Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 238: ’Cashew, come here.’

"I’ll help you get down," Heinz whispered behind him, his voice low—too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosted against Florian’s ear, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. His body tensed before he could stop it, fingers tightening against Azure’s scales. The dragon beneath him let out a low rumble, shifting slightly, as if sensing his unease.

Florian turned his head slightly, catching the edge of Heinz’s gaze—intense, unwavering—and quickly looked away. His eyes darted toward Cashew.

Only to freeze.

Cashew was still staring at Heinz, his small hands balled into fists, his expression dark and unreadable.

A strange knot of unease curled in Florian’s chest. He swallowed.

"O-Oh, right... That’s fine, Your Majesty." His voice came out uneven, and he mentally cursed himself for it. The moment stretched, thick and suffocating.

However—

"Your Highness, you are in front of His Majesty. It might be difficult for him to dismount with you in the way."

Lucius’s smooth, composed voice sliced through the moment. Florian turned just in time to see the man step forward, exuding an effortless air of control. His golden eyes locked onto Florian, unwavering, as he extended a gloved hand toward him—steady, confident, expectant.

’Eh?’

Before Florian could even process what was happening, another presence moved beside Lucius.

Lancelot.

The commander approached with his usual self-assurance, broad-shouldered and imposing, his orange eyes glinting with something unreadable. Without hesitation, he too held out his hand.

Two hands. Two choices.

Both reaching for him.

In front of the king.

’Are they crazy?!’

Florian’s pulse stuttered, a wave of unease crashing into him. To an outsider, it might seem like a simple gesture—helping a prince down from a dragon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth staring at.

But he knew better.

He knew the unspoken weight behind their actions, the meaning woven into their gazes.

And Heinz—Heinz knew it, too.

The king stood just behind him, silent but present, watching. He knew Lucius and Lancelot’s feelings for him. Well... not for him, but for the original Florian.

Florian exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping Azure’s smooth scales like a lifeline. freēnovelkiss.com

It was embarrassing. Too much attention. Too much tension. He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on him, suffocating. But rejecting them outright would only make things worse.

His fingers twitched.

Reluctantly, he glanced at Heinz.

And that was his mistake.

Heinz wasn’t looking at Lucius. He wasn’t looking at Lancelot.

He was looking at him.

Something flickered behind his golden gaze, something unreadable—too deep, too steady.

Florian’s stomach twisted, a sharp heat creeping up his neck.

’Wait... Why am I even glancing at him? It’s not like I need his permission. It’s not like I care if he gets upset—’

His nose scrunched slightly in irritation. Damn it.

There was no point in hesitating.

"Alright," he muttered, reaching out.

And instead of choosing, he took both of their hands.

Their fingers curled around his, firm and unwavering.

Lucius’s grip was cool, composed, like the man himself—steady but unreadable. Lancelot’s was warmer, rougher, strong enough that Florian could feel the quiet restraint beneath it, the effort to keep his strength in check.

With their combined support, Florian pushed off from Azure’s back and jumped.

He landed with ease, the transition smooth—effortless.

Because they made sure of it.

"Thank you." He exhaled, glancing up at them.

Lucius and Lancelot didn’t let go immediately. Their gazes lingered, unreadable, filled with something Florian wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

And from the corner of his eye, he caught movement—

"Your Highness, how was the—"

"His Majesty has a lot to tell you, and I am sure he wants to know what you’ve found. Please go speak with him right away." Florian cut in swiftly, waving at them dismissively before they could press further.

"Oh."

That was all he heard from them as he walked past, making his way toward the one person he truly wanted to speak to.

Cashew.

The boy was smiling, just as he always did. A small, shy smile.

’Now that’s the Cashew I know.’

"Cashew, come here." Florian called softly.

Cashew’s expression brightened at first, but hesitation quickly settled over his face. His fingers curled slightly, uncertain.

’He’s hesitating.’ Florian thought, sighing but smiling. ’Nope, no.’ He wasn’t going to let that doubt linger.

Before Cashew could take another step back, Florian ran forward, closing the distance between them.

"Y-Your Highness?" Cashew took a startled step back, but it was too late. Florian wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a firm embrace.

"Come here," Florian whispered, holding him tightly.

Cashew did not fight back.

"I’m home." Florian murmured again, softer this time. "I’m back and I’m safe, see?"

Because he knew—the last time they’d spoken, they’d fought. Because Cashew had been worried. And Florian had left anyway.

And now, he was here.

Safe.

Alive.

And Cashew needed to know that.

Cashew buried his head against Florian’s chest, his small shoulders trembling, his grip tight like he was afraid to let go.

Florian didn’t need to see his face to know—he was crying.

The realization struck deep, an ache blooming in his chest that he hadn’t been prepared for. Cashew had always been strong, always careful not to be a burden. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and unguarded, made something tighten in Florian’s throat.

"Sorry," Cashew mumbled, voice muffled against his clothes. His fingers clutched at the fabric, small hands balled into fists. "I-I’m sorry for acting out... for being mean, Your Highness..."

Florian exhaled softly, his arms tightening around the boy, steady, reassuring.

"Shh... it’s okay," he murmured, his voice a gentle lull. "You’re a kid, Cashew. You can act like a kid."

His lips twitched into a faint smile as he rested his chin lightly against the top of Cashew’s head.

"Honestly, I’m glad. You’re acting more like your age."

And he meant it. Cashew had always been too careful, too wary, his childhood robbed by duties and expectations.

If his frustration—if their fight—meant he was allowing himself to express his emotions, to let go of that suffocating restraint even a little, then Florian welcomed it.

"I really care about you, you know?" Florian admitted, closing his eyes briefly. "You’re not just a servant to me. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t be yourself with me."

Cashew sniffled against him. And then—hesitantly, slowly—he hugged him back.

Tightly.

Florian let him.

For a brief moment, it was just the two of them, existing in this quiet, fragile bubble. The warmth of their embrace, the silent comfort of understanding, the unspoken apologies and reassurances woven between them.

But then—

A throat cleared.

Florian stiffened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face.

’Oh, come on.’

He didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

"As much as I’d love to let you two have your little reunion," Heinz’s voice cut through the air, smooth yet firm, an undeniable weight of authority beneath it, "we need to speak. Immediately."

Florian exhaled through his nose, the warmth of the moment quickly cooling.

He lifted his head, finally looking over.

Heinz stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his golden eyes unreadable as they flickered between Florian and Cashew.

Behind him, not far, stood Lucius and Lancelot, both observing in silence. Their gazes were steady, unwavering.

Florian hesitated, his grip on Cashew loosening slightly.

Cashew, however, had already gone rigid in his arms. The way his small fingers twitched, the way his body tensed—it was all too familiar. And then, Florian noticed it.

Cashew wasn’t looking at him anymore.

He was staring directly at Heinz.

And he looked upset.

A cold knot twisted in Florian’s stomach. He had tried to ignore it before, brushing it off as nothing, feigning ignorance. But it had been obvious for a while now—Cashew held some deep disdain for Heinz.

The question, the one that had been haunting him ever since his transmigration, surfaced once again.

’Why?’