Robin leans back. His expression has changed, and no one is holding their hand anymore.

"No you're not," he counters too quickly, out of instinct, with nothing to follow it but a frown. No less exacting, his eyes flicker from the shapes in their hood, over their face, across the wraps around their fingers, and back up to those flat, black eyes.

"...Not twins," is what Robin finally says, while the rest of him catches on to his own sudden anxiety. "Not my kind of twins. Why is your hair like that?"

And now he's back to leaning in, curious and confused and just a little accusatory.