Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 388: ’Memories Of Love.’

Chapter 388: ’Memories Of Love.’

’How utterly clueless.’

Heinz narrowed his eyes, observing the confused, flustered mess that was Florian. Watching him scramble for answers with that helpless look on his face only made the tightening knot in Heinz’s chest worse.

It wasn’t supposed to slip.

Or... maybe it was.

A contradiction within him—one part screaming to hold back, to stay focused on his original goal: finding the one who killed him in his first life.

The other part... this maddening, obsessive part... was clawing at the surface. The part that burned every time Florian smiled at someone else. The part that snapped seeing him blush—not because of Heinz, but because of someone else’s teasing.

’This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to make me feel like this.’

Heinz’s fingers twitched as desire surged. His self-control frayed dangerously thin.

’He makes me want to take him right here... right now...’

His gloved hand slid down, fingers ghosting over the cinched fabric at Florian’s waist, tracing the frills of the maid dress as though it were his to undo.

He leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of Florian’s ear as he whispered again, low and deliberate,

"I said... I want to stop this fucking test."

But in his head, the words were different. ’So I can carry you to my room... and find out how much louder I can make you scream my name.’

"W-Why would you want that, Your Majesty? Th-this... this is supposed to test the princesses, right?" Florian stammered, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the way Heinz’s gaze darkened further.

’Still acting clueless... Or are you really this oblivious?’

Heinz’s lips curved into a sharp smirk. He opened his mouth, ready to purr something sinful—something that would make Florian squirm.

But then—

Flash.

It hit him.

A sudden searing flicker behind his eyes. His breath caught. His vision warped.

It wasn’t his Florian standing there anymore.

It was—

’Him.’

The original Florian. The one from his first life.

Tear-streaked. Shaking. Eyes red, puffy—broken.

Same posture. Same proximity. But so, so different.

’What the fuck?’

Heinz’s body jerked back instinctively. His chest constricted.

"Your Majesty?" Florian’s voice sounded distant, muffled—wrong—even though he was right in front of him.

Flash._{fr\eewe.bn(o)v\el.c(o)m}

"You said you loved me!"

It wasn’t the present.

It was a memory. Or was it a ghost?

"I do..." Heinz heard himself answer—but it wasn’t him. His voice. His mouth.

But words from another version of himself. One he barely remembered being.

’What... is this...?’

"You do...? What?" The present Florian blinked in confusion, his brows knitting together—but Heinz barely saw him.

Flash.

The broken Florian from before screamed, "You keep telling me you love me—and then you forget! You always forget! Everyone keeps thinking I’m going crazy! I keep waiting... waiting for you to remember...!"

His hands trembled. His knees buckled. Heinz staggered, squeezing his eyes shut—but the visions wouldn’t stop.

"I do it with Lucius... I do it with Lancelot... hoping... just hoping you’d be jealous enough to remember me—but you never do..."

’When was this?’ Heinz gritted his teeth, panic swelling in his chest. He felt like he was drowning. ’When did this ever happen?’

"I’m...sorry, Ilúvarei..." The words spilled from his lips—his past self’s lips—but Florian, his current Florian, flinched at the name.

"Ilúvarei..." Florian echoed, his voice barely above a whisper, his confusion now laced with fear.

"Stop calling me that!" the ghost of the past wailed. "Every day you come to me drunk. You say you love me. You take me. And every morning... every morning I hope you’ll remember... I hope it’s real... but it’s not... it’s never real."

Heinz’s hand jerked forward—reflex. Desperate. Reaching out.

But both Florians—the past and the present—flinched away from him at the same time. As though... as though they were one.

His heart clenched.

"Your Majesty..." the present Florian whispered, his voice trembling. "What’s... happening?"

Flash.

"This isn’t fair anymore!" the Florian from before sobbed. "What do I have to do?! What do I have to do for you to remember me?!"

The pain stabbed deeper than any blade ever had. Deeper than the memory of his mother’s blood on his hands. Deeper than death itself.

It was grief.

It was regret.

It was something that Heinz, the indomitable king, didn’t even know he was capable of feeling.

"Your Majesty... answer me..." his Florian said softly—nervous. Concerned.

"Heinz, ANSWER ME!!" the ghost of past Florian screamed.

"I DON’T KNOW!!" Heinz’s voice broke—raw, guttural—as the scream tore from his throat.

The visions vanished.

Silence.

Just him.

Just Florian.

His Florian.

And Florian—his face pale—flinched, shrinking back like a frightened rabbit cornered by a wolf.

His eyes wide. His lips trembling. He looked... scared.

Scared of him.

Heinz wanted to speak. He wanted—no, needed—to say something. To clear the suffocating air between them. To explain... something.

But no words came.

Nothing.

The tightness in his throat was unbearable. His mind raced, drowning in the aftermath of what he just saw—what he just relived.

Yes... he had seen flashes of the past days ago. But this...

Not like this.

Not this vividly. Not this painfully. Not this—real.

His breath hitched as the weight settled in. Had I really done that?

’Is that why... is that why the original Florian kept chasing after me? The same way Mother chased after Father?’

He staggered slightly, his hands balling into fists. The realization was a sharp knife straight to the chest.

All those nights. All those drunken, hazy nights.

Heinz knew it. Deep down, he knew it. He drank—he drank to numb himself, to forget, to silence everything.

And every time, it ended the same. A blackout. A void. Nothing.

Just like what happened with the current Florian...

Except—except now... now he remembered.

’Why? Why now?’

Why was he remembering now then?

His jaw clenched. ’Fuck.’

The ache wasn’t just in his head. It wasn’t just the migraine pulsing behind his eyes. It was deeper. Buried in his chest, his ribs, his bones—his soul.

What was worse—what was absolutely maddening—was the realization that his drunken self... had confessed love.

Over and over. Whispered it like gospel. Pleaded for affection he didn’t even remember desiring when sober.

Did he ever love the original Florian...?

’No.’

...Maybe.

’Did I?’

It made his head spin. A part of him wanted to scream ’Of course not!’—because that’s what he always believed. What he always told himself.

But another voice whispered, ’Then why did you say it... over and over... with the same desperate voice... the same trembling hands?’

That wasn’t him.

Was it?

It was chaos. A disaster. A storm swirling inside him.

’Is that why this Florian... why he looks at me like that? Why he trembles when I’m close? Why his heart races... Is it him reacting to me—or is it his body reacting to the ghosts of what the original Florian once felt?’

A sour taste filled his mouth.

’And worst of all... these feelings I have now... for him... is it for him...’

Or was it for the original Florian?

The spiral was suffocating. Crushing.

Movement.

Florian shifted slightly, breaking Heinz’s downward spiral. His red eyes snapped up, landing on Florian’s face—soft, delicate, flushed from earlier... but now...

Now, there was something else.

Concern.

Worry.

’...Why...?’

Why was Florian looking at him like that? Like he was the one who needed comfort? Like he was the one who needed saving?

"Y-Your Majesty... are you oka—"

Before Florian could finish, the door burst open with a loud clack. Both Heinz and Florian turned instantly, startled.

"Lucius?" Florian blinked, confused.

Lucius was breathless. His usually composed face was shattered—his pale features pinched with panic. His eyes—wide, frantic, even glassy.

"Your Majesty! Prince Florian!" Lucius panted, voice strained and tight, as though barely holding back. His gloved hands were clenched at his sides, shoulders trembling. "Something terrible has happened!"

Grief.

Even from this distance, Heinz could smell it—taste it—feel it.

A sinking feeling dropped into his stomach. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Lucius rarely—if ever—lost composure.

"...What?"