Look at the way
We gotta hide what we're doing
'Cause what would they say
If they ever knew

And so we're running just as fast as we can
Holding on to one another's hand
Trying to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
As we tumble to the ground and then you say

I think we're alone now
There doesn't seem to be anyone around
I think we're alone now
The beating of our hearts is the only sound

"I Think We're Alone Now", Tiffany

From the day they met, Hare knew Hatter wore makeup. He had nothing against it, and he had even been caught several times getting into his mother's cosmetics bag as a child. But Hatter didn't see makeup as something for special occasions. Or covering up freckles he wished he didn't have. It was simply part of his self expression.

However, this morning, four days after the tree-climbing adventure, Hatter was nowhere to be seen.

They'd agreed to go jogging three mornings a week to burn off all the crumpets and tarts and cookies and a myriad other sugar-filled things they were forever concocting. Hare couldn't imagine his tall, slender friend ever gaining weight, but he agreed to the appointment to exercise anyway. And he told himself it was definitely not because it was an opportunity to see Hatter flushed and sweaty.

Hare told himself that again as he knocked on the hat house door a few minutes after ten a.m.

Hatter's distant voice beckoned him inside and up the stairs.

Hare found him in the upstairs bathroom sitting at a dressing table with a huge mirror. He was already dressed in his purple jogging suit and was nonchalantly applying foundation. Hare watched as his friend swept blush across his cheeks and lined his eyes with a brown pencil that made them even more impossibly blue. Then he pulled out a pair of tweezers and meticulously inspected his eyebrows.

Hare giggled. He couldn't help himself.

"What's so funny?" Demanded Hatter.

Hare couldn't contain more giggles. "Nothing. It's just…I think that's the wrong tool for that job. I think the queen's hedge trimmers would be more effective."

Hatter whipped his head toward his friend, his expression dramatically wounded. Then he said, "I happen to like my eyebrows."

Hare tried to stop laughing, but giggles kept escaping.

Hatter pouted, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. After a moment, he held up the tweezers and asked, "While I have these out, want me to pluck a few of those ear hairs?"

Hare stopped laughing. "What?"

Hatter jumped up from his chair, tweezers in hand, and Hare realized his intention. So he ran. He tripped over himself trying to get out the door and down the hall, and Hatter followed, laughing. The made a loop through the attic and up and down the stairs before Hatter finally caught him. They were both out of breath and laughing as Hatter pinned Hare against the wall outside the bathroom. Hare closed his eyes, preparing himself for the pinch of losing a few ear hairs, but it never came. Instead, Hatter mussed his fur with both hands, undoing any work Hare had done with a comb that morning.

He couldn't really be mad, though.

Before Hatter pulled back, he planted a feather-light kiss on Hare's nose. Hare blushed, but his friend was already back in the bathroom, finishing his primping routine.

Hare pulled a sweatband over his now-wild fur, and they headed outside for their jog.

When they arrived back at the hat house, out of breath and sweaty, they found Alice at the gate.

"Hello!" Hatter greeted her, then checked his watch. "You're very early for tea today."

Alice nodded. "There's no school today."

Hatter and Hare both nodded in return, even though they had absolutely no idea how schools worked in Alice's world.

"Well, come join us for lunch, then," Hare offered.

She agreed, and Hare started organizing the tea table as well as he could given their daily shenanigans. Meanwhile, Hatter hopped onto the table and sat cross-legged. From his pocket he produced a handkerchief, a mirror, and a lipstick. He proceeded to blot his face and neck while looking in the mirror.

Alice stared.

Hatter applied a coat of mauve lipstick and pursed his lips at his reflection. Seeing Alice staring, he asked, not unkindly, "What's the matter? Have you never seen a person fix their makeup before?"

She shook her head. "Well…no. I mean, yes I have." She hesitated. "It's just…where I come from, boys don't wear lipstick."

Hatter looked incredulous. "Well, why in the world not? If they want to?"

Alice tipped her head in thought, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulder. "Actually, I don't know…"

"That sounds like a terribly boring place to live." Hatter frowned as he put away the lipstick. "And it must be sad. For all the boys who want to wear makeup."

Alice looked thoughtful. "I guess it might be. I've never thought about it before."

"Well," Hare spoke up, "if you know any boys who want to wear makeup, tell them it's okay."

Alice looked away. "I'm not sure if it's that easy, but I'll certainly try." She paused, then smiled. "But it sure looks good on you, Mr. Hatter."

He hopped off the table and returned the smile. "How true that is."

Hare giggled, and somehow found himself even more smitten.

Not everyone, however, always found Hatter's antics endearing.

One afternoon, during tea, Rabbit became exasperated at his constant movement. Hatter sat backwards in a chair, then jumped up to retrieve the pitcher of milk. In order to return to his chair, he fan kicked across the table. Then, to reach the jam, he rolled across it, nearly knocking Rabbit's teacup over.

The final straw came when stepped onto the table to get back to his seat.

Dropping his knife with a clatter, Rabbit snapped in frustration. "Hatter! Do you not understand the social construct that tells us how to utilize tables and chairs?"

"What?" Hatter looked genuinely baffled.

"Do you know how to sit in a chair?" Rabbit exclaimed.

Hatter looked Rabbit straight in the eyes, swept an arm's length worth of dishes off the table, hopped up and sat crossed-legged on it, and went back to his tea.

Hare giggled so hard he snorted.

A month later, Hare still hadn't found the courage to bring up his growing feelings for his best friend. Or the kissing that occurred.

And Hatter acted like nothing happened at all.

Hare wasn't sure if his silence on the subject was due to his friend wishing the kisses never happened, or to them being very bad kisses. Hare didn't think they were bad. They were the two single best moments of his life, so far. But he knew that might not be true for his friend. Maybe Hatter had tested him out and found him unpleasant? Or decided there was no attraction?

It was a conundrum that occupied his thoughts constantly.

The next afternoon, they were playing a fantastic game of hide and seek instead of packaging hats and scarves to sell the next day at the weekly Wonderland market. They also should've been washing tablecloths or opening Hatter's growing pile of mail, but they were both easily swayed by the other to ignore it. In this latest round, after scouring the entire hat house, Hare found Hatter in the upstairs closet. It was deep and filled with the most impractical clothes.

When Hare threw open the door and yelled, "Found you!" Hatter beamed at him with his thousand-kilowatt smile.

However, instead of emerging from the closet, Hatter pulled Hare in with him and they tumbled onto the floor. Hare squealed in surprise, and they both dissolved into laughter. Then they sat there for a minute, cross-legged and catching their breath. The only light was a sliver of sun that spilled through the crack left by the nearly closed door.

When their laughter subsided, Hare suddenly felt his friend's presence acutely. Perhaps it was the shadows that gave him courage, but he took a deep breath and asked, "Are you ever going to kiss me again?"

Even in the low light, Hare could see Hatter's brow furrow. He shook his head, his wheat-colored locks brushing his shoulders. Finally, he just said, "Silly Hare."

This kiss was different.

It was soft and searching. Slow, like Hatter was discovering him anew, but familiar, as if they'd always kissed this way. As if they'd been kissing for more lifetimes than either could count.

This time, Hatter kept kissing him.

Their lips met over and over, fumbling a little while navigating Hare's front teeth. Hatter pulled him closer, both of them rising to their knees so they were flush against each other. Hare raked his hands through Hatter's hair, sending his hat tumbling.

And then his hands found Hare's brightly colored trousers. With deft fingers, he worked the button and zipper. Hatter pulled back briefly and met Hare's eyes while he used his teeth to pull off his left glove.

Hare's heart raced so fast he was sure he'd faint.

He giggled nervously, unable to find words. They'd all been kissed away by this beautiful, fever dream. So he leaned in, resting his forehead against Hatter's.

His breath caught when Hatter finally touched him.

Hare felt his ears twitch and his whole body stiffen. It wasn't that he was totally inexperienced when it came to the more carnal pleasures. He was just used to being alone. Or in the dark in a bed. He was a full-grown March Hare for Wonder's sake. Not a teenager playing seven minutes in heaven. But as Hatter's hand moved in time with the metronome of his heavy breaths, Hare knew this would be different. He felt his body coil tightly, the rush in his ears growing louder. He wanted to stay in this moment, but he was surrounded by Hatter's hair and scent. His mouth was on Hare's neck. Hatter's hand took him apart. Pulled from him something so strong he was sure he was the first to feel it.

Hare was so shattered he felt dizzy. He nuzzled his face into Hatter's neck, who was still uncharacteristically silent.

I love you. I don't know what I'm doing, but I love you.

Hare wanted to say it out loud. But he was afraid.

Hatter kissed him once more, then straightened himself, gathered his hat, and left the closet, calling back, "It's your turn to hide!"

Hare was left dazed and squinting in the sudden light.

At that afternoon's tea party, Hatter prattled on about the merits of sugar versus honey in tea. His clothes were straightened and immaculate. His hair brushed to a shine. Hat perfectly in place.

Hare watched him.

If he didn't have soiled clothes to prove it, he would swear the encounter in the closet never happened. He could convince himself the change in his relationship with his best friend was merely his overactive imagination. That the kisses were wishful fantasies. That the ghost of Hatter's hand on him was simply a dream that had yet to fade.

Hatter was now chatting with Alice, explaining exactly the right way to make raspberry tarts without burning the crust. The Tweedles were swiftly making their way through a plate of cookies. The Cat was popping in and out, teasing the Dormouse every time he left his teapot.

The whole tea party was disturbingly normal.

Later that night, as Hare lay in his own bed beneath the quilt his mother made as a burrow-warming gift, he finally allowed himself to really analyze the change in his and Hatter's relationship. He felt warm in his belly as he remembered the taste of Hatter's kisses. Those soft lips. His long arms pulling Hare close. The smell of his skin. His soft hair. The way Hare fit perfectly in his hand.

He flushed at the memory.

His stomach fluttered.

But there was an ache beneath.

What if that's all he wants? What if it's just physical? Like what happens to some of my cousins in spring?

The pain sharpened as Hare imagined Hatter with someone else. Anyone else.

Has he kissed other men? Women? Has he touched them like that? Does he have other partners? Am I just…one of them?

Hare blushed at the thought.

He supposed this new thing between them could just be physical. They were both adults, after all. Maybe Hatter just saw this as another way they could help each other. After all, they did most everything else together.

Maybe this is what he does with his friends?

The thought wasn't comforting.

I have to tell him how I feel.

He knew it, but he was still scared. Hare couldn't bear the thought of losing his best friend. A life without Hatter in it would be bland and devoid of joy. But he also couldn't be physically intimate and it mean nothing. He wasn't made that way.

He might be a March Hare, who were practically poster boys for virility—one of his cousins already had 17 children—but Hare had always been different. And not just because he used to stare at Stevie Sims while all his school friends tried to get the attention of the new girl with the long brown ponytail.

Hare wanted more than just sex.

But he wasn't sure if Hatter felt the same.

So he struggled in the dark.