly. ’Not because he truly understood why I was hurt.’

"Pardon?" Lucius asked, confused.

Florian’s voice turned calm again—but this time, it was the kind of calm that came after being burned too many times.

"Lucius, I can’t control how you think or feel," he said, his tone polite yet sharp. "I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. And I shouldn’t have forced you to talk to me, either."

"No, Your Highness, I—"

Florian raised a hand, halting him with quiet finality.

"Can we not do this?" he sighed. "Go investigate with Lancelot. Help Drizelous. I cannot deal with this right now—not when it’s two hours before my presentation and everything has gone to shit."

Lucius fell silent.

His lips closed slowly, shoulders sinking with the weight of unsaid words. He looked like he wanted to fight—to stay, to explain—but knew better.

He bowed, barely above a whisper. "I shall go then."

Without another word, Lucius turned and walked out, the door shutting behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than a scream.

Florian sat down with a sigh, rubbing at his temple.

"What was he even thinking, speaking to me now?" he muttered bitterly. "At this moment... when everything’s already messed up."

He stared blankly at the fluttering blue butterflies around him—his silent, delicate companions. They danced in the air, graceful and quiet, and for a brief second, he felt like he could breathe.

But it didn’t last.

’This is bad.’ Florian thought, as his eyes narrowed. ’This could be the savior’s way of warning me, right? Does he... not want me to go through with the presentation?’

But something didn’t add up.

Why warn him?

Why not stop the presentation directly?

Why... target the clothes?

The butterflies hovered nearby as if waiting for him to piece it all together.

’What am I missing?’ he thought, tapping a finger anxiously on his lap. His mind spun with possibilities, but he knew one thing for certain:

He wouldn’t have answers until Lancelot and Lucius returned.

Florian’s eyes wandered slowly back to the tattered garments strewn across the chair—the once elegant outfit he was supposed to wear for the presentation now reduced to shredded fabric and scorched lace.

His chest tightened.

"I’m sure Drizelous will come through," he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself as much as state a fact. "But after that... what do I do?"

The question lingered in the air, unanswered.

He swallowed thickly. The edges of his nerves felt like they were fraying. He could already feel the paranoia creeping in, the itch of unseen eyes watching him, the lingering unease twisting in his gut.

’Get a hold of yourself, Florian. Breathe. Breathe.’

He closed his eyes, tried to steady his pulse, but even now—especially now—he could feel the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Everything had been fine this morning. He had planned, prepared, practiced every line of that damned speech. Yet here he was, spiraling again.

’Should I have told Heinz after all...?’ he thought guiltily, ’Would this have been avoided if I just stopped keeping everything to myself?’

The thought barely had time to take root when—

Knock. Knock.

Florian froze.

His breath hitched, and his eyes snapped toward the door.

"Huh...? That was quick..." he whispered, but the unease slithered back into his voice. "Or..."

His heart dropped.

Lucius and Lancelot had only just left. The hallway should’ve been empty. No one else knew he was alone.

That knock wasn’t reassuring.

It was ominous.

’No. No. That can’t be good. Not now.’ His mind began spiraling again. ’Could it be...him?’

He steadied his voice and called out, "Who is it?"

No response.

The silence on the other side was thick. Heavy. Dread settled in Florian’s stomach like a stone.

He rose from his seat, every step toward the door slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of the nearby table for balance. The butterflies fluttered in place behind him, their glow dimming with the tension in the air.

He stood just inches from the door now.

"Who is it?" he repeated, louder this time. Sharper. He wasn’t afraid to raise his voice if needed.

Still... nothing.

He almost turned to grab something—anything—to defend himself when finally, softly, the voice came through.

"...It’s me."

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