CHAPTER 447: ’HIS PREGNANCY.’

"Bleugh... bleuuugh..."

’Make it stop.’

Another wave hit him hard, pulling the breath from his lungs. The cold porcelain pressed against his forehead, the taste of acid burning his tongue.

"Bleugh..."

’It hurts.’

His stomach twisted again, and tears slipped down his cheeks—silent and hot.

"Y-Your Highness... are you alright?" Cashew’s gentle voice floated through the door, hesitant and laced with worry.

Florian sat crumpled on the cold, marble floor, clutching his stomach, body trembling. He could barely lift his head.

"I’m... fine, Cashew," he managed hoarsely, his voice raw from retching.

"A-Are... you sure? You don’t want me to call the doct—"

"I said I’m fine, Cashew!" Florian snapped, sharper than he intended.

A heavy silence followed, and guilt immediately washed over him. His lips trembled.

"Cashew, I’m—"

"It’s okay, Your Highness," Cashew said quietly. "I... I’ll bring you some tea. Something gentle for your stomach."

Florian heard his retreating footsteps, and the soft click of the door closing left him alone again with the echo of his own misery.

He wiped at his lips with a shaking hand, the metallic taste of bile still lingering. Then, slowly, he dragged himself to the wall and leaned against it, pressing his back to the cold surface.

His hand fell instinctively to his stomach, resting there as if to shield it.

It had been two weeks since Lysander told him. Two weeks since the word pregnant was uttered and everything changed.

And he’d been sick every morning since.

Lysander had urged him gently—tell Heinz soon, before the signs were impossible to hide. But Florian hadn’t. Not yet.

"I didn’t think it’d be this hard..." he whispered, voice cracking as he stared blankly at the toilet bowl.

He bit his lower lip, willing himself not to cry. ’You’ve cried enough. Stop it. Just stop.’

But the tears spilled again—helpless, involuntary. Like everything else.

A sob tore out of him, and then another.

"How am I going to do this?" he choked. "What am I going to do?"

He wrapped his arms around himself, around the fragile life forming inside, and the weight of it all crashed down on him.

"I can’t... I can’t do this alone," he wept, voice breaking with every word.

His stomach twisted once more and he barely made it to the toilet again.

"Bleugh..."

Another wave of nausea mixed with panic and grief.

"I don’t want to be alone with this," he whispered through tears, his voice barely audible.

His whole body shook as he cried.

"Hein—"

"Heinz!" Florian gasped, his eyes snapping open as his chest heaved. His hands moved quickly, instinctively, reaching for his stomach—only to falter.

He couldn’t.

Something was wrapped around him.

Someone.

He turned his head slowly, heart still pounding in his chest, and saw Heinz—arms loosely holding him, face relaxed in sleep, his breath calm and steady against Florian’s back.

Florian stared at him in silence.

"A dream..." he murmured under his breath.

No.

A memory.

It hadn’t been illusion or fantasy. The weight in his chest told him that much. The original Florian was showing him something again—another piece of the past.

And this one... this one hurt.

His pregnancy.

Of all things, it was one of the few memories that kept returning to him lately. Repeating. Lingering.

Even beyond the original Florian’s strange connection to Heinz in their first life, this memory had burned itself into Florian’s subconscious. It didn’t feel beautiful. It didn’t feel special.

It felt heavy. Exhausting. Suffocating.

Tragic.

The remnants clung to him now like smoke, and Florian felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed hard, knowing it was only the aftertaste of the memory clinging to his senses.

"Hah..." he exhaled shakily, dragging his eyes back to Heinz.

That peaceful face.

That serene, untouched expression.

It made something inside him boil.

Anger crawled beneath his skin—slow, deliberate, and sharp.

Once, he had pitied the original Florian. A quiet, distant sympathy. But back then, he had only known of neglect—cold shoulders and silent rooms. He thought it was sad, sure, but not... unbearable.

In truth, he had even believed the original was a little foolish.

But now?

Now he had seen things the novel never mentioned. Now he felt things the original Florian had buried deep.

The suffering.

The weight.

The desperation.

And worst of all...

’And even after all that, he still called after Heinz.’

No matter how broken he was, no matter how much he endured, the original Florian had always reached for Heinz.

Always called his name.

And the man he cried for?

Lay here, fast asleep, blissfully unaware. Unscarred. Unbothered by the past he had helped create.

"How selfish," Florian whispered, his voice tight with restrained fury. His gaze remained fixed on Heinz’s sleeping face, the calmness there feeling like mockery. His fingers curled, the urge to shove him away tingling in his hands.

Then—

"Who’s selfish?" came a groggy voice, sudden and low, slicing through the air like a sharp gust of wind.

Florian’s body locked up.

His breath caught.

’Fuck. He’s awake?’

Heinz cracked one eye open, lashes fluttering lazily, his gaze still heavy with sleep but tinged with quiet curiosity. His voice carried that familiar huskiness, warm but laced with suspicion as he looked up at Florian.

"Who are you cursing so early, Florian?" he asked, one brow lifting in amusement.

Before Florian could respond, Heinz’s arm tightened around his waist.

And then—with one quick pull—Florian gasped.

"W-What are you—"

He didn’t finish.

In a blur, Heinz had shifted him effortlessly, guiding him until Florian was straddling his stomach, his legs resting awkwardly on either side of Heinz’s torso. Heinz’s hands found purchase on his waist, holding him there, grounding him.

Florian’s hands pressed instinctively against Heinz’s chest for balance, his eyes wide in shock as he looked down—only to find Heinz staring right back up, smirking.

There was that insufferable look again.

That smug, unbothered grin.

"We’re both going to be very busy today," Heinz murmured, voice velvet-smooth. "So I was hoping to start the morning off with some fun."

As he spoke, his hands slowly slid down from Florian’s waist—bold, unashamed—until they were cupping the curve of his butt.

"What do you think?"

’This...’

Florian’s breath hitched, his face heating furiously, color blooming fast across his cheeks and ears. The anger—sharp and burning—flickered, wavering, even as it intensified for a heartbeat.

It wasn’t fair.

The way Heinz could ruin his thoughts like this.

’This cheeky bastard!’