GOD OF CHAOS

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

LANDON KING

Landon grunted as he pulled up his pajamas with his good arm. "I'm fine, Mum," he muttered into the phone speaker, wincing slightly from the discomfort. During the fall, he had dislocated his left shoulder and fractured his arm. It was perhaps the most embarrassing injury Landon had ever sustained, almost insulting in its mundanity.

"Why don't you come home?" his mother, world-renowned artist Astrid Clifford King, pleaded, her voice tinged with concern.

"I still have some tests," Landon lied, though not entirely convincingly. While he did have academic commitments, they weren't urgent. Yet Landon took his responsibilities seriously; maintaining his position as the top student at TKU and REU was a matter of pride.

"But honey—" Astrid began again, her worry evident in her tone.

Cutting her off, Landon said, "I'll be fine, Mom. It was a minor accident anyway." Oh yes, they had lied to their parents. Obviously. His parents thought that Landon fell down a set of stairs. Brandon was the one who came up with the lie. Again, surprising.

"I still don't think you should be staying there alone," Astrid insisted, her maternal instinct kicking in.

"I'm not alone," he answered, moving from the bathroom to his bedroom, phone in hand.

"Landon, I'm your mother. I know how you get with these things," Astrid said, her voice softening with understanding.

Sensing the conversation's end, Landon said, "Don't worry. I'm taking my meds, and I'm sleepy right now. Talk later?"

"Okay, fine. But call me when you—" Astrid started to say, her concern still palpable.

"Okay, Mom." Landon disconnected the call with a sigh, tossing the phone onto his bed. It had been a whirlwind lately, with no escape. Brandon had been breathing down his neck, even going as far as threatening to lock Landon's bedroom door until his shoulder healed to prevent him from leaving. But beyond that, Brandon had been...angry?

Ever since Brandon arrived at the hospital three days ago, he had suffocated Landon with demands and rules without even looking at him. Despite all the complications in their relationship, Brandon had always looked at Landon. Landon couldn't understand why suddenly his face was the last thing Brandon wanted to see.

Landon lay back on his bed, his legs hanging off the mattress. He couldn't shake the image of the stitch masks he had seen. While it could be anyone behind those masks, he couldn't help but think of the Heathens. One thing was certain: the Orange mask was missing. He hadn't seen who hit him from behind, but he was determined to find out if it was the Orange mask, if it was Jeremy Volkov who put him in the hospital.

Before Landon knew it, the pain meds had actually started to make him drowsy. Landon's eyelids got heavy before blackness swallowed him.

He felt two strong arms swoop under his body, lifting him off the bed gently, and carefully placing him further up in the bed. Landon cracked his eyes open and saw two familiar grey ones staring back at him. His heart fluttered in his chest. "Jeremy...?"

Jeremy's face was partially lit up by the moonlight striking his skin, casting an ethereal glow that seemed to highlight every flawless feature. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of gray, held a mysterious intensity, like hidden depths waiting to be explored. Long lashes framed them, adding to their allure as they flickered with unspoken secrets. His hair, tousled and raven-black, fell in effortless waves around his face, adding to his enigmatic charm. He surely was perfection. His cheekbones curved in, sharp yet smooth, accentuating his perfect nose, which sat proudly above a strong jawline, giving him an air of regal elegance.