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"And these tennis balls?" Judy asked, flicking one into the air with practiced ease. "Should we put them away, or is this part of some top-secret fox routine?"
Nick’s ears perked before he could stop them. His tail betrayed him even worse—giving a hopeful little wag at the bouncing yellow blur. He swallowed it down, forcing his muzzle into the most neutral expression he could muster.
Last thing he needed was giving the bunny more material to tease him with.
"They can stay, whatever…" He threw a casual paw wave, the picture of nonchalance. "I'm, uh—trying to learn how to juggle."
"Ahaaaa…" Judy drawled, twirling one of the balls between her paws. Nick discreetly planted a foot on his tail before it wiggled again. "Right. So it's definitely not that you play fetch with yourself?"
Nick’s eye twitched. Just a little. Then the trademark smug grin slid effortlessly back into place.
"Well, Carrots, I don’t know—maybe you should ask somebunny who decorates her bed with carrot bedsheets?"
Judy gasped dramatically as if struck by an arrow of pure truth.
"Ooh! Touché!" she laughed, dropping the ball into the bucket. She wandered further toward his shelves and immediately started alphabetizing his comic collection.
Nick released a quiet, thankful sigh. At least Judy was occupied for the moment.
He still cringed when he remembered the night before the gala— her first time in his apartment. She had stepped inside, blinked at the chaos, lifted her phone, click, and then they were out the door before he could spin any kind of excuse. He’d hoped the photo was just Judy being Judy.
It wasn’t.
A week later—after the two of them hauled the entire Lynxley family straight into holding—she returned with purpose blazing in her eyes. She brought a piece of paper covered in arrows, neat handwriting, and a decluttering strategy that looked like it had been drafted by an urban planner.
And she didn't only come to show him the plan—she immediately started implementing it.
Nick had tried to object, but talking Judy out of a mission was like trying to convince the sun not to rise. His second mistake was offering to help— her gentle but painfully honest feedback proved he had no business touching anything. And to tell the truth, Judy was right—he was hopeless at cleaning. Two decades of living on his own had never exactly trained him to do weekly tidy-ups. The maximum she allowed him to do was clean the bathroom and sweep the floor. It didn’t even come close to meeting Hopps Cleaning Department standards—but Judy, in a rare display of mercy, accepted it anyway.
So now he simply observed from a safe distance, tail tucked, pretending he wasn’t mildly terrified.
He wandered over to the fridge—now miraculously white again thanks to Judy’s intervention. (Who would have thought it wasn't originally dark grey?)
He popped it open out of sheer boredom, not hunger, and spotted some lonely cans of beer he’d bought ages ago. Out of courtesy, he held one up.
“You want one?”
Judy paused, ears tilting in thought. “Actually… I don’t remember the last time I had a beer. And it's Saturday evening.”
Nick pressed a paw to his chest. “Wow. Is my apartment such a traumatic experience you need to chemically numb yourself to survive it?”
Judy snorted. “To forget that mess, one beer wouldn’t be enough.”
She accepted the can, braced herself—and completely failed to open it. The tab refused to budge. It was immediately clear the last time Judy Hopps interacted with beer, it was in a commercial break.
She wrestled with it for a good five seconds before noticing Nick’s paw hovering, offering help. After a brief internal battle between "I’m a strong, independent woman" and "Who the heck invented can tabs like this?" she surrendered the can with a tiny, defeated huff. Nick popped the can open with an effortless flick of one claw, earning a pointed stare from Judy.
“I’ve been through some WILDE times, Carrots.”
She snorted and took a sip—then shivered as the bitterness hit her tongue. She kept rummaging through his stuff, occasionally holding up some item and asking, “Do you actually need this?”. Nick always answered yes, and Judy always ignored him, tossing it aside anyway.
Honestly… he didn’t even miss the pizza-leaflet collection. And apparently he could live without that plastic souvenir snowglobe of Sahara Square too.
After four or five sips, Judy had stopped reacting to the beer, settling into the taste. Nick leaned against the wall, sipping his own drink, watching her tail wag slightly above the rim of a giant Christmas-decoration box she decided to rearrange since Christmas was around the corner.
Damn, that tail…
“Oh!” her muffled voice called from inside. She popped out, a silver tinsel looped around one ear, holding a thick bundle of envelopes.
“You seriously keep writing letters to Santa?” she teased. “That’s so sw—”
Her voice cut off.
Nick’s heart dropped.
No. Not this. Please not this.
Judy’s eyes scanned the envelopes again. The letters weren’t addressed to Santa at all.
They were addressed to him.
And the senders, every single one of them, was female.
Dozens. Maybe more.
She needed only a heartbeat to understand, and when her gaze lifted, it held something Nick couldn’t decipher—hurt? disappointment? a flicker of something more?
Or maybe that was the beer messing with his perception. His can was nearly empty, after all.
Judy quickly composed herself. Realizing her muzzle might have said something her mouth didn’t want to, she forced a smug smile, trying to bury the sting of something that could have been betrayal if they were together.
But they weren’t. Were they?
“Well, well, well…” Judy sing-songed. “Nick, you Casanova. So many girls at once? That’s a bit greedy, don’t you think?”
Nick opened his mouth—then closed it.
Because what could he possibly say?
What explanation existed for a girl you were hopelessly in love with… finding a stack of love letters from all sorts of women around Zootopia?
Why the heck hadn’t he tossed those letters out the moment he got them?
“Well, Carrots.” Nick slid his trademark cocky grin into place like a shield. “I am pretty handsome for a fox—just saying, if you haven’t noticed already.” He threw in a wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure. “And, you know… gotten kinda popular recently. Charming, thoughtful, devastatingly kind. Can’t really blame the girls for trying.”
He gave an easy shrug—one that hopefully hid the fact he was sweating bullets under his fur.
Judy inhaled, ready to fire back at his smugness, but something else caught her attention.
All the envelopes were sealed.
She lifted the stack slightly, weighing it in her paw.
“Why have you never opened them?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “Weren’t you even curious what they wrote?”
Nick chuckled under his breath and moved toward her, lowering himself to one knee beside the box she was still half-sitting in. Up close, the silver tinsel on her ear shimmered like a ridiculous little halo.
“I know what they wrote, Carrots.” He tapped one of the envelopes with a claw— the one decorated with a massive heart and an arrow drawn with almost embarrassing dedication. “You can pretty much guess the contents just from the packaging.”
Judy considered that and then frowned again.
“And why didn’t you want to get to know them?” Her question came out softer than she’d intended.
Nick met her eyes—those purple orbs he could happily drown in—and for a moment the world narrowed to just the two of them, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by old Christmas junk.
Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.
“I’m afraid I’d find naked pictures of a sphinx cat,” he deadpanned, shaking his head in terror. “All those folds, ugh. The stuff of nightmares.”
Judy snorted, as some of the tension leaked out of her shoulders. She smiled to herself, before glancing back at the fox. Nick’s paw was already reaching toward her, and for one dizzying heartbeat she thought he was about to touch her cheek.
Instead, he brushed his claws against her ear, slowly pulling the tinsel out of her head.
It brushed against her fur with a quiet rustle, and—thankfully—she hadn’t obtained the superpower of reading minds, because she would be extremely mad now: for Nick, she looked utterly, painfully, impossibly cute. Curled up in a box twice her size, ears drooping, eyes fluttering, shivering under a tickle she wasn’t prepared for.
When her little pink nose twitched and she let out an involuntary squeak, the fox almost lost it.
For the hundredth time in the last few weeks, Nick found himself on the casp of trying to kiss her.
But he couldn't. Could he?
That would definitely be something he could never take back.
So before he crossed a line he wasn’t ready to explain, Nick snapped back into his smug persona and teased:
“Wrong holiday, Hopps. We don’t have Christmas bunnies. You’ll have to wait a few more months for Easter."
For a heartbeat—right before Nick broke the moment with humor—Judy felt it.
That strange, charged tension he never voiced.
But she didn’t get the chance to linger on it.
Nick reached into the box, pulled out a huge red bauble, and studied her with an expression that suggested he was having second thoughts about everything he’d just said. Then, with theatrical precision, he hooked the ornament onto her ear.
He leaned back, nodding to himself.
“Actually, no—I changed my mind. You would make a great Christmas tree.” Another thoughtful nod. “Yep. Definitely. I’ll pay you thirty bucks a day. Make it or break it.”
Judy shot him a flat, unimpressed look as she plucked the bauble gently from her ear.
“I’m not sure you could actually survive my constant presence here, Wilde” she countered, voice low and playful.
Suddenly, silence stretched between them.
For a thin, fragile moment they remained silent as they held each other’s gaze.
Picturing.
Imagining what it would be like to share a place.
A home.
Judy broke the stare first, snapping herself out of the moment with a quick laugh—just a shade too bright, just a fraction too controlled.
“Well, as much as tempting it is, Slick,” she said, waving the bauble at him, “I haven’t had nearly enough to switch careers from police officer to Christmas decoration.”
Nick leaned one elbow on the box, grin sliding back into place.
“I’ve still got more cans, Carrots.”
But Judy only smirked, completely unshaken, and began crawling out of the box. Her tail flicked once as she stood, dusting off her shorts before scanning the room like a bunny-shaped Roomba seeking its next objective.
She returned to cleaning, slipping effortlessly back into motion, and Nick finally exhaled— not sure whether he should feel relief, or regret.
Relief that she hadn’t pushed into that moment— that single, fragile second when everything he felt for her had almost spilled out. When he’d been one heartbeat away from confessing he’d dreamed about her nearly every night that week.
Regret that he hadn’t dared to do so.
Because…
Would she ever want that too?
Did she feel even a fraction of what he did?
Had she ever imagined them as something more?
Half the city already assumed they were a couple. Some mammals even teased them about it. And they never corrected anyone.
But did that mean anything?
Was her heart even open to a relationship to begin with?
He pulled himself together.
Easy, Wilde.
She’s your partner. Your friend. Someone you trust with your life.
Don’t ruin it by slapping labels where they don’t belong.
With that half-believed reassurance, he walked over to the TV.
Music. Music should help.
He started scrolling through songs when Judy’s voice floated from the nearest chest of drawers.
“Um… Nick?” she asked, honestly surprised. “You kept this the whole time?”
He glanced back.
She was holding something small and faded—creased, softened by time, barely legible.
A receipt, very specific one.
From Jumbeaux’s Café.
The day he conned her into buying him a jumbo pop.
The first day he ever saw her.
Nick winced, heat crawling under his fur. Of all the things she could have found…
“Leave it,” he said quickly, forcing nonchalance he definitely didn’t feel. “It’s for my junk journal.”
Judy raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Nick, your entire apartment is a junk journal. And you update it daily.”
She had no idea, had she?
Of course she didn't.
How could she?
“This one…” Nick said softly, turning to her so she would see he meant it, “I’d like to keep.”
For a moment their eyes locked again.
And this time Nick broke it— because lately, staring into those cursed, beautiful purple orbs had a dangerous habit of dissolving his common sense.
He coughed lightly, slipping back into his usual act, and jerked his chin toward the TV.
“So, ‘Zoo’ by Gazelle?”
Judy squeaked—an actual, adorable squeak—and nodded so enthusiastically her ears bounced.
That song had taken over their entire week. She played it whenever she could, humming, tapping her foot, occasionally bursting into a dance move that made Nick's heart stutter. It was such a relentlessly catchy tune that the fox, to his eternal horror, caught himself humming it in the shower the other day.
But what could he do?
She loved it.
And apparently that was enough for him to love it too.
He couldn’t help thinking back to the concert they’d gone to a few days earlier. The moment Gazelle started singing about love being hard to come by, something in him had cracked open. He’d let himself relax—just for one night—and danced with Judy under neon lights and pounding bass.
Nick’d even taken a selfie hugging her tightly.
He cherished that photo embarrassingly much.
He’d even considered making it his phone wallpaper.
But friends don’t do things like that, so he didn’t.
Still… last night, that song had been his lullaby. Playing softly on repeat until it pulled him under.
But tonight he wasn’t drifting off to the song— he was wide awake, very awake, watching that beautiful bunny rear of hers bounce to the beat as she danced-cleaned her way across his living room. That white, fluffy tail worked just like a pendulum and the fox caught himself staring.
She powered through almost everything. Only his wardrobe remained— a place he would rather die than let her explore.
And of course, she was already marching toward it.
“Oh no you don’t,” Nick muttered, swooping in. He practically hauled her away by the shoulders and deposited her onto the sofa like she weighed nothing.
“Sit. Stay. Rest,” he ordered, as if commanding a particularly stubborn—yet very adorable—force of nature. "I promise I'll finish it by myself."
Judy shot him a glare, not really believing his promises, but after a while she sank into the seat, appreciating its softness.
She really did try too hard sometimes.
And this was just his apartment, not the ZPD Flat-Cleaning Olympics.
Nick pressed a cold can into her paw, shoved a slice of freshly delivered pizza into the other, and gently patted her head.
“Good bunny,” he teased with a smirk, collapsing onto the sofa beside her. He wasn’t physically tired—just mentally wrecked. Spending the whole evening with an unbearably adorable bunny while alcohol whispered all the truths he’d spent months burying…
Torture.
It had been like this for weeks now.
Every time he had a few on a work-free night, he thought about calling her and just pouring his heart out so she could finally understand what she meant to him.
He had never had the guts, though.
Now Nick switched Spotty-fy to Huluzoo and put on Ham-ilton, letting the music fill the room while they ate in comfortable silence.
“Hey, Fluff,” Nick said softly when Judy polished off her last slice.
Her ears perked instantly, eyes drifting from the pig rapping on-screen to the fox beside her.
Nick swallowed and continued.
“Thanks for putting some... woman’s touch on my flat.”
It came out pretty shy, though he hadn’t meant it that way. “You know, living alone didn’t exactly encourage me to care.”
Judy beamed at him—warm, bright, effortless.
“Don’t mention it, Slick,” she said, taking a sip of the fresh beer he’d handed her. “By the way, I didn’t do it for you.”
Nick froze, ears perking, muzzle creasing into a baffled frown.
“Not for me?” he repeated. “Don’t tell me there was a bet at the precinct…”
Judy laughed, head shaking, ears swaying.
“No, Slick. I did it for myself.”
Nick blinked at her, utterly lost. After some moments of gears going inside his head, he came to an assumption:
“Cleaning is your kink and you're getting satisfied in my place?!” he blurted, horrified.
Judy’s mouth fell open, and a heartbeat later she burst into laughing fits so hard that Nick barely managed to take the can from her paws before she almost rolled off the sofa.
“Have I ever called you a smart fox?” she managed between laughs. “I’m taking it back right now!”
Nick just sat there, deadpan, waiting her out like a storm he’d learned to weather, although seeing her this happy caused something warm grow in his chest.
When the bunny finally calmed down, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and scooted back into her spot.
“I swear, Nick, you are so dumb sometimes.” Judy shook her head, though the fondness in her eyes softened the words. Then she leaned in a little, voice warm. “I just figured that maybe, if the flat looked more inviting, the owner would more willingly invite me over.”
Nick’s heart tripped over itself, and then it sprinted, as his mind kicked into maximum overdrive, firing questions faster than he could breathe.
Why would she want to be here more often?
Was it the apartment—or the fox in it?
Was she hinting at friendship, or something dangerously close to more?
Why were her words always wrapped in ambiguity that left him crazy?
Why were her eyes that impossibly, unfairly beautiful?
And had this sofa always been so small?
All at once Judy felt too close for him to think straight or remain sane.
He must have been wearing one hell of an expression, because after a few seconds Judy’s ears dipped and she sighed, deciding he clearly needed more context.
“Look,” she began gently, “we hang out all the time. But it’s always… somewhere.”
And she was right. They were always moving—cases, cafés, the precinct, the city constantly pulling them forward instead of letting them just be.
“And as much as I don’t mind the clamor and the hustle,” she continued, “after living with dozens of my siblings for twenty-four years, I sometimes miss moments like this.” She gestured around them, paw sketching the air. “You know. Watching TV. Eating. Laughing…”
“…being alone,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
His body had gone rigid, like every muscle was locked in place. He gripped the edge of the sofa, claws pressed hard into the fabric, holding himself back from doing something that would shatter the careful balance of what "just friends" could do.
Because she was too "Judy Hopps" for him to pretend this was just another night.
She turned toward him, clearly surprised by the words he’d just spoken. For a brief second she searched his face, then met his eyes again. A shy smile curved her lips as she echoed his words:
“…being alone.”
The way she said it made the space between them feel even smaller.
Something in her muzzle suddenly seemed different.
Was that… colour in her cheeks?
Or were the beers messing with his head again?
Nick could’ve sworn that in the dim room, wrapped in the soft halo of TV light, a blush was slowly blooming across Judy’s muzzle. Christmas lights draped along the ceiling cast warm colours over her fur, turning her into something unreal—something achingly beautiful. Only seconds stood between him and leaning in.
But in the back of his hazy mind, a thought lodged itself like grit between his teeth.
Do I wanna know?
The question looped endlessly, stealing the moment from him before he could fully fall into it.
Does the feeling flow both ways?
The stakes had never been higher.
This wasn’t just a moment.
It was everything.
He could risk it all—reach out, cup her muzzle, press a soft kiss to lips already curved in a shy smile. Feel her answer it. Let his heart finally settle, safe in the paws of the one mammal who was both his best friend and the love of his life.
Or she could pull away. Leaning back, silence crashing down between them. Judy rubbing her neck, forcing an excuse, leaving too fast. Then weeks of polite distance at work. Sideways glances. The quiet destruction of the best thing that had ever happened to him.
There was a third option.
Simmering down.
He had already mastered it, after all.
A few brutal seconds of internal warfare later, that was the path he chose.
Nick was no stranger to battles like this. He’d lost count of how many nights the same question had stolen his sleep—thoughts firing like bullets, common sense scrambling for cover, his brain barely dodging the punches his heart kept throwing.
Mornings were always the worst.
Sleepless nights left his mind fogged, dreams bleeding into reality as Officer Wilde lay still like a wounded soldier, heart throbbing, aching like something torn open and left exposed.
And yet— he always got back up.
Dragging himself out of the trenches.
Pressing shaky bandages over scars that he would scratch anyway instead of letting them heal.
All with one purpose in mind.
Crawling back to her.
“Greedy bunny,” Nick drawled, snapping his smug mask back into place like armor. “What is it—don’t like sharing foxes? Or are you just jealous of my ridiculously soft sofa after months of sleeping on that brick mattress of yours and now you’re inventing excuses?”
For one fragile heartbeat, the look on her face seemed as if she’d just lost the same battle.
“Definitely the sofa,” Judy said, turning her head away and sinking deeper into the cushions, as if hiding in their softness might quiet the things neither of them dared to say.
Silence settled between them, thick and restless, tension humming just beneath the surface. Nick searched for words—and came up empty.
So he chose action instead.
Grabbing a nearby cushion, he shoved Judy deeper into the sofa, sending her sliding awkwardly until she was almost swallowed by the cushions.
“Nick!” her voice came out muffled. “Are you normal?!”
She wriggled free, ears popping back up as she emerged from the pillow pile—only to catch him laughing at her. That did it.
A spark lit in her eyes. She squared her shoulders, dramatically folding sleeves that didn’t exist, her muzzle curling into a fearless, competitive grin.
“Oh, you have no idea who you picked a fight with, Wilde.”
Nick sprang off the sofa, hopping lightly on his feet like a prizefighter, rolling his shoulders as if he were about to enter a ring.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed, adopting the voice of an overly excited sports commentator. “Tonight—and only tonight! Two heroes of Zootopia will finally determine who really wears the pants!”
He swept an arm toward himself.
“In the left corner! Absolutely well-trained! Dangerously charming! One hundred percent organic, premium-grade russet boggart—Nick Wilde in the fur! WOO!” he cheered, applauding himself shamelessly.
Judy jumped down from the sofa, ears high, eyes bright.
“And in the right corner!” Nick continued, pointing at her dramatically. “The pride of the ZPD! Small in size, lethal in determination! The bunny who puts fear into criminals five times her height, at the same time being absolutely and utterly cute—Officer Judith Hopps!”
“Cute?” she repeated, disbelief sharpening into offense as her ears shot straight up, stiff as warning flags.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
“Place your bets, folks. Because this one’s gonna be messy.”
Judy threw a cushion at him like a weapon, and before Nick could even comment, she charged like a grey, fluffy missile.
Nick dodged the first strike by sheer luck, but she was already moving again—zigzagging, bouncing, impossible to track. She slipped past him and wham—the cushion slammed into his back. He spun around just in time to take the next hit square in the muzzle.
“Hey—!”
The blow sent him stumbling, but instinct kicked in. He pushed off the floor and launched himself forward, pouncing.
Judy ducked the cushion easily—but the fox himself was another matter.
They collided, and a heartbeat later she was flat on her back, the air knocked out of her in a soft "oof". Nick landed above her, braced on all fours, his limbs planted on either side of her shoulders like a living cage.
She could’ve wriggled free easily.
But for some reasons - she didn't.
His tie slipped loose and fell over her muzzle, the floral fabric brushing her cheeks and covering her eyes, tickling enough to make her nose twitch.
“Pinned ya!” Nick crowed, grinning down at her.
When Judy finally managed to shake the tie from her muzzle, their eyes met—and in that instant they both realised it was dangerously close to something that wasn’t just play.
They lingered like that far longer than was safe, far longer than innocence allowed. Neither of them dared to move. Their hearts hammered loud enough to betray them.
“I have…” Judy whispered.
Nick’s brows knit together, confusion flickering across his muzzle as he searched her expression.
“You were wondering if I have noticed,” she went on softly, a shy warmth blooming in her eyes. “If I have noticed that you’re handsome.”
Her voice dropped, steady despite the pounding in her chest.
“I have.”
The words landed gently—but with enough force to shatter every last wall he’d built.
He didn’t think twice.
His heart had reached its limit, and before fear could reclaim him, Nick leaned down and kissed her—risking everything in one reckless, honest moment.
The dream he’d carried for months finally became real. Her lips were warm beneath his, familiar in a way that felt impossible. The kiss was impatient, a little clumsy, filled with disbelief—like he still couldn’t quite accept that he’d actually dared to do it.
And that she was still there.
And that she was kissing him back.
He didn’t want to stop. Every part of him screamed to stay right there—but he made himself pull back.
He needed to see her.
Her eyes.
Her expression.
He needed to know he hadn’t just ruined everything—that she wouldn’t retreat now, wouldn’t run, wouldn’t break his heart in a way that could never be repaired.
For one breathless second, all he could do was search her muzzle, bracing himself for the answer written there.
Judy lay there for a moment, eyes wide, breath shallow, silently confirming that what had just happened hadn’t been some kind of fantasy of his.
It was real.
She met his gaze—fearful, searching—and kept him waiting for a few long, merciless seconds.
Then the corner of her mouth curled.
Her eyes half-lidded, smug and soft all at once.
“Handsome and a good kisser.” she whispered.
That was it.
Nick scooped her up instantly, pulling her into his arms and hugging her so tight she let out a surprised little squeak, nearly losing her breath in the process.
Months collapsed in on themselves—
the doubt,
the sleepless nights,
the quiet daydreams,
the confession he’d buried because he’d been too afraid to voice it on the weather wall.
All of it dissolved in that one, undeniable truth.
When he looked at her again, what he saw in her eyes made his chest ache in the best possible way.
Happiness.
Real, unmistakable happiness.
Maybe he hadn’t been the only one dreaming about this moment.
Nick cupped her muzzle gently in his paws and leaned in to kiss her again. This time it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was sure. Grounded. Because now—finally—he knew.
He let himself sink into it, fingers threading into the soft fur of her head, holding her as if the world might tilt without the bunny there. His tongue licked her lips as it begged them to part, and then shoved over her palette, Nick drinking her in, tasting her, feeling her much smaller tongue brushing over his fangs and mouth.
The warmth blooming low in his belly surged, spreading fast and reckless, threatening to drown out what little control he had left as his senses blurred at the edges.
He needed a pause, a breath, anything, before instinct took over.
Before his paws betrayed him and wandered somewhere she might not be ready to welcome them.
So he tried to pull back— but Judy wouldn’t let him.
Her lips stayed pressed to his, her paws sliding up to his ears, tugging gently but insistently, as if closeness itself were the only thing that mattered. As if distance simply wasn’t an option anymore.
And that was it.
Nick lifted her without another thought, careful but unhesitating, her legs instinctively curling around his waist as he carried them to the sofa. He cleared the cushions aside and lowered them together, never once looking away from her half-lidded gaze—filled with something he’d never seen before.
A glimmer he’d never known in anyone else’s eyes.
Desire.
Seated together, her weight warm and real against him, he laced his fingers through hers, grounding himself there as he kissed her again—slower now, deeper, letting the moment stretch instead of rushing toward its edge.
Judy’s voice was barely a breath.
“D-do you think I should go...?”
She already knew the answer she wanted.
Nick smiled, thumb brushing her paw.
“I hate seeing you leave,” he said quietly. “I always do.”
Then he added, his look hopeful and loving.
“I was hoping you’d stay.”
Her smile answered him before her words did.
“I will.”
That night held everything they’d been saving for so long.
Those three words they were afraid to say before.
The kisses reserved for the right moment.
The warmth of paws finally allowed to linger.
Because if nights weren’t meant for things you couldn’t say in the daylight…
what were they made for?