His hands are so tiny. You never really noticed how small they were when you only saw them up close when they were curled into fists and impacting with your face, but now, with him holding one out determinedly for you to take, you can't not notice. You would almost be worried about crushing it if you thought anything about him could possibly be fragile. Still, you try to be careful when you take it in yours. It's solid and warm and fits in the space in your palm like it was made to. Holding his hand feels like home.

Title is from the Beatles song of the same name.

Originally, I was going to write something about Heinz's prosthesis, but that spiraled out of control and away from the prompt pretty quickly. I'm pretty happy with how this turned out, though, especially since it's my first drabble. Hope you liked it. :)