Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 594

'Fuck my life. Fuck everyone. Fuck everything. Just fucking kill me at this point, God. Gods. Whoever wants me dead because of Heinz just—'

Life was shit.

Everything was shit.

There were countless curse words rattling inside his skull, but none of them even came close to expressing how done he felt.

His head throbbed like it was splitting open, a dull ache spreading behind his eyes until all he could think was fuck and shit on an endless loop.

Because everything—everything—was a fucking pile of shit.

'Why did I have to end up in this situation? Why me? Why— Why was all I doing proofreading that stupid story I never even wanted to get dragged into—'

"Y-Your… Highness?"

A soft, hesitant voice cut through the chaos.

Florian blinked, the words registering slowly.

"…Are you… why have you been… lying on the ground?"

He shifted his gaze toward the source.

Of course.

Cashew stood a few steps away, hands clutched together, eyes wide with worry.

Florian looked up at him with flat, empty eyes.

Cashew flinched.

"I-I tried not to say anything," the boy said quickly, voice wobbling. "I know you said you wanted some quiet time, but… you've just been lying here, on the cold floor, staring at nothing. I—I can't help but think that you're not okay."

Florian let out a weak breath.

"That's right," he whispered.

Barely audible.

"I'm not okay. I'm… not fine at all."

"Oh."

Cashew froze.

The surprise was immediate—visible in the way his shoulders stiffened, in the way he struggled to process the fact that Florian had just said it out loud, without deflection or humor or false reassurance.

Florian didn't soften his tone.

He couldn't.

And he knew—some distant part of him knew—that he should apologize for letting a young servant see him like this. Cashew didn't deserve to witness this mess.

But he was too exhausted to pretend.

He had had a rough night.

A rough week.

Hell—maybe even more than that.

He felt cranky and irritable, anger simmering just beneath his skin. He felt oddly hungry despite having no appetite at all.

He felt so tired—not the simple kind of sleepy fatigue, but the soul-deep weight that pressed down on his chest and made breathing feel like work.

Mentally drained.

Emotionally burned through.

Physically worn out.

All he wanted to do was curl up somewhere dark and disappear until every problem simply… stopped existing.

After his encounter with Asher—that bitter confrontation that left a foul taste in his mouth—Florian had fallen asleep angry.

Sleep was supposed to be peaceful.

Sleep was supposed to be rest.

A pause.

A calm.

Instead—

He dreamed.

Again.

And again.

Not nightmares this time.

Not the memories of Heinz emotionally tormenting the original Florian.

No.

Worse.

These were his memories now.

Of Heinz's hands.

Heinz's warmth.

The way his voice dropped closer when he whispered Florian's name like it mattered.

Their proximity.

Their touches.

The soft, intimate moments that tangled together with everything else until even the good memories hurt.

Florian kept waking up.

Over and over, he jolted upright from half-sleep, breath sharp, hands trembling as he slapped at his own face or pressed his palms into his temples.

"Stop it," he whispered hoarsely to no one. "Just stop dreaming."

'Stop seeing him. Stop remembering.'

But every time he closed his eyes—

Another dream came.

Then he woke.

Then he dreamed again.

Then he woke again.

Again.

Again.

No peace. No escape. Just the same looping torment.

Florian had long since grown used to nightmares—painful flashes of the original Florian's fear, abandonment, and despair. Those made sense. Those belonged to suffering.

But these?

These weren't nightmares.

They were too warm.

Too soft.

Too filled with things that had once felt safe.

Heinz smiling at him when no one else was looking.

Heinz touching his hand absentmindedly.

Heinz whispering his name like it was something precious.

'Why does my mind keep replaying the good parts?'

It hurt more than any monster-shaped terror ever could.

Because it reminded him that despite everything, despite knowing how twisted and ruthless Heinz truly was…

There had been moments when Florian genuinely felt loved.

And losing them hurt far worse than never having them at all.

'It's just another reminder of how everything went wrong,' he thought bitterly.

But then—

There was that last dream.

The one that made his skin crawl.

Not scary.

Not violent.

Just… unsettling.

It felt different from all the others.

Less like memory…

More like a message.

Like the previous dreams—the ones that had warned him of danger, of being hunted without his knowledge.

Those dream-warnings had always carried a strange weight to them.

And this one felt the same.

Heavy.

Intentional.

Important.

'They always come before something bad happens…'

Which meant…

Before Florian could chase that thought any further—

"U-Um…"

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