Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight! novel Chapter 501

Chapter 501: ’The Flower Field.’

Flowers.

There were flowers everywhere.

A sea of them stretched as far as Florian’s eyes could see—blooms of white lilies, roses the color of blood, and strange, otherworldly petals that glowed faintly in the dim light.

The air was heavy with their fragrance, too sweet, almost suffocating. The sight alone tugged at his memory, and a chill slid down his spine.

’This place... I know this place.’

His breath hitched. This was the same field where one of his dreams ¹had taken place. He remembered it clearly—too clearly.

’So... I’m dreaming again?’

But what kind of dream was this?

A memory?

Or another nightmare?

Because the last time he dreamt of this place... it had been anything but beautiful. He could still recall the screams, the suffocating pressure, the endless terror.

A nightmare carved so deep he knew he could never forget.

But now... silence.

The world around him was not chaotic, not violent—just quiet. Oppressively quiet. Eerily still, as though the flowers themselves were holding their breath.

Then—

"You..."

Florian froze. The voice was sharp, startling, and achingly familiar.

It was his own voice.

No... not his voice.

The original Florian’s voice.

Slowly, heart hammering, Florian turned his head. His eyes widened the instant they locked onto another pair of bright green ones—his green eyes, but not his. T

he other Florian’s gaze mirrored his shock.

Both of them inhaled sharply.

"You..." Florian whispered back, his throat dry.

For a long, drawn-out moment, they simply stared at one another, as if confirming they weren’t just imagining it.

"Is this... real?" the original Florian asked, voice trembling. "Can you... see me? Hear me?"

Florian’s chest tightened. ’Is this really happening? This doesn’t feel like a dream...’

"I-I..." he stammered, then finally nodded, though his knees felt weak. "Yes. Yes, I can. You’re... you’re the original, aren’t you? You’re Florian."

The other Florian’s eyes widened further, panic flashing through them. "How could this be possible? No—never mind that. I don’t have much time. I have to tell you something. To warn you."

"Warn me?" Florian echoed, confusion and dread twisting together in his gut.

The original Florian nodded urgently, taking a step closer. "Something’s going to happen. I’m not supposed to—"

Before he could finish, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth.

Florian flinched. "What the fuck—?!"

He rushed forward instinctively, but before he could close the distance, another hand shot out of nowhere, stopping him cold.

Cold fingers gripped his chest, shoving him back a step.

Two figures materialized from the shadows between the flowers.

Familiar. Horribly familiar.

The same two that had appeared in his nightmare before.

The one holding Florian now loomed above him—its body a mass of writhing darkness, with only white eyes and a gaping, crooked mouth glowing faintly from within. It looked at him almost sorrowfully.

"I’m sorry," the shadow murmured, its voice distorted, echoing.

Florian struggled, thrashing against the grip. "Let me go—let me go! He was about to tell me something!"

He jerked his head toward the original Florian.

But the other prince was also being restrained, another shadowy figure wrapping around him like a vice.

This one had no mouth, no expression at all—just a blank abyss where its face should have been. Its hands silenced the original Florian, smothering the words before they could escape.

Both Florians thrashed in unison, their movements frantic, desperate, as if sheer will could break the shadows’ hold.

The flowers beneath their feet rustled violently, bending and twisting as though alive, stirred by their struggle.

"No! Don’t take him!" Florian cried, his voice breaking, pulling against the cold, vice-like grip holding him back. His arms strained forward, fingers clawing at the empty air.

The original Florian’s muffled cries echoed his own—green eyes wide with fear, silently pleading. He jerked against the faceless figure, but its grip was merciless, unyielding.

Then the ground began to shift.

The flowers beneath the original Florian rippled like water, petals glowing faintly as they began to swallow him whole. His legs sank first, dragged down into the sea of blossoms.

Florian’s blood ran cold.

"No! No, stop—don’t take him!" He lunged forward again, only to be yanked harshly back by the shadow holding him. His chest ached, his throat raw as he screamed, "Florian!"

The original’s hand stretched out toward him, trembling, desperate. His eyes locked onto Florian’s with a silent, urgent plea.

’Don’t go—don’t leave me here!’

But the flowers surged higher, wrapping around his waist, his chest, his shoulders. His muffled shouts grew fainter, his eyes brimming with fear and sorrow before finally—

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