Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 207

Chapter 207: ’A Sickness With No Name’

Leila didn’t hesitate as she pushed the door open and stepped inside, but Florian did.

The moment he crossed the threshold, an uncomfortable chill settled in his chest.

The house was small—far smaller than the one the chief had given him and Heinz—but that wasn’t what unsettled him. It was the sheer state of neglect that filled every corner.

Dust blanketed the wooden floorboards, so thick it dulled what little light managed to filter through the small, dirt-streaked window. Cobwebs stretched from the ceiling beams, thin strands clinging to the edges of the walls.

The furniture—what little there was—was barely more than broken remnants. A rickety wooden table. A single, uneven chair. A thin, moth-eaten blanket draped haphazardly over a makeshift sleeping area in the corner.

It felt... abandoned.

’No, not abandoned. Forsaken.’

Florian had expected modesty, but this—this was something else entirely.

Leila’s voice broke through the silence, cutting through the stagnant air.

"Sorry for the mess," she murmured as she stepped further inside, her voice light but carrying a strange, distant note. "Since I was sick... and Levi left... no one’s been around to clean."

Florian didn’t know what to say to that.

Instead, he let his eyes roam the space again, taking in the small details—the untouched bowls shoved into a corner, coated in dust. The faint, brittle scent of something burnt, as if an attempt at cooking had gone wrong. A chair missing one of its legs, propped up against the wall like even the furniture had given up.

’How long has she been living like this?’

His throat felt tight.

"The chief," he said suddenly, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. "He seemed to care about you. Why didn’t the villagers help?"

Leila had been leading them toward the center of the room, but at his words, she stopped. For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Then—

"The chief is too old," she said simply, her tone unreadable. "And the others... they’re afraid of getting sick."

Florian inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"They think you’re contagious?" _{fɾēewebnσveℓ.com}

Leila neither confirmed nor denied it. She merely tilted her head slightly, the dim candlelight flickering against her pale skin.

Florian stared at her, the weight of her words sinking deep into his chest.

So that was it.

That was why the villagers kept their distance. Why no one came to clean. Why no one even checked in on her.

She had been left alone. Completely, utterly alone.

And no one did a damn thing about it.

His stomach twisted, and he glanced around again, this time searching for something—anything—that indicated how she had been surviving. But there was nothing. No fresh food, no supplies. Just dust and decay.

His fingers curled into his palms.

’How the hell has she been getting by?’

Before he could ask, Leila turned toward the center of the room and gestured toward the floor.

"Sit," she said softly.

Florian hesitated. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the filth or because of the growing unease curling in his gut, but something about this whole situation didn’t feel right. Still, he lowered himself onto the ground, crossing his legs as he settled in front of the small, dirty coffee table.

Heinz followed suit, his movements careful, calculated. He had yet to say a word since stepping inside, but Florian could feel it—the sharp attentiveness beneath his quiet composure. Heinz was watching. Not just Leila, but everything.

Leila sat down last, lowering herself with an effortless grace that contradicted the frailty of her appearance.

Florian watched her carefully.

’How long has she been sick? How long has she been starving?’

’That... doesn’t make sense.’

Leila nodded, her gaze distant. "He called it A Sickness With No Name. Said there was no cure."