Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 407: ’I’m Here.’

Chapter 407: ’I’m Here.’

Heinz had used Florian’s room to freshen up quickly—ridding himself of the blood and filth he didn’t want Florian to see.

He changed clothes in a rush, barely bothering to fix his appearance, and stepped out into the corridor, making his way toward his own chambers.

But he stopped in his tracks the moment he saw them.

Lucius, Lysander, and Cashew were all standing outside the door to his room.

Lysander had a hand to his chin, brows furrowed in thought. Lucius looked tense, eyes darting, jaw clenched. And Cashew—poor Cashew—was hunched forward, sobbing into his sleeve.

’Why are they all outside?’ Heinz’s pace quickened, anxiety blooming in his chest.

He stormed toward them, boots echoing heavily against the marble floors. All three looked up immediately at the sound.

"Your Majest—" Lucius began, but Heinz cut him off.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Why are you out here? Where’s Florian?" His voice cracked slightly at the end, the name weighed with concern.

Cashew broke down even harder, clutching his sleeves, his cries growing louder.

Lysander and Lucius shared a glance.

Finally, Lysander stepped forward.

"His Highness is awake," he said gently. "Physically, he’ll recover—though it’ll take time for the worst of the wounds to heal. Especially those on his thighs... I did what I could. He’ll be okay in time."

Heinz narrowed his eyes. "However?"

Lysander inhaled. "However... there’s trauma, Your Majesty. Psychological trauma. His reaction to us... it wasn’t good."

Before Heinz could say anything, Cashew spoke through broken sobs. "H-His Highness hates me... He pushed me away..."

Heinz’s frown deepened, annoyance and worry intermixing. "Enough." He stepped past them. "If you won’t say it plainly, I’ll see for myself."

"Your Majesty—wait, I don’t think that’s a good—" Lucius tried to stop him, stepping forward.

But it was too late. Heinz opened the door.

And was immediately greeted by a sight he didn’t expect.

Maids. Three of them.

They all froze, eyes going wide the moment they saw the king. They curtsied hurriedly.

"Y-Your Majesty!"

Heinz’s eyes swept the room, confusion flickering. "Why are there maids here?" he asked coldly, already turning toward the bed.

He barely heard Lucius’s answer.

Because the moment Florian looked up—and saw who was at the door—his expression changed.

Terror.

Real, paralyzing terror.

"N-No... No! NO! Stay away! Go away!" Florian screamed, eyes wide, face paling, body trembling as if he’d seen a ghost.

Heinz froze.

Florian flailed, scrambling to get out of bed. But in his haste, his legs gave out and he tumbled to the floor.

"Your Highness!" Lucius and Cashew both gasped, stepping in instinctively—but Florian shrieked.

"No! No! Help me! P-Please!" he sobbed, clawing at the maids as if they were his only lifeline. "Please... Please!"

’Florian...’ Something cracked deep inside Heinz.

"Please, stop!"

Before he realized it, he had crossed the room in a blink.

"Your Majesty," Lysander warned quickly, "His Highness is—he’s showing fear response to men. It’s not safe—he may panic."

But Heinz didn’t stop.

His voice dropped. "Move away."

The maids, startled, obeyed without question.

Azure had already leapt off the bed, the small dragon sitting beside Florian, croaking in distress. "Kraa..." the sound was soft, almost like a sob of its own.

Florian was rocking now, arms around himself. "P-Please... please..." he whimpered, barely audible.

Heinz slowly knelt in front of him. "Florian," he said quietly.

Everyone watched. The air hung heavy.

They all expected Florian to scream again.

To push him away.

To flinch.

But then—

"H-Heinz...?" Florian whispered, lifting his head just slightly.

And then, without warning, he threw himself forward—straight into Heinz’s arms—and broke.

Stunning Heinz and everyone in the room.

"Heinz... Heinz... Heinz..." he sobbed into his chest, body trembling.

Heinz’s eyes widened, arms frozen in place.

For a split second, he didn’t know what to do.

Florian—his Florian—was clinging to him. Sobbing. Trembling. Calling his name like it was the only word left in the world that mattered.

’He’s holding on to me...’

Slowly, as if afraid he’d break him, Heinz wrapped his arms around Florian.

Held him. Shielded him.

Pulled him gently onto his lap, tucking Florian close against his chest—his heartbeat firm, steady, anchoring.

"I’m here," Heinz whispered, voice lower and softer than anyone in that room had ever heard. "I’m here, Florian."

"Heinz... please help me..."

"I will," he murmured again, leaning in to nuzzle Florian’s messy, tear-damp curls. "I’m here. I’m here."

He didn’t know if Florian heard him. He just kept sobbing.

But Heinz held him tighter anyway.

Because for the first time in a very long time, Heinz witnessed his pain.

Then—flooding his mind like a crashing wave—memories returned.

A memory from the first life.

It had happened around the same time of the year.

Florian had snuck out. Was kidnapped. Beaten. Taken advantage of.

Lancelot had found and rescued him—but he hadn’t come back whole.

He hadn’t spoken for days.

Except when he cried out for one person.

"Your Majesty, His Highness is asking for you again," Lancelot had said, his voice carrying a rare note of urgency. "I know it may seem bothersome... And I would never insist if I didn’t deem it absolutely necessary, but—"

"If it’s about Florian crying and wailing again, I do not want to hear it," Heinz replied coldly, not even sparing a glance up from his paperwork.

Lancelot’s jaw tightened. "But Your Majesty, you don’t understand. His Highness... he suffered. He—"

"I’m not repeating myself, Lancelot," Heinz cut him off, ice in his voice. "Aren’t you and Lucius in some sort of private relationship with him? Console him yourselves."

Lancelot lowered his eyes, almost whispering his response.

"We aren’t enough."

That phrase echoed now, like a ghost clawing at Heinz’s throat.

Was it the same now?

Was the Florian in his arms—this boy who carried the face, but a different soul—carrying the same wounds as the original?

The same need?

Even in different timelines, different lives, different versions...

They had both called for him.

’Only me...’

Heinz shut his eyes tightly, breathing through the storm inside him.

Then, without turning, he spoke with quiet finality.

"Everyone. Get out."

There was a pause.

"Your Majesty?" Lucius asked, wary.

"I-I don’t want to leave His Highness..." Cashew cried softly behind him.

"I’ll take care of him," Heinz said, calm but firm. "Right now, it’s clear he doesn’t want to see anyone else. Cashew... you can come back later. Or tomorrow. But if you force him now, he may panic. He might hurt himself again. Do you want that?"

Cashew didn’t answer, but Heinz heard the choked sobs behind him.

"Lucius," Heinz continued, voice lower now. "Of all people... you should understand."

A tense silence.

Lucius’s eyes fell. He did understand. He understood all too well.

"...Understood," Cashew whispered, almost brokenly.

Heinz didn’t look up.

"The maids too. Everyone leaves. No one comes in or out unless I say so."

Another silence followed—then Lucius’s voice.

"...Of course, Your Majesty."

One by one, footsteps retreated. The quiet rustle of skirts, the creak of the door. The muffled sound of Lysander guiding Cashew away. Then... silence.

Only Heinz and Florian remained.

Florian, still sniffling in his lap, his fingers gripping Heinz’s clothes like he would disappear.

Heinz stroked his hair gently.

His gaze dropped to the floor, but his mind wasn’t there.

He was in the past again.

Hearing cries that he had once ignored. Imagining how different things could’ve been.

Feeling—for the first time in both lives—a sharp, stinging ache in his chest.

So much emotions, it overwhelmed him.

There were a thousand things he wanted to say. Needed to say. Things he had never learned how to speak.

But in this moment, only one thing made it past his lips.

He tightened his arms around Florian. Rested his cheek on Florian’s head.

And whispered, barely audible, but with all the weight in his heart:

"...I’m sorry."