Archive of Our Own

Thanks to their work on two of the most far-reaching cases the city had seen in years, that Saturday finally belonged to them.

It was a rarity. At the ZPD, days off seldom aligned with weekends, but Bogo—against all odds—had decided to reward them with two Saturdays off a month, as long as the job allowed it. Nick figured even the gruffest of Cape Buffalos had their moments of emotional weakness.

“I feel almost guilty,” Judy admitted, her ears drooping slightly in a way she couldn't quite mask. “Like I’m not even allowed to enjoy it.”

Nick only shrugged, his muzzle pulling into a crooked grin.

“Relax. We’ve earned it. Between the two of us, we're practically propping up the city's entire judicial system. If anything, they should be doubling our dental plan.”

Judy hesitated, her gaze drifting towards the window.

“Sometimes I think I should just swing by the station,” she murmured. “Just… you know. In case.”

Nick shot her a dry, sideways look.

“‘In case’?”

She huffed, a small smile tugging at her mouth as if the admission embarrassed her. “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

Nick shook his head slowly. “Only you would beg for overtime and somehow find a way to get our day off revoked.”

Our.

Because of course if Judy went, he’d follow. Day off or not. They could strip the job of every benefit it had left, and he’d still show up just for the hours spent at her side.

Judy sighed in mock defeat, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “Fine. It’s just hard to unplug.”

“If you show up, Bogo’s just going to bury us in paperwork,” Nick said lightly, knowing exactly which buttons to push.

Judy made a face. “I hate filing.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Nick asked, satisfied. “Ready to actually enjoy our day off?”

And just like that, those Saturdays became sacred. It was a feeling not unlike what a kit feels as the weekend edges closer, ready to leave school behind for a few days, anticipating that rare, quiet peace where nothing is required except to simply be.

And today is a particularly momentous Saturday.

Because Nicholas Piberius Wilde was going to tell Judith Laverne Hopps that he is completely and irrevocably in love with her.

It wasn’t a decision he’d made overnight. He had been planning it for months—though, in truth, he had spent those same months finding reasons to delay. Fear had a peculiar way of stretching time.

“Nick.”

Judy’s voice slices through his spiraling thoughts. He looks down at her to find one eyebrow arched in amusement.

“Yeah, Carrots?” he replies, his voice light and practiced, forcing himself out of the mental labyrinth threatening to swallow him whole.

“Do you actually know what you’re getting?” she asks, tilting her head towards the menu displayed over the counter. “Or are you planning to stand there and slowly drive everyone behind us insane?”

There is a teasing edge to her tone. She knows him too well. She knows exactly how much indecisive customers usually tested his patience. The realization that she is so attuned to his personal gripes sent a quick, warm rush through his chest.

“An Americano, please,” he tolds the bored-looking cheetah at the register.

Judy frowns for a split second before rolling her eyes and nudging him with her elbow.

“So basic,” she teases. “You can have an Americano any day back at the precinct.”

Nick hums noncommittally.

Judy, meanwhile, orders something called a Berry-Root smoothie and adds a medium-sized raspberry tart that looks far too elegant to be eaten without a sense of misplaced guilt.

The café itself is relatively new, and it shows in every curated detail. The scent of fresh-cut wood still lingers in the air, warm light spills from minimalist fixtures, and lush plants trail gently from the shelves as if they’ve been arranged with surgical precision. It isn’t the kind of place Nick would wander into on his own; if he’s being honest, the whole vibe feels a little pretentious.

Judy, on the other hand, has been wanting to visit for weeks.

They take a table upstairs, seeking refuge from the bustle below. It’s an attempt to escape the sounds that remind them the city hasn’t stopped just because they have: the rhythmic click of footsteps, the hum of distant traffic, and the occasional, impatient blare of a horn.

They sit side by side. It's nothing unusual, nothing remarkable on the surface. Except that today—and every day, if he’s being honest—Nick notices their familiar proximity with a doting sort of burn. His tail gives a quick, involuntary flick before he can suppress it.

“It’s really cute, don’t you think?” Judy says, already pulling out her phone to snap a picture.

Little things like that remind him that places in Zootopia which barely register to him can feel wonderful and new through her eyes.

Nick glances around, then back at her, watching as she photographs the café’s details with enthusiasm. Today, she’s wearing an olive-green knit blouse slightly loose at the sleeves paired with fitted denim jeans.

Those thighs are going to be the death of him someday.

“Yeah,” he says easily, his voice steady despite the chaos in his chest. “It kind of is.”

Judy smiles and tugs him closer for a selfie. After taking it, she studies the screen, her smile widening as she clearly decides it’s post-worthy for Zoostagram.

She is smiling and comments on trivial things like filters, lighting, or how Clawhauser will absolutely comment within minutes even if he’s supposed to be working the front desk.

How can anyone be so effortlessly, devastatingly beautiful?

How can someone like her exist at all?

How has the universe decided he is allowed to stand this close to her?

Sometimes—don’t lie, Wilde, you think it at least ten times a day, he mocks himself—he feels an overwhelming urge to spin in place and laugh like an idiot, giddy with affection, with love, with the sheer force of what he feels for his small, extraordinary bunny.

Except she isn’t his. Loving her with the power of a thousand suns doesn’t mean she belongs to him.

And God—what a pain in the ass.

As always the realization isn't sharp or sudden. It’s just so massive and constant that it feels like it could crack him open from the inside, leaving every bone aching in its wake. It feels like it might make him burst. And that is why, at least once a month, he finds himself overwhelmed by the urge to tell Judy how he feels.

Mostly, that impulse would come on nights after an interaction that had felt unusually… electric. A brush of her paw against his when handing over a file, a shared laugh over a suspect’s ridiculous alibi, the quick spark when they shared a look. Each one left him buzzing with unreal optimism. An intensity that could probably knock down the concrete of the very building he lived in.

It’s a borrowed enthusiasm, like the kind Judy seems to carry with her twenty-four hours a day. The kind that makes her presence impossible to ignore, even from blocks away. Whenever that overwhelming feeling hits, Nick promises himself that without fail, the very next day, or the next week, or very soon... he will say it.

Judy, I’m completely, irreversibly in love with you. I could list everything I find irresistible about you and still add something new every single day.

Like the tilt of your head when you’re curious. The sound of your laugh. How your ears flick just right when you’re focused. The curve of your smile in every context. Everything about you is magnetic.

“Wanna make this café one of our regular spots?”

Judy pulls him out of his thoughts just as a friendly mule brings over their order. Nick feigns offense, placing a paw dramatically over his heart.

“Replace Jumbeaux’s Café with this? Not a chance.”

“Chill,” Judy laughs, sliding the pastry between them. “Our Friday dates are still at Jumbeaux’s, but I like this place too. Admit it, this raspberry tart looks, and probably tastes, amazing.”

“Hmph, yeah,” Nick says, nibbling a piece. “It’s good. But you know? Something’s missing. A special flavor. Maybe… exquisite elephant snot?”

“Ugh, gross!” Judy cackles, playing along. “Elephant snot flavor… only found in Jumbeaux’s toppings. My favorite, no doubt. But besides that, I’d never trade our Friday dates there for anything.”

“Because of the bargain on the massive ice cream?”

Her shoulder bumps his as she breaks off a piece of the tart. “Partly. But mostly because that’s where I met my favorite person in the whole world.”

Oh, do you hear that? The sound of Nick’s entire chest exploding with warmth, as if it has grown too big for his body? Every fiber of him feels so alive and soft at once, like sunlight spilling over the first green shoots of spring. He could swear the sound of it echoes beyond the city limits. An explosion so enormous it should be visible from the clouds, a small chaos of pure affection he can’t contain.

Sometimes, Nick wishes for a memory-player—why hasn’t someone invented that yet?—so he could watch that exact day on repeat: the day his life truly changed. The day he first met Judy Hopps. Nothing about the morning of that day suggested it would leave a permanent mark.

Nick remembers waking up that day being who he had been for two decades: a sarcastic fox who cared about nothing, whose mind held space for no one. And then, a freak stroke of luck hit him square in the face. That day, he gained a friend. His best friend. And even that word barely scratches the surface of what Judy Hopps has come to mean to him. His partner-in-crime, his chaos, his… the goddamn love of his life.

God, thinking back on how he treated her that first day—mocking her, calling her ideals naïve—makes him wince. To be fair, his cynicism had been valid; she’d been standing there, moral high ground fully engaged, holding a damn fox-repellent spray. He’d pushed every one of her buttons. And yet, here they are.

He wants to go back and shake that version of himself, slap him, and laugh. “Buddy, once she’s in your life, you’re toast. You’ll be thinking about her every second, even when she’s right there next to you. You’ll treasure every tiny gift, hoard every memory like gold, and lose hours just staring at whatever she touched last. You’ll practically build a shrine in your home with a framed photo of the two of you. Every corner that holds something of hers will be perfect, untouched by dust.

I know, I know—right now you think you’d say anything, no matter how biting or offensive, just to make her move her fluff tail somewhere far away from you. But guess what? Eventually, you’ll be too terrified to say a word. You’re going to be so hopelessly hooked, so far gone, that expressing yourself will feel like an impossible climb. You’ll be so 'head over heels' that the mere thought of hurting her, even by accident, will paralyze you. You’ll lose your edge, Wilde, because she’ll become the one thing in this world you’d never dare to break.”

“Come on, Nick, try it.” Judy slides the plate closer to him.

Nick pushes it back gently with a paw. “Thanks, Carrots, but I’m really not that hungry.”

Judy’s ears droop ever so slightly, a tiny flicker of disappointment. “Not good?” she asks softly, tilting her head.

“No, it’s delicious. Really. I just… I feel pretty full.”

“Full?” She frowns, clearly confused. “But you’ve barely eaten anything today.”

Nick tries not to run a nervous paw over the back of his neck. It’s not the food, he thinks. It’s how every day I get closer to just dropping to one knee, pulling my heart out, and telling you how completely, utterly you own it. Every little thing you do makes me want to worship you, right here, right now…

He looks at the tart again. Judy had clearly ordered a bigger portion than she’d normally eat, likely because she knows he loves a generous serving and they always share.

“Judy, it’s delicious, I promise,” he gives her a reassuring smile. “I’m just not that hungry for some reason. Don’t worry. My coffee is enough for now. We can take the rest to go and split it later, okay?”

“Okay.” Judy blinks and nods. “But… you’re sure? Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn't I be? It’s Saturday and our day off. Of course I’m okay.”

Nick’s mouth says that, but his mind screams: I’m everything but okay. My stomach is in knots because today I want to tell you.

Suddenly, Nick thinks: Maybe now. Maybe this is it. No big, dramatic moment. No flashing lights, no danger, no case-breaking revelation. Just a shared table, a half-eaten tart, and Judy slowly working through her smoothie. Ordinary and random.

I could say it right now.

The thought crashes into him. His chest tightens as his pulse stumbles, loud enough that he’s half-convinced she can hear it. It’s that specific kind of vertigo that comes right before something irreversible.

His mouth opens and then—

“Hey, did Nibbles tell you about the podcast thing?” Judy asks mid-sip, as if she hasn’t just yanked him back from the edge of an emotional cliff.

Nick deflates instantly but not in a bad way. If anything, relief seeps in alongside the disappointment.

“About what, exactly?”

“She’s thinking about inviting us on for an episode,” Judy says. “To interview us about the Night Howlers. And about Gary.”

Nick leans back slightly. “Yeah. I remember something about that.”

“She already recorded one with him, I think,” Judy continues, idly stirring her straw. “I don’t know, Nick. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I don’t really want to tell her listeners everything.”

He hums in agreement.

“I know Nibbles wouldn’t push us to say anything we don’t want to,” Judy adds, her voice dropping. “But still.”

Nick nods, knowing she hasn’t quite made peace with microphones since that press conference that split them.

And it isn’t as if Nibbles Maplestick’s podcast is a small operation anymore. Ever since word got out that she’d collaborated with Officers Wilde and Hopps, her audience has skyrocketed. Civilians, amateur detectives, conspiracy enthusiasts, all of them suddenly invested in every mystery surrounding Zootopia.

Nibbles had resisted Spotify for the longest time, muttering something about “corporate platforms muting the truth,” before finally giving in to reach a wider audience. Her website still hosts the deeper, unfiltered theories. Spotify, at least, stays more digestible. “The weakest, most boring animals are the ones on that app,” she’d said once.

Nick leans in closer, his voice a reassuring hum. “If you want, we could just talk about what we learned. What we’d do differently. Like the professional stuff. We don’t have to spill our souls or anything.”

“Oh, yes, that might work better. At least for me.” Judy looks relieved and gently punches Nick on the arm. “I don't want it to turn into a spectacle, so I like that option.”

Either way, they both know their lives are already something of a spectacle. If you don't know the acclaimed Officers Hopps and Wilde, the so-called dynamic duo who’d set aside their differences and cracked two of the most important cases in the city’s history, then you’re probably living under a rock. Their names are splashed across screens and headlines alike.

Which is exactly why Nick finds it so strange that no one ever seems to recognize them during undercover operations. You’d think being that well-known would make disguises harder, yet somehow, when they dress down and act like regular mammals, they vanish into the crowd.

“I still can’t believe this keeps working,” Judy had whispered once, equal parts amazed and amused, during one of those assignments.

On that particular day, Nick had very deliberately suggested again they go undercover as a sweet, newly married couple with their beautiful child. Who, as always, was Finnick. Judy wore a pleated tennis skirt paired with a sleeveless athletic top that hugged her frame just right. Nick could barely even remember his own outfit from that day; his focus had been elsewhere.

They’d gone out as elderly grandmothers, or oversized fast-food mascots like an ice cream and french fries, but Nick always found himself particularly enthusiastic about any operation that required Judy to play his wife.

“Don’t think you’re fooling anyone, idiot,” Finnick had muttered from his side, eyes sharp and voice dripping with mockery.

“Shut the fuck up, pal,” Nick had shot back easily.

He was smiling like an absolute fool, his gaze drifting toward Judy as she directed incoming patrol cars. She looked focused while the sunlight was catching in her fur as if it had every right to be there.

Nick shakes the memory away and takes a casual sip of his coffee. He doesn’t even know why he ordered an Americano when he prefers sweet and cold a thousand times over bitter and hot. Ah, love really does make you stupid.

“We could always stick to her new favorite theories,” Nick suggests lightly. “The underwater country. The Atlantis stuff.”

Judy's ears lift as she considers it. “Her audience would absolutely eat that up.”

“Low risk,” he grins. “High conspiracy appeal.”

She takes another sip of her smoothie, the straw making a soft, rhythmic sound, then beams. “That actually makes me a little more excited about being her special guest.”

“Anything to avoid saying no to my best friend’s podcast,” Nick adds, shrugging as if it were no big deal.

Judy lets out an exaggerated, offended little noise. “Best friend? Wow. And here I thought that spot was already taken.”

Nick doesn’t miss a beat. He lifts his cup in a mock toast. “Yep. She’s the only one who’ll listen to me ramble about the sheep theory.”

“The sheep theory?” Judy asks, already biting back a smile.

“Yeah, Carrots. That theory,” he states solemnly. “Secret sheep cabal and world domination. Wool-based power structures.”

Judy laughs, shaking her head. “And this is all backed by… what, exactly?”

Nick leans in just a little, lowering his voice as if sharing classified information.

“You haven’t seen the signs? Crop circles,” he explains, tracing vague shapes in the air with his paw. “Except not circles. More like… suspiciously eaten patches. Grazers, eh? Sheep did it. Coincidence? I think not.”

She snorts. “So what are we talking here? Subtle influence? Or a full-on sheep apocalypse?”

Nick’s eyes light up instantly. “Oh, total apocalypse. It's an old internet theory. Sheep already embedded in key industries. Like finance and fashion.”

“Of course,” Judy nods along, matching his serious tone. “The wool lobby.”

Nick clicks his tongue. “See? You don’t take it seriously. That’s why Nibbles is the only one I can talk to about anything.”

Judy hums, clearly amused, stirring her smoothie. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

It’s an obvious lie.

In truth, Nick can talk to Judy about almost anything. It is rare for them to run out of things to say, and even when they do, the silence is comfortable. It never lasts long anyway, always broken by an observation, a shared joke, or a look that only makes sense to the two of them. There’s no one else who makes him feel so effortlessly at home.

There are still things he struggles to say, though. Parts of himself he hasn’t fully handed over yet like the messier corners of his past. But even that seems possible with her. Not easy, not painless, just… possible.

He is trying. What happened at the Weather Wall proved that much. He cracked the door open just a sliver, letting her see something real and fragile. One step at a time, right?

So, yes, he can talk to Judy about everything. Everything except the way loving her has worked its way into his being, noisy and permanent, as if it were always meant to live there. They both know there is no one else in the world who matters more to them than each other, but Judy truly has no idea just how much power she holds over him.

Unfortunately, Nibbles does.

It happened not long after the whole Lynxley mess. A few weeks later, Judy and Nibbles were stuck following security protocols to ensure Gary’s venom was completely out of their systems. Both insisted they felt fine, that the antidote had worked perfectly, but the doctors were relentless. They feared long-term side effects, citing Bogo as an example, since a mammal of his size had been so severely affected.

“So, Nicholas Wilde,” Nick remembers the beaver saying in a low, conspiratorial voice, slumped into the plastic chair next to him in the hospital waiting room,

Nibbles had just stepped out from her weekly check-up, looking entirely too energetic for someone who’d spent the last hour being poked by needles. She slumped into the plastic chair next to him in the hospital waiting room, swinging her tail with energy.

“About what, Maplestick?” Nick asked, closing the magazine he’d been flipping through to give her his attention.

He looked perfectly relaxed even though his ears were still twitching, straining to catch any sound from the exam room where Judy was being checked. He’d already tried the past weeks with his usual charm on the nursing staff to get inside, but they’d shut him down. Now, he was just playing the waiting game.

“You know,” Nibbles nudged him with her elbow, a sharp, knowing glint in her eyes. “'Bout your grand master plan. When ya gonna finally tell 'er?”

Nick didn't flinch tough his stomach did a twist, so he put a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his muzzle. He didn't hide behind the magazine this time; he just looked out at the hallway.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talkin’ about,” he replied without any bite to it.

“Ya don’t?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock confusion. “C’mon, Nicholas. We’re past the secret agent act, aren't we? It’s a bad look on ya.”

“Nop. Not a clue.”

“Really?” Nibbles grinned, leaning into his space like they were back in the middle of a case. “What 'bout that little heart-to-heart we had back in the joint, huh? That don't ring a bell? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, Wilde—for a guy who plays it cool, you sure sounded like a mammal who’d burn the whole city down just to keep her safe.”

Nick’s tail gave a slow, thoughtful thump against the chair. He didn't deny it, just let the words hang there between them.

“You were real chatty back in that cell,” she continued, her voice dropping to a low, friendly whisper. “All that talk 'bout how you couldn’t help her 'cause you cared too much... how you couldn’t stand the thought of losin' her. Ringin' any bells now, Romeo? Or was that just the prison air talkin'?”

“Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice, Nibbles. You ever think of that?” Nick added with a wink, trying to regain his footing.

Nibbles snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, right. Look, Wilde, I’ve spent my life diggin’ up secrets like government cover-ups, reptile societies, the whole deal. I’m an expert at spottin’ things animals try to hide, but you two? This isn’t even a conspiracy. It’s just… blatant. Even a blind mole in a snowstorm could see what’s goin’ on there.”

“That we are partners?” he asked, emphasizing the word with a naturalness. “Because that’s exactly what we are. We’re the best partners Zootopia has ever seen.”

“Don’t be cute. I mean a couple,” Nibbles countered, leaning in with a smirk. “After what I saw at the Weather Wall? The way you two were lookin’ at each other? I was halfway ready to start lookin’ for a wedding gift. I figured you’d at least be livin’ together by now.”

Nick let out a dry, airy laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve been listening to too many of your own podcasts, Nibbles. That was situational intensity. Adrenaline. You know, the kind of stuff that happens when you’re about to lose your best friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Nibbles said, her tone dripping with disbelief. “So, the part in the cell where you said she was the only one who matters more than anyone else in the world? Was that just the ‘adrenaline’ talkin’ too?”

Nick opened his mouth to fire back a sarcastic retort, something about he was just being dramatic but the words die on his tongue.

He looked at the door of the exam room. He thought about how his lungs felt like they were collapsing when he saw Judy almost fall at the HoneyMoon Lodge. He thought about the anti-venom pen and the absolute, paralyzing terror of a world without her.

His shoulders dropped just a fraction. The smug mask didn't fall off, but it definitely cracked.

“Okay, fine,” Nick mumbled, finally surrendering. He looks at Nibbles with a gaze that is dangerously close to being sincere. “So I’m a little… invested. Happy now?”

“‘A little’?” Nibbles cackled, giving him another nudge. “Nicholas, you’re drowning. And the best part is, you’re not even tryin’ to swim to shore, hah.”

Nick sighed, a small, defeated smile appeared. “Yeah, well. Don’t go putting that on your website, or I’ll have to sue you for defamation of character.”

“My lips are sealed,” she promised, though her eyes are still dancing with mischief. “But seriously, Nick. Just tell her.”

Nick looked at the door of the exam room again, his expression unreadable. “It’s not that simple. We have a good thing going. The best. If I mess this up, there’s no going back to just being ‘partners.’”

“Ok, then, keep playin’ it safe,” Nibbles shrugged, her voice dripping with intentional boredom. “I’m sure ya’ve got, what? Another ten, thirty years of pinin’ in silence? Yeah, ya’ve got plenty of time to waste.”

Nick let out a short laugh, his gaze fixed on the sterile floor tiles. “In this job? We’re lucky to get until the end of the shift. I know we only have one life. I’m just not in a hurry to find out what happens If I risk everything and lose.”

Nibbles stood up, adjusting her overall. She leaned in closer to him, her voice a sharp blade that didn’t need to be loud to cut deep.

“Then don’t,” she said, her eyes locking onto his for a second. “But livin’ your whole life behind a mask 'cause ya’re scared of a 'no'? That’s just a slow way of dyin’, Nicholas. Don’t be a coward. She’s worth the risk, and ya know it.”

Without waiting for a comeback, she turned and walked toward the exit, giving him a casual wave of her paw over her shoulder as she disappeared through the glass doors.

Since that day, Nibbles had made it her personal mission to play his uninvited conscience. She would occasionally flood his phone with links to blogs and relationship forums with articles titled “How to Confess to Your Best Friend Without Blowing Up Your Life” or “Signs She’s Into You: A Guide for the Terrified.” Whenever they hung out with Gary, she would wait until Judy was distracted to shoot him a pointed wink or a thumbs-up. She’d even threatened to snap a photo of him staring at Judy just to post it online with a caption like: “Why can’t Officer Wilde’s eyes stay off Officer Hopps? Local Fox caught pining for his best friend.”

Nick knew she’d never actually do it, but the mere threat was enough to make his fur stand on end.

So, yeah. Nibbles is on it. Finnick knows too, and Nick has a sinking feeling Gary figured it out a long time ago. Probably Clawhauser. And Bogo and Fangweyer too. Even Hoggbottom likely has a hunch—that soft, uncharacteristic smile she gave Nick while handing back the remains of the carrot pen says it all. Nick must’ve looked pathetically happy at that moment.

God, everyone at the precinct probably knows. 

It’s a terrifying thought. He’s spent his whole life being the most invisible mammal in the room when he wants to be, a master of the long con, yet here he is. Maybe he hasn't been as subtle as he thought. That level of exposure makes him sick.

It reminded him of a Tuesday a few weeks back. Judy was way over at the front desk, deep in conversation with Clawhauser. She was far enough away that she couldn't hear a word, but close enough to remain the center of Nick’s universe. Meanwhile, Nick was supposedly receiving a briefing from Bogo. Fangmeyer was there too, leaning against a desk with a look that was far too observant.

Nick wasn't listening to a word about the logistics of the Savanna Central patrol. He was completely mesmerized, watching the way her paw subconsciously smoothed out her vest, the determined set of her jaw, and that tiny, rhythmic tap of her foot against the floor that meant she was three steps ahead of everyone else.

“Wilde!” Bogo’s voice boomed, like a gunshot.

Nick snapped his head back, his eyes clearing as he found himself staring into the Chief’s massive, unimpressed face. Fangmeyer was stifling a laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“Yes, Chief,” Nick said instantly, his voice smooth and devoid of any hitch. He didn't even blink. He just tilted his head with that classic charm of his. “My apologies. I was visualizing the patrol route in a mental mapping. It's a high-level scout technique, you wouldn't understand.”

Bogo grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only thing you were mapping is a path to the front desk, Wilde. Focus. The city doesn't pay you to daydream.”

“He’s right, Nick,” Fangmeyer chimed in with a wicked grin, stepping closer. “If you stare at her any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole right through the back of her vest. And I don’t think the ZPD budget covers ‘romantic laser vision’ damage. It's getting embarrassing for the rest of us.”

Nick felt the heat rising behind his ears but he didn't let his expression flicker. He didn't fidget. He just gave a slow, effortless shrug, letting the comment slide off him like water.

“I have no idea what you’re implying, Fangmeyer,” Nick countered, his tone smooth and perfectly nonchalant. “But if you’re that bored, I’m sure Bogo has a pile of parking tickets, maybe you could help with it.”

“You’ve got it bad Wilde.” Fangmeyer muttered as he turned away smiling.

“Get out of here,” Bogo ordered, waving his arm. But as Nick turned to leave, the Chief added in a low voice “And Wilde… focus. This city’s a mess, and I can’t have you tripping over your own tail just because your partner is in the same room. Save the daydreaming for when you’re off the clock.”

So, yeah, there’s a chance everyone knows or at least suspects. Maybe even the janitor. It’s a terrifying thought for someone who spent more than twenty years mastering the art of being invisible if he wanted. 

Nick tried to tell himself that being so easy to read was just a side effect of the job. If you spend eight hours a day with the same mammals, they’re bound to notice when your "unbothered" mask starts to slip. To Nick, Judy was like the sun—a force so bright and constant in his life that it felt statistically impossible for anyone standing nearby not to see him orbiting around her. He figured that if Bogo and the guys had clocked his feelings, it was simply due to proximity. They spend five days a week watching him head over heels. 

But Pawbert Lynxley was a different story.

He was a complete stranger, yet he was living proof that anyone doesn't need a forty-hour week to find Nick’s jugular. All it took was a shred of common sense and a predator’s eye for weakness—and honestly, not even that much of it. The son of a bitch just knew. With a single glance, he saw exactly what Nick was: a fox whose entire universe was anchored to a stubborn rabbit.

Nick wouldn't go as far as to call it terrifying; that felt too vulnerable. But chilling? Yeah, that fits. It was chilling how Pawbert diagnosed Nick's absolute devotion like it was a neon sign blinking in the dark. He just saw the way Nick looked at Judy and that was enough to know exactly how to destroy him. It was the calculated way Pawbert at the Weather Wall had engineered every word around that one singular weakness, proving that he didn't need to know Nick to understand how to break him.

To be honest, Nick hasn't really stopped to think about Pawbert much—at least, not during the day. He reserves those thoughts for the hollow hours of the night when his brain decides to play back every "what if" in high definition.

Nick and Judy haven’t talked about it much either. Even though they’ve become much more open and honest with each other, it’s obvious that it costs Judy a lot to revisit that moment; it’s hard for her to talk about how she was so close to dying, and worse, how she was completely helpless to stop it.

He still remembers one afternoon while they were out on patrol, when she told him everything that happened during that gap after the Honeymoon Lodge, when they were separated. She had this nervous little smile on her face as she spoke, but he could see her tensing up with every word.

“It was fast. He’s a feline, after all,” She shifted her paws, one automatically clasping the other as she spoke. “One second I was smiling, just so happy to see you on the security cameras. and the next, I was on the floor. Paralyzed. I couldn't even move my fingers. I barely felt my body.”

Nick wishes he could say that as he listened to her, he only felt a surge of that dark, protective fury—the kind of "savage" energy that makes you want to hunt something down and rip its throat out. And sure, the fire was there. 

However, the truth was far less heroic. While she spoke, a shaking, hollowed-out terror took root in his gut, spreading like ice through his veins. Hearing Judy describe that paralysis—that total, suffocating helplessness where she couldn't move even a single finger while death stood over her—didn't make him feel powerful or protective. It made him feel agonizingly small. It was a desperate, primal dread, the kind that makes your lungs seize up because you're suddenly aware of how fragile the only thing you truly care about is.

Oh, and Pawbert, that the bastard had done his homework, too. He’d thrown Nick’s own words back at him—repeating that joke about the guards and the whole "not worth dying for" line like he’d been there in the shadows. What a meddling, intrusive freak. 

He’s not a fool. Based on the things he’s heard from Judy and the brief interaction he witnessed between them at the gala, Nick is certain of one thing: in one way or another, Pawbert had tried to present himself to her as a perfected version of Nick Wilde. He has no hard evidence, no smoking gun, but his gut has been screaming it at him ever since.

Setting aside the monstrous, searing flare of jealousy that had nearly consumed him at the gala when he saw Pawbert flirting with her—the sharp pain of imagining Judy actually feeling something for the lynx made his mouth taste like ash and rendered any rational thought impossible— and beyond stealing his phrases, Pawbert had figured out the only thing he needed to destroy Nick: the fact that his entire reason for living was Judy. When Nick is spiraling at night, he can't help but think that the lynx was fully aware that telling him she was dead would be enough. He knew that the mere thought would be enough to make Nick want to die, too, because it was the one thing that would utterly break him.

The memory of the cold wind feels so real for a second, but the sudden clink of a spoon against porcelain snaps the tether.

The frost of the Weather Wall vanishes, replaced by the warm glow of the café and the low hum of the background music. Nick blinks, his thumb tracing the rim of his coffee cup as the ghost of the blizzard fades away. He’s not in the snow anymore. He’s here and Judy too.

Bogo’s voice from that Tuesday briefing echoes one last time in his mind: “Save the daydreaming for when you’re off the clock.”

Well, Chief, Nick thinks with a bitter streak of irony, I’m off the clock now. And the daydreaming is only getting worse.

Judy scraps the bottom of her cup with her straw, trying to get the last bits of her fruit smoothie. She sets it down with a satisfied pop and checks her phone.

“Okay, if I have any more sugar, I’m going to start doing laps around the fountain,” she says, already sliding out of the booth. “Ready to go?”

Nick sets the mug down, finishing his coffee. “Lead the way, Carrots.”

They toss their respective shares of the bill onto the table with practiced coordination and Judy saves the leftovers of the tart in a little pouch in her hips. As they reach the café exit, Nick steps ahead just enough to catch the glass door, holding it open with a slight bow of his head.

Judy rolls her eyes, but she looks genuinely touched, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Such a gentleman.”

“As I always am,” Nick replies, offering her a theatrical, sweeping bow, one arm tucked across his chest while the other curved out in a dramatic flourish as he leans forward.

They walk a few blocks from the café until the street opens up into the sprawling greenery of Savanna Central Park. Just three days ago, they were here in full uniform, leaning against a patrol car and watching the cranes lift heavy stage equipment. They had spent their entire shift circling the perimeter, making sure no one tripped over the tangled power lines or harassed the decorators.

Tonight, the park is unrecognizable.

It’s the Glow Bloom Festival, a short-lived celebration centered around the rare, bioluminescent flora at the Rainforest District. The park is bathed in an ethereal glow of deep purples, electric blues, and soft pinks. Stalls are draped in shimmering fabrics, selling everything from floral-infused teas to glowing pendants.

“Much better than when we were guarding the trash cans on Wednesday, huh?” Judy asks, her voice bright with excitement. She is practically vibrating, her nose taking in the sweet and exotic scent of the blooms.

“Speak for yourself,” Nick replies, though his eyes are soft. “I was starting to form a real emotional bond with that dumpster near the north exit. But I suppose this is a slight improvement.”

Towering birch arches line the walkways, draped in glowing Spanish Moss that spills down like neon blue curtains. Above, heavy cables suspend giant glass orbs filled with Ghost Mushrooms, bathing the crowd in a steady emerald light. The park is a maze of vibrant stalls: some sell steaming cups of hibiscus cider, while others display hand-carved charms and glowing Moonflowers that trail from wooden platforms like waterfalls. The air is a thick, sweet mix of humid jungle mist and toasted sugar, vibrating with the low, distant hum of the festival’s music.

They wander through the glowing paths. Nick glances sideways. Under the colorful glow, Judy looks sharper, more vivid. The light catches the silver in her fur, highlighting the constant and restless energy she always carries. 

“Is this your first time coming here?” Judy asks, observing everything with wide-eyed interest. “You didn't look very familiar with the layout while we were patrolling.”

“Something like that. To be honest, I always preferred sticking to the outskirts of festivals like this.”

“Why? The deeper you go, the more beautiful it gets,” Judy reaches out to catch a stray, glowing spore drifting from a nearby orchid, her eyes reflecting its soft light.

“Because it was easier for them to fall for the 'Lost Traveler' routine,” Nick admits, a ghost of his old hustle-smile playing on his lips. “Finnick and I used to set up near the exits. Mammals are always more distracted when they’re leaving. Pockets full of souvenirs, heads full of sugar, and far too tired to notice a fox 'struggling' to find his way home.”

Judy shakes her head as she lets the glowing spore float away. “You really had a trick for everything, didn't you?” she looks back at the path ahead, her expression softening into a peaceful smile. 

Then, something cuts through the festive atmosphere.

It’s a sound no tourist or civilian in the park notices—a faint, high-pitched wail buried under the thumping bass of the music and the chatter of the crowds. But to a pair of trained ears, it’s as loud as a gunshot.

Nick sees Judy’s ears stiffen first. They rotate in perfect unison, locking onto the frequency of a distant siren, slicing through the bioluminescent haze of the festival. Her entire posture shifts; the relaxed, "civilian" Judy vanishes, replaced in a heartbeat by the officer who is always on the clock.

That’s the part that desperates him.

Nick doesn't hate her bravery—how could he? It’s the very thing that makes her Judy. But he hates how much he admires it, mostly because it’s the same reckless streak that keeps him up at night. They had laid it all bare back at the Weather Wall, where he’d told her then that he’d only joined the ZPD because he wanted to be part of a pack. Her pack. Nick had realized—it wasn’t a big surprise—that he would rather jump into the mouth of a volcano with her than let her face the heat alone.

He’d die for her; he didn't even have to think about it. But it was her safety he refused to sacrifice. Seeing her in danger was a sight his soul simply wasn't built to endure.

Looking back, Nick considers it a miracle he didn't suffer a literal heart attack during all the Lynxley thing. That entire investigation had been a frantic cycle of Judy throwing herself into the line of fire and Nick lunging after her, desperate to prevent her from proving her "hero complex" right.

For over a decade, Nick had lived as a conman, selfish and responsible for no one. However, being Judy’s partner had stripped him of that luxury. She is so chaotic in her pursuit of justice, so utterly devoid of a sense of self-preservation, that he’d been forced to become the anchor. Sometimes he wanted to beg her to run away, to just leave the world’s problems to someone else, but he knew she’d refuse. And he knew he’d follow her anyway.

He remembers how badly he’d messed up during the case, snapping at her that the investigation wasn't worth dying for. It had been a lie born of pure terror. Because he was too scared to be vulnerable, he couldn't find the words to say: “I love you so much that I can't breathe when I think about you hurting.” 

Judy does it for the world, for the truth. But Nick does it for her. Because as much as he fears for her life, he hates the idea of seeing her spirit broken or devastated even more.

He remembers the cold and suffocating water of Marsh Market’s pipelines. When they’d finally breached the surface, gasping for air, she’d only been worried about Gary. She had thought Nick was apologizing for losing the suspect, when in reality, he had been looking at her with a mix of desperate love and absolute fury. He had wanted to shake some sense into her for nearly drowning them both, and kiss her for being the bravest soul he’d ever known, all at the same time.

After all, that stubbornness—her maddening habit of never backing down from anything, not even him—is one of the many reasons he’s so utterly gone for her.

“Hey,” Judy is holding up a strange, twisted piece of driftwood that has been polished and embedded with small, glowing Moonstone shards. “This could be perfect for your apartment!”

Nick looks at the object intently for a few seconds, his mind already formulating a comeback, but Judy beats him to the punch.

“It would make the place look less... cluttered,” she says, her voice tilting with a playful edge.

“Are you suggesting my home looks like a dumpster?”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it, didn't you?” Nick grins, matching her playful energy perfectly.

“Not at all. And if I had, I would’ve been wrong,” she replies, reaching a paw out to adjust the collar of his shirt with a casual, lingering touch. “Since I’ve been around, it actually looks like a decent apartment.”

“My dear partner, I cleaned the entire place,” Nick protests. He remembers it vividly: a few weeks after Judy had seen his place for only a few seconds before the Zootennial Gala, he had spent two full days scrubbing, organizing, and hiding his questionable bachelor habits. All because of the tiny, judgmental frown she’d made back then. He had wanted to impress her.

“Yes, but I helped you with the details,” she points out.

“Minimal details at best,” 

“Minimal?” Judy scoffs, waving the glowing driftwood in the air for emphasis. “I’m the reason you finally have actual kitchenware instead of a 'survival kit.' I gave that place character.”

“Just say you don't like my aesthetic, Carrots,” Nick counters, leaning back with a smirk.

“If your 'aesthetic' is living in a state of complete chaos, then I’m glad I staged an intervention,” she replies, her eyes dancing with mischief as she sets the glowing wood back on the table. “Now at least when I visit, I don't feel like I’m entering a crime scene.”

Nick opens his mouth to defend the former state of his apartment, but the sarcastic retort dies on his tongue. Suddenly, his mind betrays him, shifting gears and flooding him with a completely different set of sentences he could actually say to her now, truths that have nothing to do with cleaning.

My dear and beloved Carrots, you might have been the reason I finally cleaned my apartment, but you were the one who turned my entire life upside down. Is that a complaint? Not a chance. You’re the compass that dragged me out of a life spent in cynicism and apathy, and the terrifying thing is, you didn't need a single hustle to do it.

It’s funny, really. I’ve always been a fearful mammal. I’ve spent my life playing it safe, avoiding heights, and keeping my distance from anything I couldn't control. But when it comes to you, my internal wiring just flips. My fear of falling is replaced by the paralyzing fear of you falling. If I can, I will jump first, no matter the height.

You already know you're my pack, Judy. You know I'm terrified of losing you. But I don't think you realize that I could face a city in ruins, and not blink—yet the thought of you being hurt, or worse, seeing your light extinguished? That petrifies me more than anything else ever could. You’re the only thing in this world that makes me brave, and the only thing that makes me a coward.

“Hey... you’re not upset, are you?” Judy asks timidly.

Nick blinks. “What?”

“The comments about your apartment. I was joking, you know that, right?”

“No, no. Of course not,” Nick says quickly. “Why would I be upset?”

“You just got so quiet all of a sudden,” she searches his eyes. “I thought maybe I’d crossed a line.”

Oh, Judy, Nick thinks, his heart giving a heavy and familiar thrum against his ribs. If you only knew what I was actually thinking.

“Upset? Please, Carrots. I’m in mourning, My 'organized chaos' had a soul. Now my kitchen looks like a catalog for some depressing minimalist firm. Finnick stopped by the other day and spent five solid minutes wheezing because of the matching coasters.”

Judy lets out a short laugh. “If ‘minimalism’ to you means having a floor that’s actually one hundred percent free of obstacles, then I’m more than happy to have contributed. And if Finnick was mocking you, it was probably just envy because he knows your wood furniture won't be ruined by water rings.”

“Whatever you say, Fluff. Anything to defend your boring aesthetic.”

“Living with almost three hundred people in one house forces you to be that 'boring' and organized,” Judy counters, her eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and mischief. “Otherwise, you’d end up accidentally killing someone. One of my uncles actually broke his arm thanks to a stray pile of toys from my younger siblings.”

“See? That’s my point,” Nick remarks, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. “I live alone. My only risk of a ‘fatal trip’ was over a stack of vintage records, and frankly, that’s a much more poetic way to go.”

“Oh, very poetic,” Judy scoffs, with affectionate exasperation. “Leaving this world because you slipped on some ancient relic like a ‘vintage record.’ Truly, a death for the history books.”

“An ancient relic? I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth. Actually, wait—no, I can. You’re all about the digital age. Heaven forbid we actually keep things in a physical format.”

“What? You’re the one who said a CD is vintage!”

“That’s entirely different, Carrots. Do keep up,” Nick corrected her, a teasing glint returning to his gaze. “There’s a massive distinction between preserving something for the sake of art and simply being outdated. One is a lifestyle; the other is a tragedy.”

“You don't even know what you’re saying anymore. Just admit you lost two minutes ago.” Judy laughs shortly. 

“That,” Nick points a finger towards her with mock superiority, “is exactly what someone who just lost would say, simply to avoid admitting defeat.”

“If you say so.” Judy replies with a dismissive wave of her paw, her tone light and airy, 

The debate should have continued, but Nick’s next witty comeback never made it out. The reason? A big mistake. Without meaning to, his eyes drifted down to her lips, which were stained a soft, berry red from the smoothie.

For a split second, a cinematic masterpiece plays out in his mind. In this version of reality, while they both still wore the lingering traces of their playful smiles, Nick would reach out. He’d cup her cheek with all the tenderness he always treated her with. Maybe she’d frown, confused by the sudden shift, or maybe she’d lean into his touch. He could almost feel Judy’s small paw resting over his, her fur soft against the scars Milton Lynxley had left behind.

Under the magical glow of the festival, he’d say something. A joke to lighten the mood, or something devastatingly romantic. Or he’d say nothing at all. He’d just brush his thumb against the corner of her mouth and kiss her.

It would be a triumphant, earth-shattering moment that would make him the happiest animal in the history of existence, because she’d actually kiss him back. And from there, everything would finally click into place. They’d be official. No more dancing around the 'just friends' routine. They’d be partners in every sense of the word. They’d spend every waking moment together, they’d move into a house with a view of the city, and maybe they’d end up sharing a bag of candy on their front porch while the world faded out. It was a perfect ending wrapped in a neat bow.

However, Nick doesn't move. He doesn't lean in, and he doesn't say a word.

Tragically, life isn't a rom-com. There’s no script to tell him it’s absolutely safe to take the leap so the fantasy shattered as quickly as it had formed, leaving him with nothing but the cold night air and the agonizingly real space between them.

Desperate to reboot his brain, Nick fights the urge to clear his throat. Instead, he gestures towards a glass-roofed pavilion nearby, its interior pulsing with an ethereal, shifting light that cuts through the darkness of the park.

“Enough about your boring, vintage-hating aesthetic,” he quipps, his voice regaining that familiar velvet edge. “Look at that. The bioluminescent exhibit. Let’s go and take a look”

Judy blinks, momentarily thrown by the abrupt pivot, but a spark of genuine interest quickly replaces her confusion. “I didn’t think you’d actually want to see them.”

“And why is that?” Nick arches a brow, sliding his paws into his pockets. “You think my ‘horrible’ taste in decor means I can’t appreciate a little glow-in-the-dark flora?”

“No. It’s because we spent three hours reading every single one of those information plaques while we were checking the setup. I figured you were sick of them by now.”

“Correction,” Nick says as they drift away from the main path, his stride lengthening as they head toward the glowing entrance. “Reading about a plant on a dusty plastic sign while checking perimeters is one thing. Actually seeing the final product when I’m not being paid to stand here is another.”

“And without making up scientific names,” Judy adds with a giggle, matching his pace as the air grows cooler and the scent of damp moss and jasmine thickens. They reach the entrance of the open-air pavilion, a structure of dark timber and fine mesh that lets the night breeze through while trapping the ethereal glow of the plants inside.

“Hey, I was doing the botanical world a favor,” Nick pushes aside a hanging vine to let her pass. “I still stand by my classification for those Ghost Mushrooms. Omphalotus nidiformis? Fun-guys in the Dark is just better branding, Carrots.”

They step onto the soft mulch path and drift towards the information plaques, the same ones they’d scrutinized for hours just days ago to kill time during their shift. Even so, they stop to read them as if for the first time, watching the flora glow like tangled neon thread against the dark soil.

Judy leans in, pointing at the plants and mushrooms whispering facts she’s picking off the signs. Nick follows her closely, the gap between them shrinking to a few centimeters. He inclines his head to catch her whispers over the festival noise, letting her scent—a soft mix of lavender—wash over him.

All the better to hear you with, my dear. All the better to smell you with.

Nick nearly laughs at his own dark joke. Just like the Big Bad Wolf, here he is, hovering over his "prey" in the dark, intoxicated by her proximity. And just like that wolf, Nick wants to eat her. Though in a very, very different context.

Sometimes—sometimes, Wilde? he corrects himself—he feels like he might actually die if he doesn’t touch her. Her shoulders, her ears, her arms. Not a day goes by where his paw doesn't brush against them, and not a day goes by where he isn't starving for more.

He craves the weight of her hand, their fingers interlaced. He wants to lose himself in a slow snout-ling, to feel the heat of her as he traces the line of her thighs—parts of her he can barely even picture without his breath hitching and his chest tightening. It’s a physical ache, a restless, heavy heat that leaves him flushed and frantic, forced to play it cool while he’s burning alive right next to her.

When he’s alone, he sometimes catches himself staring at his own paw, the one that touched Judy last before they parted ways for the night. On the good days, when he’s hopeful that there’s actually something there, he just laughs at himself like a smitten teenager. Other times, when the starvation for her is so intense it actually hurts, his mind drifts back to that movie Judy forced him to watch.

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch something else? I don’t know... Back to the Fur-ture?”

“No, we watched that recently. I don’t want to get tired of it,” Judy had said bringing popcorns.

“Tired of watching Marty McFly epicly making his parents fall in love?”

“Yep. Besides, if you want to watch people falling in love, there’s always Pride and Paw-judice.”

Nick remembered rolling his eyes, totally against the idea of burning two hours of his life on that. It was a Friday after their usual date at Jumbeaux’s, and they’d gone back to Judy’s apartment to watch movies.

“You’re going to like it, Nick,” Judy told him while scrolling through the streaming app. “And if you don’t, well, at least you’ve expanded your horizons. It’s not like you hate rom-coms.”

It was strange, really. For someone as sentimental as Nick was deep down, rom-coms had never really caught his attention. He’d seen a few with his mother, and others on dates where the movie was just background noise. But he’d started to develop a taste for them simply because Judy loved them so much—and they were entertaining.

“Yeah, but this one never really looked like my speed.”

“Oh, just wait. Mr. Stagcy will make you eat your words.” Judy pressed play, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Nick had crossed his arms, skeptical. “We’ll see.”

Oh, he’d eaten his words, alright.

He couldn't have felt more identified with the arrogant and distant Fitzwilliam Stagcy. Especially in that moment after he helps the witty Elizabeth Bunnet into her carriage: that famous hoof twitch. A reflex of pure longing; the way the stag’s leg tensed and his hoof gave a sharp, involuntary shake as if trying to flick away the lingering electricity of Elizabeth's touch. To Nick, Mr. Stagcy made him dream of giving a declaration just as romantic to Miss Judy Hopps.

As they move through the exhibition, he watches Judy; how her fur is bathed in the emerald and pink glow of the bioluminescent plants. Nick silently admires the hypnotic sway of her pace, the rhythmic cadence of her hips and the slight wiggle of her tail. His eyes linger—perhaps a second too long, you pervert—on the soft, firm curve of her backside as she moves. His heart skips a beat, triggering a teenage-like flutter that feels entirely too dramatic for a mammal of his experience.

He’s no stranger to desire. He’s had his own crushes and very fun nights where having a good time was the only priority. Nick knows how to admire a body. But fucking hell, he feels like a goddamn virgin creep the moment his thoughts about Judy drift into that territory.

It doesn't help that they spend more than eight hours every single day glued, leaning into each other or sharing brushes. Well, in Judy’s case, it's usually those affectionate, playful shoves she gives him.

Other things he constantly imagines—things that carry far less shame—are the mundane details of a romantic relationship: texting 24/7, spending every waking moment together, going out... technically, he does all of that with Judy, but always under the safe, stifling umbrella of being inseparable partners.

"Nick, can I tell you something?" Nick vividly remembered Clawhauser asking him one day when he went for the blueberry-filled donut the cheetah always managed to set aside for him.

"I’m all ears," Nick had replied solemnly between bites.

"It’s just... has anyone ever told you," Ben leaned in closer over the desk, giggling, "has anyone told you that you and Judy look so cute together?"

Nick nearly choked on his donut, fighting to keep his composure and mask the jolt of surprise.

"Of course we do. The smallest, fluffiest, most elite team in the precinct. The unbeatable duo."

"Oh, you know I don't mean it like that," Ben teased. "I mean as a couple. Like, boyfriend and girlfriend."

Nick never found out how he would have dodged that bullet; Judy had burst in right then, dragging him away for some unforeseen assignment from Bogo.

But Clawhauser wasn't the only one. There were constant remarks about how well they’d fit as a couple, or mammals simply assuming they were a happy, love-struck pair and treating them as such. When it happened, neither of them ever said a word.

Nick wasn't sure if that silence was a blessing or a curse for his sanity. If Judy were to snap, "Sweet cheese and crackers! No! Nick is like a brother to me. Him? My boyfriend? Ugh, so gross." it would feel like a kick in the balls, and even that wouldn't cover the sheer resignation and pain he’d endure. But at least he’d have an answer. Instead, he had nothing—just a few surprised expressions and perhaps a flicker of discomfort on her face, but she never corrected them. And neither did he.

It wasn't that Nick hated being mistaken for a couple; on the contrary, it was a testament to their chemistry and undeniable connection. But sometimes, it ignited a bitter spark in him. It was a relentless reminder of everything he couldn't have. A reminder that these pathetic yet beautiful feelings were so close, yet still completely out of his reach.

"Enjoying the view?" Judy asks suddenly, turning around to face him.

For a split second, Nick’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach. He’s certain she’s about to call him out for staring at her backside because there’s a slight tint of discomfort in her eyes and her ears are drooping just enough to make him panic.

"It’s all very beautiful," he replies, playing it safe by nodding toward the plants that seem to vibrate with bioluminescent color. And in case Judy was referring to her own body, well, he wasn't lying either. "What about you? Not a fan?"

"Of course I am. It feels like we’re in another world. It’s just..." Judy shrugs, quickly touching one of her ears in what looks like a nervous tic. "You got very quiet all of a sudden."

"Ah, well, I was just admiring the scenery, Carrots. Even a mammal like me needs to stop and smell the glowing roses once in a while," Nick adds, forcing his voice into its usual effortless drawl despite the way his pulse is hammering against his ribs.

"Right, okay. It was just…” she pauses for a second “Weird not hearing you say anything. No jokes, no teasing... it felt off."

They lock eyes then. The world around them—the crowd, the glowing flora, the distant music—fades into a blur. Nick feels the weight of the silence between them, heavy and charged. Now, this could be the moment.

The brave, reckless side of Nick screams at him: "Are you some kind of idiot? This is it. Tell her. Tell her you want to crave her name into your very bones. Tell her about the yearning that’s eating you alive."

The festival atmosphere feels like a catalyst, pushing everything he’d been thinking just seconds ago to the tip of his tongue. The words are right there, begging to be let out.

Babe, I don't think it’s news to you that physical touch isn’t my thing. Honestly, as I grew up, that aversion only got stronger. But with you? Heaven help me, I can't let go of this need to be near you. When I’m old, my back will regret every second I’ve spent leaning toward you; I’ll probably have a hunchback, but it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.

Love songs? I used to think they were just catchy tunes, nothing more. But I’ve grown fond of them now because every time a ballad plays, I see your face. Not to mention the songs I’ve composed for you on my guitar—what used to be just a hobby is now a ritual because you’re my muse.

My beautiful and stunning Judy, I don't think you have the slightest idea of how much you have me at your feet. I’ll run out of floor to crawl on for you. You didn't even need to use some clever hustle to break down my walls; you just did it by being you. You attract me in a way that defies all logic, a magnetic pull that I’ve stopped trying to fight.

I want you to know that I want to explore every inch of you, to know and understand the map of your body. I want to be the one to unlock sensations you haven't discovered yet. Those heights you haven’t reached... I want to be one who’s going to take you there.

"Do you want to do something else?" Judy asks softly, snapping him out of his trance. "We can do whatever you want. Maybe you’re bored with the festival since you already know it and everything."

Nick feels the words die in his throat. Suddenly, his cowardly side surges, whispering desperately that this isn't the time. There are too many animals around, too much noise, a thousand distractions that could ruin what should be the most important moment of their lives.

Excuses, excuses.

"No, don't worry about it," Nick says, quickly shoving his paws into his pockets to hide the slight tremor in his fingers. "I think I just got a bit lost in my own head. Memories of the old tricks that I told you, you know? Nothing serious."

"Are you sure?" Judy tilts her head, searching his eyes with that earnest sincerity that always makes him want to cave. "We could go wherever you’d like. It’s our day off, after all, and I don't want to ruin it for you."

Nick lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a huff, and gives her a lopsided smile. "You could never ruin my day, Judy."

She stops knitting her brows, her expression softening. "Alright. But if anything about this starts to bug you, just tell me and we’re out of here."

Nick winks. "I'll consider you my official complaint department for today."

They continue through the pavilion, and this time, Nick forces himself to stay anchored in the present. He needs Judy to see that nothing is bothering him—or at least, nothing she should worry about. 

Nick does his best to liven up, tossing out the kind of trivial, banter-filled comments that usually come to him as naturally as breathing. He forces a change in his mood, desperate to erase the idea that he’s uncomfortable, but the effort he's making for her sake inevitably drags a memory to the surface.

It was a conversation with Finnick, just days before he was set to leave for the Police Academy.

"Seriously? This isn't a prank?" Finnick took a long swig of his beer, staring incredulously at the suitcase Nick had laid out on the bed.

"Buddy, that’s like the fifth time you’ve asked," Nick said, closing the fridge and walking over to where Finnick sat on the sofa. "But in case it hasn't made its way through those giant ears of yours yet: the answer is yes. So, cheers, because I have no idea when I'll be this close to decent alcohol again."

"There's always the first-aid kit, Wilde."

"Hmph. Yeah, but it’ll be lacking in flavor."

Nick sprawled out on his sofa, soaking in the messy comfort of his apartment and the lazy freedom he knew he’d be desperately missing in the months to come. Despite the TV being on, Finnick kept his eyes locked on him.

"Oh, Nicky," he sighed. "You’re truly lost, aren't you?"

"What? What’s that supposed to mean?"

"What’s it supposed to mean?" His friend arched an eyebrow. "Look at you! You’re about to flush your entire damn lifestyle down the drain. And not in some small way, you’re going to be a cop—"

"That’s right. I found my calling," Nick interrupted, his tone petulant because he knew exactly where this was headed.

Finnick barked a laugh. "Are you really that fucking whipped? Just for a ball of cotton? Look at you. You’re trading more than twenty years of hustle just to be near her. I mean, the bunny’s hot, sure, she’s got fire. But I didn't think she'd wreck your head this bad."

"That’s not true."

"Oh, I totally believe you. It’s not like Officer Toot-Toot changed your entire view on life or anything. And you definitely didn’t act like a pathetic dog for three whole months over her. Your voice didn't change at all when I called you after she went looking for you at my van, either. Nope. Not at all."

As Nick and Judy finish their tour of the plant pavilion, they step into the loudest, most vibrant heart of the festival. It’s a sea of mechanical rides and carnival stalls that they both know by heart from their patrol earlier that week. Still, they exchange a mischievous look, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Whoever wins the most games pays for Monday’s breakfast?" Nick suggests, his competitive streak overriding his heavy thoughts.

Judy grabbed his paw, sealing the deal with a firm, playful squeeze. "And dessert on Friday. Prepare your wallet, Wilde."

The next two hours are a blur of pure, uncomplicated fun. Nick completely lost himself in the rhythm of the bright lights, the cheesy music, and Judy’s infectious laughter. He dominates the ring toss and the milk-bottle knockdown, showing off with relaxed confidence.

"Seriously, where did you learn to throw like that?" Judy asks, feigning exhaustion unable to hide her grin.

“I’ll have you know I was the star of my middle school baseball team," he replies cockly, tossing a ring over his shoulder without looking. It lands perfectly on a bottle neck, and he flashes her a wink that feels effortless.

From there, the adrenaline and happiness only climbs. They head to the bumper cars, where they end up in a hilarious beef with a young rhino. The kid is obsessed with ramming into them, but Judy and Nick work like a synchronized unit, flanking him and sandwiching his car until they’re all three spinning in circles, howling with laughter.

When the dizziness subsides, Judy practically drags him toward the Ferris wheel. Nick only agrees because it’s a modest one—meant for smaller mammals, it barely grazes the height of a toddler-sized thrill ride for the larger species.

But despite its size, every little creak of the metal or sudden gust of wind that makes the gondola sway has Nick tensing up, his claws digging into the seat. He tries to look cool, but his ears are flattened against his head every time they reach the peak. Judy can't stop laughing at him, but she slides closer, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze to ground him.

Even though they have thousands of selfies together, they stumble into a vintage photo booth. Inside, they’re pressed together, hip to hip, fur to fur. The camera flashes four times, capturing them: first, a "model" pose from both; second, a snap of them mid-laugh; third, both of them distorting their faces into ridiculous expressions. It’s only in the last flash, when the joking stops for a split second, that the camera catches them simply looking at each other in a quiet, candid moment of peace.

The machine whirs, and a few seconds later, it spits out the warm strip of photos. Nick grabs it, and they start making their way towards the exit. The night air is cooler now, and the vibrant chaos of the festival feels more distant as they find a spot near a stone fountain just outside the main gates.

They stop there, the sound of the splashing water providing a quiet backdrop as Nick carefully tears the strip in two to share the memories.

"I’m definitely keeping the one where you’re making the fish face," Nick waves his half of the photos in the air. "It’s top-tier blackmail material, Carrots. I might even have it framed for the precinct’s breakroom."

Judy shoots him a playful smile, leaning her hip against the stone rim of the fountain. "Sure, keep it. But don't act like you’re some masterpiece in those either. You look like you’re about to sneeze in at least two of them."

"I’ll have you know, I was going for 'mysterious and smoldering,'" Nick fires back, adjusting his tie with mock vanity. "I’m a natural. I should be on the cover of Vogue, in the 'Vulpine-Gaze' edition. It’s a very exclusive look, you wouldn’t understand."

Judy shakes her head, her smile lingering for a second more as she looks down at the glossy strip in her paw. But then, the playfulness starts to drain from her face. She stays quiet, her thumb tracing the edge of the last photo.

The sound of the fountain splashing behind them seems to get louder as the silence between them stretches. Nick knows that she isn't looking at the photos anymore; she’s staring at him, her expression turning into a perceptive look.

"Hey, Nick," she says, her voice dropping into a soft, understanding tone that makes him fear the worst. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Of course," Nick replies, reaching back to trail his claws through the cool surface of the fountain water, watching the ripples distort his reflection. "You’re my therapy animal and I’m yours. At good or bad times."

"I know. It’s just..." Judy licks her lips, her paws moving restlessly in the air as if she’s trying to pluck the right words out of the night sky. "You’ve been... different today."

"Different how?"

"Well, for starters, you ordered a plain Americano. In a shop filled with all those frozen, sugary flavors I know you actually like."

"Maybe I just wanted to feel like a sophisticated adult. An Americano is a classic."

Judy doesn't buy it. She crosses her arms, her gaze unwavering. "And then you said you weren't hungry, even though you’ve barely eaten all day."

"I had a heavy dinner last night," Nick counters quickly, perhaps too quickly.

"Nick, we always have a heavy dinner on Fridays," she points out, her eyes searching his, trying to peel back his layers. "And... I don't know. You felt absent a few times today. Like you were miles away from me, you know?"

Judy takes a seat on the stone edge of the fountain, looking up at him with an expression of pure, unwavering sincerity. "If there’s something haunting you, or something that’s bothering you... just say it. No strings attached, no judgment." She straightens her back, her gaze locking onto his. "You can tell me anything, Nick."

At that moment, Nick can feel the pulse in his eyes thrumming in time with his heart. His entire body feels flushed, and his paws are starting to sweat.

Tell her. Tell her exactly what’s haunting him.

God, why was it so damn hard?

The entire afternoon had been a back-and-forth struggle, a constant cycle of standing on the edge of the abyss, ready to jump, only to pull himself back at the last second. He’d told himself it wasn't the right time or the right place; he’d used the crowds and the noise as pathetic excuses.

But now? Now they’re alone. There’s nothing but a few distant pedestrians strolling by and the overwhelming peace of the night surrounding them. There are no more excuses left to hide behind.

Nick looks at her, and his mind drifts back to the moment she handed him that pen and the job application. He remembers the way the morning light filtered through the bullpen before the press conference, bathing her silhouette in a glow that made her look like hope itself. That was the moment he realized the true reward wasn't the recording; it was her. It was Judy Hopps, the bunny with a spark bright enough to light up the entire city when she’s passionate about something.

He remembers the determined, stubborn rabbit who tracked him down under that bridge to apologize with tears in her eyes. That was the moment he fell on account that he would follow her anywhere.

Judith Laverne Hopps, he thinks, the words aching in his chest, I want you to know that your determination, your stubbornness, and your sheer refusal to give up were the things that rescued me from my own apathy. You’re the only one who has managed to make everything full of possibilities.

Literally, before meeting you, I was walking the wall—balancing on the edge, careful never to feel too much. But since then? I’m on a free fall, and I don't think I ever want to land.

What would you think if I told you that you’re the reason why, for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid or bored to look towards the future? Because you aren't just in my future; I want to build one with you. Making the world a better place, sure, but the kind of future only a fox understands. Fun fact I’ve never told you, foxes only travel in packs when we’ve found our mate, and when we choose, we choose for life. 

What we have... what we are... it feels like the word 'love' is too small to contain it. It doesn't even come close to covering the weight of it.

And I want everything with you. Don’t get me wrong, I love our life exactly as it is now, but I want to go further. I want to wake up next to you every morning without the clock telling me it’s time to go back to my own place and to walk down the street holding your paw. 

I want the quiet, boring parts of life too. You know, the domesticity, the shared breakfast every day, the simple reality of being all yours. I want to grow old watching you change the world, and I want to be the one you come home to when you're tired of doing it. But I’m overcomplicating it, aren’t I? I’m circling the thing I want to say you. 

The bottom line, Judy... the simple truth is that I am completely in love with you. 

And that’s it. That’s all he would have to say instead of avoiding telling the truth like he’s been doing all day. It shouldn’t be this complicated, especially not with Judy standing right there, waiting patiently and looking at him with so much genuine affection. Those violet eyes were going to be the death of him, the way they seemed to catch the light every time they settled on him. 

The words lodge in his throat, heavy and suffocating. Nick knows this is the moment to finally spit it all out, to let the accumulated longing pour over the edge.

But his lips feel heavy, sealed shut by a fear he can't outrun. He loves her but—always a but— he loves her in the restrained, dangerous way that comes from knowing exactly how badly he could mess everything up. Because as much as he wants to be hers, he’s even more terrified of the world where he’s told her the truth and lost her.

Deep down, he knows it should be worth the risk. He remembers what Nibbles told him—that in their line of work, a long life is never a guarantee. It’s that thought that pushes him, that spark of urgency that makes him want to scream his feelings from the rooftops. 

And Nick thinks he isn't crazy. He has seen the way Judy looks at him, the way her gaze lingers just a second too long, tracing his features with an intensity that could feel undeniably romantic. He isn't blind; he’s seen her analyze him from head to toe, her eyes reflecting a warmth that goes beyond just friends. 

But then, the what if strikes. What if he’s just imagining it? What if he’s built a palace out of nothing but hopeful assumptions?

What if he bares his soul, completely exposed and raw, and Judy—pure, kind-hearted Judy—looks at him with pity and says she loves him... but not that way?

He could live with the rejection. It would hurt? Absolutely, —a dull, echoing ache that would settle in his bones like a permanent chill—but he could survive it. He could carry on being what they are now. 

What he can't survive is the aftermath. The idea of her becoming distant. The thought of Judy pulling away whenever they touch, or the warmth in her voice turning into awkward, careful politeness. Nick has no reference for how Judy rejects someone; as far as he knows, she’s never had a real romantic relationship, and he’s too terrified to ask and have the answer sink him. That’s his only real hurdle. 

To hell with being different especies. Nick has spent his entire life being judged by the world. He couldn’t care less about the whispers of strangers as long as she’s by his side.

But his mind, ever the overthinker, takes it a step further. What if Judy feels the attraction and the love, but she’s the one holding back? What if she can't get past the fact that he’s a fox, totally different from her?

Then there’s the thought of someone like Pawbert. Nick could live with her saying 'no' to him, but as selfish as it sounds, he doesn't think he could survive seeing her find that 'yes' with someone else. His mind flashes to every mammal who has ever tried to flirt with her—the subtle glances, the lingering smiles from strangers.

Yet, even in his most possessive moments, Nick knows the truth: he would let her go. If she found someone who made her world brighter, Nick would step aside. It would be devastating, a slow-motion demolition of everything he holds dear, however her happiness has always been worth more than his own. 

Because she’s Judy. She’s beautiful, she’s amazing, and she’s the kind of soul that anyone with a pulse would be a fool not to love.

Nick takes a breath, the air burning his lungs. He looks at Judy, still sitting there on the edge of the fountain, waiting for him to fill the silence he’s created.

“I dunno," he givines a small nonchalant shrug. "I guess I just got a little too caught up in my own head today."

"Thinking?" Judy tilts her head. "Care to share? I'd... I'd really like to know what's going on. It’s something bad or…?” 

Nick scoffs, shaking his head. "Not at all, don’t worry." He pauses, stopping to look at Judy for a few seconds that feel like an eternity.

My dearest Officer Hopps, he thinks, the words blooming in his chest. I love your bravery, and at the same time, I hate it because I fear it’ll take you away from me forever. But I want you to know I’d die for you without a second thought.

My sweet Carrots, I’ll support every one of your dreams, no matter how wild or risky. I’ll complain and I’ll protest, but I’ll be right there. No matter what happens, I will always find a way to claw my way back to you. 

My adored Judy, with you, everything feels so extraordinary, no matter how ordinary it is. You make me feel like I’ve finally found a routine, a home I never thought I’d find. 

My love has made me realize I want to be completely yours; irrevocably and forever. 

You’re the only one who lights up my heart, and I want to spend the rest of my days by your side. 

Judy, I love you.

He quickly looks at the photo strip in his paw, then back at her, feeling a wave of warmth spread through his chest. He offers her a soft, genuine smile.

I love you, Carrots, he thinks again—a silent vow that feels like both a prayer and a curse. But I can't say it now. Maybe this has to be enough for tonight. I am madly in love with you, Judy, but I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I can't have you. At least not yet.

Nick knows, without a doubt, that he can’t say the words on this beautiful Saturday night. He wants to—God, he needs to—but the fear of risking their world is still a towering wall in front of him.

Yet, the feeling inside is even bigger than that fear. It's heavy, permanent, and so deeply anchored to his soul that he knows it isn't going anywhere. And that’s exactly why he chooses to wait. Because something this massive, deserves to be said but not today. He’d rather carry the weight of his silence for more than risk losing the person who gave his life meaning.

"It’s just, Carrots..." he says aloud, finally finding his voice as he watches the water dance in the fountain. "It hurts to know we can’t spend every day like this."

Judy shifts, placing a warm paw on Nick’s knee. "What do you mean by 'like this'?"

"Everything," he sighs, gesturing vaguely to the fading festival lights. "Just... lounging around. Hanging out with you."

"We hang out every day together." she points out with a small, playful smile.

"We patrol together," he corrects her, arching an eyebrow siding an smile.

"I know what you mean," Judy chuckles, her thumb tracing a small, absentminded circle on his knee. "And... honestly? I feel the same way."

Nick pauses, his heart doing a slow, thumping roll in his chest. "You feel the same way?”

“Yeah. Just being lazy and being by your side. You’re referring to that?"

A faint sting of disappointment filters through Nick’s veins, a nagging wish that she had said something more, something deeper. However he brushes the feeling aside instantly. It doesn't matter. Not as long as life allows him to be right here, next to her.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I mean," he says, his voice regaining its steady, playful rhythm. "The kind of days you know you're going to miss in the future. The ones you want to bottle up."

Judy looks at him for a beat longer, her expression softening as she finally accepts his explanation. She stands up, brushing a few stray crumbs from her lap, and plants her paws on her hips with a spark of renewed energy.

"Well, if that’s the case," she says, "we shouldn't let the night go to waste. How about we head to my place? 10 Things I Hate About You just dropped on Huluzoo. You’re going to love it, I promise."

Nick stands up with a slow, dramatic stretch, feeling the heavy weight in his chest loosen just a bit. "Or, hear me out... we could go to my place. I’m pretty sure I have a a couple of snacks stashed somewhere."

They start walking away from the fountain, their pace easy and synchronized, their silhouettes lengthening under the streetlamps.

"I don't know if I should be relieved that we don't have to stop for snacks, or terrified of the expiration date on those," Judy teases, nudging him with her elbow as they reach the sidewalk.

Nick lets out a soft laugh, falling back into their usual rhythm. "Hey, at most they’re a year past their prime. Maybe less."

"Right. Very sophisticated," Judy rolls her eyes, patting the small pouch at her waist where she’d tucked the remains of their dessert. "We could always just finish the tart later. It’s a lot safer than your pantry."

"Eating gourmet tart on a bachelor’s sofa? Look at us, being all elegant," Nick smirks.

As they turn the corner, leaving the glow of the festival behind, Nick suddenly slows his pace. He stops for a second, looking at her with sincerity. "Judy... thanks for today. I really enjoyed it. More than I can say, even if I was weird."

Judy stops too, her ears flicking as she looks up at him. "You don't have to thank me, Nick. I did too." She gives him a smile before she starts walking again. "I’m already wondering what we’re going to get into on our next day off."

Nick falls back into step with her, the comfort settling over them. He knows that in three weeks—maybe sooner—that familiar ache will return. He’ll feel that desperate urge to shout his feelings to the world, and he’ll probably do exactly what he did today: stand at the edge of the abyss, look into the drop, and pull himself back at the last second.

But as they walk through the streets, Nick decides not to worry about the 'what ifs' or the 'someday.' 

Instead, he chooses to do what he spent the whole day failing to do: he silences the thunder in his mind and simply breathes in the quiet, perfect reality of her presence. 

The future, with all its terrifying love confessions, can wait. For now, the cool night air is enough, the conversation between them flows with that easy, familiar rhythm they both love, and Nick realizes that even if he never finds the courage to say the words, he’s already found his home. 

Nick thinks that he doesn't need a grand declaration tonight; he just needs her to keep holding his world tied to her soul. He isn't afraid of the abyss, not as long as he’s falling for her, and even better, falling right beside Judy.