Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 549

When was it?

When did it start?

Had he been feeling this way all along, hidden beneath the chaos?

No.

No.

'Maybe this is… maybe this is the original Florian's feelings. Not mine. Not me…'

But he knew better.

He'd already drowned in so many of the original Florian's emotions—memories he couldn't escape, grief that wasn't his, longing that haunted him in dreams.

And lately… he could tell which feelings belonged to him, and which didn't.

And this—

The frantic pounding of his heart.

The relentless flood of tears spilling down his face.

The suffocating pressure in his chest as his fingers clawed against the cold floor for something, anything to hold onto—

This wasn't borrowed.

This wasn't inherited.

This was his.

"I can't… I can't have… why do I have…" His voice cracked, breaking into jagged fragments. He stared at the trembling blur of his reflection in the polished floor as his tears hit it, one after another. "I shouldn't…"

Heinz was stupid.

Heinz was selfish.

Heinz didn't care about him.

That was the truth Florian had forced into his heart over and over again, the mantra he clung to in order to survive.

Because deep down—deep where he didn't want to look—something far more dangerous was growing.

For some goddamn reason, despite everything… he was still falling for Heinz.

All those small, fleeting moments between them—warm hands steadying him, fleeting glances softer than they should have been, whispers that lingered longer than necessary.

Moments that made his heart betray him.

Moments that burned into his chest.

Moments he couldn't erase, no matter how much he tried.

And the intimacy—

Every kiss.

Every touch.

Every night he wished he could tell himself meant nothing.

They were chains around his heart, dragging him deeper into something he couldn't escape.

But Florian knew. Deep down, he knew he couldn't continue like this.

Not after what the original Florian had suffered.

Heinz… was heartless.

Heinz was cold.

Heinz was merciless.

Their whole conversation—every twisted truth, every cruel way Heinz had spoken about the original Florian—was repulsive.

It should have been enough for him to hate Heinz.

It should have burned away every last spark inside him.

So why—

Why was he still crying?

Why did the image of Heinz's face—wounded, pained, broken—as Florian left the balcony, keep replaying in his mind like a curse?

Florian was right.

Heinz had hurt the original Florian beyond comparison.

He had lied, deceived, twisted everything.

He had promised to help Florian return to his body, and that, too, had been a lie.

Hell.

Florian wouldn't even be surprised if Heinz had been involved in hiding the original Florian's letters.

The thought made his stomach twist.

And yet… his heart refused to let go.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! STOP IT. STOP. STOP!"

Florian's voice ripped through the empty hall as he pounded his chest with his fists, again and again, each strike a desperate attempt to kill the aching that refused to leave.

And yet his heart betrayed him, screaming for something it had no right to want.

Florian gritted his teeth, his jaw trembling as he forced his eyes shut. He tried to steady himself, tried to will the shaking out of his body as he pushed against the floor and staggered upright.

But his legs betrayed him. His knees wobbled violently, the weight in his chest pulling him down until he collapsed again with a harsh thud against the cold ground.

Tears blurred his vision, but he pressed his palms into the floor, dragging in a ragged breath.

"I'll get you back, Florian," he whispered, his voice hoarse, breaking. His lips quivered as he repeated it, quieter this time, like a vow carved into his bones. "I'll get you back here… I'll give you your body back."

He had to.

He needed to.

There were still ways—there had to be.

The original Florian's family.

And the best chance of all… Hendrix.

If he could just find him, corner him, make him listen—then maybe, just maybe, he could force a path forward.

'There has to be a way… there has to be a way Hendrix can help.'

Florian's chest tightened as he wiped at his face with shaking hands, his sobs slowing but leaving his body hollow, raw.

He had to focus.

He had to hold on to that plan.

Because if he could succeed—if he could give the body back to its rightful owner—then he could finally leave.

He could go back.

Back to Kaz.

Back home.

Back to where he belonged.

And he could forget. Forget this kingdom, forget the palace, forget him.

Forget Heinz.

Florian shut his eyes hard, his body curling in on itself as if trying to protect what little was left of his heart.

Because after all, there was no room left in him.

No room in his chest for love.

Not for a man who was selfish.