Chapter Text
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The silence of the room was shattered by the relentless blare of the alarm. The fox let out a groan, adding his own complaint to the phone's incessant beeping as he reached out to silence it. Nick didn't even bother opening his eyes. Instead, he rolled over in a desperate attempt to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep, only to end up tumbling onto the floor.
Tangled in his sheets, his pillow somewhere off to the side, he lay staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, debating whether he should get up or simply crawl back into bed.
Accepting that he was no longer young enough to sleep on the floor without regretting it afterward, the fox kicked the sheets off himself, scooped them up with the pillow, and tossed everything back onto the mattress. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, blankly staring into space.
The tailor wasn't built for nights that long anymore.
After ten minutes and four yawns, he finally convinced himself to start the day. Gathering up his bedding as he headed toward the bathroom, he made a quick detour through the kitchen to put some water on to boil, taking advantage of having the house to himself.
The hot water running through his fur was an incredible relief for a body that had survived on only two hours of sleep. He let out a contented sigh as he finished washing up before grabbing a towel and returning to his bedroom to get dressed.
Last night had been a blast, but he definitely wasn't used to staying awake that long anymore.
The drive with Isabela had been incredibly fun, though the real entertainment began when they reached the security gate of the gated community. The wolves had looked utterly baffled to see the gazelle casually sitting in the van as though nothing unusual was happening. The superstar had even had the nerve to wave at them after the guards barely reacted.
What followed was a surprisingly pleasant conversation between the wolf and the singer while Nick's head kept turning back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match. Somewhere during all that back-and-forth, the van had apparently been registered as an approved vehicle for Isabela's residence—or at least that's how she'd explained it after they'd driven through the gate.
Which meant that from now on, the fox could literally drive in without having to say a word to the guards.
At first he hadn't really understood why, but after giving it some thought, it actually made sense. It would make things much easier whenever he had to deliver dresses—or simply wanted to visit his friend.
Even so, the old hustler inside him couldn't help seeing it as one massive security flaw.
The whistle of the boiling kettle snapped him out of his thoughts. He finished buttoning his shirt and headed back to the kitchen, now fully dressed, to pour himself a mug of blueberry tea.
Taking his time, he poured the steaming drink and took a sip while checking his phone. His father hadn't sent any messages during the night, so he assumed everything was going well in Helios.
Or maybe he simply hadn't wanted to text at three in the morning.
It was six o'clock now. Nick couldn't help staring at the number on his phone's clock, thinking about how he'd gone to bed when those same digits had read four instead. Trying to suppress something halfway between a laugh and another yawn, he decided the gazelle was definitely leading him down the wrong path.
Carrying his tea, he wandered into the studio to tidy up whatever needles and fabric he might have left scattered around. The room now held more fabrics, materials, and tools than he'd ever seen inside it before, though there was still enough room to walk around without tripping—even in his sleep-deprived state.
The fox dropped onto the stool in front of his drafting table before opening his sketchbook and flipping through the dress designs he'd created for Isabela, wondering which masterpiece he should tackle next.
One page after another turned as he sipped his tea, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of each design. His little sketchbook had gradually filled with drawings of the gazelle—the very same gazelle he'd been laughing with only a few hours earlier.
He stopped on one sketch in particular, one where he'd spent a little more time drawing her face than he'd originally intended. His eyes lingered on her signature smile, and the memory of the previous night came rushing back.
He remembered her asking if he'd like to stay for coffee and chat a little longer.
Nick hadn't been able to refuse—not only because he'd genuinely been enjoying her company, but because he also wanted to know what had happened with the recording session that had supposedly prevented her from attending the concert.
So once again, the van had ended up parked outside the superstar's house, with the fox sitting on one of the kitchen stools.
Even though she'd said coffee, Nick couldn't help smiling when the singer placed a mug of blueberry tea in front of him—the very same brand he was drinking now while looking through his sketches.
She had settled comfortably on top of the kitchen island, her paws wrapped around a mug of bitter black coffee, completely at ease and wearing a relaxed smile as she listened to the fox joke about how spoiled Mr. Whiskers had become.
After several jokes, plenty of laughter, and a short conversation about the concert, the tailor finally managed to steer the conversation toward the gazelle's own private performance, curious about what had happened.
Apparently, she'd managed to convince the production company to move the recording session forward by a couple of hours. She'd done such an outstanding job that she'd practically recorded the entire private event in a single take.
That left her free with just enough time before the concert to make it to the palazzo in Tundratown, dismiss her driver, and somehow convince two particularly grumpy polar bears to let her into the private box.
That was followed by a remarkably detailed retelling of her evening at the private performance. She told him how everyone had fallen in love with her dress, how the small audience had been wonderful, and how every song had been warmly received, with several of them being sung back at her at the top of the audience's lungs.
She even showed him a picture of herself sitting on a stool with a guitar resting across her lap, surrounded by candles that bathed the stage in a warm glow.
Nick listened with an amused smile as she recounted every detail of her day, watching her animated gestures while enjoying the sweet taste of blueberries lingering on his tongue. At some point, he'd rested an elbow on the kitchen island and propped his head against his paw, quietly watching the cheerful singer from the side.
Just like the night before, the fox was pulled from his little trance by the distant chime of a clock.
This time, however, it wasn't announcing three in the morning.
It was eight.
Time to open the tailor shop.
With the same calm heaviness that had settled over the end of the night, he finished his tea and stood up from his seat—though this time there wasn't a beautiful gazelle trying to stop him from leaving.
He chuckled as he closed the sketchbook and made his way out of the studio.
Isabela had tried to convince him to stay, arguing that it was already far too late for him to drive home. But Nick suspected she simply wanted another chance to tease him after keeping him awake half the night. He honestly had no idea how she managed to have so much energy.
Under different circumstances, he probably would have stayed.
But not last night.
His father wasn't home, and someone had to open the shop.
So, for once, his decision had been completely non-negotiable. By half past three in the morning, the fox had already left the gated community.
He made it back to the tailor shop around four, collapsed onto the mattress in his room, and didn't move again until the alarm dragged him back to consciousness.
Now he found himself making his way downstairs toward the workshop, struggling to suppress yet another yawn.
It felt like one of those endless days where exhaustion made you wish the hours would simply disappear.
Even so, if he could go back and do it all over again, he honestly wouldn't change a thing.
It had been an incredible night.
The tailor reached the entrance to the workshop and stepped into the shop itself. Across from the counter, the large display windows facing the street were still hidden behind their heavy curtains.
Apparently, his father had closed them the night before without Nick noticing, so he walked over to pull them open, letting the morning light flood inside and officially start the day.
As he crossed the shop, his pocket suddenly vibrated.
Without paying much attention, he pulled out his phone just as he reached the first window.
A message from Isabela filled the screen. "I'm soooooo sorry!!!"
He frowned, completely puzzled about why she'd suddenly sent that. He was already thinking about asking what had happened, but the shop came first.
Grabbing the edge of the curtain, he pulled it aside in one swift motion.
He was instantly met by a blinding storm of camera flashes that startled him so badly he stumbled backward.
The brilliant white flashes left him completely blind for a second.
Nick barely had time to throw a paw over his face and retreat a couple of steps, putting some distance between himself and the sea of mammals packed outside the window. They kept snapping pictures nonstop, shouting over one another in a chaotic frenzy.
He let out a startled huff—more out of instinct than actual annoyance—and squinted through the gaps between his fingers, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear the bright spots dancing across his vision.
When his vision finally cleared enough to make out what was in front of him, Nick realized he wasn't looking at a simple line of impatient customers—or anything remotely close.
Outside the tailor shop stood a veritable wall of bodies, microphones, cameras, reporters, and the occasional curious passerby who clearly had nothing better to do that early in the morning than watch whatever was unfolding in front of a family-owned business.
The shouting gradually became more intelligible, allowing him to pick out individual voices.
"There he is!" someone yelled from the back.
"Look! It's him!"
"Mr. Wilde! Mr. Wilde! Over here! Are you the anonymous fashion designer?"
"Are you Mr. Whiskers?"
"Does Gazelle come here often?"
"What's your relationship with the singer? How long have you known each other?"
"Mr. Wilde! Is it true you designed Gazelle's dress?"
"Is that your natural fur color, or do you dye it?"
"Since when has W&W Tailoring been dressing celebrities?"
"Sir! Over here! Are you single?"
Nick felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end.
His first instinct was to yank the curtain shut, but before he could even move his paw, three more cameras fired in his direction, leaving him temporarily blinded all over again.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, feeling his way along until he grabbed the curtain and pulled it far enough to partially conceal the inside of the shop.
At least he was grateful he hadn't unlocked the front door yet.
Through the gap, he could see more and more shadows gathering outside while questions overlapped into an incoherent mess, every reporter seemingly chasing a different headline. They crowded over one another, shoving for position, some even climbing onto the backs of those in front, until they formed a massive wall that practically blocked the entrance.
Hiding behind the curtain, the fox took a slow breath, trying to calm the racing pulse the flashes had triggered. He glanced back at his phone and finally understood Isabela's message.
Without wasting another second, he texted back: “What happened? Why is there an ocean of reporters outside the tailor shop?”
"Exactly what I needed this morning," he grumbled, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
Right on cue, a shrill voice from the other side of the door shouted his name.
Nick stared at the entrance, weighing his options.
He could stay inside and wait for the reporters to get bored and leave—but that also meant never opening the shop.
He could unlock the door and hope no one but actual customers came in, an optimism so unrealistic it barely deserved consideration.
Or he could walk outside and answer their questions with as many lies, half-truths, and sarcastic remarks as possible until the reporters no longer knew what to believe and finally left W&W alone.
Unfortunately, since he had no idea how they'd found the shop in the first place, he also had no idea how to steer the conversation somewhere else.
His pocket vibrated again.
Another message from Isabela: “I'm working on it... I'll fix everything. You stay calm, I’ll be the one panicking”.
Nick felt like screaming.
Fix what?
At least she knew what was going on, because he certainly didn't.
Realizing he couldn't hide inside forever—and seeing no sign that the crowd outside was shrinking—he decided to face it.
Who would've thought there were this many entertainment reporters in Zootopia?
Steeling himself and trusting in his talent for thinking on his feet, the tailor stepped through the door and found himself surrounded by a semicircle of reporters.
Maybe it was because he was outside now, or maybe because he'd been expecting it this time, but the camera flashes no longer seemed nearly as blinding.
A hippopotamus raised a hand, trying to ask a question Nick never caught because a lion immediately talked over him.
Unfortunately, he couldn't focus on the lion either, as his attention was stolen by an Arctic shrew struggling to hold a microphone that looked bigger than she was. She was practically climbing onto the back of a kangaroo cameraman just to get a better angle.
Judging by the sheer number of reporters, W&W Tailoring was almost guaranteed to be the lead story on every entertainment news program before noon.
"Mr. Wilde! What were you doing with Gazelle at the Palazzo Carpale Innevato?"
This time, Nick heard the hippopotamus perfectly.
That single question was enough for him to finally piece everything together.
Someone had seen them last night.
He immediately started thinking up an answer—probably some elegant lie or carefully crafted non-answer sharp enough to throw everyone off the trail.
But before a single word could leave his mouth, a whistle cut cleanly through the chaos.
Not just any whistle.
It was sharp.
Authoritative.
The unmistakable sound of a police whistle.
Especially to someone with Nick's past.
Almost instinctively, the reporters lowered their voices and turned toward the source of the sound.
A patrol car door slammed shut.
Heavy footsteps echoed across the sidewalk.
Rising above the taller mammals, Nick spotted a pair of buffalo horns, followed by several officers in blue uniforms emerging through the crowd.
The reporters reacted exactly as expected, reluctantly stepping aside as the officers ordered them to make way.
The newcomer stood out immediately.
His uniform was impeccably pressed, his expression thoroughly unpleasant, and his mere presence demanded respect.
It only took a few long strides before he was standing in front of the fox.
"What's going on here?" he boomed.
His deep voice carried such authority that even Nick found himself swallowing nervously.
Some of the camera flashes stopped as photographers lowered their cameras, and the crowd immediately became more orderly.
Police had a way of restoring order regardless of the situation...
Though the makeshift line formed by two elephants and a lion probably helped.
Then another familiar face emerged from the crowd.
Judy.
She carried a notepad in one paw and a carrot-shaped pen in the other. Calmly stepping to the front, she tapped her foot firmly against the pavement several times before speaking in a clear, steady voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're asking you to clear the sidewalk. You're obstructing access to private property and partially blocking pedestrian traffic."
Nick had never been happier to see the rabbit.
"We're just doing our jobs!" an otter protested.
"And we're doing ours," the buffalo replied without raising his voice.
Somehow, that calm tone made him sound even more irritated.
"Lower your equipment, move back, and keep the entrance clear."
There was only one explanation Nick could think of for all this.
Isabela worked fast.
He wanted to grin at the thought, but he doubted anyone would appreciate seeing him smile while reporters were being prevented from doing their jobs.
He was definitely going to have to find some way to repay the gazelle for this.
The buffalo glanced up at the W&W sign.
His face tightened ever so slightly, as though he'd just bitten into a lemon, before he turned back toward the reporters.
Seeing they still weren't cooperating, he let out an annoyed snort and slowly raised one hoof.
"We've already received a report concerning obstruction of access, disturbing the peace, and harassment of a private business. I won't repeat myself. Clear the sidewalk."
Several reporters grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. Quite a few lost their smug expressions at the prospect of trouble with the police.
The hippopotamus looked ready to argue, but the buffalo simply stepped forward.
One look was enough to silence him.
"Move back. Now."
A chorus of complaints followed, accompanied by shuffling paws, retracting microphones, and general dissatisfaction.
Even so, the reporters slowly gave ground, especially once the elephants began firmly—but politely—ushering anyone lingering forward.
Nick remained by the doorway, quietly watching the scene with equal parts relief and satisfaction as the street gradually cleared.
A few curious onlookers remained, along with some distant cameras and a handful of stubborn reporters, but they were now scattered across the opposite side of the sidewalk—close enough to keep an eye on him, yet far enough away that it no longer resembled a stampede.
Only then did the buffalo finally turn toward him.
Nick's ears perked up, and he instinctively straightened under the officer's scrutinizing gaze, even though he'd done absolutely nothing that should make him look suspicious.
The buffalo studied him in silence, the kind of heavy stare that didn't need words to make it abundantly clear that he blamed Nick for ruining his morning.
"You're Wilde?" he finally asked.
"Yes, sir. And you must be the reason my morning has become considerably more peaceful than I expected."
The instant the words left his mouth, Nick wanted to bite his tongue.
Sarcasm and police officers had never been a particularly healthy combination, guilty or innocent.
Fortunately, the buffalo didn't so much as blink.
"Chief Bogo. Zootopia Police Department."
"Pleasure to meet you."
Silence settled between them for a few seconds as Bogo looked around before fixing his gaze back on Nick, this time with noticeably more suspicion.
"We received a rather unexpected call warning us there might be trouble here."
"Isa...?" Nick caught himself before finishing the name. Frowning slightly, he corrected himself. "Gazelle?"
The hesitation had been subtle.
Not subtle enough for Bogo.
Something was clearly turning over in the buffalo's mind.
His eyes locked onto the young predator, carefully following every movement.
Under that level of scrutiny, Nick was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable.
“Miss Gazelle,” he confirmed dryly, as if each word was stamped with official authority. “She reported a potential public disturbance involving a crowd interfering with access to private property.”
Nick opened his mouth to respond, but the chief cut him off before he could speak.
“And she also mentioned your name.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Nick muttered, sounding more tired than anything else. “At this point, it feels like everybody knows me today.”
Bogo let out a short huff.
“I am not interested in your social life, Mr. Wilde. I am interested in making sure I don’t receive another call like this.”
“I can assure you organizing a parade outside my doorstep was never on my agenda,” Nick replied with a crooked smile, trying to sound harmless—though he was probably testing the officer’s patience anyway.
“It had better not be.”
At that moment, a familiar voice slipped into the conversation.
“Chief, everything’s been cleared up… well, almost everything.”
Judy stepped out from behind the large buffalo, still holding her notepad and wearing a level of focus Nick had never quite seen before. She looked at her superior, then at Nick, and finally at the shop itself, as if checking it was still standing.
“Are you okay?” she asked the predator quietly.
“Yeah… though I think I lost the right to call this a ‘quiet morning’ a few minutes ago,” he shrugged.
Judy let out a small puff of air through her nose—almost a laugh—but it died quickly when she noticed Bogo still standing there, arms crossed, a vein practically throbbing between his horns.
“I still see cameras, Hopps,” Bogo growled.
“Across the street, sir,” she corrected immediately.
“Close enough to become my problem if they don’t keep moving.”
Judy grimaced but nodded, signaling the other officers to handle the remaining crowd. That was when a new figure—thin, dark, and casually confident—slipped into the group.
Nick barely paid attention at first, but something about the posture, the way he moved, the subtle confidence in his steps… it was too familiar.
The fox narrowed his eyes.
A marbled weasel.
“Patrol car parked in a legal zone like you asked, Long Ears,” the weasel said as soon as he reached the group.
“No way,” Nick murmured under his breath. “Mark?”
The newcomer stopped beside Judy and flashed a sideways grin.
“Well, well, Wilde. Who would’ve thought? You still recognize a familiar face after all this time. What is it, elephant memory?”
Nick couldn’t believe who he was seeing.
Judy looked between them.
“You two know each other?”
Nick and Mark exchanged a glance—an entire conversation passing silently in under a second.
“We’ve crossed paths before,” Nick said calmly.
“Yeah,” Mark added just as casually. “You could say that.”
“Old acquaintances.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m still in the prime of my youth,” the weasel replied with a smirk.
Judy frowned, immediately sensing there was more to it than either of them was willing to say out loud.
“Interesting. Should I be concerned?” she asked, glancing at Nick.
“Not at all, Cotton Tail,” Mark answered with a half-smile. “Let’s just say we… used to work in the same line of business. Though he left before things got a little too… freezing with a certain tiny shrew.”
Nick noticed Judy’s eyes widen slightly. Apparently Mark trusted her enough to tell her that story and give her just enough clues for her to understand.
Chief Bogo, however, looked completely unconvinced, studying all three of them with growing suspicion.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?” he snapped.
Nick opened his mouth to deliver something clever, but the buffalo’s glare shut him down instantly.
Judging by Mark’s subtle motion of zipping his mouth shut, that story was dead on arrival anyway.
“You know what? I don’t care,” Bogo continued. “What I do care about is solving this problem. I don’t need more early-morning calls about a fox.”
“I swear I have nothing to do with this. I’m just as surprised as you are,” Nick said, though it clearly didn’t help his case.
“I doubt that very much.”
Bogo’s irritation only deepened, making Judy shift slightly uncomfortably.
Still, he didn’t push further.
“All three of you are going to explain why there was a crowd outside a private tailor shop.”
“The word ‘all three of you’ makes me feel unfairly included in something I still don’t fully understand,” Nick said, leaning into instinct number four of the hustler’s handbook: deny everything.
“That won’t work on Bogo,” Mark murmured into his ear. “He can smell lies from a mile away.”
“Are you sure it’s lies?” Nick whispered back. “Because your breath isn’t helping either.”
The chief’s grunt confirmed he had heard both of them.
Mark didn’t seem particularly concerned. Neither did Nick.
Judy, however, looked like she was already exhausted by all of them.
“Chief… maybe we should continue this inside?” she suggested, glancing toward the distant reporters.
Bogo snorted, but nodded and headed for the shop entrance.
Nick stepped inside first, pulling the curtains over the display windows as he went, watching the reporters through the glass. They were still there, watching him closely.
A new kind of normal, apparently.
Once everyone entered and Mark shut the door behind them, Bogo turned directly to the only rabbit in the room.
“Alright, Hopps. Explanation. Now. Because I don’t understand how I went from briefing my officers to Gazelle calling my phone after hearing about a crowd outside a neighborhood tailor shop—and no jokes, Bramble, or you’ll be working parking duty for a week.”
Mark immediately closed his mouth, though the glint in his eyes suggested he had no intention of behaving.
Bogo stood waiting. He didn’t sit. He didn’t soften his tone.
Nick briefly wondered if the buffalo was always like this… or if something in his life had permanently convinced him that smiling on duty was illegal.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Judy admitted.
“Start at the beginning. And try not to skip anything important.”
She took a breath before responding, organizing her thoughts before she began, clearly weighing what she could say without betraying her singer friend’s trust.
“Gazelle called me. I don’t know how, but she found out there was a crowd forming outside this shop. She didn’t want Nick to have trouble opening, so she asked me to contact you before the reporters blew it out of proportion.”
Bogo listened without moving, though his expression made it clear something didn’t fully add up.
“And why would a pop star personally involve herself with a random tailor shop?” he asked flatly. “And don’t tell me she was just being kind.”
Seeing the rabbit look at him surprised the tailor; it felt like she was asking permission to say something. It caught his attention that she first checked with her eyes before continuing. In fact, she no longer seemed as distrustful as before. Nick found that commendable, and it made him feel appreciated, but he didn’t want her to get in trouble with her superior because of him. So he simply nodded, giving her permission—even though, legally speaking, she didn’t need to ask.
“Because Nick is Gazelle’s tailor. The anonymous designer who’s been trending all over TV and the internet lately.”
A silence fell over the four mammals. The fox waited for someone to speak—anything, really. He had thought the anonymity might create a bit of suspense or draw some attention, but he never imagined it would escalate to the point where the police had to get involved.
“Well, technically I prefer to call myself a ‘professional who values discretion,’ but I suppose that’s not the point right now,” he said after the silence stretched a little too long.
Bogo stared at him like a hawk that had just discovered a new reason not to trust him.
“Mr. Whiskers?”
Nick blinked.
He hadn’t expected the buffalo to actually use the nickname.
It had clearly spread through Gazelle’s influence, but hearing it from him felt… different.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind: Is Bogo a fan of the singer?
That would explain a lot about the irritation. Or maybe he thought Nick was exploiting the superstar. Or maybe he just didn’t like foxes in general.
“Sorry, I don’t do autographs.”
“Shut it, Wilde,” Judy interrupted him—though she didn’t look like the only one who wanted to say it. Nick figured he wasn’t exactly making things easier for her by answering in her stead.
She wasn’t the only one who looked like she wanted to say it.
Mark let out a low chuckle.
“I’ll admit it,” he said, smirking. “Mr. Whiskers suits you better than it should.”
“That or Orange Tail, but Mr. Whiskers sounded more refined,” Nick replied with a shameless grin.
It just feels more important when you pretend it was chosen from a list of options.
“I don’t care what you call yourself. I care why Gazelle called the police about a fox tailor,” Bogo said, stomping a hoof against the floor. The sound snapped the room back into silence.
He then turned to Judy again and pointed at Nick.
“And you expect me to believe that a public figure like Gazelle went out of her way to protect him just because he’s a tailor?”
Nick shrugged calmly.
“I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. Gazelle values her privacy. And by extension, she values mine.”
“Some foxes also like to hide things among fabric,” Bogo shot back.
Mark raised a paw before Nick could respond.
“Chief, with all due respect—if Wilde wanted to hide something illegal, he wouldn’t do it in a shop with those display windows, a wildly recognizable clientele, and a police rabbit standing two meters away.”
Nick turned his head toward the weasel.
“I’m not paying you.”
“I’m trying to be helpful.”
“Still not paying you,” Nick replied dryly, just as Judy rolled her eyes and stepped in to defend him as well.
“There’s nothing illegal here, sir. Gazelle commissioned the dresses from Nick because she likes his work and wanted to keep everything private… but when the press found out, she called me to prevent the situation from escalating.”
Bogo studied her for a long moment, as if weighing every word.
“Too many coincidences for my taste.”
“There are animals with worse luck,” Nick muttered to Mark.
“And fewer questionable records, too,” Bogo added, glancing between the fox and the weasel.
“Chief, if you’re going to check questionable records, you’ll need a room bigger than this one. There are plenty of those in this city,” Mark said casually.
Nick shot him a sideways glance, amused despite his exhaustion.
“I missed your unique talent for adding problems.”
“At least I don’t have your talent for looking innocent,” Mark replied.
Judy shook her head, unable to stop a small smile as she watched the chief’s patience wear thinner by the second.
Bogo snorted after a moment, then turned toward the exit, addressing his two officers.
“Hopps, Bramble! You’re in charge here. I don’t have the strength to deal with two Bramble”
“Us, sir?” Judy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden order.
“Yes. You. The press is no longer glued to the door—our job is done. But if I get another call from Gazelle or any other mammal about this place, it’s on you two. You’ll be sorting files for a week. Wilde is your responsibility.”
With that, he stepped out of the tailor shop.
“Yes, sir,” Judy replied, snapping to attention with a salute.
Meanwhile, Mark crossed his arms and looked at her.
“And why am I included in this assignment?”
“Because you’re my partner, and you’re not leaving me alone in this,” Judy said sweetly. “Also, the chief wants you out of the department after your last coffee machine incident.”
Mark looked offended purely out of habit.
“I told you not to drink coffee just because I liked you. Now I’m questioning my life choices.”
“Ohhh? Did I hurt the poor weasel’s feelings?”
“The cute act doesn’t suit you, Long Ears. I know exactly what kind of mammal you are.”
Before Judy could respond, Bogo poked his head back inside.
“Bramble! Stop loafing around and get to work!”
Mark blinked, then looked at Judy.
“Why am I the only one getting yelled at?"
“Sorry, Mark. You know how he is,” Judy said as she headed out. “Come on, partner. We’ve got work to do. The press might be gone from the window, but they’ll still be lurking around. We don’t want to end up buried in reports.”
“I’m right behind you, Cotton Tail… try not to get into trouble, Mr. Whiskers.”
“Bye, Nick!”
Nick watched as both officers left the shop, still bickering under their breath as if the day had only just begun for them. Judy moved quickly and efficiently; Mark followed with careless confidence, but with his eyes still scanning the surroundings.
And just like that, the tailor was alone again.
The silence inside the shop felt almost unreal after everything that had just happened.
The clock struck ten in the morning. Only two hours had passed, but Nick already felt like the morning no longer belonged to him.
A long list of future headaches was already forming in his mind.
Fame was starting to feel less like an advantage… and more like a problem he needed to solve—fast—if he wanted to keep a very important client happy.
Though, to be honest, he had no idea how to fix it.
It felt like the bubble of normality had finally burst.
And this time, for good.