Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176: ’Did Something...Happen?’

’Oh, it’s just Cashew.’

Florian let out a slow breath, only then realizing how tightly wound his body had been. His fingers, curled against his sleeves, relaxed slightly. The knock had sent a brief wave of unease through him—sharp and cold—but now that he saw who it was, some of that tension faded.

And yet... not completely.

He opened the door.

Cashew stood before him, balancing a tray of food with careful hands. The boy’s shoulders were slightly hunched, his grip firm yet delicate—so practiced, so controlled.

"Cashew!" Florian greeted, his lips curving into a small, relieved smile.

Cashew dipped his head slightly. "I’m sorry I’m late," he murmured, voice soft. "The food took longer than usual."

Florian waved a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. Don’t worry about it."

Cashew stepped inside, his movements as careful as always—but there was something about them that nagged at Florian. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was there.

His footsteps.

They were... heavier. Measured.

’He’s usually lighter on his feet...’

Florian’s brows knitted together as he shut the door behind him. His eyes followed Cashew as the boy walked toward the table, setting the tray down with practiced ease. The plates barely made a sound against the polished wood.

Cashew turned back, hands clasped in front of him. His lips pressed into a small, polite smile—the same as always.

"Please enjoy your meal, Your Highness."

Florian nodded and took his seat, ready to eat.

But the moment his fingers grazed the utensils, a feeling—an instinct—made him hesitate.

Instead, his hand moved toward Cashew.

Fingers landed gently atop the boy’s head, threading slightly through his soft hair.

Cashew tensed.

Florian felt it immediately—the way the boy’s shoulders went rigid beneath his touch.

His brows furrowed.

"Hey," he said softly, tilting his head. "Are you okay? Did something... happen?"

For a second, Cashew didn’t move.

Then, his breath hitched—so quick, so slight, that anyone else might have missed it.

He shook his head. "No. Nothing happened."

His voice was steady. Too steady.

’That’s... not like him.’

Cashew was always soft-spoken, always hesitant, but now... now his words felt carefully chosen, too measured, too controlled.

Then, the boy’s fingers curled slightly at his sides, gripping the hem of his tunic.

"I was just... worried about you," Cashew admitted, his voice smaller now. "I... I just hope you know that I would do anything for you."

Florian froze.

’That’s...’ His chest tightened. ’That’s not something Cashew would say.’

Cashew’s voice, usually laced with uncertainty, carried a weight it never had before. It wasn’t just loyalty—it was something firmer, something unshaken.

It was unsettling.

’What’s gotten into him?’

Then, it clicked.

Cashew must have found out about last night.

’Of course. He must be worried because they told him I was poisoned.’

Florian exhaled through his nose, some of the unease easing from his chest.

A small smile played at his lips as he ruffled Cashew’s hair again, the familiar touch meant to reassure. His fingers combed gently through the strands, warm and light.

"Like I said," he murmured, "you don’t need to do anything else. You being here with me, helping me... that’s more than enough."

Cashew didn’t respond.

He simply stared at Florian.

A faint smile curled his lips.

But it wasn’t the usual kind—not the shy, flustered, awkward smile Cashew would normally wear. No, this one felt... different.

It was soft.

But wrong.

Florian’s stomach twisted again.

’Why does he look like that...?’

He held Cashew’s gaze for a beat longer, waiting for the boy to say something. But Cashew remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Still... he was just a kid. A stressed, worried kid.

Florian let out a breath, shaking off the feeling.

He picked up his fork.

’Maybe I’m just imagining things.’

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

’I am not imagining things.’

’He’s not even stuttering.’

’If something happened... what could’ve happened?’