Rhetorics

25. Christmas Day (Madara)

I groaned, stretched my arms above my head, my grey t-shirt straining over my chest; I was a dressed sleeper. The light outside sifted through my window, and as I opened my heavy curtains, I saw thick, heavy flakes of snow were falling over the neighbourhood, everything covered beneath a thick layer of white. I smiled. Then, I realised what had woken me; someone was knocking on my door.

I walked groggily and opened.

And outside stood Hashirama Senju, so neatly dressed it was as if he had stepped right out of a movie. His caramel coloured coat looked fantastic with his chestnut hair. He was a bit rosy on his cheeks; maybe, he'd already had a run.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty", he said warmly with a smile.

"What time is it?" I asked, still a bit sleepy.

"Noon. I figured you'd sleep late. You left my place at three am."

Suddenly, I was wide awake.

"It's Christmas Day!"

Hashirama smiled, opened his arms and I stepped into them, hugging him close.

"So we're doing it together?" he asked, voice muffled as he had buried his face into my short hair.

"Mmm", I said happily.

"You wanna go for coffee and breakfast?" he asked. His voice was thick with emotion that I noticed he tried to hide.

"Mmm", I said again, still hugging him.

We didn't let go for a long time.

There was actually several cafes open despite the it being Christmas Day. We chose a small, cosy one that was almost empty of people, buying several pastries to share and a coffee each. Hashirama looked amazing in a grey jeans shirt and black trousers. I had a simple, white T-shirt with a pair of complicated black cargo trousers with loads of straps. With his neat, long and gleaming hair and my choppy K-pop mess that I'd had before we left, we looked like quite the pair.

And we talked.

We talked a lot.

I told him about the Lindy hop classes I'd been taking, how I was going in a few days and hoped to continue next year. He told me he'd read up on ballroom culture and wanted to explore that part of the world. I asked him to please come dance with me. He asked me to please come vogue with him.

"Madara..." he suddenly said, taking my hands. I looked down on our fingers, who seemingly acted on their own accord, entwining together, knowing exactly how to behave as they were controlled by our hearts and not by our minds. It was our first display of true affection in public and I realised I didn't care who saw, if newspapers would find us and take a picture. Hashirama had proven who he truly was. If anyone in my party still believed he hadn't changed, how could they speak for the integration of immigrants?

"Mmm?" I said.

"I know I've left politics, but I want you to know I don't expect you to."

I looked at him. "I have thought about it", I said. "I don't like how my party members have treated me. Ever since they saw us talking in the club, they haven't behaved the same. But I don't need their approval. I have new friends from dancing. I have the residents of the home." I looked away a little. "I have you." Warmth radiated from him as I said those words. I could feel it in my hands, still held by his. "I'm not in politics for the party members. I'm in politics for those who should be in politics to speak for themselves but can't. They need a voice." I looked at Hashirama again. "I will remain in my party. For how long, I don't know. Maybe, I'll give in after the elections if four more years in parliament doesn't feel right. Maybe I'll stay until after I've retired from my main job, whatever that is when I'm old and grey. But I will remain for now, at least."