Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 246: ’Since Yesterday’

Florian’s consciousness stirred. freewёbnoνel.com

A thick, cloying scent of flowers curled around him, sweet and overripe, bordering on sickly. The air was heavy, dense with the perfume of unseen blooms, saturating his lungs until each breath felt like inhaling syrup. A breeze whispered through the field, but it did not cool him. It carried something else—something wrong.

The field stretched endlessly, a sea of blossoms shifting in unnatural unison. Petals swayed as though caught in a silent, rhythmic pulse, their colors too vivid, too alive. Shades of pink, white, and blue bled into one another, painting the horizon in an ethereal haze. Above, the sky burned with an unnatural gold, tinged with molten orange, as though the sun had cracked open and spilled its lifeblood across the heavens.

He blinked.

’No... This isn’t real.’

There was no haze, no confusion, no sluggishness of a fading dream. He could move, he could think—sharply, clearly. And yet, the crispness of the wind against his skin, the tickle of petals at his fingertips, the rhythmic pulse of the field—it was all too real. Too vivid. Too wrong.

A hush settled over the landscape, unnatural in its stillness. The breeze no longer rustled the flowers. The air thickened, pressing down on him like unseen hands against his shoulders.

Then—

Something shifted.

A breath. A whisper.

The flowers around him trembled.

Then they withered.

Color drained from the blossoms, their once-vibrant hues bleeding into nothingness. Stems curled inward, shriveling, dying, as though something unseen had sucked the very life from them. The sickness spread outward, devouring the field in rapid succession, leaving behind only decay.

The air turned stale, the scent of rot slithering in to replace the floral perfume. A chill coiled around his spine.

Then—

A hand burst from the dead earth.

Pale, contorted fingers clawed at the air, desperate, writhing. A strangled gasp escaped Florian’s throat as another hand erupted beside it, then another. And another.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Countless limbs, grasping, clawing, reaching skyward from the depths of the soil, as if dragging themselves from an unseen abyss.

The earth convulsed beneath him.

His breath hitched.

He turned to run—but something latched onto his ankles.

Hands.

Cold, skeletal fingers snaked around him, tightening like iron shackles. Panic flared through his veins, white-hot. He kicked, thrashed, twisted, but the hands held firm, dragging him downward. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank, the dirt swallowing him inch by inch.

A shadow loomed overhead.

He froze.

A figure stood against the golden sky, faceless yet watching. Its form rippled, shifting like smoke, limbs distorting in unnatural motions. It lifted a hand toward him, fingers impossibly long, reaching—

Florian’s pulse pounded. He wrenched himself away—only for another hand to seize his wrist.

A second figure.

This one held his left arm, its grip vice-like, unyielding. A force neither aggressive nor gentle, only suffocating in its silence.

Then—

Arms wrapped around him from behind.

A third figure.

Unlike the others, it did not grasp or pull. It simply held him. Held him in a crushing, inescapable embrace.

Ice knifed through his veins.

He couldn’t breathe.

Terror clawed at his throat, tearing a raw, strangled scream from his lips. "Get away! LET ME GO!"

The grip tightened. His body shook violently. The figures loomed closer.

Then—

They let go.

He collapsed, gasping, fingers clawing at the withered ground. For a brief, desperate moment, he thought he was free. He scrambled to his feet, muscles screaming in protest, and bolted forward without looking back. His breath came in ragged gasps, heart slamming against his ribs.

He just had to get away.

He just had to—

No.

They were waiting.

Florian skidded to a stop, his stomach plummeting.

The three figures stood before him, silent. Unmoving.

The first tilted its head back and laughed. The sound was low, guttural, peeling into something twisted with hatred.

The second took a step forward, arms outstretched, as though longing for an embrace.

The third—

The third simply stood there. Watching. Silent.

Somehow, that silence was the worst of all.

Florian’s throat was dry. "Who... who are you?"

No answer.

Then—

They spoke.

"Florian."

His breath caught. The way they said his name—

The first spat it out, dripping with venom and loathing.

The second whispered it with longing, desperation.

The third—

Soft. So quiet. So broken.

Like mourning.

A suffocating dread settled in his chest. He stumbled back, shaking his head. "No—no, I’m not Florian. You’ve got the wrong person."

The figures stepped closer.

Then another step.

And another.

"Stay back!" Florian shouted, voice breaking. "I said I’m not Florian!"

The world around him blurred, twisting at the edges. The figures closed in—

Then—

Florian’s eyes flew open.

His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps as cold sweat clung to his skin. His body trembled beneath the weight of lingering terror, every nerve in his being still trapped in the suffocating grasp of that nightmare. His pulse pounded against his ribs, a deafening rhythm that drowned out the silence of the room.

For a long moment, he just lay there, unmoving, staring blankly at the ceiling. The remnants of the dream clung to him, a ghostly presence that refused to fade.

Then—

Movement.

A soft rustle.

Florian flinched, his entire body still on edge.

Azure peeked at him from the side of the bed, blinking up with groggy, sapphire-blue eyes.

The familiar sight of the small creature should have calmed him, should have reassured him that he was back in reality, but his fingers still twitched, his mind still hazy with the aftershock of whatever that had been.

He swallowed hard, dragging a shaky hand through his damp hair.

"What... was that?" Florian muttered under his breath, barely registering his own voice.

"What was what, Your Highness?"

The sudden voice made Florian jerk upright, his heart leaping to his throat. Azure bristled immediately, his small form moving in front of Florian like a shield, low growls escaping his throat.

Florian whipped his head toward the source—

"Lucius?!"

Standing near the doorway, a familiar figure came into view. Lucius, dressed in his usual pristine uniform, stood there holding a silver tray of food. His golden eyes flickered in mild surprise before shifting downward—toward Azure.

"Your Highness," Lucius’s brows furrowed slightly, adjusting his glasses as he took a step closer. "Is that... Azure?"

Florian didn’t answer immediately. His mind was still sluggish, still trying to shake off the lingering unease. The dream—no, the nightmare—had felt too real, too visceral. Even now, his fingers twitched, the phantom sensation of those hands still clinging to his skin.

Lucius, noticing his silence, let out a soft sigh and straightened his posture. "I brought your breakfast."

Florian blinked. His gaze flickered to the tray in Lucius’s hands, confusion settling in.

’Breakfast...? Isn’t it too late for that?’

He glanced toward the window. The light filtering through was soft, golden—afternoon, maybe even evening. Not morning.

Lucius hesitated before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "Your Highness, you’re..." He stepped forward, his eyes scanning Florian’s face with an unusual intensity. "You’re aware that an entire day has already passed, right?"

Florian’s fingers stiffened against the sheets.

"You’ve been asleep since yesterday."

A pause.

"...Huh?"

’Yesterday?’

Lucius’s words didn’t register immediately.

His thoughts, still clouded by the nightmare, tried to catch up.

’A day? But I just—’

"What?" Florian finally breathed out, his throat dry.

"You arrived back from the village yesterday," Lucius clarified, watching him closely. "You just woke up now."

"WHAT?"