A/N - I was cleaning my room and found a seriously old drabble on the floor. I think I wrote this two years ago. Whoops. Enjoy!
Hatter sat on the edge of the bed, watching his Alice sleep. He had taken to observing her whenever he could, but it was little by little causing him more pain.
Alice was beauty personified. Her fine yellow curls fell loosely about her fair face. Her lips were a single red rose amongst a bushel of white roses, glowing a bright hue between her pale cheeks. And her eyes, Tarrant's favorite feature on the woman, shimmered a clear blue, constantly taking in their surroundings with a curious glance. Even in sleep, Alice showed looks beyond compare.
Tarrant stood and approached the looking glass in the corner of their bedroom. He noted his ghostly white skin, mismatched eyelids, and laughable orange hair. The tangled mess was yet to be capped with his top hat, and it stood on end in a homely sort of way. Even his attire was strange beside his lover's pastels and shined shoes.
Hatter returned to the bed and sat with his head hanging in his worn worker's hands. The bed frame shook ever so slightly, causing Alice to stir.
Alice lifted her head just as Tarrant turned to face her. She saw in his eyes an array of emotions. Happiness, if not bittersweet happiness, yet something else... Was it loathing? Pity? No. Self-loathing. It made Alice's heart heavy to see him in this dreary state.
"Are you alright, love?" His gaze tore into her chest, leaving wounds on her soul. It was almost unbearable. Tarrant sighed, his eyes refusing to meet hers.
"Do you find me," he said, pausing briefly, "odd?"
A smile crept across her face. What a peculiar question! "Of course, Hatter. How could I anyone think differently?" She giggled, but Tarrant's expression made her realize that she perhaps said the wrong thing. "But that's why I love you, my Mad Hatter."
Tarrant smirked, but the corners of his mouth quickly returned to their melancholy position. "You're so... well, perfect." He looked down at his hands. "I'm not perfect."
Alice clicked her tongue and pulled herself upright into Hatter's lap, pushing her fingers into the tight orange curls at the nape of his neck. "I love you just the way you are, Tarrant. My father always told me that beauty is only skin deep. Not that I don't find the outside attractive as well," she said shyly, giving him a peck on the cheek.
"But Alice," he continued, trapped in his depressed state, "I think I might be even more mad on the inside! My appearance is deceiving, in that way, you know. And you are-"
"I'm what, Hatter? Normal?" She laughed. "No one in Underland is normal, least of all me. I might even be more strange than you, love." Tarrant was surprised. He had never considered Alice to be odd, just different.
"Do you really mean that?" he asked. Sometimes Tarrant reminded Alice of a small child, whenever he got that look of disbelief and amazement in his glowing green eyes.
"Of course I mean it. Now kiss me, you madman."