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Shouto remembers his mother’s hands. He remembers how she would caress his face, run nimble fingers through his hair, and hold his own, tiny hands. He remembers her tickling him till he was left gasping for breath, cheeks aching from a too big smile. Her hands would pick him up and hold him close to her chest, safe and loved. He remembers how they always ran a little cold but would still leave warmth in Shouto’s heart after every touch.
Shouto remembers, but the memories of gentle touch were tainted by those of bigger, crueler hands; those that would slap his face, pull his hair, grip his wrists till they bruised, all for the sake of ‘training’. There were no longer reasons to laugh, no need to smile. Never let them know what you're thinking, is what he would say. Don't smile, don't cry. And as burning hands molded the person Shouto was to become, he became used to hiding it all behind an unbreakable stone-cold facade.
Thankfully, Shouto wasn't a small child anymore, he wasn't helpless. He could put distance between himself and the hands that would hurt him. He could stand up to his father. Become a hero on his own terms.
Sometimes, Shouto forgets that an extended hand isn't always meant to hurt. He watches his new classmates push each other around, shake hands, clap each other’s backs. He keeps waiting, back tense, eyes observing, for the inevitable hit, slap, punch — but it never comes. An explosive blond boy pushes away a red-headed kid, out of annoyance, probably, but the other just… laughs. Like it doesn't bother him. Shouto doesn’t understand.
He understands Midoriya Izuku least of all. The boy confuses him so much because he knows. Shouto knows that Midoriya knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of an unkind touch. He can see it in the way the shorter boy flinches when someone comes a little too close to him, trembles when someone raises their voice a bit too much. And yet he soldiers on, and lets them. He lets the gravity girl get close enough to use her powers on him, then lets the Iida boy talk his ear off about some rule or other. All with a smile never leaving his face. Is it real, that smile?
Midoriya Izuku breaks his own fingers, his own arm, his own leg, all to teach Shouto a lesson. By the end, when Shouto finally understands what he should've known all along — it's my power — Midoriya smiles, and it’s genuine. He knows it because Shouto is smiling too.
That boy is crazy.
I want to be his friend. Can I call him my friend?
…Maybe I’m crazy too.
The next time they see each other, Midoriya extends his hand to Shouto.
“Good match,” he says, like his hand isn’t irreversibly damaged, covered in scars. Like it isn’t Shouto’s fault.
Shouto takes it, shakes it.
Midoriya’s hands are warm. It makes Shouto feel warm. They spark cherished, long-hidden memories of Shouto’s, the way only Midoriya seems to be able to do.
He visits his mother. The first time, they just sit and talk. It’s awkward at times, too formal, but Shouto can’t get himself to get closer to her. What if it isn’t like he remembers?
He tells Midoriya this. Midoriya, who doesn't laugh or tell him he's crazy. Midoriya, whom Shouto trusts.
“Things have changed, of course it won’t be like you remember, exactly.” He smiles. “It doesn’t mean they can’t be good.”
When Shouto holds his mother’s hands for the first time in ten years, he has to agree with Midoriya. It is not the same: his hands are larger than his mother’s now, her hands are much colder than he remembers and they no longer have the confidence they used to, fingers trembling as they caress Shouto’s palm. It still makes him feel like he’s melting, like he’s loved.
So maybe not everything has changed. Maybe things can still be good.
Maybe things can get better.
Yaoyorozu pinches his cheek when he says something she deems funny. Kirishima pats his back after a good training session. Uraraka pokes him when he spaces out. Sero sits with his head over Shouto’s shoulder as they read a new manga issue together.
When it’s cold out, Ashido grabs hold of his right arm and then Kaminari fights her for it. When it's too warm, Tsuyu thanks him for the cold hand he presses to the top of her head.
Izuku holds his hand when he least expects it and Shouto always welcomes it. He treats Shouto like he's precious but never like he's fragile.
Izuku’s hands are gentle.
“Yours are too, Shouto,” Izuku says.
A light squeeze.
You are loved, it says.
You are loved,
You are loved,
You are loved.