you've never held me to a filter

There’s a cheap, fabric store thread tied to their pinkies that tethers them together and part of that unexpected, mildly unhealthy connection should mean that Robin sees shit. It should mean that she knows things. She should be able to peek into one of Steve’s ears and see his thoughts racing around and bumping into one another, and it shouldn’t matter how quickly they slide away from her because she’d still pick up the gory details of each and every one.

(or, Steve Harrington likes to talk, but it takes Robin an embarrassingly long time to realize that in all of the conversations they’ve shared, very rarely does Steve talk about himself.)