Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 481

Chapter 481: ’When Did It Start?’

When did it start?

When did it become that Heinz’s heart would only remember how to beat when it was reflected in the green of Florian’s eyes?

’Florian.’

This Florian, his Florian—looking at him now with concern, with worry, as though he could somehow reach into Heinz’s chest and pull him back from whatever pit he had fallen into.

What had happened to him?

What had broken him so thoroughly?

Not even his mother’s death had cracked him this way. Not even killing his own father had left his soul this hollow.

When had it happened—that a single prince, this one person, had begun to shift the very ground beneath his feet?

That was the question Heinz had been chasing.

For the last four days, he’d been with Afton and Lysander, forcing Afton to drag out every memory—bright or bleak, gentle or cruel. Heinz had stood there and let them wash over him. The good. The bad. The ones that made his hands shake.

And still, he couldn’t stop.

He needed to see all of them. Every fragment he had lost. Every detail his mind had locked away.

He needed to understand why he had forgotten them.

How could he have forgotten him?

Maybe—just maybe—if he saw it all, he could give both himself and the original Florian the closure they deserved. Then he could look at this Florian without the shadow of the past clinging to him.

He had thought it would be simple.

It wasn’t.

The "happy" memories... every last one was with Florian. No matter how much they hurt, no matter if they ended in tears or sharp words, even if they were foolish, petty quarrels—if Florian was there, his mind had branded them happy.

It was always the same—Florian’s room at night, the heat of skin on skin, whispered promises of love, and Florian’s quiet, aching sobs when Heinz could not remember.

A pattern of tenderness and heartbreak, repeating.

The happiness ended just a month before his birthday. Heinz knew because there was a memory—too vivid to mistake—where Florian mentioned it.

Then they moved on to the "sad" memories.

And the sad ones told him far more than he was ready to see.

✧༺ ⏱︎ ༻✧

Three days ago...

"Are you certain you wish to proceed to the sad memories, Your Majesty? You already look exhausted. Perhaps you should rest?" Afton’s voice was careful, almost pleading, his brows knit with worry.

"Lysander is here to heal me if anything happens," Heinz replied flatly. "We keep going until there are no more memories left to see."

His tone was final—unyielding.

Lysander and Afton exchanged a glance, the kind that carried silent protests they knew better than to voice.

"But... Lord Lancelot said His Highness, Prince Florian, has been looking for you," Lysander tried again, his voice softer this time, as though gentleness might sway him where reason could not.

Heinz’s eyes cut to him—sharp, cold, dangerous. That single look was enough to smother any further argument.

He couldn’t face Florian now.

Not when every fragment of the past was tearing open wounds he hadn’t even known he had.

Not when the ghost of the original Florian hovered in every corner of his mind.

He had already confirmed it—he had loved that Florian. Deeply. They had shared something real, something raw.

And yet... why had he kept forgetting?

Why, in his own memories, did he never seem aware of the missing pieces? Why was there no recognition, no awareness that something had been stolen from him?

’I’ve stored more than enough mana stones here. Afton won’t run out of magic anytime soon,’ Heinz thought, his gaze flicking briefly to the faint glow of the stones arranged around the room. They pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and quiet.

Afton stepped forward, moving with the caution of someone handling a wounded animal. His hand hovered for a moment before it finally settled against Heinz’s temple, the touch cool and deliberate.

Heinz didn’t flinch. He knew the drill by now.

Afton’s voice was low, rhythmic, counting them into the plunge.

"Three... two... one..."

"I..." Heinz’s eyes snapped open, the haze of waking clinging stubbornly to his mind. His vision cleared slowly, and the first thing he saw was... Florian.

Florian?

Memories hit him all at once—flashes of tangled sheets, skin against skin, Florian’s flushed face beneath him. The sounds. The warmth. The drunken desperation that had driven him to claim Florian that night.

Florian whispering that he loved him.

Heinz demanding—needing—to hear that Florian belonged to him.

"What the fuck..." Heinz muttered under his breath, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. "What the actual fuck?"

’Do I... love Florian?’

No. No, that was impossible.

He had sworn off love. Long ago. He’d told himself, promised himself, that he would never be that weak—especially after...

Flashes surged through his head—his mother’s tear-streaked face, her trembling hands clutching at his father’s sleeve, her voice breaking as she begged for love that never came. And then... her lifeless form.

No.

No, he couldn’t love. Love was a weakness. Love was a chain.

And he was a king now. Finally, he was the king.

But as his gaze fell once more on the sleeping figure beside him, something inside his chest twisted sharply.

His heart... ached.

Ached? No. Fuck no.

Over his dead body would he let it be this one. This single prince—this one man—who could unravel him.

But then—

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

Florian’s voice from last night echoed in his mind, warm and unbearably gentle. Heinz could almost hear it again, almost feel those words brushing against his skin. A dangerous part of him... wanted to. Needed to.

No. He couldn’t. Absolutely not.

Pushing the feeling down like a poison, Heinz slipped out of Florian’s bed. His movements were slow, deliberate, as he gathered his clothes and dressed in silence. Not once did he allow himself to glance back.

But still—he kept his footsteps soft, careful, as if some part of him didn’t want to wake the prince.

When he was finally dressed, he turned and slipped quietly out the door.

And then—

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