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“What’s your love language?” She asks sincerely, paper and pen in hand ready to jot it all down.
He just barely looks up from his phone to dignify that with a response.
“Love language?” Nick smiles all sly, preparing to make wry comments. “Don’t think I speak that one, no.”
She rolls her eyes fondly, snorting as she hops up next to him on the park bench. “Have you not heard of this? It’s basically how you like to be loved, or, or to show love. Y’know, there’s Acts of Service, Words of Affirmation, Gift Giving… uh, Quality Time, Physical Touch–“
His eyes widen at that last one, and he freezes up for a moment, which has her jumping to conclusions, quite enthusiastically.
“Is that the one?” She beams brightly at him, tugging at his wrist. “Do you like being touched?”
Nick chokes on the air he breathes when she says that, mouth trembling as he extricates himself from her grasp.
“Uh, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t say–“ he clears his throat–“not particularly. I don’t think that stands out much for me, no.”
“Oh!” She tries not to let any disappointment show. “Sorry, I didn’t realize that. I’ll make sure not to get too close–“
“NOT WHAT I MEANT–“ his lips tremble after that explosive declaration–“sorry. I just mean… don’t go out of your way, y’know? It’s not something I want you avoiding, or… going to the trouble to do uh, more of.”
Judy nods in affirmation, but something about this bothers her. “Okay. But I’d honestly really just love to get to know what works for you and what doesn’t. If you can’t think of it off the top of your head, maybe you could take this quiz I found?” She taps on her phone to forward him the link. “I can send you my results too!”
Nick takes one glance at the quiz’s first question, develops a perturbed expression, and closes the tab.
“Look, Carrots. All this uh, love language stuff? I know I just found out about it, and half the things you listed are still lost on me, but… I dunno. Just not sure it’s really my thing, you know?”
Judy doesn’t press the matter further, because she knows what he really meant to say was that all this touchy feely emotional stuff is far too overwhelming for him. Or that having to get vulnerable sounds off alarm sirens in his head. Or even, that this all sounds very intimate, and he isn’t comfortable exploring it with her, because he views love through a more romantic lens, and he just doesn’t quite see her like that.
She very briefly considers explaining to him that perhaps he’s mistaken, and that love languages extend beyond the realm of romance, and can apply to how you show love to friends, family, and even partners against crime, which they are.
But… something deep within her screams to pump the breaks. An instinct, that quickly warns against the potential can of worms that would open, should she drag this further.
Instead… she decides to do a little experimentation of her own. What’s stopping her from loving her partner in different ways and seeing what he responds to best? He didn’t say she couldn’t do that, did he?
Gift Giving
That toy carrot recorder pen was just the beginning. And what a momentous first gift it was! Oh, the way he sweetly looked at her, the way he brought that pen with him, everywhere they went (as embarrassing as it was to hear it randomly trigger) only gave her the push she needed to present him with more gifts.
As such, she carefully picked out and purchased a new tie—emblematizing the night howlers from their first case together.
Sometimes, she still remembers it like it were yesterday: the adrenaline they felt, the prejudice she overcame, all the forgiveness he extended her, his refusal to leave her behind, the natural teamwork they exhibited to fool Bellwether, allowing them to successfully execute their trap and save the day!
Judy knew it was the one the moment she caught sight of it, hanging on a display hook, completely ordinary to anyone else, but bursting at the seams with symbolism to them. Alongside the pen, the tie perfectly encapsulated the blossoming of their partnership.
Also, it was, in general—a pretty nice tie.
The expression on his face when she gifted it to him was priceless. He went silent and motionless for a good minute, as though unable to believe she would do such a thing.
Which, she did not expect, especially since she had already given him a gift. But maybe he didn’t expect another one this quickly?
He starts wearing the tie the very next day, along with a brand new shirt that he must have specifically picked because it matched the new tie better.
She compliments him on how sharp he looks, making teasing remarks about how the new tie especially ties it all together—and he delights her with a soft chuckle, eyes diverting as he grasps it.
At times, she catches him admiring, but knows better than to call him out on that. When it comes to Nick, the less you acknowledge, the more of him emerges.
She’d rather hold her tongue than lose the privilege of being one of the only people in this world he shows parts of himself to sometimes.
Either way, Judy concludes that Nick responds very well to gifts. Is it his favorite way to receive love? She isn’t sure, but she knows she wants to keep giving him gifts.
Random trinkets, assorted fruits from her family’s farm, a book on how to improve their partnership, snacks she observes him munching on sometimes.
In turn, he makes efforts to gift her things too. Like how he goes out of his way to buy and drink Carrot Soda, even though it isn’t his favorite flavor, not by a long shot, just so they can share.
“What can I say, Carrots? Your palate’s growing on me. A little. Also, they pump Carrot Soda with ridiculous amounts of sugar. Can’t say no to that.”
Okay, maybe that’s not exactly a gift. But sometimes, when she’s too tunnel-visioned on a case, and forgets to eat, or drink, or even breathe at times, he gifts her little treats to tempt her into fulfilling basic needs, lest she work herself to death.
Which brings her to…
Acts of Service
Sometimes, Nick procures roasted carrots for her.
“It’s better than those microwaved morsels you suck down in that pathetic apartment of yours,” he always says.
On occasion, he stuffs whatever extra large soda drink he’s bought under her nose, squeezing the straw between her lips. If she grumbles in protest—because there’s only so much sugary liquid she can ingest before her body corrodes from sweetness and dies—he groans back in annoyance.
And… goes to get her some plain water.
“If you dehydrate, they’ll have to find me a new partner. And you know how much I hate everyone else.”
She can’t help but love the way he justifies the sweet things he does, even though a lot of what he typically does for her is done wordlessly, without a need for reciprocation or thanks.
Also… Judy isn’t sure it counts, since they are partners at work, but Nick’s always looking to assist her—any way he can.
He hates how she tries to shoulder the burden of the world, and how individually she tends to approach things.
(He also hates when she doesn’t hear him beg her to stop running headfirst into danger, but they’re working on that!)
“Fine… what do you need me to do?”
The times when he finally acquiesces to her crazy ideas soothes her ears like balm on singed skin.
Other times, he doesn’t even bother asking. He’ll grab a cap for her and place it on her head, because they’re about to encounter creatures in various states of undress, and already knows she needs something to shield her eyes.
He gets naturally protective too, always jumping in the way to defend her, block a projectile from hitting them both, or flying an arm out around her shoulder to tug her in close.
Do those count as Acts of Service? Then again, the common mammal doesn’t exactly experience what they go through on a daily to weekly basis.
But also, sometimes the great big threat Nick instinctively protects her from is nothing wilder than a larger animal, trying to walk down the street.
Either way, Nick does a lot for her, and as such, she’s always trying to even the scoreboard, so to speak. Yet, there aren’t that many things she can do for him, or on his behalf, especially since he refuses to invite her over.
It might seem strange, but she’d jump at the chance to clean and completely reorganize his entire apartment. His place is no mansion, but it’s bigger than hers, and there’s only so many times she can dust and shift her meagre belongings around, rearrange her practically non-existent furniture.
Nick’s humble abode, on the other hand? Uncharted territory. Her imagination runs wild with speculation on the gruesome treasures and icky findings she could uncover, but alas… she’s not allowed in.
Not yet, at least. As if she’d give up.
“You’d never leave if you did,” he facetiously quips once, after turning her down for the umpteenth time.
A part of her thinks he might be right. Truth be told, arriving back home can sometimes be the lowest point of her day.
Something about the fact that he isn’t there anymore, his snarky remarks replaced by dead air, an excruciating silence.
(No, her neighbors’ arguments and unwanted interjections do not count!)
Judy hates how her daily solitude has become increasingly intolerable.
Words of Affirmation
Thankfully, there’s a good way to respond to the very nice, kind, and sometimes selfless things that Nick does for her.
Heaps and heaps of praise!
Within reason, of course. Can’t be inflating his ego too much. He does plenty of that all on his own.
But there are situations that necessitate Words of Affirmation. Such as… when she first got to know him, and found out how behind all that snark and spark there was a deeply-hurting fox, with years of trauma and heartbreak he’s admitted to not fully revealing to her yet.
Every time he willingly peels back some layers, exposes some uncomfortable wounds from decades past—she can’t help but lavish him with, well… affirmation. Along with some assurance.
“Huh, maybe I really should’ve saved that for my therapy animal,” he half-jokingly admits, sheepish in the face of more new parts of his past he’s revealed to her, and only her, yet again.
It’s a story from middle school, and he had just barely gotten the courage to try and make friends again, being in a new environment and all. What he got in return, however, was more unkind words about his species, and a forced trip to the bathroom where his snout got shoved under a vigorous running tap. That day, he thought he would die under those putrid streams, if his homeroom teacher hadn’t shown up in the nick of time.
Shockwaves of guilt ricochet through Judy’s entire being when she hears the story. It reminds her of all the times they’ve been around water since they met. In her eyes, he had jumped in fearlessly behind her, just as easily and determinedly as she had.
She’s been mistaken, so it seems. But with all the important lessons they’ve learned throughout their partnership, she knows this is something he wants to work through, trauma he wants to overcome.
And it’s something they’ll do together, one step at a time.
“You can always tell your therapy animal later on, if, if you’d like,” she assures him, barely containing her emotions. “But for what it’s worth… I’m really, really, really glad you told me.”
They gaze into each other’s eyes, and he appears to have trouble holding back tears of his own.
“Me too,” he utters very emotionally. “Oh boy…”
“If it helps,” she dabs at her eye. “I mean… I’ve never experienced anything nearly as horrendous as what you’ve been through, but… I get it. I know what it’s like dealing with bullies. I know how scary it gets when you try standing up to them–“ she clears her throat–“for me… there was this boy. At school. His name was Gideon.”
Nick’s eyebrows jerk upwards. “He’s that fox, wasn’t he?” He spouts in recollection. “That pie baker. I think you’ve mentioned him.”
“Yeah,” Judy confirms. “Back then though… he was different. Back then… he didn’t think I could be anything but a carrot-farming bunny, and after he clawed my face–“ she inhales uncomfortably–“I let myself believe something just as harmful. And I paid the price for it–“
“You don’t believe any of that anymore, though,” he interjects, like he hates to see her beat herself up for it.
“I don’t,” she confirms. “I changed—as did Gideon. And my parents. Heck, my dad flipped so much he tries giving me partnership advice every now and then.”
They snicker simultaneously at the thought of this, and then Nick reaches for her face, languidly caressing her cheek, where she’d been attacked all those years ago. He touches her like each brush of his thumb travels back in time, healing those past wounds.
In turn, she grasps at his most recent scar—the stinging scratches inflicted by Milton Lynxley—a mammal now deservedly behind bars. Gingerly, she strokes at it too, desperate to rid him of any and all pain he’s ever felt. Regretful to have contributed to any of it.
But if she said that out loud, he’d reject the very notion.
Everything they are to each other right now stems from the fateful mistakes they’ve made along the way.
“For what it’s worth…” Nick drawls, hand now sliding down to cup her chin. “I’m glad that other fox has changed now, with his whole—pie-baking shtick. And being all buddy-buddy with your folks. But if I had been there, back then? Would’ve smacked him right across the face.”
The brazen nature of his words tears a laugh right out of her.
“Oh yeah?” She all but purrs this, voice more sultry and sweet than she intended.
Nick doesn’t pull away. “Big time,” he confirms.
A dizzy spell nearly rocks Judy’s bearings. Her heart races like she’s mid-sprint, palpitating as though she’s going for a world record.
“I’d do the same for you,” she declares, determination in her words. “If I had been at your school, when someone tried to hurt you? I’d have kicked them all in the butt and sent them home crying. Or down the bathroom drains.”
He titters at her absurd sense of imagined violence.
“I actually think you were waddling in diapers back then,” he teases. “Still learning how to potty, I’d say.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped me.”
Nick guffaws fully now, head thrown back. An odd heat emanates throughout her body as a result, burning hottest where he’s still touching her.
It’s something she can barely make sense of.
Even more nonsensical would be her current urge to cascade her fingers down his neck, leaning in to nuzzle him.
“No, no it would not have,” he pipes up with a smirk, and it takes a good moment for her to recollect herself, let alone recall what he’s responding to.
She eventually elects to bring up something tangential that she’s held in her heart all this while.
“Maybe there’s no way we could’ve helped each other back then. Or known each other at all,” she remarks somewhat solemnly. “But… I’m glad I know you now. Really, really glad.”
“Me too… Hopps.”
He seems overwhelmed by the moment, as evidenced by his response to it all.
Her, on the other hand? She realizes there’s something else she wants to tell him.
It’s that… when they met: she was drowning.
Some of it was literal, like when they plunged into deep, icy depths. Some of it was the overwhelming lack of confidence she felt. The waves of disbelief that crashed over her, due in part to the incredulous glares others fixed on her.
Yes, she was drowning, and no one could see it but him.
The news headlines exalted them for saving the city—but the one who saved her all along was him, Nick Wilde.
For the moment, she can’t bring herself to say it, which is uncanny, given how she’s typically the more straightforward of the two.
But something about this… enigma of emotion she feels for him. Has her keeping mum.
Maybe, when they’re wading around such sentimental waters again, she’ll tell him.
Quality Time
Truth be told, Quality Time’s a hard thing for Judy to navigate at first.
She fills her time with activities, and even when interacting with others, she tends to think there has to be some… overarching itinerary. Some task to fulfill. Some quest to achieve.
Nick, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to enjoy budging.
Lunch breaks at the precinct tend to fall while they’re out on patrol, or not actively working on a case.
“Should we uh… go try that new cafe down at Sahara Square?” She gently taps her foot against the accelerator, careful not to trigger anything. “Or maybe the new restaurant down by the Marshlands? I heard their salads are to die for.”
He glances up from his phone and smiles at her. “Sure. Which one?”
A moment later, he yawns, stretching to soothe his aching shoulders. She recalls all the long shifts they’ve pulled recently, to capture all the prisoners that escaped. She even knows how he brought in one all on his own last night, when he caught someone suspicious loitering around his neighborhood.
She found out about it hours later in a text he sent, updating her, assuring her it was an easy arrest.
“Sorry, I forgot how much you’ve been pushing it lately,” she says sheepishly. “How about you rest up here and I’ll go get us takeout? Y’know, the usual stir-fry we get at Pango’s Express? We’ll eat in the car?”
He gets this adorable look of confusion, tilting his head as he regards her proposal.
“Takeout, huh?” He rotates further to get rid of cricks in his neck, then pops open his side of the door. “Sounds good, Carrots. But I don’t need to rest up. Let’s just go.”
Stunned, Judy doesn’t exactly move until he’s reached her side of the car, opening the door for her.
As she steps out, she nearly points out how inefficient of an endeavor this would be. Why did he insist on coming with her, when they weren’t going to any place new, or special?
Ordering takeout isn’t exactly an invigorating experience.
Rather mundane, for the most part. And yet, he wishes to accompany her.
On the other hand… is that so strange? Why’s Judy even bothering to question any of this? Being together has kind of become their default setting. Because of course they have to be side by side. Something… funny could happen! Right? And if Nick weren’t here, who would crack bad jokes? And if Judy weren’t also here, who would affectionately sigh, or gasp in distress at his audacity?
Absolutely nothing funny happens.
They walk, largely in silence, to Pango’s Express. There’s scant menus lying on the counter, so they briefly peruse them. She already knows what she wants, but he tends to get indecisive over what new item he should try, or what ol’ reliable he should fall back on.
Once they’ve gotten to the front of the queue, Judy does the ordering for them both. Nick’s getting the Orange Fried Tofu Special this time whereas she favors the Carrots Half-And-Half (half steamed, half roasted!). They typically share a bit of both, which came as a shock to her the first time Nick asked for a bite, but intriguingly, he doesn’t find roasted carrots half bad.
“There’s this glaze they put on it… mm, can’t get enough,” she remembers him claiming.
“So order one for yourself,” is something she typically says, ragging on him for his tendency to hog her food order. He never does.
“No can do, Carrots,” he always retorts as he dumps some tofu into her takeout box. “It’s unbecoming of my kind.”
As they await their orders, silence continues to ensue. Judy wonders if she needs to do something to fill it, or if she’s being too boring, and thereby a bad partner to Nick, who shouldn’t be expected to carry their conversations today of all days, given how little sleep he’s gotten as of late.
Or, would trying to chat up a storm actually be inconsiderate?
His hands land on her shoulders, jolting her from her thoughts.
“We’re up,” he murmurs in a low voice, making her ears twitch as he then directs her to the pickup area, grabbing their food on their behalf.
Then, they walk back to their car, in complete silence again, wordlessly eating and seamlessly splitting up the portions, placing morsels in each other’s boxes from time to time.
Once again, there’s not much of an ongoing dialogue, not even their usual jabs about what Judy always orders or what Nick shamelessly swipes.
Yet, she has trouble identifying dissatisfaction across Nick’s countenance. If anything, he appears perfectly content and cheerful, like there’s no other place in the world he’d be.
Something clicks as a result. Sunflowers sprout in her heart, attuned to his light. He emits an unfathomable warmth, and merely existing beside him bathes her with an incandescent glow.
Judy starts appreciating Quality Time more than she ever has before, recognizing its true value.
Was it something she hated beforehand? Not necessarily. Was she unable to understand its importance in all of her other relationships? Not at all. Did spending time with Nick casually day-to-day as partners and best friends allow her to appreciate the uniqueness of their bond?
Perhaps.
With Nick, she doesn’t have to over-prepare. She doesn’t have to brainstorm her way through their interactions, because everything between them just erupts so naturally.
Simply put, it’s not what they’re doing that matters. It’s the fact that they’re together as they do anything, everything, and nothing to boot.
Very quickly, she starts to understand the mandated work time they clock in together simply isn’t enough.
Judy finds herself craving more, more, and more time with Nick, antsy and scrambling to create further opportunities where they can be together.
Finally, when she can barely take it anymore, she blurts it out.
And… his eyes dilate in disbelief. Great.
“Uh… I’m sorry, were we assigned a new case back there?” Nick gestures restlessly, twitching in apprehension. “I was only half listening, but don’t we usually get orders in the beginning of the–“
“There’s no new case,” she quickly interjects to put him at ease. “I just thought… it’d be nice, y’know? We could get dinner on the way back, maybe watch something on my TV… it’s small, I know, but you refuse to let me visit your place–“
Abruptly, she realizes how inconsiderate she could be being. Perhaps Nick only felt a certain obligation to be with her when they were on the clock, and by asking him to come over, all the way back to her cramped one-room apartment at that—she could be infringing on his right to recharge and unwind.
Foxes are solitary, he’s said so himself, right?
“Works for me,” he shrugs, then sharply turns around in the direction of her apartment. “Hop to it, Carrots.”
Inexplicably, he doesn’t turn her down. To her bewilderment, he beams brightly as he suggests his go-to pizza place for dinner. They order one with a carrot puree sauce, topped with pepperoni (on half) and heaps of cheese.
On the train ride home, he considerately holds their pizza box, keeping it upright and safe for their consumption later. There aren’t any seats, so they grip onto handrails.
Nick deliberately stands pressed up against her—her back to his torso—even gripping onto her waist when their carriage jerks too suddenly, to prevent her from falling flat on her face. There’s even an instance where an elephant trips and nearly tramples her when they fall—which she escapes from unscathed, because of how quickly Nick repositioned them.
When they arrive at her apartment, he gives it a once-over and chuckles.
“Wow. No clue why you haven’t invited me sooner. Place was clearly made to host company.”
He makes a beeline for her desk after that, placing the pizza down and fiddling with her portable television, which clearly fascinates him, given how exceptionally tiny it is.
“Sorry,” she sheepishly apologizes, scanning her minuscule apartment. “I should’ve thought about all that before–“
“Don’t be,” he persuades her, already flipping through the channels. “I mean, you bought a TV made for mice, but we can make it work.”
It dawns on her how woefully unprepared her apartment was for this encounter.
She sighs, almost ashamed. “I don’t even have a dining table, or, or plates for our pizza, or cups–“
“Yep, there’s also the issue of your one chair,” he points out, goading her with one of his classic smirks. “Unless you planned on sitting in my lap, in which case I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”
A piping hot blaze rapidly assails her cheeks, as the very image of them… sharing her chair in… that manner. Ravages her frenetic mind.
Unbeknownst to her, her foot starts tapping at an unbreakable pace, and he has to intervene to put an end to it.
“Relax,” he assures her. “You don’t get the privilege of using me as a booster seat tonight, ‘cause I have an idea.”
Very quickly, he re-positions her television and turns her chair around to form a platform for it, making their (very) small-screen entertainment meet eye level as they sit on the floor, backs against her bed.
Soon, they find themselves cracking up at mediocre evening programs, as they dig into warm slices of heavenly goodness.
“This worked out well after all,” she notes, smiling with satisfaction as they leisurely watch the news. Nothing much to be updated on, mostly celebrity gossip and fluff pieces. “You really are a clever fox.”
His shoulders move in a self-satisfied shrug that’s also somewhat humble.
“Eh, what can I say?” Nick stares at her with half-lidded eyes. “Actually, I will say. I think this would’ve worked better if we ate on your bed, but—I know how much you would’ve freaked out if we got sauce on your sheets.”
She snorts. “You mean if you got sauce on my sheets.” She’s no messy eater.
“Well, agree to disagree.”
He goes home at far too late an hour, but doesn’t complain in the slightest.
The next day, despite the lack of invitation, he comes over again.
“Okay. Today we’re not eating anything remotely saucy. Is it time for the bed privileges to kick in?”
“Well, I can sit on my bed if you’d like,” she says in a patronizing voice. “Then you’d have complete floor privilege all to yourself–“
“HEY BUNNY, IS THAT THE LOVE RECORDING GUY? GOOD FOR YOU!”
“LEAVE HER ALONE, SHE MIGHT NOT HAVE SEALED THE DEAL YET!”
“HOW COULD SHE NOT HAVE SEALED THE DEAL? HE KEEPS ASKING TO BE IN HER BED!”
“WERE YOU NOT LISTENING? THEY’RE EATING ON IT BECAUSE THEY’RE POOR!”
Judy pinches the space between her eyebrows, unable to believe her luck. And also, the inappropriate timing of her abominable neighbors.
“So… love recording guy?”
She giggles uncomfortably as she retrieves their carrot pen recorder and places it back on its holder, considering begging on her knees for him to ignore that.
“Oh, y’know how this pen gets–“ she plays it once just to demonstrate, rendering him reticent–“always randomly triggering outta nowhere, hahaha! I think it got even worse after the time it uh, broke!”
“Yeah?” He approaches her, and her heart explodes with an unbearable heat. “Maybe I should take it back then. Fix it up a little more.”
“Nope!” She snatches it out of reach. “Won’t be necessary! It’s perfectly functional as a recording device and as a continued symbol for our emotional-ehhhh—dynamic!”
He doesn’t press the matter any further, thank god.
And, he comes back the next day… yet again. Which is interesting because it’s their day off.
He comes back the day off after that as well. Then work resumes and he still comes over.
Again. And again, and again. And again.
The amount of time he spends over starts incrementally increasing too, to the point where she isn’t sure public transport is still open at the wee hours in which he departs.
Soon enough, he convinces her that while it should be an absolute no-no to feast on her bed, it’s perfectly fine to lounge on it after they’ve digested.
This results in countless hours of chats where they giggle about stupid stuff under the covers, trying to stay quiet so her temperamental neighbors don’t lash out at them mid-conversation.
Which… inevitably builds to a pivotal moment.
One fine day, Nick neglects the part of the night where he goes home. Similarly, Judy neglects the awareness to kick him out, remind him that they have to be up early tomorrow.
Instead, they wake up the next morning, sharing the same bed they lounged on, his arms wrapped protectively around her.
It’s the most comfortable sleep she’s had in a while, despite it taking place on a reliably uncomfortable mattress.
Judy observes the rise and fall of Nick’s chest, largely because he has her head pressed against it, or maybe she naturally snuggled towards him over the course of the night.
Who’s to say?
When he stirs and gradually realizes what’s transpired, he freezes up, trembling. His mouth falls agape and guilt floods his expression, as though he’s just committed a heinous crime, about to hyperventilate in anticipation of his impending punishment.
To some extent, Judy understands why he’d be wary, because she knows the things people would say if they were caught in their current position.
But they fell into a deep slumber so innocently! And she knows Nick would never do anything untoward, or be anything other than fiercely protective of her.
Above all, however… she just never, ever wants to see that expression of his again.
Let alone be the cause of it.
So she slides her hand up his arm, clasping his face.
“Good morning,” she all but coos at him, in sickeningly saccharine sounds. It does wonders for his psyche, and his ballooning fears visibly deflate.
“Ugh, five more minutes,” he groans, digging his head against her pillow, tugging her closer, and tighter.
The next day, they fall into bed together again—almost deliberately this time—and he takes special care to arrange themselves cohesively such that she has a comfortable place to rest against her pillow, trying to make sure her singular blanket is fairly shared so they both stay warm.
Somehow, every morning, the pillow gets replaced with one of his arms, and their limbs wind up so haphazardly entangled.
Judy feels warmer than ever too, cuddling up with Nick, blanket be damned.
On a particular day after work, he drags her in the opposite direction of the way to her apartment.
“Darling, your mattress is killing my back,” he unceremoniously declares. “We’ll go back to my place this time.”
“Not afraid I won’t be able to leave anymore?” She coquettishly teases.
“I’ll take my chances,” he says, sticking a lolly he’d been licking at back into his mouth.
He could’ve very simply stopped sleeping over at her apartment, and Judy very nearly suggests that, but doesn’t because… she simply doesn’t want him to.
Why look a gift horse in the mouth? The horses have done nothing to offend her, and besides, these last few weeks have been some of best experiences of Quality Time she’s ever had.
But something dawns on her. Is… what they’ve been doing… purely just an expression of Quality Time? Wouldn’t it be more so…
Physical Touch
It hits her all at once.
Beyond their recent escapades in sharing a sleeping space, Judy notices that Nick… touches her. A lot.
When did it start, exactly? She can’t really fathom it, because Nick touching her very frequently, and very affectionately, and very protectively—it all culminates as a universal truth.
One she’s been somewhat oblivious to.
And it’s a little silly to not have been fully aware or conscious of how much physical contact Nick makes with her when she’s been sleeping in the same bed as him for weeks, yes, she knows!
But… god. What does she know? What is she doing? What has she been doing?
Judy sneaks a look at him, as he escorts her through his front door, pride cradling his features.
Does he know what they’ve been doing here? And the very many implications of it?
Or—are there no implications? Are they perhaps, simply… being?
She’s so consumed by this line of thought that she doesn’t notice how spotless the previously dilapidated apartment she now stands in is.
“Eh…? I know, I know, I could barely believe it myself–“
“You touch me a lot,” she spits out, breathing heavily. “Why do you touch me so much?”
He looks stunned beyond belief. “I’m… sorry? Do you want me to–“ then it all clicks–“oh. This is about your, something to do with that whole uh… love languages thing, was it?”
Her eyes shift conspicuously. “Maybe…”
“Who am I kidding, of–“ he huffs, and sighs–“you’re you. Of course you were gonna start meticulously tracking all the ways in which I show–“
He cuts himself off. Judy desperately wants him to finish that sentence.
“Show what?”
Despite the stark line of questioning, she sort of knows what he was going to say. In fact, he’s said it before. Judy has a pen that stores that very word, those very feelings.
His jaw unhinges, eyes shimmering like he holds it in consideration. But then he clamps down on the desire, swallowing it whole, like declaring it would hurt more.
“Okay, coming clean about something,” he deflects, looking in her direction but not quite at her. “That quiz? When I said I didn’t care? Sorta lied, uh, I mean. I guess I don’t care that much about figuring out what my love languages are, but—I knew it meant a whole lot to you. So I fired up that link again, and… I tried taking the quiz.”
“You… did.” She repeats the confirmation. “But… why didn’t you tell me? Why did you need to lie about that?”
“Couldn’t get past the first question,” he retorts without pause, snorting solemnly. “I just… I stared at it. Didn’t know who to picture, or what the right person to picture should’ve been.”
For a moment, she lets herself imagine it. Nick, pulling up the link on his phone. Frowning in confusion, his features in a tizzy over a five minute multiple-choice online test.
(And by multiple-choice, she means two choices. Yeah, the quiz pits two choices against one another per question!)
Involuntarily, she lets out a full blown chortle. He exhales at the very sight, but unwittingly smiles just to see it.
(It seems smiling at her antics is another thing he does a lot. Like he can’t get enough…)
“I’m sorry,” she quickly collects herself. “But that’s… oh. That’s adorable, actually.” He appears stunned when she makes eye contact. “Look… I should’ve probably explained this to you before but… with the love languages quiz? Just picture whoever you want. Love languages are for everyone and anyone you love, it-it could be… a friend, someone in your family, a lover. Heck—you could’ve pictured me!”
She punches him in the arm, and he appears crestfallen in reaction, like something in him shatters.
And it can’t be because she punched him in the arm, because she does that all the time.
Sighing deeper than she’s probably ever seen anyone sigh, Nick rubs hard at the crease in his brow.
He takes a deep breath.
“I did,” he admits, which should not be as dramatic as it sounds.
Does he not remember them talking about how much they mean to each other? She thought about him almost exclusively when she did her quiz. They care about each other! They love each other! This is something that they’ve admitted, so why is everything somehow still so…
“That’s… not a bad thing, right?” She inquires. “That you pictured me? I mean–“
“It shouldn’t be, no,” he agrees. “But that’s the thing, you see. The second I pictured you, I, I—realized I couldn’t choose.”
Judy takes a moment to compute all of this, and finds herself heartened again.
“Did you… feel bad because of that?” She places a hand on her chest, almost touched. Perhaps that’s why he’s been more affectionate. Maybe that was his way of doing the quiz: real-life application. “Oh… you didn’t have to, silly! Y’know what, that’s my bad. I really shouldn’t have made it seem like some big deal to prefer certain love languages. It’s not even super accurate! Most people are just more ambiguous and generally show love through overlapping and–“
“No, no–“ he frantically shakes his head. “You’re not getting it. I mean, whatever you were about to say—I’m sure it’s very interesting. Would love to hear about it. But… that’s not the problem. The problem is… when it comes to you–“ he pauses–“I can’t decide. I can’t decide what love language I prefer, or what sort of affection I’d like to receive, b-because… when it comes to you, I want… whatever you’ll give me.”
The entire world comes to a standstill.
She doesn’t say a word. She finds herself tongue-tied for the moment, actually.
“I know,” he continues. “I know that’s pathetic. But there’s your answer, mm’kay? I… I am pathetic. Some days it’s like I really am a street dog begging for scraps. I don’t rank and rate all the ways you… show love to me. Or care. Or… whatever we’re calling it. I just know I always want more. Which is crazy, because I already get plenty. More than I deserve… more than—more than I can believe I would’ve ever gotten. And that terrifies me.”
He regards her with that very visage of terror, then quickly looks away again.
“I’m always afraid, actually. That one day I’m gonna cross a line, take it too far,” he laments, in his own personal hell. “That I’ll finally get too greedy and you’ll stop giving me my fix. Cut me off…”
She gasps at the very concept, wholeheartedly rejecting it. Her? Cut Nick off? How could he even suggest that, how could he think she’d ever do something like that—after everything they’ve been through?
After everything that’s been said?
A part of her is honestly almost angry, but she can barely bring herself to express it because of how despondent Nick seems.
“Why would you think something like that?” She dishes out in dismay. “I’d never—Nick. You could never be too much. There’s nothing wrong with being yourself. And if there’s something you want—what… what even is it that you want? What could be so bad–“
In a flurry of fright, he ejects himself from her line of questioning, rushing to unpack their dinner, like it going cold is suddenly of great concern to him.
“Never mind,” he shakes his head, frantic. “Forget I said any of that, I didn’t mean any of it. Things are fine as they are, so let’s just move on and eat–“
“What? No!” She darts down to chase him, grabbing his hands to stop his frenzied movements. “Nick, we are talking about this. I don’t understand why you’re so upset, all I did was ask a simple question–“
“Alright, fine,” he relents, voice a lot more gentle-sounding than it should be for an outburst. He appears defeated. “You really wanna know why I ‘touch you so much’?” He lifts his fingers for every exaggerated air quote. “It’s because I can’t help myself, okay? At all times, I constantly want my hands all over you. It… it’s sick. Whatever terrible reason you can think of for it, that’s why. And you wanna know what else?”
She can’t pull her eyes away from him. That unbearable heat that ignites within her sometimes, when she’s around him? It’s about to burn the building to the ground.
“What else?” Judy bites her lip. “What else, Nick?”
He nearly rolls his eyes, but the devastation and resignation his gaze contains is palpable. Like he’s about to voluntarily hammer down the final nail in his coffin.
“I am… in a constant state of torture,” he confesses. “Because at any given moment, I’m doing everything I can not to kiss you. I’m barely able to hold it in right now.”
Then he goes back to opening takeout boxes, dumping roasted carrots onto nice plates—they look new, like he bought them recently—because she wanted them to have dinner on actual crockery, using actual utensils, and, and real cups.
Which he remembered.
In fact, a mere glance at his apartment reveals a multitude of adjustments and accommodations he’s made for her comfort.
To begin with, he’s very visibly tidied up, gotten things a lot more organized.
Notably, his mattress in the far corner looks unexpectedly lovely. It comes adorned with new azure blue sheets, comfortable throw pillows, and what appears to be… a new bed frame.
Because she has a bed frame. Nick didn’t use to have a bed frame, he’d even argued that it was a waste of money and that mattresses feel best on the floor.
But he wanted her to… stay over. And so he made sure everything would suit her needs and preferences.
The thought of it makes her want to burst into tears, sobbing, at how awfully in love she is with Nick Wilde.
This is something she needs to tell him, and fast, because every second she goes without saying it is another fracture that further shatters his breaking heart.
“Nick…” she moves closer to him, wanting to just blurt it all out, but her throat is so stuffy, overcome with emotion.
“Look–“ he responds coldly, not even facing her–“if you don’t wanna stay over anymore, I get it, but can we at least get through dinner?”
“NO!” She bellows with great force, jolting him, making him face her. “I want to stay over!”
“O-okay…” he purses his lip. “I wasn’t stopping you, of course you can–“
“And… I like it when you touch me,” she declares, flipping his entire expression. “I like it, okay? I like it a lot—and I don’t want you to ever stop. I don’t want you holding back anything, so if you… ever… get the urge to kiss me–“ she gulps, because he was right, no matter what she feels, and no matter what she knows he feels, this is so unbelievably scary–“you should uh… do it.”
He blinks once, slowly, completely composed now. But in the way where he’s masking, barely able to hide how enraptured this all makes him.
“I should, huh?”
“Yup!” She smacks her lips. “I just, it’s just… a suggestion, that’s all.”
That touch she always craves, it lands on her shoulder once more, traveling down her arm.
“And… that whole deal where we’ve been sleeping in the same bed. That still something you want?”
“Mhm!” She nods, almost saluting to signify her supreme approval of that arrangement.
“I see,” he drawls, lowering himself down to get sickeningly close to her face. “So, if I were to, let’s say, kiss you in bed… that something you’d be down for too?”
Blood surges downwards, pooling below her belt. Her breaths go ragged, unable to handle how hot he’s making her, with sheer words alone. The way his voice sounds isn’t helping matters, and at this rate, she’ll pass out.
“Yes, please just…”
“I’m giving you–“ he heaves–“a full and complete warning. Because I’ve been controlling myself for a long time, and I get the sense you’ve just started catching up–“
“Well, I’m fast!” She argues, getting very ticked off and frustrated. “Quick as a bunny, like you might say–“
He chuckles low and slow at her interjection, but she can’t take it anymore. She cuts him off mid-laugh, kissing him with all her might.
Nick is caught off guard, but moans out in satisfaction when their lips meet, hands positioning around her back and hips. Soon, he lifts her off the ground, and she straddles his waist with her legs, deepening their kiss.
It’s electrifying. She feels the fireworks explode all the way up to her ears, and when Nick entangles one of his hands up there, she groans with unmistakable pleasure.
He snorts against her lips.
“So that’s why you don’t pull a bunny’s ears, huh?”
She blushes fervently. “Shut up. You’re supposed to be kissing me.”
“Yes ma’am,” he obeys instantaneously, his favorite command she’s ever given. Feverishly, she grinds against him, making him gasp as he jerks backwards, before placing her on an adjacent counter.
Slowly, he strokes a thumb up her inner thigh.
“You’re going to regret that,” he hums, eyes darkening with desire.
Judy responds with a kiss, tantalizingly and alluringly placed on his neck. He shudders, ravenous, getting reminded of who’s actually in control.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she declares, diving back in for another kiss. He melts against her, and they effortlessly deepen it, their tongues, bodies, and souls intertwining.
Dinner is nearly abandoned, and winds up practically frigid when they get to it, hours later.
Thankfully, neither of them particularly care.