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

'Why is he smiling?'

Florian thought, his chest tightening as he watched the original Florian cradle his tiny bump with one trembling hand.

It was barely visible, a subtle curve beneath his palm, so faint it could have been overlooked. But Florian's eyes caught it instantly.

It was real.

His gaze shifted to the mirror, to the two of them reflected side by side. The original Florian looked so fragile there—his frame slim, shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight far heavier than the small swell beneath his hand.

Florian narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to make sense of it. 'Why smile if it hurts this much?'

"Something's wrong with me," the original whispered, his voice nearly lost in the quiet. Florian leaned forward instinctively, wondering—was he speaking to himself, or…?

"I don't think I can give you a good life."

Ah.

So he wasn't talking to himself at all. He was talking to the child inside him.

Florian's frown deepened, his throat constricting as he watched. A single tear slipped down the original's cheek, trailing across his smile—a smile that looked wrong, a smile that looked like it hurt.

'What is happening right now?'

"Your father…" His voice cracked. "He doesn't know you exist. And I don't think—" His breath stuttered, catching on unspoken fears.

"I don't think… he'll want us. I know he loves me, but why does he keep forgetting?" His fingers tightened against his stomach as though afraid the life within him would vanish if he didn't hold on. "He… might forget about you too. And I can't… I can't do this anymore."

His other hand lifted, pressing down protectively over the bump as his shoulders shook, more tears spilling freely now.

"But…"

Florian held his breath. 'But?'

"I can't help but feel heartbroken for you," the original whispered with a sob so fragile it fractured the silence. "I… I already have so much love for you, little one. You haven't even grown that much yet. Even though I hate throwing up, even though I hate feeling dizzy, I…"

His voice broke again, swallowed by the sound of quiet weeping.

Florian couldn't understand. His mind grasped for a way to bridge the gap between what he was seeing and what he knew.

Maybe it was because he had never been in the same position as the original.

Maybe it was because the ache of such love—love tangled with despair—was something that words could never fully explain.

The original Florian pressed his palms flat to his stomach, eyes closing, tears streaking freely down his face. "I can feel you," he whispered shakily. "The doctor, Lysander, said it was natural for me to feel you. And I do." His lips curved into a trembling smile. "You're real. I can feel you."

"I don't know why I'm surprised," Florian murmured under his breath, though the words carried the weight of disbelief.

Because he was. Deeply.

Surprised that the original Florian did love his child—there was no mistaking it.

The tenderness in his touch, the quiet devotion in his words, the way his trembling fingers clung to that small swell as if it were the most precious thing in the world… it was undeniable.

And yet, the shock still lingered in Florian's chest, pressing against his ribs like something sharp and unrelenting.

Every memory he had seen until now painted the original Florian in shades of sorrow—loneliness that hollowed him out, despair that seemed to gnaw at every word and gesture.

Happiness had always felt so foreign to him, as if it were a luxury meant for everyone else but him.

'But here he is,' Florian thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the mirror's reflection. 'Here he is, giving all of himself to someone who doesn't even exist yet.'

A child that was never even born.

His throat tightened. He could feel his nails bite into his palms as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

'How can someone love like that?'

Then again… wasn't this the same person who had clung to Heinz despite everything?

Who endured endless cycles of heartbreak, of being pulled close only to be pushed away the very next day?

Who still loved, even when that love was treated like a cruel game?

Yes. That was exactly who the original Florian was.

Florian's quiet sobs didn't stop. His hands stayed locked over his stomach, cradling that faint swell as though it were the last fragile thread keeping him tethered to the world.

His entire body rocked in place, trembling, every movement filled with desperation.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely, voice raw and frayed, barely more than a breath. "I love you so much, little one. Please… please don't... don't ever doubt that."

'I really don't understand this.'

The words carried devotion, but they cracked and broke with each exhale, spoken again and again as if sheer repetition might anchor them into truth. His voice became a prayer, a chant, unrelenting.

"I love you… I love you… I love you…"

And…

Florian's chest constricted until it felt like his ribs were crushing him from the inside. He could barely breathe.

'Why does it sound like a goodbye?'

Unease slithered coldly through his veins.

The original finally moved. His body sagged with exhaustion as he turned and sank onto the edge of the bedside table.

His breaths came in ragged pulls, his trembling hands gripping the wood as though it was the only thing holding him upright.

Florian's gaze followed—and froze.

The original's eyes weren't on him. They were locked on the porcelain cup of tea sitting there. That look—hollow—made Florian's blood run ice cold.

Not hesitation. Not doubt.

Just guilt.

"I'm sorry…"

The original's fingers shook violently as they hovered over the cup. His lips parted, his voice spilling out in a broken string of apologies.

'He's… apologizing now?'

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

Over and over. As if like a mantra.

'Why is he—'

Florian's heart slammed against his ribs, his pulse roaring in his ears.

'No. No, he wouldn't—he can't—'

"Stop!" The words ripped from his throat like fire. "Don't touch that!"

He lunged forward, hand outstretched, desperate to tear the cup away. But his hand passed straight through, powerless.

The memory didn't bend. It refused him. It only played on.

'Is he planning to...?'

The original Florian lifted the cup. His tears spilled into the tea, his whisper a broken benediction.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"STOP!" Florian roared, slamming both fists against the invisible wall of time itself, the impact reverberating through his bones. "Don't do it! Don't you DARE!"

But porcelain touched trembling lips. The liquid poured down. Slow, deliberate gulps.

Too late.

The cup slipped from unsteady hands and clattered dully against the floor, rolling away as silence swallowed the room—only to be shattered by violent coughing.

The original Florian convulsed, his body writhing, tears streaking down his face as his throat tore itself apart.

Florian's own heart lurched. And then—pain. A vicious, searing pain that stabbed through his chest like a brand.

"W-What—?!" He staggered, clutching at his throat.

Coughs ripped free, raw and merciless. His lungs burned, shredding with every breath, until his knees buckled beneath him. The room tilted. His body wouldn't obey.

Then it sank lower.

His stomach twisted, cramping violently, tearing itself apart with fire so savage he screamed.

'Why—why am I feeling this too?!'

Both Florians collapsed. The original writhed on the floor, choking and sobbing, while Florian mirrored his agony beside him, clutching his stomach as the same fire consumed him.

His vision blurred, black creeping in at the edges, drowning the world.

"Don't—!" His voice rasped, breaking, his hand reaching desperately for his counterpart even though he knew he couldn't touch him.

His fingers grasped at air.

Then—

The memory shattered like glass.

And—

"Your Highness!"

"Prince Florian!"

Two voices cut through the void, sharp and panicked.

Florian's eyes flew open. He gasped, chest heaving. His blurred vision cleared just enough to catch sight of Cashew, Drizelous, and even the little dragon Azure—all of them staring at him with wide, worried eyes.