There'll be no strings to bind your hands
Not if my love can't bind your heart
There's no need to take a stand
For it was I who chose to start
I see no need to take me home
I'm old enough to face the dawn

Maybe the sun's light will be dim
And it won't matter anyhow
If morning's echo says we've sinned
Well, it was what I wanted now
And if we're victims of the night
I won't be blinded by the light

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Then slowly turn away
I won't beg you to stay with me

"Angel of the Morning", Juice Newton

Shopping with Hatter could be a tedious affair. For Hare, anyway. It could also be a delightful scavenger hunt for things his friend found worthy of his attention.

Today's trip was very much the former.

It was Sunday, almost a week after the tree-painting mess, and Hare had a carefully made shopping list. He was enjoying checking things off as they went from store to store. He'd considered just going to Wonder-Mart, but they just didn't have the selection of wine and cheese he could find at the stores downtown. And it was nice to go into the City once in a while.

Hatter, however, was next-level excited. If he didn't know better, Hare would've sworn his companion had never left home before. But he did know better. Hatter approached the mundane with a sense of wonderment that could be as annoying as it was endearing.

He bounded from store to store, marveling over hand-made tote bags, local wine, so many pairs of shoes, and the aforementioned cheeses. Hare nearly had to drag him from the hat store, as it was getting late. If not for the deep-rooted crush he was harboring for his tall, fair friend, Hare might've left him at home. Or in the hat store. Instead, Hatter was here and trying to sample all the cheese in the case at the deli while Hare simply wanted to pay for his packages.

They finally made it to the cash register when Hare heard a voice call out, "Hatter? Is that really you?"

Hatter and Hare both turned. The tall, brunette woman approaching them was dressed in bohemian chic. Her flowing skirt slithered around her long legs. Her cropped tank top revealed plenty of smooth skin. Her hair was tied back with a multi-colored scarf.

Hatter's face lit up and he stepped willingly into her embrace.

Hare paid for the cheese while watching the two chat.

Hatter leaned in to listen to the woman, and then laughed. The brunette spoke easily with him, as though they'd known each other for years. Hare was taken aback. They'd run into Hatter's old friends before, but he seemed especially comfortable with this one. After another peal of laughter, the woman stepped in and whispered something into Hatter's ear. He dropped his head demurely and Hare caught a hint of blush on his perfectly made up face. He also saw the woman's hand linger on his friend's arm.

Then she stepped back and Hatter remembered where he was.

"Hare!" He gestured for his companion to come over.

Hare barely got his wallet back in his coat pocket before he was dragged to Hatter's side.

"This is my best friend, Hare. And this is Ella."

Hatter was beaming, and Hare was confused. But then, he was confused by Hatter almost daily.

Sensing his friend's confusion, Hatter explained, "We were in art class together. In college."

Hare nodded, offering Ella a smile. He did remember Hatter telling stories about art school. And fashion school. And theater school. Apparently, Hatter majored in being fabulously undecided. Hare majored in horticulture and graduated early.

He was just about to suggest they head home when Ella said, "You should come by. I still have some of your pictures."

Hatter looked genuinely surprised. He glanced at Hare. "I mean, if it's close, we might as well stop by for a minute…" He looked at Hare with wide, pleading eyes.

Hare wrinkled up his nose."We…some of this cheese needs to be back in the fridge…soon."

But Hatter was already following Ella and Hare knew he'd never win an argument when he was already this tired. So he acquiesced and followed them out of the shop and down the street.

Ella lived above a store that sold plants and extracts for "medicinal use." Hare recognized the smell from the smoke that often wafted from the Caterpillar's house. He only got a cursory glance around the store before Hatter pulled him up a back staircase that led to Ella's loft apartment.

It was quite lovely, with high ceilings and original brick walls. And there was art everywhere. For a minute, Hare forgot his desire to get home and stopped to stare. He set his shopping bags down and studied the sculptures and abstract prints lining the entryway. Then he followed Ella and Hatter into the open plan space beyond.

There were more paintings on every available wall, interspersed with photographs. They were mostly black and white, and Hatter explained, "Ella's a photographer."

And suddenly, Hare realized what she meant by, "I still have some of your pictures."

Hare was surrounded by photos of his friend.

There were other subjects mixed in, but all Hare could focus on was Hatter's lithe body in a variety of poses. In one he was lying in bed, hair messy and falling in his face. It was longer, easily brushing his collarbone, and he was looking up demurely at the photographer. In another, he was standing, looking out a window. He was backlit and mostly in silhouette, but the camera had perfectly captured the graceful lines of his bare back and long legs. And his ass. Which was so lovely Hare's breath caught.

If he was going to see his best friend's bare ass, this was not the context in which he imagined it. He cleared his throat and looked away.

Only to be accosted by another photo of Hatter. In this one, he was sitting in the same bed from the previous photo. He was sitting cross-legged, still naked, but holding a guitar.

His guitar.

Hare recognized it from the one time Hatter played for him. Had the Tweedles not overheard and interrupted, Hare might've confessed his love right then. In the photo, Hatter's hands were poised over the frets and the strings. His head was bent over the instrument, but Ella had caught him just as he looked up at her, a hint of a smile on his face.

Hare looked down at his feet.

He still felt odd about seeing his friend without a hat. So this was…a lot. The photos weren't graphic, but they felt painfully intimate. Hare understood why Ella would choose Hatter as a subject. She'd captured him beautifully in dramatic light and shadow. And the photos told a story: Ella and Hatter definitely fucked. He'd also played music for her. Probably sang for her. And Hare was wildly, horrifically jealous of it all.

He took a deep breath.

The photos were doing things to him he'd rather not have happen in his friend's former fuckbuddy's apartment.

Hare tried to look at anything else.

Hatter and Ella were deep in conversation about another friend neither had seen in years, as though they weren't surrounded by evidence of their carnal exploits.

Ella finally noticed Hare's eyes roaming and said, "Aren't they gorgeous? He was my favorite subject."

"I…can tell," Hare stammered.

"Never shy, this one. Let me take photos whenever I wanted." Ella smiled back at Hatter. "Before. After. During…"

"You know, it's getting late…and I have that cheese that needs to be refrigerated…" Hare started towards the door and Hatter finally caught on to his friend's discomfort.

"Oh. Yes. We have…cheese." Hatter gave Ella an apologetic smile, a quick kiss on the cheek, and scurried after his friend.

On the way home, he appeared to be completely unruffled by what Hare had seen.

That night, when they were once again in Hatter's dark bedroom, he spoke, "I met Ella in art school. She was in my figure drawing class, and she helped me stop being nervous about the nude models."

Hare's ears pricked up, but he just listened.

"She was the first girl I ever had sex with."

Hare felt like his stomach jumped into his throat.

Hatter went on, "She really was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. But she had another boyfriend. And I realized just how many beautiful people there are in the world."

Hare couldn't help wondering if Hatter found him to be one of those beautiful people.

"I kissed a lot of boys in high school. And college. Girls too. I did lots of other things, too. I've just never been able to choose. And why should anyone have to? That would be like having lots of different teas, but only drinking one. Or like trying to choose between crumpets and cookies and donuts and tarts! I mean, why choose when you can have them all?"

Hare couldn't disagree, even if he'd only ever wanted "dessert" with men. And he had to begrudgingly admit he'd seen every kind of person flirt with Hatter over the years, even the Queen's mother.

Hatter kept speaking into the darkness, "My father understood me, before he went mad. But my mother didn't. I think…she was angry at him…for going mad. And for dying. And for giving her a son who was so much like him."

Hare listened, soaking in the little pieces of himself Hatter was willing to share in the dark.

"After my father died, they started to call me the Mad Hatter. And I don't mind." He hesitated. "I never thought of being odd or different as a bad thing. Until my mother told me it was."

Hare felt the sting of those words. He spoke up, "Sometimes…I feel different, too. If we're going mad, at least we're going mad together."

He could hear the smile in Hatter's voice when he replied, "How true that is."

Suddenly, Hare couldn't bear the distance anymore.

He sat up on the chaise, which was worn in a way that fit him perfectly by now. In his bare feet and teacup pajamas that Hatter gave him last Christmas, he crossed the space between the chaise and the bed. Because he was so tall, Hatter's bed was enormous. It was made up with purple sheets and a darker purple duvet. And there were about a hundred pillows. The Mad Hatter did nothing halfway.

Watching for his friend's reaction, Hare lifted the duvet and slid into the bed.

Hatter made no move to stop him as he scooted close. Hare curled himself into his friend's body from the side, wrapping his arms around Hatter's pajama-clad form. In return, Hatter let his right arm come to rest around Hare's shoulders. He could feel Hatter's heartbeat.

The darkness made Hare brave, as well.

He let his right hand gently slide over Hatter's shape, by touch more than sight in the dark without his glasses. Hatter's pajamas were soft, but much thinner than his usual layers. Hare closed his eyes, and he could still see Ella's photos, how she captured the contours of Hatter's body. Hesitantly at first, he slid his hand under Hatter's pajamas. Hare felt him draw a quick breath as he touched warm skin. He traced a path up Hatter's stomach to find a soft patch of hair on his chest.

Hatter was such a beautiful contradiction.

He saw the world differently, with a child-like wonder Hare adored. He was silly and sincere and extravagant and refused to let being an adult get in the way of having fun. He often leapt without thinking or trusted without questioning. He was also sexy as hell and uniquely stunning. And based on his most recent confessions, if sex of any kind was on the table, Hatter's answer was, "Yes, please. With whipped cream on top."

Hare had truly never known anyone like him.

Now, he was drawing quick breaths under Hare's hands.

After mapping his torso, he hesitantly slid his fingers under the waistband of Hatter's pajamas. He divested the layers, then felt himself flush hot as he held Hatter in his hand for the first time. His whole body twitched as Hare explored the length of him, lightly at first, then with more purpose. Hatter made a mewing noise, and Hare looked up at his face.

His eyes were closed, and he bit his bottom lip between his teeth.

Hare couldn't look away as he stroked, mesmerized by what his action was doing to his friend.

Hatter's head dropped back, and his lips parted. His hair splayed over the pillow, revealing his long neck. Hare could feel his racing pulse, and his mews became low moans. His hand moved faster, and Hatter's whole body tensed.

He whispered, "Hare…"

Yes. You did this to him. You're doing this to him.

Hare watched his friend's face as he stroked him–every furrow of his brow. Every flutter of his eyelashes. Every tremble of his lip. He arched his back again, and Hare couldn't resist. He stretched up and pressed his lips to Hatter's neck, tasting his skin.

His scent was overwhelming this close.

Hare gently scraped his teeth over the spot he kissed, then worked his way down to where Hatter's neck met his shoulder. He nuzzled into his hair.

Hatter was breathing hard and fast.

On instinct, Hare opened his mouth and bit him. Not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark. And Hatter came apart in his hand.

He gasped and whimpered and clutched the sheets.

Hare felt both powerful and humbled.

It could be addictive, seeing him this way, Hare thought.

He stroked his friend through the aftershocks.

After a quick cleanup, Hatter crawled back into the bed next to Hare. He said nothing about the fact that Hare was still there, as opposed to on the chaise. He said nothing at all. And Hare fell asleep curled into his side.

When Hare woke the next morning, Hatter was gone. Judging from the sounds and smells coming from downstairs, he was making breakfast. And singing to himself.

Hatter never kept a regular schedule. Hare liked things more orderly. He liked getting up at the same time every day and checking on his garden. He liked knowing tea was at four and dinner was at seven. At the hat house, however, he never knew whether Hatter would wake at dawn and cook everything in the pantry or sleep until noon.

After a full-body stretch and a yawn, Hare retrieved his slippers and went to brush his teeth. He kept a toothbrush at the hat house, which he tried to convince himself was just because they were such good friends. And that all good friends did the same. This morning, as he deliberately ignored the "His" and "Hare" towels that hung on the bar, it was hard to tell himself that lie.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" Hatter greeted him with a smile when he entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, Hatter," Hare replied.

This was how many mornings at the hat house started. Except Hare would've slept on the chaise. And he wouldn't smell like his friend's sheets. He wouldn't have vivid memories of making Hatter climax with his hand. Other than all that, it was a perfectly normal morning.

Hatter was already dressed in everything but his coat, hat, and shoes. His hair was again brushed to a shine and his face was again perfectly made up. The only evidence he slept was the slippers he still wore.

They ate breakfast, while Hatter prattled on about plans for the garden party the Queen was having that afternoon. They were in charge of snacks and drinks, and Hatter had a typically long list of both. He even wanted to try making something new called, "butterscotch creme brulee." To Hare, it sounded like a recipe for Hatter lighting his kitchen on fire. But he knew arguing was futile.

After breakfast, Hare went to dress. When he returned to the kitchen, Hatter was already elbow deep in crumpet batter. Hare grabbed an apron and stepped in to help.

At this point, Hare was certain his friend was intentionally avoiding talking about the change in their physical relationship. Hare might be more quirky than most, but he knew he wasn't outright insane. There's no way he imagined or daydreamed all the recent intimacy between Hatter and himself. He also knew he should start a conversation about it, but he'd been unsuccessful at doing so thus far.

What if he regrets it and wants it to stay a secret? What if it's just physical and he never wants to talk about it? What if…"

His mind ran over the possibilities again. The last question was hard to think about:

What if he does those things with everyone? All the time? At the same time?

Polyamory certainly existed in parts of Wonderland, but the idea of it when it came to Hatter and him made Hare's stomach hurt.

The Garden party went off with only a couple minor issues–the creme brulee torch did light something on fire, but it was only a cloth napkin. For entertainment, Hare dusted off his magic act, but with a twist. This time, on Hatter's suggestion, he made mistakes on purpose and played them for laughs. And it worked. Even the Queen was laughing when he "accidentally" handcuffed himself to the garden gate. It was a delightful afternoon, overall.

Back at the hat house that evening, Hatter and Hare washed and rinsed and dried dishes. Hare had gotten very skilled at catching the dishes his friend tossed instead of stacked. They were very nearly done with the chore when Hare finally gathered up the courage to broach what was on his mind:

"Hatter…I wanted to ask…about last night…"

He could see his friend's shoulders shift.

Hare went on, "And about the closet. And the washroom. And the tree. And the couch…and Ella…"

Hatter kept rinsing and tossing dishes.

Hare kept catching and drying them.

"Do you…want to be more than just friends?" Hare finally got the words out.

Hatter paused for a moment, then asked, "What's better than being friends?"

Hare's brow furrowed. "Well, maybe what you and Ella had? That didn't seem like just…friendship."

Hatter chuckled. "Of course it was! Ella and I were, and are, very good friends."

Hare was growing frustrated. He wasn't sure if Hatter was purposely being obtuse or if he was actually this clueless when it came to relationships. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Do you have sex with all your friends? At the same time?"

Hatter froze.

"Is there anything…special…about our friendship?" Hare finished quietly.

Hatter remained silent. He finally picked up another dish, rinsed, and tossed it.

Hare made no effort to catch it, so it hit the ground and shattered.

Hatter turned around at the noise. "Hare! You haven't missed one yet! Oh well. I guess it's not a party if we don't break at least one dish." He went back to rinsing without answering his friend's question.

Hare couldn't laugh this time.

He quietly picked up the broken dish pieces and dumped them in the trash bin. He removed his apron, hung it over a chair, and pulled on his coat. He watched Hatter for another moment, then walked out the door.