I was shaking in pure anger.

I walked into the staff's changing rooms, smashed the door behind me. I hid my face in my hands, trying to let the feeling of disgust wash off my body. I hate you. I hate you SO much.

I tore off my clothes, feeling dirty to my bones. I was unable to believe I'd given in to him. Stripped naked, I stepped into the staff shower, turned the shower on, decreased the temperature so it was icy cold. I stepped in, hoping the coldness would wash the filth away.

And then a thought struck me that had never struck me before.

Maybe if I was white, people would have taken me more seriously, and I could counter HIS party better. Maybe, if I were white, the elderlies wouldn't have been forced out of their homes to begin with, even if it was fixed now.

I had no idea where the thought had come from but now, it was there, and I found that as soon as I'd thought it, it was impossible to unthink. I sunk down to my knees, held my head, trembling, wishing my Asian-ness away, wishing my non-whiteness away. He's making you hate yourself. He's making you hate yourself, isn't he?

I stood in the shower for a good hour before I gave up; the feeling of disgust didn't come off. I walked out of the shower, put on some clean clothes and left the library to the busy street outside, longing for a distraction; a Lindy hop class, a walk with Miss Asghar, anything.

Suddenly, I stopped dead. I stopped dead and looked into a window. And I knew that what was inside was exactly what I needed. This will be expensive...

It was a salon, one of the most luxurious ones in town. And it was open. Even on Christmas Eve, it was open. I walked in.

"Hello. How can I help you?" the woman behind the desk asked.

"You..." I looked to the side, scratched my head. My fame suddenly got to me; did she recognise me? She must. But no matter if she did or not, she was too polite to mention it. I was glad. "You don't happen to have time for a cut?"

Her entire face lit up. "Oh, it's your lucky day! And mine! I have a free spot and, oh my God, that hair!" She looked dreamily at it. "I would love to do it! Let's go! What pronouns do you prefer? And what can I do for you?

I couldn't help but smile at her energy. I pulled my fingers through my thick, coarse black hair loosely. I hadn't cut it in a year and it reached my waist, in desperate need of a trim. I thought about how Senju had pulled my mahogany chopstick out, cracked it two because he wanted to keep me from putting it up as an act of temporary dominance; I knew he wasn't a man to control my appearance, but I'd still kept it down since then because I knew he liked it that way.

I looked up at the hairdresser.

"I go by he/him", I said.

And I told her what I wanted her to do. 

It was the evening of Christmas Eve and I was outside the House of Parliament. This was the last round of speeches before Election Day, and by tradition, they were held in the evening. I'd had a full day, and after my time at the hairdressers, I only had time to put on my best black shirt and suit and leave.

And now, I stood outside the building.

He's in there... Hashirama is in there.

I swallowed. My party had asked me to be the final speaker.

I took the backdoor in, figuring if he was already there, he wouldn't see me enter that way. And he was already there... I could see his back, straight and strong in a black suit, his hair gleaming and up in a high ponytail. God, I hadn't allowed myself to think about how beautiful he was ever since I found out what he'd done with the retirement homes. I swallowed as I walked in, coat in one hand, and sat down. I guess we get at least Christmas Eve evening together, if not Christmas Day. It filled my heart with sadness. And my heart clenched to see how he looked to the door over and over, how his head jerked when he saw anyone with dark hair enter, believing it was me. But that yearning I felt was mixed with that disgust I had so desperately tried to wash off my body yesterday. He'll see me... He'll see me walk onto that podium in only minutes.

It was my first time being nervous before a speech.

"Madara Uchiha. "It was the chairman. "Welcome up stage."

I saw Hashirama Senju jerk when he realised I was in the room, and he turned.

And he gaped.

He stared at me. He couldn't help himself. I had never felt such glee in my entire life. He loves it... He fucking loves it. The hairdresser had done an amazing job, cutting my mane off with a knife, creating a short style that was still longish, reaching past my ears and bending at my neck, a thick side-fringe falling across my left eye over and over. It was all very K-pop and suited my face immensely, made it look like something you wanted to grab with both hands. And for only a few seconds, I paused just to capture his eyes. Then, I flicked my hair a little, stood up, and walked to the stage making sure to walk as closely to him at his table as possible as I passed.

I took my place and began without even a second of hesitation. 

"My parents were killed." The parliament fell dead silent. I knew, knew he was listening intently at my every word. It's time... It's time he learns this part of me. Although I hadn't planned on telling him like this. "My parents were killed by a mob of people. My weren't rich. They weren't famous. They never did anything radical. My mother was an assistant nurse. My father was a physicist. My mother had bad knees. My father had a bad back. As I was in university, they had to have their neighbours come help them set up the Christmas tree. I told them over and over they should wait for me to come home so I could help them. But they wanted it to be Christmassy when I came home. They were just that kind of people." I was silent for a while, unsmiling, looking out at the people of parliament watching me. "They had done nothing wrong. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I looked down for just a while. I'd never told anyone about this. Then, I found the strength to look up. And I looked up directly at Hashirama Senju, capturing his eyes, speaking directly to him. Fuck the media. Let them write what they want.

"They were killed by an Asian mob." I saw the light in his mild, brown eyes change as he realised that we had this in common. "And I had two options. Hate Asian people, such as myself and my parents, or hate the structures causing people to hurt others. I chose the latter. I know someone who chose the former." I didn't let go of his eyes. He didn't let go of mine. His face was set in stone, unwavering. "And I can't hate them for that, because I know the pain of losing your parents. But I can blame them. Immigrants are more likely to commit crimes in our country, yes. But that's not because of their genetics, or their culture. It's because of the situation they're in. And we've put them in that situation. Had their skin colour been white, there would have been no difference. We have studies showing this. I hope you hear what I'm saying. I know you're expecting a long speech by me about politics, but you're getting none. I'm not here as a politician. I'm here as a private person, as a member of society who lost his parents to the system. I don't want to be in politics. I'm here because I feel I need to. Please." I tore him to pieces with my eyes. Please. "Please, let me."

I fell silent.

The parliament was silent.

Then, one applauded.

Then, another.

One stood up.

Then another.

I just stared, until each and every one in parliament, from left to right, stood up, applauding me. It had never before been heard of in the history of the parliament. Shocked, I walked off stage.

I hadn't looked at Hashirama since I finished, so I had no idea if he had applauded too, or if he had stood up, or what his eyes would tell me. I just walked past him, eyes down and sat at my table, hot in the face. What the fuck had just happened?

But I didn't have much time to fret.

"Hashirama Senju. Welcome up stage."

His back was straight, his chin set, his eyes forwards. He looked as impressive as ever.

Something's wrong.

"I retire", he said. What? A whirl went through parliament. "I retire, not only from my party but from politics. I no longer agree with our agenda, and so cannot be a spokesperson for it. I wish my party the best of luck, but even more so to more reasonable parties so we can build a society more welcoming than the one I, unfortunately, strived for during my entire political career. I will not give any more speeches or interviews, nor will I involve myself politically in any other way than voting. I am sorry for all the trouble my political involvement has caused you. That is all. Thank you."

He walked off stage.

He did not look at me.