Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 287: ’Next To Mine’

’Why is he asking me this?’

Florian’s mind reeled as Heinz’s words echoed in the air between them. It should have been obvious—anyone with sense could understand why he hadn’t brought it up. And yet, here was Heinz, waiting for an answer like Florian had something to confess. Something hidden.

A sharp pang of anxiety twisted in Florian’s stomach. His heart pounded, and his palms were already starting to sweat.

’Shit. Is he upset? Did I mess up? What if he thinks I’m playing games—’

But then Florian remembered.

No—he knew.

He had been around Heinz long enough to learn a few things. The man didn’t play in the dark when he was angry. He didn’t hint or prod. If Heinz was actually mad, he would let you know.

With blunt force.

’He’s just messing with me again...’

Florian let out a soft breath, slow and deliberate, easing the tightness in his chest. He straightened his posture.

He would not give Heinz the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

So, with a calm voice and measured eyes, he replied.

"I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, Your Majesty," Florian said. "Especially with everything that’s been on your plate. The rumors are baseless anyway. It only started because word got out that Lord Drizelous is making me a custom outfit, and people noticed the increase in my security detail."

For a moment, Heinz didn’t respond. He stared at Florian in silence, his face unreadable. Then—very faintly—his expression shifted.

Was that... disappointment?

Florian held back a smirk.

’I knew it. He was just taunting me.’

He exhaled lightly, not quite a sigh of relief, but something close.

"Since we’re already on the topic," Florian continued, arms now crossed over his chest with a practiced air of professionalism, "should we finally address it formally? The princesses are starting to grow curious. The summit announcement is long overdue, and all the dukes have already confirmed attendance. If we clear the air now and tell everyone the truth—that I’m simply your appointed representative—it should be enough to kill the rumors."

He paused briefly, eyes flickering toward Heinz.

"...And there’s the matter of the stranger. I’ve been growing increasingly concerned that he might return... out of nowhere."

At those words, something dark flickered in Heinz’s eyes. Not alarm—but alertness. Like a wolf scenting danger in the wind.

Florian shifted uneasily, his gaze dropping for a moment.

Because this wasn’t just protocol. This wasn’t politics.

This was something else entirely.

The last few nights had been anything but restful. A constant, creeping sense of unease had clung to him like a second skin. A chill that never seemed to leave.

Like he was being watched.

"Do you still feel like someone’s watching you, Florian?" Heinz asked quietly.

Florian nodded. "Even with knights stationed outside... I can’t shake the feeling. It’s irrational, maybe. But I keep thinking he might appear again. That he’ll just... slip past them. Right into my room."

Heinz’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. Just focused.

"And why do you feel that way?"

Florian’s breath hitched.

He turned his head to the side, fingers instinctively brushing against his neck—a nervous habit he couldn’t quite shake.

He knew the answer. He had always known it.

Cashew.

The shy, quiet boy who barely spoke above a whisper. The one Florian trusted most. The one person in this entire twisted castle who made him feel safe. But... it didn’t add up. Or maybe it did.

Because when that strange man appeared—when that impossibly strong presence entered his wing of the palace—It was the perfect opportunity.

And yet, Florian hadn’t been harmed.

The man could’ve taken him. Or killed him. But he didn’t.

He just... left.

It didn’t make sense.

And Cashew—sweet, awkward Cashew—was the only person who could have been close enough to make that kind of encounter possible.

It just didn’t sit right with him that Cashew was nowhere near his room, not even waiting for Florian to return.

Still...

’I can’t tell Heinz. Not about Cashew.’

The thought alone made Florian feel sick. Cashew didn’t deserve that—not when he hadn’t technically done anything wrong. Not when there wasn’t any real proof. And even if there was...

’He’s the only one I can trust here. If I lose him, I have nothing.’

So, he looked Heinz in the eye.

And lied.

"I don’t know, Your Majesty," he said, his voice soft but steady. "I just... feel this way. I can’t explain it. It’s a gut feeling. Call it instinct."

There was a pause.

Then Heinz leaned back slightly in his chair, considering him.

Florian didn’t know if he believed the lie.

But Heinz said nothing.

Heinz didn’t speak. Not at first.

Instead, he shifted his weight and pushed himself off the edge of the desk with practiced ease, the movement smooth and deliberate—almost too fluid, like the coiled grace of a predator closing in. His boots met the polished marble floor with a soft, resounding thud, the sound far louder in the silence than it had any right to be.

Florian’s head snapped up instinctively.

’Why is he—?’

He watched as Heinz stepped forward. Slowly. Intentionally. Like every step was a choice. Like every inch between them he erased was calculated.

The space between them dwindled in mere moments.

Florian’s fingers twitched. Then curled inward, disappearing into the long sleeves of his robe like a child shrinking into armor. He could feel the air shift between them—tighten. It was like the pressure before a lightning strike, the breathless stillness that came before a storm broke.

"Your Majesty?" Florian asked, trying—trying—to keep his voice level. But it trembled, just slightly, betraying him. "Is something the matter?"

’Did he catch the lie? Shit. Did I slip up? I should’ve worded it differently. I should’ve—’

But Heinz said nothing.

He only stared.

Eyes like glacial steel, watching him with a gaze so sharp it felt like it could cut through skin and thought alike. There was no anger on his face. No irritation. Nothing so easily understood.

It should have been terrifying.

And yet—it wasn’t.

Not exactly.

Florian couldn’t describe it, but this moment... it felt strangely familiar. Like déjà vu dressed in velvet and ice.

The way the king stood too close. The way he watched without blinking.

’He does this a lot now...’

Florian swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. His heart wasn’t just beating from anxiety anymore—it was fluttering. Uneasy. Confused. Not quite fear. Not quite something else, either.

’Why does he always look at me like he’s... studying me? Like I’m a puzzle he’s almost solved?’

Then Heinz finally spoke, his voice a low murmur—unhurried and dangerous in how casual it was.

"Do you want me to move your room?"

Florian blinked. "...What?"

Heinz’s expression didn’t change. He repeated himself, voice even calmer the second time.

"Shall I have your room moved?"

Florian stared at him, as if the words didn’t compute. "Move... my room?"

Heinz nodded once, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "Yes."

Florian was still mentally rewinding the conversation when the king added, casually, "It will help if you move to the room next to mine."

And that was the moment Florian’s entire brain short-circuited.

He choked.

Not figuratively—literally. The breath he had just taken lodged itself in his throat, sending him into a fit of sharp, embarrassing coughs. He spun around, back turned, hand over his mouth, eyes watering as he wheezed like he’d just swallowed fire.

’WHAT?!’

’Did he—did he really just say—?!’

Behind him, he could feel Heinz’s presence, radiating like smugness wrapped in silk. Calm. Unbothered. Probably enjoying this little meltdown far too much.

Florian finally managed to rasp out a strangled, half-shouted, "P-Pardon?! Next to your room?!"

And that was when he saw it.

The smirk.

It was faint, veiled behind a gloved hand as Heinz tried to appear modest—but the bastard was smiling. Subtle, amused. The kind of smile that meant trouble.

"You’re teasing me, Your Majesty." he accused, the words incredulous and sharp.

Florian was already turning back, fully ready to snap when Heinz beat him to it.

"You made it too easy," the king said, the words a feather dipped in mischief.

Florian’s face burned.

"You—!"

Florian’s mouth fell open in disbelief. His anger flared up like a struck match.

Heinz didn’t even bother to deny it. His shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, hand still half-covering his expression like he was doing him a favor by hiding how funny he found this.

Before Florian could explode—

Knock knock.

A knock came at the door. Perfect timing. Divine timing, even.

"Your Majesty? It’s Lucius and Lancelot," came a voice from the other side.

Florian turned sharply away, practically vibrating with pent-up frustration. Heinz, ever the picture of composed elegance, simply walked back to his desk without missing a beat, still very visibly entertained.

"Continue what you were going to say later," Heinz said, throwing him a sidelong glance that somehow managed to be both commanding and smug. "I’m quite interested in hearing it."

Then, louder, to the door: "Come in."

As the heavy doors began to swing open, Florian bit his tongue so hard it almost hurt.

He didn’t roll his eyes—barely. But it was close.

’Why the fuck has Heinz been teasing me so much lately?’

He wasn’t sure what was more annoying—the teasing itself, or the strange, fluttering feeling it left behind.

And that... was a problem.