I put my hands in the pockets of my white coat, looked up at the sky. It was crisp and blue and the air was freezing, causing my breath to come out in hot puffs. My hand enclosed the note in my pocket, the one he'd given me after our day in parliament together. I was still in awe after our debate, even if a full day had passed. It had been fun, furious, hot.

I saw the cathedral in front of me, wondering if he was already there even if I was a little early. Why had he asked me to meet him? He didn't seem a man of surprise dates. I didn't think we had the jargon of going on dates at all, to be honest. But as I drew closer, I saw him standing there, his hair loose and straightened, hands in the pockets of his broad-shouldered, black coat, wearing black cargo trousers and Dr Martens. He really had a very different style out of politics, and I was curious to see more of the person he was out of politics as well.

He turned round when he saw me coming, and his face changed. I couldn't read it, but it pulled me in as if I had been caught in a fishing line.

"Hi", I said warmly.

"Hi", he said. "Come."

We started walking next to each other through the avenues and streets of the city. At first, we were quiet, looking at the distressed Christmas shoppers. Then, we started small-talking.

"Do you go home to your parents for Christmas?" I asked.

"My parents are dead", Madara said.

I didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry", I said.

"Don't worry", he said, looking at me sideways and smiling a little. "You couldn't have known. And it was a long time ago."

I looked up on the blue sky. "Madara."

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to hang out Christmas Day?" I could see him turn to me. "Nothing special. We can be at my place. Watch something. Buy takeaway. I know it sounds dumb, but we can see it as a normal day. And if you don't want to, it's fine, we can just-"

"Hashirama?" I turned to him. His face was mild. It pulled me even closer. "I'd love to come to you on Christmas Day."

I turned forwards, trying to hide a smile but I couldn't. We walked in silent for a bit longer.

"Are you usually submissive?" I asked.

"No." That caught my interest. "I'm a switch. I take it you always top."

"No." I smiled, beyond myself. "With girls, yes. With men, I'm a switch."

"You're bisexual?" he asked, curious.

"I'm pan. You?"

"Gay."

"Ever had a girl?"

He grimaced. "Once. Never again." I smiled. "I mean, women are amazing. Just not for me. Well, we're here."

I looked up. "A retirement home?" I noticed then we'd come to a pretty run-down part of town and were outside a dark green, two-story building that looked quite old.

"Mmm", Madara said and went in.

I frowned before I followed him. My shoes echoed against the dull, brown floors, making me incredibly self-conscious. The place smelled of burnt coffee and wet yarn. The residents were walking slowly in the corridors, greeting Madara, and he greeted them. But the worst part was they were all people of colour. We even came across a few who worked there, also them of colour. I felt incredibly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable and angry. What the fuck was Madara playing at? Was he trying to change me? Was he really that naive? And the place itself disgusted me. It was worn-down, dirty in places. I couldn't function unless my surroundings were clean.

"Uchiha, why have you brought me here?"

"There's someone I want you to meet."

"You can't change me."

He turned to me. "I didn't say I want to change you. I said there's someone I want you to meet. God, do you ever listen to anyone? She's important to me. And so are you."

Before I had time to reflect on what he'd just said, he had knocked on a door and opened it.

"Madara-jan! You can't just storm in like that! What if I had sex with my new girlfriend?"

It was an elderly lady in a wheelchair. I thought she looked oddly familiar, and then it struck me; it was the old lady who'd eaten candied grapes with Madara on the main shopping avenue a few weeks back.

"You already have a new girlfriend? Wow, the lesbian to straight ratio of people in this place never ceases to amaze me."

Madara was smiling warmly at the Middle Eastern woman. Then, she saw me.

"I finished Origin by Dan Brown. Figured out who the villain was by the first sentence, so I win. And who is this hunk?" she asked, looking over at me.

"Stay away from him!" Madara warned. "He's not good enough for you."

"I would quit being a lesbian for his sake", she said, as if being a lesbian was a job you could resign from.

"And you need to start being white", Madara said. I had never heard him like this. He was so raw, so open, not at all ashamed to be in this run-down place next to a frail old lady. It was like looking inside a beautiful box you'd had in your room for ages, but just now had been allowed to open, finally revealing the secrets within for yourself. I didn't hate it.

"Why would I ever?" she asked. "To burn in the sun instead of getting my beautiful, lesbian tan? I think not."

"What's a lesbian tan?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Are we going for a walk?" Madara asked, ignoring my question.

"Yes, but only if Mr Racist Hunk pushes my wheelchair."

The elderly woman winked at me. Madara was looking at me, clearly trying to hold back laughter. I didn't understand anything. 

We walked in the Christmas lights of the city. I couldn't help but enjoy listening to Madara's and the old lady's bantering as I pushed her wheelchair. They teased each other endlessly, their humour dark, encompassing their sexuality, their colours, their political views. The old lady had no filter but loudly complained about people passing by so they could hear; their clothes, their hair, their poise. I was horrified. I knew people of her culture were loud and insensitive, but this was absurd.

Even so...

Several times, I found myself smiling. I even added a word here and there.

"Let's go there!" the old lady said and pointed.

I looked to where she pointed.

No way in fucking hell. That's where I draw the line. There's just no way in HELL I'll-

I went in anyway. It was a Middle Eastern bazaar, and the old lady bought us Turkish delights from a small shop.

"Eat, pretty boy!" the woman screamed. "I promise they won't change your skin colour!"

Several people turned to look at me and frowned. I hid my face in my hands.

"Can you please keep it down? People will recognise me."

"You're not half as famous as you think you are."

That wasn't true as I was on national television most evenings. "Now. Open your mouth and pretend that Turkish delight is Madara-jan's dick." I choked. "Don't try to hide it from me, mister. I've seen the way you look at him. I know you've had his dick in your mouth." Tears of held-back laughter where streaming down Madara's face.

I looked at the Turkish delight, put it in my mouth tentatively before I bit down.

"Well?" the old lady said. "What do you think?"

I just stared. "Oh my God", I said. I took another from the little box and put it in my mouth. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted." I looked up at Madara. "No offence."

Madara choked on his Turkish delight. The old lady screamed in glee.

We kept going around the bazaar. Me and Madara tried hijab sold by a very nice lady who sold them, explaining their history. Madara bought us shot-glasses of sweet tea. We looked at samovars and other beautiful ornaments.

"That looks like a dick", the old lady would say and point at something that did not look like a dick. "That looks like a dick", she said again, pointing to the next thing.

In the end, we were asked to leave because we were laughing so much. So we continued our amicable walk, talking about the world. The old lady told us about her work as a fighter for female rights in her home country, which was fascinating. We dropped her off at her home, and as we left I realised I hadn't even thought about how run-down it was. Suddenly, me and Madara found ourselves alone, walking in the darkness in silence. I walked him all the way to his apartment, where we embraced warmly before parting.

It was one of the best evenings of my life.