A/N: HELLO GUYS, I'M BACK! OH, BY THE WAY, THE OTHER STORIES ARE IN THE WORKS FOR UPDATES! Please be patient with me, I'm a slow poke, I know. It's also finals time for me, so please bear with me! I just kind of started this to clear my head of other things, and I ended up finishing it? If you want to know where I got the idea of this from, look at my author's notes at the end! I hope you guys enjoy it!
Disclaimer: Do I still have to say it? Yes? Don't own em, don't make money off of anything.
Raven wasn't surprised when she found him lounging casually in the common room, with his usual, stern, serious expression plastered on his face, and his hand moving a mile a minute in his notebook. In fact, there was not even a single spark of surprise surging throughout Raven at this exact moment. After all, like herself, it wasn't out of the ordinary for Damian to be there when it was a particularly quiet day at the tower, perhaps learning something new (if there was anything he didn't already know – Raven swore the boy knew just about every subject knowledgable to man) or just plainly "recording the events of the day" (how he put it, Raven called it his diary – he disapproved of the term). It also wasn't out of the ordinary for Raven to occupy the same couch as him, with her daily cup of tea in her hands and a new book, reading silently beside him as he sat there writing or drawing or whatever Damian Wayne did to kill his time (correction: spend his time, Damian never "killed" time, it would mean he was wasting it – "I always use time efficiently. Always.")
But as Raven swiftly passed him to sit in her seat, there just happened to be something out of the ordinary about Damian Wayne that fine evening. And that, certainly sent a shock of surprise through her.
As she glanced down, she found her hypothesis to be true — he was journaling in his diary, but for whatever reason, he usually journaled in English. Today, he was writing in Arabic.
Now, Raven wasn't dumb, she knew Damian was part Arabic. She knew he was fluent in Arabic. She'd seen him write in it a few times, and heard him speak it, as well. But never, ever, did she see him write in that hunter green moleskine journal (that she happened to give him, might she add) in Arabic, ever.
The sight alone stopped her right in her track as if it were a brake, stopping her thoughts and feet in one abrupt motion.
He sensed her and turned his head even before she could open her mouth to speak.
"Anything wrong, Raven?" he asked nonchalantly.
She tilted her head more to observe his handwriting better, furrowing her eyebrows and squinting her eyes. His handwriting was small and delicate. Neat would have been an understatement. His handwriting was downright beautiful. Then again, she always found Arabic script to be rather aesthetic and pleasing.
She scoffed, shaking her head at the thought, "you never write in Arabic."
It wasn't a question but in it contained many answers, she knew that, of course, especially for someone like Damian.
She watched as he shrugged, making her way over to her side, snuggling comfortably in the arm of the chair as she took a sip of her tea, waiting for his reply.
"I do when I don't want any of you to read it," he reasoned with a smirk.
Raven frowned into her mug, but the rapid beating of her heart threatened to betray her well-kept stoic composure. That could have meant more than one thing. That could have meant many things. He could have even been lying. He could have just said, "because I felt like it," and the conversation would have been over, but noooooo, he chose to say that, out of all things, with that added sneaky attractive grin. Raven hated to admit it, but her mind was starting to bloom with ideas of things he didn't want her, solely to know. Because, sure, Beast Boy could have stolen his diary and read it, but none of them really knew about it, because they never witnessed him writing in it, like Raven did (quite often, might she add). So if he meant that, and truly meant that, it meant that it was something she, alone, couldn't know. Not that reading too into his words helped her come up with a conclusion. It only made her frown harder.
The seconds were ticking warningly. She knew she had to come up with something to say that wouldn't lead the conversation down a path that would further confuse her. She would be able to decipher everything later when she had the time and space to do so. Not when he was still there, waiting for her to reply this time.
She sighed, emphasizing a shrug in her voice, "Arabic is such a beautiful language. I've always wanted to learn it." When she peered over to him, she noticed his attention was already back to scribbling, quite vigorously, too.
She almost laughed at herself. Of course she would make it a big deal. She made everything about him a big deal. Damian probably didn't expect her to reply after that. It wasn't exactly inviting a reply. Although, it didn't necessarily mean she was wrong about what he said.
He looked up, his curious eyes meeting hers. "Really?" There was an innocent, equally curious tilt to his head, emphasizing his widened eyes, and Raven felt the pounding in her chest grow more uncomfortable.
She always hated that. Staring at those green eyes never failed to make her heart wild.
Good thing the internal fight to remain in control of her emotions didn't appear on her face, which, she hoped, was as straight as usual.
She raised her eyebrow and gave him a smirk back, keeping her voice as level as possible. "I'm not saying it to compliment you, don't get me wrong."
He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "No, of course not. You haven't heard me speak it at all and swoon at the sound," he teased. As his eyes landed back on her, she jolted. Why did she never notice how prominent his dimple was when he smiled? And why did she think it was kind of...nevermind, she chastised, taking her turn to shake her head.
Recovering, she laid her tea down onto the coffee table next to her and cradled Cloud Atlas in her hands.
"Oh, get over yourself, bird boy," she spat playfully, fingering the pages to find her bookmark.
Before she could open it, though, Damian slammed his notebook shut. He shifted closer to her, eyeing her with a raised eyebrow and a curve to his lips.
Her breath caught in her throat. "What?" she demanded, instinctively pulling back.
"Do you want to know how to write your name?" he asked.
Quickly, he pulled her arm, gripping it with those strong but surprisingly tender hands of his, resting it on the warmth of his lap, and pressing the tip of the pen to her skin, all before she could even utter a syllable.
"Well, gee, I guess I do," she huffed.
As the pen tickled her skin, she came to realize just how...comfortable...Damian was. Even with the fireplace on, the heat it radiated didn't match the pleasant warmth she felt being so close to him, her shoulder even pressed into his. Even the plush couch didn't offer the level of coziness he offered as he almost pulled her into an embrace — almost. She slowly began to wonder how it would have felt if she rested her head on his lap, while he was stroking her hair with those hands of his...how comfortable that would have been. She quickly shook the blush off her face, trying to watch as he wrote, so that her mind wouldn't trail to any more odd places. She cursed when she couldn't even move her head closer to observe what he was writing, because if she did, her cheek would have grazed his, and Azar knows what that would have done to her already pounding heart.
He pulled away, smiling triumphantly and clicking his pen closed. "There," he said. And before she knew it, he was already back to his side, picking up his notebook and back to scribbling.
She chuckled as she looked down at her arm, eyeing the beautiful handwriting stained onto her flesh. It read, "انت جميلة", but for the life of her, she didn't know what it meant, or how to read it. Her small smile turned upside down as she turned suspicious eyes to him.
"So...how do you read it?"
His gaze didn't leave the notebook. She noticed, however, that even in the dim flickering light supplied by the fireplace, his ears tinted a light shade of pink.
"It's read right to left," was his reply. Quick. Still not looking at her.
She scoffed. He didn't expect her to read it, did he? Sure, she knew a few works like "darling" and "night" and "thank you", but it wasn't like she was familiar with the writing system. She wasn't an expert learner of everything on this planet like he was.
"I know that, but I can't read Arabic. I don't know the letters."
For a second, she sensed he was hesitant, but soon enough, his hand paused, and he looked up, eyes locking with hers.
"Enti jamila," he spoke softly and still quickly.
Just as quickly, he shot his glance back down, unpausing his writing.
She didn't know how to explain it, but something felt...off. Damian was always a bad liar, but this seemed more than just a mere lie. It didn't even feel like a lie. The way his eyes met hers, the gentle sound of his voice, the pink that even travelled to his cheeks. It didn't seem like a lie at all, it seemed like a truth – a confession.
She would have tried to shoo the thought away, but the sheer fact that it sounded nothing like her name, either, made her even more curious. Maybe there was just a word for "Raven" in Arabic she never heard — it wasn't like she knew, anyways.
"I may not know the language, but excuse me if I say that that sounds nothing like my name," she heard herself say, cursing internally that she wasn't able to stop the thought from escaping her mouth.
He cleared his throat, still avoiding her stare. "That's because it isn't."
She immediately frowned, feeling suddenly betrayed by the perfect pretty letters in deep blue ink on her arm. If it wasn't her name, what could it be? What could they mean? "You said you were going to teach me how to write my name…"
Damian cleared his throat again, completely shutting his notebook this time, and setting it down on his lap. When he finally looked at her again, his cheeks burned almost the same shade of burgundy as the turtleneck he had on. And if she could have just cupped his cheeks with her hands, she swore they would have been just as hot as that fire, too. Not that she wanted to...of course not…
His eyes never leaving hers, he repeated the words slow, those mesmerizing eyes plus the husky sound of his voice hitting her chest, causing her heart to cause an even bigger ruckus than it already had been. "Enti jamila." The words rolled so naturally off his tongue, and even though they were short, it sounded like a goddamn symphony. She couldn't deny the thought, she did "swoon" when he spoke in his native language. There was just something, something about how his voice grew deeper when he spoke in Arabic, how he seemed more liberated and unrestricted. Perhaps because he knew no one would understand him, but there was an unknown part of him he showed when he spoke in a different tongue other than English. Vulnerability, was it? Maybe just plain out emotion? Whatever it was, Raven knew she liked it.
He clenched his jaw, seemingly fighting off something, but Raven had no idea as to what. All she knew was that he was staring at her and she was staring at him, and that she didn't want to stop. The way the dancing fire cast a golden hue on his already olive skin, painting gold on his skin and his jade irises and ebony hair. And the way it cast those shadows on his face, so that she could see his most minute movements – the furrowing of his eyebrows, the clenching of his jaw, and when he smiled, that dimple on his left cheek. Just when did she realize how content she would have been spending these times on the common room sofa just looking at him? He was so…
"Enti jamila," he whispered, repeating. "You are beautiful."
Her mouth opened before her mind could completely register what he just said. "Do you really mean that?" she asked in a scratchier voice than she intended.
He was still blushing, but smiled. The warm kind of smile that lit up his eyes and accentuated that dimple she grew to think was one of the most adorable things her eyes have ever laid on. Ex-assassin, son of Batman, demon-brat Damian Wayne, who, when he smiled, had this goddamn adorable dimple that could melt any stone heart. Good thing he didn't smile too often, though, or else every villain would fall for him, she was 100% positively sure of it.
They would 100% positively fall for him like she had.
"I can't lie to you, Raven, you know that."
She found herself smiling, too, as she shifted over and found his hand buried in a fist on his thigh. He was so close again, so warm, so pleasant, and there was no part of her that wanted to back away, despite the blush that found its way to her cheeks. She admitted it, she loved and hated it, how just a few simple words from that boy's mouth could undo every tight knit thread of sanity within her. She pressed her lips softly into his knuckles.
"Trust me, Habibi. I know."
A/N: Okay so hear me out, so I've heard from a source, that if you write your S/Os name on their arm in Arabic, they'd fall for you. Okay, well, technically it was said like "take your girlfriend to a nice dinner or a coffee shop or something and write her name on her arm in Arabic. If it doesn't work, then I don't know what will". I wonder if it worked on Raven, you think? Arabic is a beautiful language! Especially the writing system (tell me, who doesn't think those letters are beautiful?). It's a plus I get to play around with it because Damian is part Arabic (aka expect me to use it more in the future oops). Also, I'm at a novice/intermediate level of Arabic, so if I did (or will) write anything wrong, please correct me! I don't think I'll ever get better at transliterating Arabic, luckily for me these words were easy. AND more headcanon-ing of Damian and Raven calling each other "darling" in Arabic yay! Anyways, like I mentioned, this idea was floating around in my head since I heard this so called "advice" (lol). I decided to twist it a little, but it's still the same concept. Hope you enjoyed it!