Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 280: ’Laughter and Waists’

Did Florian hear that correctly?

He definitely did.

And there was only one suitable reaction to Lucius’ stupid—no, staggeringly idiotic—words.

"Pfft."A snort escaped before he could stop it, and he had to slap a hand over his mouth, shoulders already shaking with the effort of holding it in. But he didn’t stand a chance.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

He burst into laughter like a dam had broken inside him—loud, ugly, glorious laughter that echoed down the hall. It was raw, unfiltered, and it kept coming like a wave crashing over him again and again.

Lucius stood there, frozen in place like someone had smacked him with a brick.

"Your... Highness?" Lucius asked, cautious, as if unsure whether Florian was laughing or having a breakdown.

Even Azure, perched nearby, tilted his little dragon head with an adorably puzzled squeak, his wings twitching nervously. Concern shimmered in those bright blue eyes.

But Florian couldn’t stop. Gods, he couldn’t stop.

It was so funny.

It was so damn funny.

’What kind of nonsense did he just say? Did he hit his head this morning? Did someone spike his tea?’

"HAHAHA—oh my God—HAHAHA!" Florian wheezed, doubling over. His arms wrapped around his stomach as if trying to physically hold himself together. His ribs hurt, his jaw ached, but the laughter poured out anyway, wild and breathless and a little bit hysterical.

Lucius took a slow, measured step forward. His brows were furrowed now, alarm steadily creeping across his features.

"Your Highness, why are you laugh—"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"Florian gasped between fits of laughter, barely managing to get air. His face was red, eyes wet with mirth, and yet somehow, that just made it worse.

He didn’t even know what was so funny anymore. The original comment had become a blur. All that remained was the absurdity of it. The sheer, glorious, idiotic absurdity of Lucius’ words.

’What am I even laughing at? Gods, I think I broke something in my brain—’

He laughed harder.

Lucius was now openly worried. "Your Highness, I really must insist—are you well?"

But Florian had folded himself into a chair, head buried in his arms, shoulders trembling like a leaf in a storm. He smacked the armrest in helpless rhythm with his laughter.

It was ugly. Undignified. Downright childish.

And it felt amazing.

After everything—after this ridiculous harem, after the near-constant headaches, after the madness of pretending to care—it felt good to laugh. To fall apart just a little. Even if it made no sense.

Even if Lucius was watching him like he might call for a healer at any second.

Florian peeked up, still chuckling through gasps of air.

"Lucius," he managed, voice hoarse, eyes gleaming with leftover tears. "Thanks for making me laugh."

Lucius stared at him.

Just... stared.

For a long, mortifying moment.

And then—his face turned red.

Not just a faint blush. Not just a flicker of pink.

But red. A deep, blooming scarlet like someone had smashed a bottle of wine across his face and left it there to stain.

Florian blinked, momentarily disarmed.

’Wait... what?’

Lucius abruptly turned away, jaw clenched, posture snapping into something rigid—too formal to be natural.

"I... fail to understand what you find so humorous," he muttered, voice thin with restraint. "What I said wasn’t intended to be funny."

Florian snorted, wiping the corner of his eyes with a lazy flick of his fingers.

"It wasn’t," he said, breath still stuttering with leftover laughter. "That’s what made it so hilarious."

Lucius gave him a sideways glance—mortified, clearly flustered, and trying like hell to pretend otherwise.

Florian let out another quiet chuckle and leaned back in the chair, letting his legs fall open in an utterly undignified sprawl. He looked every bit the opposite of a polished prince, and for once, he didn’t care.

"Lucius, listen." He waved his hand vaguely. "His Majesty doesn’t have affection for me, alright? He barely tolerates me. If I’m lucky, he remembers I exist just in time to hand me some vague political task he doesn’t want to do himself."

’I can’t believe I’m trying to comfort him... but look at his face. He looks like a kicked puppy.’

Lucius’ brow twitched. "But—"

"No buts." Florian cut him off, waving again like swatting at an annoying gnat. "You said it yourself—he’s been giving me attention. Yeah. That’s probably because I’ve somehow annoyed a noble or accidentally caused an international incident, and he’s trying to make sure it doesn’t blow up in his face."

He sighed, but his gaze softened as it landed on Lucius again.

’Lucius looks so pitiful right now.’

The smile that had lingered on his lips faltered.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to the strange man from before. The man who held him with such familiarity—who kissed his forehead with a kind of tenderness that no one in this palace ever had.

’He hugged me. Kissed my forehead. Said—’

Florian swallowed. Hard.

’It felt real. Like... like he knew me. Like he wasn’t just acting. And then he vanished like smoke.’

’I still don’t even know who he was.’

A breath left him, quiet and tense.

He turned back to Lucius, who still watched him with barely restrained concern.

"If anyone was interested in me," Florian said at last, his voice dry, "it’s that man. Whoever he is. Probably trying to get to me so he can use me against the king for whatever twisted political game is going on behind the scenes."

Lucius didn’t respond right away. His shoulders relaxed a fraction—but only a fraction. The tension remained, like a string pulled too tight but not yet snapped.

Florian tilted his head with a half-hearted grin. "Look. Maybe the king’s being ’nice’ to me. Maybe. But it’s not romantic. It’s probably pity. Or convenience. Maybe he just sees me as a friend."

’Which is a huge upgrade from how the original Florian used to throw myself at him like an idiot. God. How did he actually thought Heinz would fall for him just because he was persistent.’

He let out a short exhale—half a scoff, half a laugh.

Honestly, looking back, they did make it feel like a win. Even if it came at the cost of his dignity.

Lucius lowered his gaze, thoughtful. The lines on his face eased, though wariness still lingered.

"...Perhaps," he finally admitted.

Florian brightened. "Right?" he nudged.

Silence.

Lucius didn’t answer.

He didn’t nod. Didn’t make a sound. His eyes didn’t meet Florian’s.

And that—that—unnerved Florian more than anything.

’Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you not believe me?’

The silence dragged, stretching uncomfortably thin.

And then—like a thread pulled loose from the corner of his mind—another name surfaced.

’Hendrix.’

Ever since Drizelous mentioned him...

Ever since that man showed him the memory—the night before Florian and Hendrix’s supposed execution—it had been gnawing at him. Tugging at the back of his thoughts like a ghost that refused to leave.

He didn’t know Hendrix. Not really.

In the novel, he barely existed. A background name. A plot point. Just someone who supposedly slept with Florian and got executed for it.

He didn’t even have dialogue.

He was no one.

And yet...

’Why does it feel like I’m missing something?’

Florian straightened suddenly, his tone sharper, more focused.

"Hey, Lucius."

Lucius turned to him instantly. Always attentive. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Florian hesitated.

The words perched at the edge of his lips, unsure whether to fly or fall.

But curiosity was stronger.

"...Can you tell me more about Prince Hendrix?"

Lucius blinked, visibly surprised.

His lips parted slightly.

And slowly—he began to speak.

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

Heinz walked in silence through the palace corridors, his boots clicking sharply against the marble floors with every deliberate step. The sound echoed like a metronome—measured, inescapable, final.

Servants parted like waves before him, heads lowered, breaths caught in their throats. No one dared speak. No one even dared glance up.

His face remained an unreadable mask—calm, cold, immovable. But his eyes... those eerie, glowing eyes were a different story.

There was something in them.

Something that unsettled.

His long black hair flowed behind him like a living shadow, each step making it ripple with silent grace, trailing power in his wake. He made his way to his office, expression unreadable.

But inside, his thoughts were anything but still.

All he could see—over and over, clear as glass—was Florian’s waist.

Delicate in a way that made his hands itch.

Too easy to grasp. Too easy to hold. Too easy to—

He shoved the thought away, jaw locking tight.

But it came back again. Persistent. Unwanted.

He saw it again—Florian’s flushed face, breath hitching, body trembling under his touch. The moment Heinz had leaned in close, under the pretense of inspection... and touched him.

And yet, he was the one haunted by it.

’What the fuck is wrong with me?’ he thought, bitter and sharp.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t how his mind worked. He didn’t think about men. He didn’t obsess. He didn’t let himself feel.

So why now?

’Besides, I’ve already seen him naked.’

The thought hit like a slap.

His lips thinned into a grim line. He remembered it too clearly—the cursed aphrodisiac, Florian writhing in helpless need, and Heinz being the only one who could safely help him. The only one who could touch him.

It had been necessary.

Or at least... that was what he kept repeating to himself.

Florian didn’t remember. Thank the gods, he didn’t remember.That was good.

It was better this way.

’So why do I feel irked?’

He couldn’t answer that. Didn’t want to.

He had more important things to deal with. Things that actually mattered.

Like the stranger. The man who approached Florian.

Unknown. Untraceable. Dangerous.

Heinz had felt it for weeks now—a slow-creeping suspicion, a whisper in his gut that something wasn’t right. And now, after what Florian said earlier...

’It’s confirmed.’

There wasn’t just one enemy in the shadows.

There were two.

He reached the door to his office just as a maid came around the corner, arms full of folded linen.

"You," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make her jump.

The girl nearly dropped the sheets in her arms as she turned to him, pale-faced and wide-eyed.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Summon Delilah and Lancelot to my office. Immediately."

"R-Right away!" she stammered, bowing so fast her forehead nearly hit her knees. She scampered off, feet slipping on the floor in her haste.

Heinz exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. A headache was already beginning to bloom behind his eyes, steady and dull like a warning drum.

He opened the door to his office and stepped inside. The door shut with a solid, echoing click.

Finally—silence.

The familiar scent of old books, ink, steel, and faint herbs lingered in the air. The only space in the palace that felt entirely, absolutely his.

He walked to his desk and sank into the chair, folding his hands together atop the wood.

His mind, which had been tugged and frayed at the edges, was sharpening again.

’Two people are targeting Florian.’

That wasn’t speculation anymore. That was fact.

But were they working together?

And why—why Florian