Milk And Cardamom | S. Brown ✔

[20]

The cool night air struck past him as he walked the streets alone, hands in his pockets and eyes looking straight ahead. He had missed the bus but it didn't bother him because he was accustomed to taking long walks.

And though he was physically there, walking back to the annexe they were staying in, mentally he was far away. His thoughts were deviating to the previous day as he crossed the lonely streets.

Not only had he met Dora after so long, she had also introduced him to her brother Alex, her boyfriend Tim and her best friend Stephanie. Though out of the three of them, Steph was the one who had caught his attention the most.

With hair shaded as bright as the sun's rays, eyes the color of dew struck fresh leaves and a lovely smile, Steph was indeed the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. And though he had never before asked someone other than Dora or Camille to be his muse for the photographs he captured, he wanted to make an exception that once.

He didn't notice it earlier but all of a sudden he stopped, feeling as if he was being watched. Then a strangely familiar voice caught him by alarm, "you look a lot like Melisina now, the only thing that reminds me of myself are your eyes."

He stilled for a second realizing that he was being followed from quite some time but then he quickened his pace, sprinting towards the end of the alley that connected to the main road.

Though before he could make his escape, a heavy armored fist swung at his face and he was thrown back forcefully. His ears rung with the impact, he could feel blood in his mouth but his brain had switched into a fight or flight mode. 

He rolled out of the way, the familiar flash of orange and black swam into view as the same fist closed around his collar, lifting him off the ground.

Luke knew the worst had already happened and he couldn't possibly escape. The least he could do was brace himself for what was about to follow.

He was face to face with the man he hadn't seen in ten long years neither did he wish to ever meet him again. The sole hazel eye burned through his own and the grip on his throat hadn't eased.

"Lucas, what a pleasant surprise."

"Not the case for me though," he mumbled, wiping away the trace of blood from the back of his palm.

"Ah that," Slade finally let go of him, eye flickering towards the bruise that had formed on his face, "it was just to stop you or else you would have run away again. And I can't afford it."

"Let me go," he spoke up, "you can't afford detaining me here either."

Slade was surprised how much he had changed from the timid little boy he remembered him as; he expected his son to be terrified to see him and though his initial dash for an escape had confirmed his assumption, right then seeing him standing with a strange calm unnerved him.  "I just want to talk to you, that's all."

"Talk? Do you think we have something left for us to talk about?"

 "A lot of things, apparently. We have ten years of catching up to do, son."

"Not your son," he snapped, surprised himself at the firmness of his tone. He had himself thought he would not be able to fight back if Deathstroke returned to take him away from the pleasant life he had with George and Camille, but right then as the mercenary stood in front of him, he didn't want to give in without a fight.

His eyes subtly flickered towards the katanas strapped at the back of his father's armor and he judged mentally whether he could reach out for one in time to defend himself or not. It had been years since he had wielded a sword, years since he had last fought with someone but right then, he felt the urge to do it.