Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 356

Chapter 356: ’Just A Little Bit.’

"I’m yours," Florian whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Always."

"What is this?" Heinz breathed, watching the scene unfold in eerie clarity before him. The room felt too vivid to be a dream—too real. There he was, and there was Florian... but not the Florian he knew now.

This one was the original Florian. It felt so familiar. Familiar in a way that made Heinz’s chest tighten.

A dream? Or...

No. It didn’t feel like a dream. Not exactly.

Not with how vividly he could see the desire burning in his other self’s eyes. Not with how raw Florian’s expression was.

’Is this... my first life? A memory?’

His throat went dry.

He watched, frozen, as his other self let out a guttural sound and tore open his robe with an almost feral urgency. The sight was jarring.

Not because of the nudity—he was no stranger to his own body—but because of the hunger in his eyes, the desperation in the way he reached for Florian.

The tension in Heinz’s stomach coiled tighter.

Florian gasped, their bodies collided, and Heinz felt something twist inside him.

His other self was relentless. His hands explored Florian with the kind of fervor that betrayed more than lust—it was need. Desperate, consuming need.

’Why am I seeing this?’ Heinz thought, his brows furrowing. He tried to steady himself, to distance his emotions, but it was impossible to ignore the heat blooming beneath his skin. His fists clenched.

It wasn’t shame that made him want to turn away. No, it was the uncomfortable truth that arousal was building between his legs.

’Damn it... this isn’t even me right now.’

And yet, it was him.

He tried to remain composed, to analyze, to be smart. But when his other self’s mouth latched onto Florian’s neck and bit down—eliciting that needy cry—Heinz exhaled sharply through his nose, his composure cracking.

"You’re mine," his other self growled, and the words echoed in Heinz’s mind like a confession.

Florian responded with such raw, trembling devotion. "I’m yours, Heinz. Always yours."

Heinz’s breath hitched. A tight, unfamiliar pressure clenched in his chest. Why did that hurt?

He tried to look away—tried to not look at the way his other self pinned Florian down, the way the bed creaked beneath their joined bodies. But it was impossible.

He was aroused.

Disgusted with himself for it—but also confused. Confused and... affected.

He tried to dismiss it as a side-effect of the vividness. A strange reaction to seeing something he shouldn’t.

But when he heard Florian whisper "Please, Heinz," and watched his other self reach for the oil with trembling hands, Heinz’s jaw tightened.

"Well, isn’t that familiar..." he muttered under his breath. ’Like when he was drugged... like when he begged me to touch him.’

The parallel wasn’t lost on him. The desperation. The ache. The surrender. It was all the same.

And yet—this Florian wasn’t his Florian.

This Florian wanted him, without influence. And he said it. Again and again.

’Seeing the real Florian and the one I know now in this situation... they’re not all too different.’ Heinz gritted his teeth, his hands still clenched. ’So why does this feel different?’

When his other self whispered "I need you to love me," Heinz blinked.

"What?" he muttered aloud, stunned. The raw vulnerability in that voice—it startled him. "I would never say that..."

And yet—he had.

At least, that version of him did.

"I do," Florian whispered, full of trembling devotion. "I love you, Heinz. I always have."

And something in Heinz’s heart cracked.

He wasn’t prepared for that. Wasn’t prepared for the aching look in Florian’s eyes. The tears brimming. The gentleness in his hands. The hope.

He had never seen that before.

Not in his first life. He had refused to look at Florian then. Everyone knew that.

This was his first time seeing what had been there all along—and it left him breathless.

’Did Florian... did he always look at me like that?’

He didn’t have time to answer himself. The other him surged forward, burying himself inside Florian with a guttural sound, and Heinz stumbled back a step, shaken—not from the sight, but from what it meant.

The original Florian had loved him.

And he’d never seen it. Not once.

Florian cried out, his body trembling with pleasure. The other Heinz paused, trembling himself, overwhelmed by the intensity. His words—"You’re so perfect"—landed like stones in Heinz’s chest.

And then came the desperate plea:

"Tell me again," the other Heinz demanded. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you. I love you, Heinz. I always have—"

"What?" Heinz staggered back as the entire dreamscape began to melt like wax under heat. The air distorted. The bed faded. Florian’s cries dissolved into echoes. A cold chill swept through him as reality shifted.

He tensed, wary. His instincts screamed danger.

The scene reformed.

Florian was in the corridor now, eyes wide with panic.

"No!" he cried. "Heinz, listen to me! You... you love me! And I—I love you too!"

Heinz inhaled sharply.

"Now this, I remember clearly..." he murmured, ice crawling down his spine. "It was the morning after I drank... My mother’s death anniversary..."

He’d blacked out. Woken with a headache. No memory.

Until now.

He watched with growing dread as Florian was dragged away by the knights. People stared. Judged. Whispered.

And his other self—cold, unfeeling—just walked away.

No hesitation. No glance back.

’Was this the aftermath of what happened in the other memory?’ Heinz thought, stunned. ’Did I forget him? Did all of it really happen?’

The silence in his mind became deafening.

He didn’t know what this feeling was.

It twisted in his gut, coiling tightly in his chest. Shame? Guilt? Regret?

He couldn’t name it—but it made it hard to breathe.

He stared at Florian—the original—as the boy thrashed against his captors, face twisted in agony.

"Heinz!!"

And then—

"I love you, Heinz. I always have."

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