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“You’re telling me that you’ve made him go to school, but you didn’t think to enroll him in any art classes?” you asked incredulously.
Damian had just shown you a painting he’d been working on of your strange little family of yourself, himself, and Jason. To say you’d been blown away by how realistic the thing looked would be a colossal understatement. It had looked phenomenal. Naturally, you had asked where he’d learned such a skill. His response that he’d taught himself upon moving to Gotham was what prompted you to turn and stare questioningly at his biological father.
The large man just stared wide-eyed at the painting and shrugged helplessly. “I had no idea he was so talented.”
“Alfred has been fetching the supplies I need,” Damian explained. “I believe he was pleased that someone in this household was nurturing a skill unrelated to our nighttime activities.”
“Well, kiddo,” Jason spoke up for the first time since this line of questioning began, “looks like your Ma is going to make sure you get some lessons.”
“Hell yeah I am!” you agreed whole-heartedly. “This is amazing, habibi!”
The teenager ducked his head. You could see the tips of his ears darkening in the telltale way they did when he blushed, but you didn’t call him on it. No need to make him embarrassed about something he should be proud of. “Thank you, Mama.”
You dragged him over into a one-armed hug. “Any time, baby. Just one thing about this painting though …”
Confusion swirled in his green eyes when he looked up at you.
“You forgot to include Titus!”
A surprised laugh bubbled up from his chest. “It’s not finished yet!”
“Oh silly me. I thought you’d forgotten the poor thing or something.”
“As if!”