Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!-Chapter 257: ’Like Lucius’

"Space? You’re not making any sense."

Florian finally let go of Lancelot’s hand and took a quick step back, as if the sudden contact had burned him. His heart was still racing—why had he even done that?

Lancelot didn’t complain about the distance but instead looked down at him, his expression unreadable.

Then, to Florian’s surprise, he actually answered him.

"You... are uncomfortable when I’m flirty, so I... tried to be much more proper, like... Lucius." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

The words were slow, hesitant, like Lancelot himself couldn’t believe he was saying them. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically shy.

’Huh? Like Lucius?’ Florian’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed those words. ’Lancelot would never do such a thing in the novel. He’s way too proud of who he is.’

His confusion slipped into his voice before he could stop it.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

More importantly—why is he doing it now?

Lancelot looked almost offended that he even had to explain. He scoffed, but there was no bite to it.

"Did you not know that I have feelings for you?"

Florian’s mind blanked.

’Eh?’

No, really—

’Eh?!’

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known that the male leads were showing him affection, but there was always a level of deniability. Something he could pretend didn’t exist if he ignored it long enough.

But now—

Lancelot had just said it.

Flat out.

With no shame, no hesitation.

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Florian felt his stomach drop. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Lancelot seemed to take his stunned silence as permission to continue, even though Florian’s brain was already frying itself trying to process.

"I... You keep pushing me away, and I..." Lancelot trailed off, running a hand through his hair. His frustration was evident—of course it was. Lancelot was used to being confident, dominant, the one in control in any relationship.

Even in the original story, his dynamic with that Florian had been the same.

’Did... Did something happen? Something definitely happened because why—’

"I wanted you to be more comfortable with me, like you are with Lucius." Lancelot exhaled, as if finally letting out something he’d been holding in for a while. His orange eyes locked onto Florian’s. "I... want to be closer to Your Highness."

The words sent an immediate jolt through Florian’s entire body.

His face—no, his entire existence—felt like it was burning.

This wasn’t just the original Florian’s embarrassment bleeding through.

This was him.

This was his own damn reaction.

’Damn this BL novel. Damn this stupid setting. Why am I actually embarrassed?!’

Lancelot, ever perceptive, didn’t miss a thing. His gaze flickered over Florian’s face, and a smirk—small, but definitely amused—tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You’re blushing?"

"W-Why..." Florian immediately slapped his hands over his face, his voice muffled in mortification. "Why wouldn’t I blush?! You’re saying such—!"

He cut himself off before he could embarrass himself even further.

Lancelot, however, was clearly having the time of his life.

"That’s not a negative reaction." His voice was tinged with something that almost sounded... hopeful.

Which only made Florian want to disappear.

Because, honestly? He didn’t know what kind of reaction it was.

He didn’t know anything anymore.

Lancelot took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Florian felt it instantly.

His instincts screamed at him to move, to put more distance between them, to say something to break whatever the hell this was turning into—

But he was too flustered.

And Lancelot was getting closer.

"Your Highness..."

His voice was softer now. Lower.

Florian swallowed hard.

Florian barely had time to process before he felt it—Lancelot’s cool armor brushing against his arm, the contrast stark against the heat creeping up his skin.

Too close.

Way too close.

His breath hitched, his body locking up as if suddenly caged in by the weight of Lancelot’s presence.

"D-Don’t stand too close," he stammered, barely managing to get the words out past the lump in his throat. It was meant to be firm, an order befitting his status, but instead, it came out quieter than he wanted—just a breath between them.

Lancelot didn’t listen.

Of course, he didn’t.

The warmth of his presence remained, unwavering, and Florian was starting to suspect—no, he knew—the man was doing this on purpose. Teasing. Testing. Seeing just how much he could take before breaking.

’Where the hell is Azure?’

The sudden realization struck him like ice water. His tiny companion should have still been curled up on his head, but—

The weight was gone.

A small ripple of panic flickered in his chest, but before he could so much as glance around to check, a voice—low, smooth, dangerous—brushed against his ear like a whisper of smoke.

"Do you like it when I’m flirty, after all, Your Highness?"

Florian’s entire body locked up.

Heat exploded across his face, creeping down his neck and burning all the way to his fingertips. He felt lightheaded, almost dizzy from the sheer force of the reaction.

’N-No. No, I do not.’

His mind was screaming in denial, but his body betrayed him—stiffening, breath coming out uneven, hands twitching at his sides as if unsure whether to shove Lancelot away or cover his own face in mortification.

He wanted to reject it outright, to shove the accusation back with all the force of a violent storm, but—

His mouth refused to cooperate.

His thoughts tangled into knots, fighting themselves, contradicting every logical argument he tried to piece together.

’I don’t like it. I don’t.’

But deep down, he knew—it wasn’t the flirtation itself that had him so off balance.

It was Lancelot.

Because this wasn’t just teasing anymore. There was something real in the way he spoke, in the way his orange eyes held him in place. Something genuine.

And that was what made Florian’s skin feel too tight, like he was wearing the wrong body altogether.

He gave a sharp shake of his head, finally forcing out a weak, "No."

Lancelot hummed. Amused. Disbelieving.

"I was starting to get worried," he mused, his voice dripping with mischief. "But it seems my prince is just shy."

Florian felt the breath in his throat catch.

’Why did I ask?’

’Why did I do this to myself?’

Regret. Instant, crushing regret.

Lancelot chuckled, the sound smooth and velvety, curling around Florian like a taunt. He was about to gather the last shreds of his dignity, about to push Lancelot away and tell him to stop looking at him like that—

When the door abruptly swung open.

"Y-Your Highness?"

Florian jumped.

Cashew.

Cashew was finally here.

Relief hit him like a crashing wave, drowning out every single chaotic thought in his head.

Without wasting a second, he turned on his heel and shoved Lancelot back—probably harder than necessary—before practically sprinting toward his personal attendant.

"Cashew!" he blurted, his voice embarrassingly desperate as he clung to his unexpected lifeline. "Where have you been?"

"Ah—" Cashew hesitated, shifting on his feet. "There were some maids who asked me to help with a few tasks... It took longer than expected. I apologize, Your Highness."

Florian’s breath hitched.

’...A lie.’

Cashew would never. Not even once in the time Florian had known him had he ever prioritized menial tasks over Florian himself. No matter how small or insignificant the request, Cashew always made sure to be there when Florian needed him.

Which meant—

Something was off.

But now was not the time to press him about it. Not when his heart was still racing from Lancelot’s words. Not when his mind still hadn’t caught up to what just happened.

He turned back to look at Lancelot, pulse still unsteady.

And the knight was smiling.

Not his usual smirk, not something cocky or teasing—no, this was different. Softer, but just as self-assured. Like he had won something.

Florian scowled. "You—"

Lancelot raised his hands, palms out. "Relax. I’m leaving." His voice was light, amused. "I got everything I wanted."

Florian’s breath caught.

’What? What does that even mean—?’

But before he could demand an answer, Lancelot had already turned on his heel, walking past him with that same infuriating ease. Not a single glance back. Just a satisfied air, as if he’d accomplished exactly what he came here to do.

Florian could only watch him go, completely dumbfounded.

’What... just happened?’

Cashew’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Your Highness? Are you alright?" His gaze flickered toward the door where Lancelot had disappeared. "And why was Sir Lancelot here?"

Florian opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He had no idea where to even begin.