In a dilapidated apartment way out in the outskirts of Savannah Central is where a red fox lived. The apartment, apart from being dilapidated, was trashed, with garbage strewn about the floor—a mix of papers, various foods like empty banana peels and pizza boxes and candy wrappers—and various empty tapes taken from a recycling project. The place was already messed when he bought it, and there had been several stains added as he lived there, most of them from his intoxicated cousins or friends who had a little too much to drink.
The red fox in question sat near nude on a raggedy green couch, the only think keeping him modest being a pair of blue boxers, which were already on their last leg, evident by the strange white smears in the fabric. He'd never been taught how to do laundry, so his first experience with bleach had been interesting. The fox also had several bags of junk food around him, half of them empty, along with a quarter-full pizza box from that afternoon and a near-empty container of sandwich cookies. The fox had tired eyes that stared at the television, which according to his one roommate was rarely off. The eyes showed basically no emotion, hung in place in his skull above saggy eyelids pounded by sleep deprivation. They were bloodshot, which would have been caused by the sleep deprivation if it weren't for the dozen cans of beer around him, most of them empty. The fox had gotten so little sleep lately that it wouldn't have surprised him that both were the cause of the red eyes.
He patted around his body to find the TV remote. After no success he groaned, getting to a sitting position and finding the remote squished between the couch cushions next to his feet. In mere seconds he had changed the channel. It was the news, and he almost changed the channel before two anchors appeared on the screen, forcing the fox to set the remote down.
One of the anchors was a white cougar and the other a moose. "In recent news," the white cougar said, "Nicholas Wilde, the fox who assisted Judy Hopps in cracking the case earlier this year, has made it into the Zootopia Police Department, precinct one, along with Judy Hopps."
"Also," the moose added, "recent controversy has stirred as the two mammals have been seen together quite often. We are to believe they may be in a sort of relationship."
The fox paused the broadcast and quickly shut it off. A loud groan rose from him. "First lambs and llamas. Then wolves and coyotes. Now foxes and rabbits! What's next, wolves and sheep?!" He slammed the remote down on the ground, and the batteries flew from their casing and rolled under the bookshelf at the far end of the room. "And it's those two idiots who solved the case. Figures." He shook his head and stopped when his phone buzzed on the couch. He looked at it quickly and smiled. It was one of his only smiles he'd had in the first few days.
He stumbled out of the room and into the kitchen, taking a piece of paper out of a drawer and set it on the counter. He fingered a pen from another drawer and frantically scribbled on the paper. Then with all the strength he had, he tore the paper. The two pieces floated to the ground like feathers. The fox stumbled away, nauseous but happy. As he practically fell into the apartment's bathroom and shut the door, the pieces of paper settled on the ground, sliding a little bit from each other. As the horrific sound of vomiting echoed from the bathroom, the ripped papers lay lifeless.
One read Nick, and the other read Judy.