Nick
The crowd is chanting my name.
This is what I live for.
I walk forward, feeling the support of the band behind me and the adrenaline of the crowd in front of me.
I know where I am. This is Zootopia's greatest music festival. Pawlapalooza.
I pick up my guitar in my hands, and turn back to my friends onstage.
I say a song. I don't know which one, I just know it's good. I turn to the crowd. I play a couple of notes, and the enormous field goes quiet. I pull my hand up, and play the opening line.
And the crowd explodes.
"He almost died." The gruff voice says. My lids are still shut, but the world around me has come into sharp and painful focus. I can feel the stiff hospital mattress under me, and although I look like I'm sleeping, I can feel my face.
I sort of wish I couldn't, honestly.
"Yes, but 'almost' doesn't count, now does it." A smooth voice replies. Probably a doctor. They're the only people who are calm under all forms of pressure.
"How long will he need off of work?" The gruff voice speaks again, and this time, I recognize it. Why is the Chief here?
"At least a week." The doctor says. "He can do most things fine, but super strenuous physical activities need to be avoided. His respiratory system will be shot for a good three days, but from there, he should be fine."
There's a pause. I dwell on what the doctor said. Respiratory system shot for three days. I won't be able to play a concert for three days. Honestly, that's probably for the best. Concerts are stressful, and as much as I love them, it's better for me to focus on keeping myself together at this point.
"You caught the mammal that used the fox repellant, right?" the doctor says, with unexpected viciousness.
"Yes. He's being interrogated by the officer who caught him right now."
"You mean that bunny who just left?" the doctor asks.
Wait, just left?! I'm tempted to sit up right then and there, but out of concern for getting some off time, I decide to delay my miraculous recovery. She just left. I wonder how long she had watched me. Probably long enough for her to get some sense that I almost died.
That must have sucked for her. I mentally berate myself. If anything, I should at least try to keep myself alive for her. If she even cares about me anymore. I can't say I would be surprised if she just wanted to call the partnership. I've had too many people walk out on me. My dad left when I was six. My mom might still be alive, but she's deep in drugs- so she stopped talking to me years ago. I had a sister. Her name was Annabelle. She went to a really prestigious college- and then, when I dropped out of school to start hustling, she stopped speaking to me too. No full time college student wanted an affiliation with a known hustler. It was probably my darkest moment.
"Well, thank you, Doctor." Bogo says, and I hear the scuffling noise of a chair being scraped against the floor as it's pulled so Bogo can stand. "You've taken great care of my officer."
"That's my job." The Doctor smiles cordially. "I'll have him text you when he's released."
I hear the door open, and then close behind Bogo. I close my eyes and wait. I decide to keep my eyes closed for another little while, just to make it seem less suspicious. I settle on this plan, and just as I have settled into my pillows, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"You can stop pretending to be asleep, Mr. Wilde."
I wrench my eyes open. Standing at the end of my bed is an otter. It takes me a second to recognize him, and when I do, I'm stunned. His brown fur, glasses, and kindly expression throw me off my game.
"Mr. Otterton?!" I yelp.
"That's my name." he says. "You sound alright. That's good. You've been out for almost 25 hours, so I sort of expected that you'd be a little better when you finally woke up. That fox repellant is nasty stuff."
"Yessir, it is." I agree.
"So." He sits down in the chair that Bogo just left open, and looks me dead in the eye. "Let's talk about your tattoo."
I blink. Then, I make a horrified whine. Oh no.
All of us have one. Each and every one of us. We have it in places that you wouldn't normally see unless you were looking for it. For me, it's just under my collar bone on my chest. A small, black logo of a fox paw holding a white hypodermic needle- the Warmbloods logo. And if that wasn't bad enough, each of us has a specific lyric tattooed around it. For mine, tattooed in red around the paw are the words "These words are knives, and often leave scars." It was the lyric that held the most significance at the time that we got them.
"You a fan of the Warmbloods?" he asks.
I breathe out a silent sigh of relief. "Yes, I am, doc."
"Good for you, son." He smiles. "I was an original fan, you know."
"Come again?" I say, surprised.
He smiles a wide, placid smile, and pulls up the right sleeve of his pristine white coat. On the shoulder is a blue image of a fox mask, with a simple letter "W" underneath.
My breath catches. I remember when we had that logo. We were just starting out. It's still on the inside of my acoustic guitar. I will sometimes stare at it. It reminds me of a time when we played for some of our most dedicated fans.
"Wow." I say. He smiles, and taps something above the tattoo. I look. It's a number.
244.
The original 300 were a band of extreme hardcore fans that prided themselves on keeping the identities of the band a secret. They were so hardcore they had their numbers written on their right sleeves. That way, the band members could understand that they wouldn't let anyone know who they were.
"Are you…" I begin.
He winks. "When are you guys playing next?" he murmurs.
"The 24th." I say, in shock. "At a stage in City Center."
"I'll be there." He says. "It's been a while since I've seen you guys play."
"To be fair, we haven't played in a while."
"Yes, that is true." He gives me a sidelong glance, and then speaks. "Time to check you out, I think. Get your clothes, put them on. I would stay at home for a while. Don't push yourself- you need to be ready for that concert, you hear me?"
"Yes I do, loud and clear, Mr. Ottert-."
"Shut it. Put your clothes on." He chuckles.
The check-out process takes place over the course of about an hour, and suddenly, I'm out on the street outside the hospital, with just the clothes on my back and the feeling of the oxygen tank I'm going to need while sleeping for the next two days. I'm pulling it around in a cart behind me. I wander around for a little bit, feeling a little lost. Finally, I decide to catch the bus. I've got no choice other than to go home at this point.
No one looks at me weird, so I sit at the back of the bus. I'm next to a little old lady, who stares at me for a very long time, and then shifts a seat over from me. I sigh, and look down at the floor. For someone who slept for 25 hours, I'm surprisingly tired.
I arrive outside my apartment after an hour-long bus ride in which I did nothing but add to the song I started at the last concert. It's coming together, and I might be able to finish it before the next concert. Maybe we can play it. That would be great. I've still got to sound test it, though, and that will require my stuff at home. I smile. I'll play the guitar when I get in.
Getting up the stairs proves to be a surprisingly difficult task. I try at least fifteen different ways to get the oxygen tank up the stairs. None of them work, until I realize that if I make two trips, one to pull the tank and the other to get the cart, I can get them both. The tank almost crushes me under its weight.
"Isn't this full of air?" I gasp, arriving at the top, the container perched precariously between my two hands. "Why- is- it-so- damn- heavy?!" I groan, and slowly lower it back down onto the cart.
I wheel it down my hallway and turn towards the door, pulling my keys from my pocket.
"Nick." The voice is small, and for a second, I'm sure I've imagined it.
"Carrots." I say slowly, turning. The bunny stands behind me, her eyes locked on the cart I'm wheeling behind me. Her violet eyes are puffy and red.
"Do you have to…" she trails off.
"Oh, this?" I say, gently. "Only for a few days, and then-!"
I never get that last part out. She walks forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me in gently.
"I'm so, so sorry." she whispers. "I never- I would never have d- please…" she sobs.
"Carrots, carrots!" I say softly, stunned. "You can't possibly think that I blame you for this."
"Not even a little?" She says quietly, not moving.
"Okay, maybe a little." I admit. "But that's just, you know, me being a fox."
"I love you."
I stand stock still. Did I just hear that correctly? She doesn't mean that. No one means that. Love is bullshit. Better play it off.
"Fluff, you know what I think about love." I say, my snark concealing any trace of my true feelings.
"Nick, shut up for five seconds." She murmurs, and pulls out of the hug, reaching out and taking my face in her hands. "I know how hard these past months have been for you."
"Wha…?"
"Watching me go out with rabbit after rabbit, and wondering if you were the only one who…" she trails off, and I can see her blush straight through her fur.
"So, am I not the only one?" I blurt, and take her face in my hands. "Judy, I know what your, ah, situation is with your parents, so I get where you were going with those bunnies."
"That doesn't mean I can act like a whore!" She shouts, looking anguished. "I can't just go along with my parent's wishes. Look, the last time I broke the norm, I became a police officer, and that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got to meet you."
"I'm not worthy of a minute of your time…" I'm not aware I've sung the lyric until I do.
She covers her mouth, stepping back. "That's…"
"Not what you think it is?" I say, half joking.
"I really wish it was only me and you." she sings.
"I'm jealous of everybody in the room." I sing back, and walk towards her, putting my hands on her small, trembling shoulders.
"Nick." She whispers. "People are going to hate us."
"So long as it's not you." I say, softly. "If I've got you on my side, then fuck everyone else."
She smiles, and it's a brave smile, a very Judy smile, a smile that makes you want to cry and scream a battle cry at the same time because it's so beautiful and tragic. She closes her eyes, leans in, and kisses me. Very gently. It isn't like the dark hookups, the ugly dates, and the drunk make out sessions. This is real, this is too real. I can feel every single bit; every nerve on my body is on fire.
She pulls back, and stares at me. "Um…"
"Holy shit." I say.
"Yeah, that's pretty much it." She laughs. There's a pause.
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"You sing for the Warmbloods, right?" she asks, and her eyes narrow.
"Yep. Took you long enough." I say dryly, because I don't care about her knowing. I'm glad she knows.
"Sing for me." she says quietly.
I smile. "Fair enough." I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and stop.
"Wait, come inside first." I say. I open the door, and let her into the apartment. I drop the tank and walk quickly into my room, grab my acoustic guitar, and begin to play.
"Why can you read me like no one else?
I hide these words, but I'm coming out.
I wish I'd kept them between my tongue.
I hide behind these words,
But I'm coming out."
A/N: So I lied about the long chapter. Suck it up. Leave a comment, PM me if you like it. The song that Nick and Judy sing to each other is called "First Date" by Blink-182, and the end song is called "It's not a side effect of the cocaine, I'm thinking it must be love" by Fall Out Boy
ty for reading, as always.