Terry would have been talking. Bruce liked to think that the only time Terry didn’t speak up was when he was upset and not speaking to him over something that he usually thought of as stupid and too insignificant to deserve a week of the silent treatment. During the time that he wasn’t being given the cold shoulder, Terry would run his mouth and Bruce would half-listen so perfectly that it would be a miracle for Terry to not take notice of his lack of paying attention. Robin said nothing. Robin was silent and blending in too well for him to be Terry.
Bruce thought that he should have noticed him for who he was as soon as he’d entered the room. His senses were a thing to be envied but they weren’t as heightened within his own home as they were on the streets. Despite this, nobody else would have gotten inside. He would have heard, would have seen or sensed. They would be thrown out as quickly as they’d gotten there. Not Robin. He didn’t know him, not on a personal level. He wasn’t in tune to him and couldn’t decide what he would do before he did it, but he was Robin and for that simple fact, the Batman had no need to be distrustful of him.
“The tights.” Simply said. There were other things, an endless list of other things, such as height and build, the stance, the silence. “It’s been up to par until now,” he said, rethinking those words soon after they left his mouth. Maybe he was slacking. Maybe it wasn’t as potent as it needed to be.