Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 78: ’Can’t Be Weak’

Chapter 78: ’Can’t Be Weak’

"What are you doing?" Aden leaned over the back of the couch, curiosity gleaming in his eyes as he peered at Kaz’s screen. She was lounging on the other end, legs tucked under her, mindlessly munching on chips while her fingers flew across the keyboard attached to her iPad.

"Please don’t tell me it’s another assault scene," Aden added with a groan. "The last one gave me nightmares."

Kaz didn’t even glance up, focused entirely on her work. "The readers apparently got nightmares too," she said with a shrug. "But no, this isn’t one of those scenes. I’m at the part where he finally gets saved."

Aden’s brows shot up. "Saved? By Lancelot, I’m guessing?"

"Yep. Heinz already paid the ransom for the princesses, but Charles and Arthur refuse to return Florian. Especially since they figured out Heinz doesn’t even care about him. So Lancelot steps in to rescue him."

Aden flopped onto the cushion beside her, folding his arms. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight—Lancelot, who doesn’t even like Florian at this point in the story, decides to risk his life to save him?"

Kaz nodded enthusiastically.

"And what do Charles and Arthur even want with Florian?" Aden narrowed his eyes at the screen. "You’re doing that thing where you write without thinking through the plot, aren’t you?"

Kaz huffed. "I’ll figure out the reason later! Right now, I just need Florian to be a damsel in distress, Lancelot to swoop in and save him, and then boom—Lancelot falls in love."

Aden’s face twisted in horror. "Oh god, I already know where this is going. Please stop."

"But I didn’t even—"

"No. No more details." He held up a hand as if physically warding off the inevitable mention of smut. "I’ve already edited enough of your scenes to know what comes next. I don’t need the mental image, thanks."

Kaz snorted, clearly unbothered. "You love it."

"I really don’t." Aden shook his head before pointing to her screen again. "But seriously, why can’t Florian try to escape on his own? You’re making him way too weak."

"Because he is weak, bro." Kaz shoved another chip into her mouth, as though the answer was obvious. "But that’s fine, because Lucius and Lancelot will always come to save him."

Aden groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Another arc with helpless Florian. Love that for your readers."

"Trust the process," Kaz said, grinning mischievously. "It works."

Florian’s chest heaved as he ran, every breath searing his lungs like fire. Each gasp rattled in his throat, raw and wet, as though he were breathing through shattered glass. His legs screamed in protest, muscles burning from exhaustion, but he forced them forward, staggering through the dense forest with reckless desperation.

Sweat dripped into the gashes on his skin, stinging like acid, and his tattered clothes clung to his body, damp with sweat and streaked with blood.

Pain pulsed through him, a constant, grating ache that refused to be ignored. Every step was agony; every movement sent jolts of fiery pain shooting through his limbs. But stopping meant death. Stopping meant giving up. And he refused.

’Kaz, you’re a liar,’ he thought bitterly, his mind oscillating between rage and sheer survival instinct. ’You should’ve done better writing these characters’ personalities.’

Kaz had made him weak. Kaz had written him to wait, to falter, to be saved by heroes with golden swords and perfect timing. But there was no Lancelot galloping to his rescue. No Lucius, no one crashing through the trees to protect him. There was only him, bleeding and broken, and the monsters at his back.

And they were gaining.

"Aren’t you getting tired yet, little prince?!" Charles’s voice rang out behind him, taunting, sing-song, filled with cruel amusement.

Florian swallowed back bile, forcing his burning lungs to take in air. His vision swam, the trees blurring together. His boots caught against a root, and he stumbled, barely managing to keep his balance.

Arthur’s laughter cut through the night, sharp as a blade. "Keep running, Florian! Let’s see how far you can go!"

The air crackled behind him. Florian threw himself to the side just as a blast of fire erupted where he’d been moments ago, the heat licking at his skin. The rogues weren’t just chasing him—they were toying with him, sending bursts of wind and fire that splintered trees and left scars of destruction in their wake.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs a churning pit of agony. He could taste blood in his mouth, metallic and thick. Every wound screamed at him, every cut and bruise pulsed like a second heartbeat, but he kept running, dodging, forcing himself to move.

’I can’t die again. Not here. Not now.’

It became a mantra, a desperate plea he clung to. He didn’t know what would happen if he died a second time, if this twisted existence unraveled, but he didn’t want to find out.

"You really think you can get away?!" Arthur’s voice was closer now, laced with amusement and malice. "Levi is dead because of you! How do you live with yourself knowing that?"

Florian’s breath hitched. The name was a dagger to his heart, slicing through him without mercy. Levi. Gone. Because of him. His fault. He knew it was his fault.

His chest tightened. His vision blurred further, black spots dancing in his periphery. The world tilted dangerously.

Arthur wasn’t done. "But then again, you’re a fucking royal! A noble! You probably manipulated him to get your way, just like you all always do!"

Florian’s blood boiled, fury and despair tangling into something poisonous in his veins. The laughter, the taunts—they were distant, distorted by the pounding in his ears and the rush of blood through his skull. His mind reeled, his body threatening to give out beneath him.

’Run... have to run... Can’t... be weak...’

But his body had limits.

He didn’t see the jagged rock ahead. His foot caught it, and the world spun.

Florian crashed down hard, his body slamming into the ground with brutal force. Momentum carried him forward, his limbs flailing as he tumbled, dirt and debris scraping his raw skin. A sharp rock tore through his sleeve, slicing his arm open. His skull bounced off the packed earth, sending a fresh wave of dizziness crashing through him.

"Fuck!" The scream ripped from his throat, his voice hoarse and broken.

Laughter erupted around him, cruel and unrelenting. They were circling now, closing in like wolves scenting blood.

Florian gasped for breath, every inhale a battle against the pain clawing through his ribs. His fingers dug into the dirt, nails cracking as he tried to push himself up, but his arms buckled beneath him. His body was giving up.

Charles stepped closer, amusement curling his lips. "Not so fast now, are you?"