In which the Mad Hatter realizes that love might possibly be his cup of tea.

The Hatter was a man of many things. Hats, obviously, was one of them. He had an entire closet filled to the brim with top hats, bowlers, fedoras, and even a flowery bonnet (which, make no mistake, had been given to him as a joke by that cheeky cheshire, Jimin). Tea was another. He liked to consider himself an expert in the art of flavoured leaves and steeped drinks. Of course, it helped that he happened to run his very own tea shop in the village- a quaint and delectably sweet little cafe, the townsfolk often complimented.

His credentials didn’t stop there. Riddles. Pocket watches. Jackets with neatly hemmed coattails. In all of these and more lay his knowledge and personal interest to varying degrees. His pocket watch must be wound once every two days, precisely at nine in the morning. His black coats could never be hung out to dry, otherwise the sun would fade their colours. And oh yes, a raven was quite like a writing desk in many ways (although with the last one, he still had trouble convincing the March Hare so).

The Hatter was a man of many things, but love was not one of them.

At least, that was his belief. This strange, whimsical thing called love was something that had no place in his life. Love was trivial. Love was too idealistic. It was the feeling of soaring high above the clouds, only to come crashing straight down to the ground with no safety net in sight. And who wanted to fly knowing that they were going to fall in the end? It was, as he had once said to his dormouse friend, a riddle that he had no interest in solving.

(“If you keep thinking like that, you’ll end up an old man more bitter than your tea leaves,” Yoongi had yawned in response, before settling back in his armchair and dozing off into another idle nap.)

But it was true. Ravens and writing desks held intellectual appeal; a pot of freshly brewed tea tickled his nose and tastebuds pink. By contrast, love to him was like a diamond- pretty on the outside, but absolutely useless in reality. And even if he tried to see past the superficial shine, where would he begin? The village girls bored him. All they liked to do was fawn over the prince and revel in the kingdom’s gossip mill. The Princess, similarly, failed to catch his eye (and even if she did, it wasn’t as though he could pursue her- the Queen would have his head).

Therefore, the only choice left was to say that love was simply not for him.

But life was a funny thing. As an oddball of mysteries, it delighted in throwing routines out of balance and bringing about changes in the most unexpected ways. His change came one ordinary day in the form of a pale purple frock and flushed cheeks, topped off with a breathless “Don’t let them know I’m here!”

He blinked. When he had heard the bell above the shop’s door tinkle, he had figured it was one of his regulars, coming in for their usual afternoon tea. Instead, what had darted inside was you: a small girl, no more than five feet tall, now crouching behind the counter beside his trouser-clad legs.

“Excuse me, miss-”

The bell dinged again, and this time two of the Queen’s guards came rushing in. With their helmets askew and their armour clanking noisily, they halted abruptly in the middle of the room.

“You, there,” one of them rudely called out to the Hatter, while the other one glanced around the shop with an ugly scowl on his face. Judging by the club symbol on their helmets and their less-than-cordial manners, it was easy to tell that they were part of the street patrol, the lowest ranking unit of the kingdom guards. Interestingly enough, the two of them had what looked suspiciously like blueberry jam dribbling down the fronts of their chests, dotted with bits and pieces of… crust? “Did you see a girl come inside here?”

From the corner of his eye, the Hatter could see you tensing ever so slightly. A smashed pastry, disgruntled guards, a runaway girl… He was starting to get a sense of the situation. Turning towards the sink, he began filling a pot with water in the pretense of making tea. “I’m sorry to inform you, but no girl has set foot in my shop all day. In fact, it’s been rather empty since the mid-morning rush.”

“Are you sure?” The one who had called out to him squinted, as if searching for the hidden truth which his piggish eyes failed to detect.

“Quite certain.” With an innocent expression, he held up the sloshing pot. “But while you’re here, would you gentlemen care for a drink? I daresay you could use it to wash down those pastries on your armour.”

The guard glowered in his direction before turning to his friend. “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll find her at the market.”

Without a word of apology or goodbye the pair left, leaving you and the Hatter alone in the cafe- and to good riddance, the Hatter thought to himself. He had never been fond of the street patrol. They struck him as nothing more than a group of dirty brutes, swaggering around the town and abusing what little power they had. Drinking on duty, picking fights with civilians for no apparent reason… Simply put, they were of a low class which the Hatter held in high disdain.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you shot up from your crouching position. “What swines! I almost hope they come back so I can throw a pot at them next!”

He placed his kettle on the countertop and looked at you with raised brows. “Is that a hobby of yours? Angering the guards by throwing things at them?”

“They were making crass remarks to me,” you huffed, straightening out the rumpled lines in your dress. “Saying how I should lift up my skirt and join them for the night. So naturally I threw my pie at them.”

“Perhaps that wasn’t the best move. You should be nicer next time,” he said, although he was qui