Chapter Text
If you asked anyone who knew Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps well enough—
really knew them—they would tell you the same three things, without hesitation.
That they were meant for each other.
That they were very much in love.
And that they were, quite possibly, the slowest and dumbest mammals on the entire planet.
Because despite how painfully obvious it was to everyone else, neither of them ever did a single thing about it.
Maybe it was comfort.
The kind that settles quietly between two people and never feels temporary. They were comfortable inside their friendship, wrapped in long hours at work, in shared routines, in a partnership that already felt complete. Taking the extra leap never seemed urgent. Or maybe it simply never found the right moment.
Their friends, coworkers, and family had long ago filed Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps under already together.
Not will they, won’t they—but they are.
In the Hopps family, for example—where weddings were less of a milestone and more of a recurring event—patterns were easy to spot. There were many siblings. Many cousins. Many ceremonies. And at every single one of them, the same thing happened.
Nick was always Judy’s plus-one.
Always at her side.
Always dancing with her, laughing with her, looking at her as if she was the moon itself.
And so, at every wedding—between speeches and cake and awkward toasts—the same questions floated through the room. The same knowing looks. The same gentle, not-so-gentle nudges.
Because if it looked like a couple, moved like a couple, and slow-danced like a couple in the middle of a crowded room… well.
Surely it was only a matter of time.
That’s why it was particularly weird whenever someone smiled knowingly and referenced their relationship, they answered:
“What? Of course not. We’re just friends.”
This, understandably, made the entire Hopps family snort, roll their eyes, or murmur a deeply unconvinced yeah, sure into their drinks of choice.
The topic had been dissected many times at the Hopps dinner table. Judy’s mother—and half of her siblings—worried, earnestly, that maybe Judy and Nick believed the family too prejudiced to accept them. That fear, they reasoned, must be why the two of them refused to say anything out loud.
The other half of the siblings—and her father—had a different theory entirely.
They were convinced it was a long con.
That one day, out of nowhere, wedding invitations would arrive announcing, Surprise, we’re getting married. Of course we’ve been dating this whole time.
A perfectly executed reveal. Maximum suspense. Zero explanations.
And obviously—obviously—it would have been Nick’s idea.
Their friends—the ones closest to them—had a much simpler explanation.
They were just stupid. Point blank.
No one could quite understand how two mammals who spent their days together—who shared an entire repertoire of inside jokes no one else was ever allowed to understand, exchanged lingering, heart-in-their-eyes glances that made everyone within a two-thousand-foot radius feel like an accidental third wheel, and seized every possible excuse to give each other meaningful little gifts while flirting so aggressively it became borderline uncomfortable for innocent bystanders—could insist on calling what they had platonic.
“You know, Nicholas,” Nibbles Maplestick had said one afternoon at their weekly Boys’ Night, “you have a very strange definition of the word friend.”
Boys’ night, of course, was a legacy title. It had started as a simple card game between Nick and Finnick. Then Nibbles joined. The gender ratio shifted. The name stayed.
Nick narrowed his eyes, cards fanned lazily in his paw.
“Well, what would you like me to call it,” he asked, “when that’s what we are?”
The little fox beside him snorted.
“I’ve been tellin’ you—that’s marriage, not friendship.”
Nick scoffed. “It’s not my fault you have such a cubish view of relationships. A male can be friends with a female. And their relationship can be completely and strictly platonic.”
That earned a laugh from Nibbles.
“Hey, that’s absolutely right,” she said. “Because I think that’s exactly what we are. I’m a girl. You’re a boy. I love you. You love me. Strictly platonic.”
Nick didn’t even look up.
“Bold of you to assume I love you.”
Nibbles grinned, unbothered.
“Oh, please. You love me, dude. Don’t deny it.”
“Come on, Nicky,” Finnick said. “The beaver’s right. The moment she hustled you that one time, you were a goner.”
Nibbles didn’t even look up from his cards. “You two have the hots for each other.”
Nick rolled his eyes very, very hard.
“We. Do. Not. And you know what? We have nothing to prove to you.”
He lowered his cards with a smug little smile.
A royal flush.
“I win.”
Nibbles and Finnick exchanged a look. Slow. Sympathetic.
“Your loss,” they said in unison.
And for the girls?
On the other side of the city, at that exact same moment, girls’ night was in full swing.
It had started, as a simple weekly ritual between Fru Fru and Judy—movie marathons, fashion debates, and very serious discussions about the latest Gazelle’s music video. Somewhere along the way, Clawhauser and Gary joined in. The gender ratio shifted. The name stayed.
“Sooo…” Fru Fru began, drawing the word out like a trap snapping shut.
“What are you all doing for Valentine’s Day?”
Clawhauser, currently in the middle of a very serious fur-mask treatment, lit up.
“I’m going to Gazelle’s Beating Hearts fan event!” he said, practically vibrating with excitement.
Gary—the blue snake—turned a page of his fashion magazine with delicate interest.
“I’m spending it with my family. We’re having a Valentine’s-themed dinner party.”
“Awww, I love that,” Fru Fru said. “I’m doing a romantic dinner with my hubby. We’re leaving little Judy with her grandpa—he volunteered to babysit.”
She leaned in.
“What about you, Judy? Are you and Nick doing anything?”
“Wh—what?” Judy blinked, mid–fur-care routine, wrapped in a pink robe. “Me and Nick? Uh—no. I don’t think so.”
Clawhauser said sadly. “Why not?”
Then his eyes widened. “Oh my gosh,” he whispered. “Wait. Did he forget to make a reservation?”
Judy sighed. “Okay—here we go again.” She adjusted her robe. “How many times do I have to say this? Nick and I are just friends. Like. Literally just friends. There is nothing romantic happening. At all.”
Fru Fru, Gary, and Clawhauser exchanged a look. Soft. Gentle. Judgy.
“Judy…” Fru Fru said carefully, “are you sure?”
She tilted her head. “Because Valentine’s Day feels like… kind of a perfect moment to maybe—just maybe—see where things could go?”
“Our relationship is fine,” Judy said quickly. “It’s good. It works. I like it exactly the way it is.”
Fru Fru shrugged. “Okay. If that’s what you want. I mean… I still think you could do sooooooooo much better than him.”
“Fru Fru!” Clawhauser protested, clutching his heart.
She scoffed. “What? Because of him, we buried my great-grandma in a skunk-butt rug. I’m allowed to hold a grudge.”
“Judy,” Gary said gently, slithering closer and completely abandoning his magazine, “don’t you think… the relationship you do have is… I don’t know… maybe a little more than just friendly?”
Judy frowned.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Gary offered her a gentle smile.
“It’s just… you seem really close,” he said carefully. “And, well—you have a lot of chemistry, so…”
She hesitated. Just a second too long.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Judy said quickly. “We love each other. A lot. He’s my best friend, but…”
She shrugged, forcing a smile.
“That’s it. That’s all it is.”
A collective sigh filled the room.
For the shrew, the cheetah, and the snake, it was pure exasperation.
For the bunny, it sounded suspiciously like something else entirely.
And although the conversation drifted elsewhere, the idea their friends had planted refused to fade.
It lingered—quiet, persistent, long after girls’ night had ended—waiting patiently for the exact wrong moment to resurface.
Which is how, a few days later at the precinct, just before roll call, in the familiar hush of the locker room, Judy found herself asking—
“So…” She pretended to reorganize her locker. Again. “Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”
Nick snorted as he adjusted his tie.
“Wow. Bold of you to open with emotional violence.”
He glanced at her, amused. “Absolutely not. Valentine’s Day is a scam. A city-wide experiment to see how many mammals can panic-buy flowers and chocolate in under twenty-four hours.”
He waved a paw. “Hearts everywhere. Pink ribbons. Overpriced dinners. Couples clogging every restaurant like it’s the apocalypse, but with candles… Nah I’d rather be home. Door locked. Watching slasher films and judging everyone else’s life choices.”
She waited a beat. “Oh,” Judy said. “That’s… fun.”
He tilted his head, studying her the way he always did—like she was a target he’d already mapped out, just waiting for the right angle.
“You, on the other paw, strike me as a stay-in, early bedtime, maybe-write-a-to-do-list-for-fun kind of Valentine.”
“Well, I was actually wondering if maybe we could—”
She stopped short. “Wait. What does that mean?” she protested. “I don’t write to-do lists for fun. Okay, maybe sometimes—but not for Valentine’s Day.”
Nick grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“I’m just saying—I know you. Chronically single. Married to the job. Emotionally unavailable because crime never sleeps.”
Her ears twitched.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I am not emotionally unavailable.”
Nick lifted a brow. “Oh? My mistake. Emotionally selective, then—for paperwork.”
“I could get a date,” Judy snapped, crossing her arms.
Nick’s grin widened. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. It’s just—”
She hesitated. Just barely.
“…What?”
He shrugged, casual to the point of irritating.
“Well—”
Her foot started tapping against the floor, fast and unmistakably bunny.
“What, Nick.”
He chuckled, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“You, my dear Carrot Cake, strike me as a high-maintenance kind of gal.”
“What? I am not.”
“Let me guess,” he went on, clearly warming up. “If you did get a Valentine’s date, you’d want a ridiculously fancy candlelit dinner at some place with a three-week waiting list. Soft music. Impossibly romantic lighting.”
He gestured dramatically.
“Prince Charming staring deeply into your eyes like you’re the only mammal in the room,” he went on, “then kissing you under the moonlight while fireworks conveniently explode in the sky around you.”
She rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t have to be fancy.”
“Oh?”
“I mean—” She waved a paw, searching. “Just… nice.”
Nick hummed thoughtfully, then smirked.
“See? Total romantic.”
He shook his head.
“The bad news is, despite what Valentine’s Day’s insidious marketing wants us to believe, that kind of all-consuming love doesn’t actually exist.”
He scoffed. “Except in the rom-coms you love and those very spicy romance novels you swear you don’t read.”
“Well, Wilde,” Judy shot back, “not all of us are bitter enough to believe it doesn’t.”
Nick slung an arm around her shoulders, all easy charm.
“Sorry to crash your Disney dreams, darling, but love is a scam.”
He lifted a paw, as if unveiling a very bleak presentation slide. “Love is dead.”
She groaned.
“But it’s fine,” Nick added lightly. “We have each other.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “And we can grow old and bitter together.”
The locker room door opened. Voices echoed down the hall. Roll call was about to start.
Nick grabbed his jacket.
“Hey,” he said lightly, already turning away. “If you do end up meeting Prince Charming, I expect full details.”
She watched him go, ears drooping. “…Yeah,” Judy said softly. “I’ll let you know.”
It turned out Nick’s words stuck with her more than she wanted them to.
Maybe she was emotionally unavailable.
Maybe she was too much of a workaholic.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how it happened. Maybe she was going to be one of those mammals who woke up one day and realized she’d accidentally chosen her career over… everything else.
Alone forever.
With a badge. And a plant.
The next morning, by the time Judy pushed open the door to her usual coffee shop at exactly 6:30 a.m., she was already spiraling.
Not in a dramatic, end-of-the-world kind of way.
More like the quiet, internal kind. The kind where your thoughts start stacking on top of each other until suddenly you’re wondering if this is how it happens—how you wake up one day and realize you’re going to be alone forever.
The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside.
The place smelled like roasted coffee beans and early mornings.
A few regulars were already scattered around—sleepy mammals hunched over cups, laptops glowing, the city slowly warming up outside the fogged windows.
Judy exhaled.
She ordered on autopilot. Same oat milk latte. Same modifications. Same words she’d said so many times they barely felt like language anymore.
The barista—an otter who looked deeply unimpressed by mornings, people, and probably existence itself—told her the price.
Judy reached for her wallet.
Nothing.
She frowned slightly and tried again. Her pockets. Her bag. Her jacket.
Still nothing.
“Oh—shoot,” she muttered, patting herself down again, a little faster this time.
The otter finally looked up. Flat. Expressionless. Judgment incarnate.
The line behind her shifted. Someone sighed. Judy felt her soul gently detach from her body and hover somewhere near the ceiling.
“I don’t have my wallet—”
Of course.
Of course this would happen today.
She opened her mouth to apologize, to step aside, to accept her fate with dignity—
“Hey. It’s on me.”
The voice came from behind her. Calm. Easy. Unbothered. Like rescuing stranded bunnies from minor social disasters was part of his morning routine.
Judy turned.
And suddenly, there he was.
A buck. Tall. Soft brown fur. Well put together in a way that felt effortless rather than intentional. He wore a suit that looked expensive but lived-in, and he was smiling at her like this was all perfectly normal.
Like she wasn’t internally combusting.
He tapped his card against the reader, paid without hesitation.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said lightly, like this was nothing more than holding a door open.
Judy blinked.
Then smiled back before she could stop herself.
They stepped aside to wait for their coffees, the awkwardness settling gently between them.
“Thank you so much,” she said, letting out a small, breathy laugh. “I think you actually just saved my life.”
He chuckled.
“It’s the least I could do for an officer,” he said, nodding toward her uniform.
“Well,” Judy replied, “thanks to you I get my daily dose of caffeine. Which is kind of a lifesaver, so… thank you, mister…?”
“Charming,” he said, extending a paw. “Steve Charming.”
She blinked.
…Of course.
She shook his paw. Up close, she noticed the little details—the neat cut of his suit, the easy confidence in the way he stood, the warmth behind his eyes.
Charming, indeed.
The universe, it seemed, was feeling particularly funny this morning.
“That’s a very fitting name,” she said.
He shrugged. “Yeah, well. It was also the reason they bullied me in school,” he added with a laugh.
Then he tilted his head, studying her a little more closely now.
“And you’re Judy Hopps, right?”
That caught her off guard.
“—How do you…?”
“You’re kind of famous,” he said easily. “You’ve been all over the news. The cases you’ve solved?”
He smiled—wide, genuine.
“I’m actually a big fan.”
Her ears warmed instantly.
“Oh—” She ducked her head, suddenly very aware of herself. “Well… thank you.”
Her phone buzzed in her paw.
She glanced down.
Nick:
I’m early. I’m sleepy. Kill me.
The smile that curved her mouth was automatic.
She looked back up at Steve.
“It was really nice meeting you,” she said, lifting the coffee the barista had just placed on the counter. “I’ve got to get to work. And… thanks again for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome” Said the buck
She had just stepped out of the coffee shop when she heard hurried footsteps behind her.
“Hey—wait! Officer Hopps?”
She turned. Mr. Charming had clearly jogged after her, a little breathless, a little unsure of what to do with his paws now that he’d actually caught up.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I, um—I didn’t want to be weird, but…”
He let out a small, nervous laugh.
“I was thinking about it, and meeting you in there just felt… I don’t know. Kind of like one of those moments you’re not supposed to ignore.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
“I mean,” he added, rushing a bit now, “I really admire you. And I was wondering if maybe—if you’re free sometime—we could get coffee again. Or dinner. Or just… something.”
For a brief second, without meaning to, her thoughts drifted to Nick.
She shook it off.
Here was a very real, very kind buck, standing in front of her, taking a chance.
Maybe it was time she did too.
“Um—yeah,” she said, smiling despite herself. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Then, almost automatically, she added with a small grin,
“Just so you know, I’m a cop. So I will be running a background check.”
His relieved laugh said everything.
They exchanged numbers, followed by a couple of awkward waves, a mutual we should totally text later, and the kind of goodbye that lingered half a second too long. Judy headed toward the precinct practically bouncing, arriving at roll call with a spring in her step that did not go unnoticed.
The bullpen was loud—as usual.
Lions, zebras, hippos, rhinos—all clustered in overlapping conversations, laughter echoing off the walls, chairs scraping, someone arguing about lunch plans far too early in the morning.
Judy slipped into her seat—the one she always shared with Nick.
He was already there, sunglasses on indoors, slouched like a mammal still actively negotiating with consciousness.
“Hey, partner,” she said brightly.
Nick cracked one eye open.
“Well, someone’s happy this morning,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “What happened? Did they give you a bunch of discount coupons for carrots?”
“No,” she said quickly. Then she smiled.
“I just— you were wrong. And I love when I’m right and you’re wrong.”
That did it.
Nick lowered his sunglasses just enough to actually look at her.
“…What do you mean?” he asked, suddenly alert. Suspicious.
Judy’s smile widened—small, secretive.
“Oh. Nothing,” she said lightly. “Nothing special.”
She turned back to her locker as if that were the end of it.
Nick kept staring.
Because no.
That was definitely not nothing.
The rest of the day only made it worse.
Judy was distracted. Not in her usual focused, case-obsessed way—but the other kind. The glancing-down-at-her-phone kind. The typing-quickly-then-smiling-to-herself kind. The tilting-the-screen-away-just-a-little kind.
Every time her phone buzzed, she smiled.
Not the polite smile.
Not the professional one.
The soft one.
Nick noticed. Of course he did. He noticed everything. He just pretended not to.
Hours later, after patrols were done and paperwork was finally wrestled into submission, they headed toward the exit together, the precinct winding down behind them.
Casual. Normal. Like always.
“So,” Nick said, hands in his pockets, voice carefully neutral. “What’re you doing this weekend?”
She hesitated. Just a beat.
“I think I have a date,” Judy said.
Nick laughed immediately. Too quickly.
“With who,” he said, smirking, “your dentist?”
She punched him in the shoulder—hard.
“Don’t be dumb,” she said. “With a buck.”
Nick stopped walking.
Like—stopped stopped.
His brain took a second to catch up with his feet.
“…A what?” he asked.
Judy blinked.
“A buck?” she clarified, looking at him like he’d just missed something obvious. “A male rabbit? That’s what we’re called?”
Nick let out a short laugh. “Oh, wow. My bad,” he said easily. “And who is this mysterious buck? Your carrot supplier finally shooting his shot?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Very funny. No. Just… someone I met. He asked me out.”
She waited.
Because usually, this was the part where Nick said something.
A joke, a quip, or a perfectly timed, mildly annoying remark.
But he didn’t.
Nick just stood there.
Not smiling.
Not frowning.
Not moving.
Like someone had hit pause on him mid-thought.
The silence stretched.
“…Nick?” she asked, tilting her head.
It took him a second—maybe two—before he blinked and snapped back into place. And just like that, the familiar sly smile slid back onto his face, smooth and practiced.
“Well, look at that,” he said lightly.
Judy lifted her chin.
“See? You were wrong. I do have the capacity to get a date.”
He shook his head, amused.
“I never said you couldn’t,” he corrected. “I said you’re a hopeless romantic.”
He shrugged.
“And that there probably aren’t a lot of mammals out there who can keep up with that.”
Judy sighed, the tension easing just a bit.
“I’m not putting pressure on it,” she said. “No expectations. No labels.”
She hesitated, then added, more honestly,
“I just want to go out. Have fun. See what happens.”
He kept walking, quiet now.
“What’s his name?” he asked at last.
“Charming,” she said, a wicked little smile sneaking onto her face.
He stopped again.
“…Seriously.”
“Steve,” she added sweetly. “Steve Charming.”
Nick stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“You’re messing with me.”
She shrugged, delighted.
“Who knows, Nick,” she said lightly, stepping backward now. “Maybe I’ll get a Prince Charming after all.”
She gave him a small wave.
Then she turned the corner and disappeared from his side, leaving Nick standing there a second longer than necessary—still looking at the empty space she’d just occupied.
That was how, that evening, a hopeful, quietly happy bunny made her way home—phone in paw, smiling at messages from a buck whose name still felt a little unreal, whose attention felt new and light and promising.
And that was how a fox arrived at his place, tossed his keys aside, and stared at his phone far too long—thumb hovering over the picture of his bunny best friend. A contact he’d texted a thousand times before, suddenly unsure of what, if anything, he should say.
Across the city of Zootopia, Valentine’s Day crept closer—just a couple of weeks away. Shop windows bloomed with hearts and soft lights. Advertisements promised forever. Restaurants filled their reservation lists. The air itself seemed to hum with expectation.
A celebration of love.
And for everyone who knew Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps, there was no meant to be quite as obvious as theirs.
The truly difficult thing—the almost tragic thing—was that neither of them seemed to realize it.
Not yet.