Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 256: ’Give You Space’

"Your... Highness?" Lancelot’s voice was uncertain, a rare moment of hesitation slipping through as he stared at the hand wrapped around his wrist.

Florian barely registered the words. His pulse was pounding in his ears, his grip firm yet uncertain. The realization of what he had just done hit him all at once, like a wave crashing over his head.

’What am I doing? What... am I doing?’

A dizzying sense of embarrassment swept over him, making his fingers twitch against Lancelot’s skin. His throat felt dry. His mind scrambled for an explanation, but nothing came. He wasn’t even sure why he had stopped him.

"I—I..." Florian stammered, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

Lancelot turned fully toward him, his orange eyes studying him with unexpected concern. "What’s wrong?"

Florian clenched his jaw.

He hated this. The uncertainty. The way his own body had acted before his brain could catch up. The way his heart was still hammering like he had done something reckless, something stupid.

’This is stupid. I’m being stupid.’

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the embarrassment clawing at his throat.

"...Are," he muttered under his breath, the words barely forming. His fingers twitched against Lancelot’s wrist.

Lancelot tilted his head slightly. "Hm?"

Florian exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, finally, the words spilled out.

"Are you okay?"

He didn’t dare look at Lancelot as he asked.

’What the fuck am I doing?!’

Silence.

A silence so thick it felt suffocating.

Florian stiffened, suddenly hyperaware of everything. The way Lancelot hadn’t pulled away. The way his own grip lingered. The way Lancelot was definitely staring at him right now.

’I should let go. I should just let go—’

But before he could act, Lancelot moved.

Not away. Not out of reach.

Closer.

Not close enough to touch, but enough for Florian to feel the heat of his presence. Enough to make his breath hitch.

And yet—he was still the one holding onto Lancelot.

"You..." Lancelot’s voice was softer now, almost disbelieving. "You’re asking if I’m okay?" His tone shifted, threading with something dangerously close to hope. "Why?"

Florian immediately regretted everything.

He could hear the change in Lancelot’s voice. Could feel the shift in the air. The hopefulness.

And it was annoying.

But at the same time...

Florian pressed his lips into a thin line, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. He needed to focus. To calm the stupid racing of his heart.

’Just say it. Just get it over with.’

"You..." He inhaled deeply before continuing, his voice quieter now, more controlled. "Don’t take this weirdly."

Lancelot arched a brow, but Florian pushed forward before he could say anything.

"Just now, you were acting like your usual self. But then, all of a sudden, you just... changed." He frowned slightly. "You got all quiet. Stopped teasing. Started acting different."

The words hung in the air between them.

Florian finally looked up, expecting some kind of witty comeback, some smug remark about him caring.

But instead—

Lancelot looked stunned.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide.

For a brief second, he almost looked touched.

Florian’s stomach twisted at the sight, an immediate sense of regret washing over him.

’Oh, great. Now he’s going to be unbearable about this.’

His brows twitched, irritation creeping in as he crossed his arms. "Come on, say something," he muttered, his tone edged with impatience.

Lancelot opened his mouth—

"I—"

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"I—"

Lancelot’s voice faltered.

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but for once, he didn’t know what to say.

He has always been a man of pride—confident, flirtatious, utterly shameless when it came to romance. He was no stranger to love, no virgin fumbling over his emotions like some blushing maiden. He has had more lovers than he could count, spent more time in relationships than out of them.

If anything, this was the longest he had been single in years.

And it was all because of the man in front of him.

Florian Thornfield.

The prince who had unknowingly—infuriatingly—made him hesitate.

It hadn’t been like this before.

When Heinz assigned him to interrogate Florian, he had been eager. Excited, even. Florian was a puzzle he hadn’t had the chance to fully unravel. Compared to Lucius, the prince barely tolerated him, kept him at arm’s length, treated him like nothing more than an annoyance.

But something had changed after the kidnapping.

Lancelot had thought—no, hoped—that getting closer to Florian would be simple. That it was just another game. That this growing obsession would fade, like all his past infatuations.

But then—

"Here."

Lancelot furrowed his brows as Lucius shoved a stack of notes into his hand.

"What is this?" he asked, lifting his gaze to meet the butler’s unreadable golden eyes.

Lucius didn’t hesitate. "I know His Majesty asked you to interrogate His Highness." His tone was as sharp as ever. "I just so happened to be in his room earlier and asked him on your behalf. Here are the notes."

Lancelot’s grip tightened around the papers. He flipped through them, scanning the neatly written words—details, observations, everything he had planned to ask Florian himself.

His jaw clenched. "This is my job. Why would you do this?"

Lucius adjusted his gloves with an air of disinterest. "Because knowing your nature, you’d just end up bothering His Highness."

Lancelot stiffened.

A slow, simmering irritation burned in his chest. He lowered the notes, his eyes narrowing. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He took a step forward, but Lucius remained unfazed.

"I can tell you’re annoyed," Lucius said flatly. "And angry."

"Stop looking into my emotions."

Lucius shrugged. "Not sure if you’re just idiotic or oblivious, but you do realize I can’t turn this ability off, right?"

"I don’t fucking care," Lancelot snapped. "What did you mean by ’my nature’?"

Lucius sighed, and for the first time, Lancelot saw it.

The look in his eyes.

That condescending, judgmental gaze. Like he was pitying him.

Lancelot hated it.

"Do I need to spell it out?" Lucius adjusted his glasses, voice calm yet cutting. "I know you have feelings for His Highness. Sadly, as I said, I can’t turn off the ability to see emotions."

Lancelot’s breath caught.

But before he could say a word, Lucius continued.

"Your affection and lust for him are evident." He exhaled sharply, his gaze scrutinizing. "And I know you sleep around."

Lancelot’s entire body tensed.

"But His Highness," Lucius went on, "has finally started moving on from His Majesty. He has been through a lot. And your behavior around him?" A pause. "It makes him uncomfortable."

Lancelot’s heart skipped a beat. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

’What...?’

Lucius’s words rang in his ears, sharp and unforgiving.

Florian was uncomfortable?

With him?

He wanted to argue. He wanted to deny it.

But Lucius wasn’t finished.

"You don’t even realize it, do you?" Lucius mused. "You think you’re just being charming, just teasing him like you do with everyone else. But unlike your usual conquests, Florian doesn’t want it." His voice dipped into something colder. "Your presence makes him uneasy. Your advances are unwanted."

The words hit harder than they should have.

And Lucius knew it.

So he twisted the knife deeper.

"Just heed my advice," he said smoothly. "Do your job. If you actually focused on that instead of distracting His Highness, maybe he wouldn’t keep getting into trouble." He stepped past Lancelot, but his parting words cut the deepest. "And maybe you’d finally catch the traitor instead of wasting your time."

Lancelot’s fists clenched. He gritted his teeth, rage boiling beneath his skin.

Lucius paused at the door, as if considering something. Then, without looking back, he added, "And if you dare bring up how I’m always by his side—" He tilted his head slightly. "—just know that I actually do my job to keep him safe and comfortable." A pause. "Unlike you."

And with that, Lucius walked away.

Leaving Lancelot standing there—

Enraged.

Shaking.

Breathing hard as he crushed the notes in his fist, crumpling them like worthless paper before throwing them aside.

"Fuck off," he muttered under his breath. His chest ached with unexplainable frustration. "What the fuck do you know?"

His fingers twitched at his sides as he turned on his heel, storming toward Florian’s room with full intent.

’That bastard is just threatened because I’m getting close to his highness.’

Those had been Lancelot’s initial thoughts—his stubborn, prideful insistence that Lucius was simply jealous—until he truly saw Florian’s expression the next time he flirted with him.

And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

Lucius was right.

Lancelot had been so caught up in his own feelings, so sure that his advances were just harmless teasing, that he never really looked at Florian’s reactions. Never noticed the way the prince tensed, the flicker of unease in his bright green eyes, the way he subtly leaned away from him rather than toward him.

’Shit... How did I not see it?’

He had always been good at reading women, always knew when someone was interested in him. Yet with Florian, he had been blind.

He felt—disgusted.

With himself.

The realization sat like lead in his stomach, making him feel strangely ashamed. He had wanted to tease Florian, to push his buttons, to make him react in some way. But now?

Lancelot stopped.

He did his job.

He focused on what actually mattered—watching for whoever was targeting Florian, ensuring the prince was protected, and most of all—keeping his damn distance.

And it was—

Strange.

A new feeling settled deep in his chest, something heavy, something unfamiliar.

Something aching.

He didn’t know what it was.

Didn’t want to name it.

But then—

Florian grabbed his hand.

Out of nowhere.

His grip was tight, almost desperate, fingers curling around Lancelot’s own as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lancelot stiffened. His breath hitched.

’What—?’

Florian looked just as shocked as he did, his face slightly pale, green eyes flickering with uncertainty. He opened his mouth, then closed it, as if struggling to find the words.

"I— I..." Florian stammered, his expression conflicted.

Lancelot turned fully to him, his own heart betraying him with a heavy thud. "What’s wrong?"

Florian looked anywhere but at him, his grip on Lancelot’s hand tightening slightly before he muttered, barely above a whisper—

"Are you okay?"

Lancelot froze.

Time seemed to slow as the words sank in.

Florian wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playing a game.

He was worried.

About him.

For the first time in a long time, Lancelot didn’t know what to say. His usual smirks, his playful arrogance—none of it felt right.

Because something inside him—something fragile, something long buried—cracked open.

He swallowed, his voice quieter than he expected when he finally answered.

"I... wanted to give you space."