Wednesday's eyes immediately locked on the Ducati Panigale V4 outside — crimson, polished, impossible to ignore. She stepped inside the café, heels quiet against the floor, scanning the room with her usual detached precision. That's when she saw him: Toji. Back pressed against the wall, a coffee cup in hand, eyes unreadable, calm like he belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once.
She moved to the register. "Quad. No sugar." Her tone was flat, unyielding.
Tyler, frozen, muttered under his breath, "She's even more extreme than him."
Wednesday tilted her head, listening. Noticing. Ignoring. Tyler's words didn't escape her attention, but she didn't acknowledge them.
From the corner, Toji's lips twitched — a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Just enough for Tyler to catch it. Even without moving, he radiated presence. He could hear everything — even a whisper from half a kilometer away.
Suddenly, the espresso machine sputtered violently, a spark of flame and a hiss of steam erupting from it. Coffee grounds sprayed across the counter. Wednesday didn't flinch. Her voice was calm, cutting through the chaos: "Is that a special trick you guys do?"
Tyler's hands flew up. "Fuck, I just fixed this thing yesterday!"
A soft chuckle, low and controlled, drew his gaze. Toji was standing now, moving toward the machine. Every step measured, every motion deliberate. "These models are notoriously unstable," he said, voice even, like stating fact, not offering help.
"You tell me," Tyler said, flustered, pointing at the mess.
Toji's eyes flicked to the manual, expression unreadable. After a brief pause, he added, almost casually, "I would fix this myself… but the instructions are in Italian."
Wednesday, intrigued, took a half-step forward, about to ask questions, to get her quad — but Toji anticipated it. "Give it to me," he said, calm but commanding. "I know a little Italian."
Tyler's jaw nearly dropped. "Wait… seriously?"
Toji's lips curved in a tiny, teasing smile. "Italian isn't the only language I know." His hands moved to the manual, scanning with swift precision.
"Phillips head and a wrench," he requested, voice smooth and quiet. Tyler disappeared into the back, returning almost instantly.
Wednesday watched silently, her gaze unintentionally tracing every movement. The way his hair shifted as he bent over the machine, the way his muscles flexed — controlled, efficient, effortless. Each motion was precise, mechanical, yet almost hypnotic. For a moment, she was caught — the world narrowing, blurring, leaving only him.
Her chest rose slightly faster than normal. She blinked, forcing herself to refocus, the faintest warmth creeping into her pale cheeks. It was subtle, but if anyone looked closely, they would see it — the tiniest betrayal of fascination.
Toji didn't notice. He was absorbed in the machine, adjusting, twisting, reading the instructions, working with a calm confidence that made Tyler's earlier panic seem trivial.
"Almost done," Toji muttered, barely louder than the hiss of the machine. Wednesday stayed quiet, each second stretching — the air thick with tension, a faint hum of energy that wasn't just from the café or the espresso machine.
Finally, he straightened, wiping his hands lightly on a rag. "All set."
Toji decided to be nice and pour Wednesday her quad himself.Tyler still in shock at how easily he fixed the broken machine was in no shape to stop him.Not that he would refuse his friend after a minute of making the Coffee it was done.
He handed the quad back to Wednesday with the same measured calm he wore like armor. "Enjoy."
Wednesday, holding the cup, let her gaze linger on him for a fraction longer than necessary. The hint of red on her cheeks was still there, a subtle contrast to her pale skin, unnoticed by anyone but herself.
Tyler, still blinking, muttered under his breath, "Man… that guy."
Toji didn't react. He never did — but Wednesday could feel it, the energy, the control, the quiet force that existed just beneath the surface.
And for a brief, suspended moment, the café wasn't just a café. It was a stage, and he — Toji — moved through it like he owned it, though in truth, he owned nothing except his calm, and perhaps, her fleeting attention.
---
Now sitting where Toji was sitting.Wednesday held the quad, her fingers brushing the cup's rim. She had been observing him, feeling that quiet pull, resisting it with every ounce of discipline she could muster.But it seems as if her whole being was betraying her.
She didn't like it.
Toji's gaze flicked to the cup in her hands. His lips curved into the faintest, almost imperceptible smirk. Without asking — because he rarely did — he stepped closer, his movements measured, deliberate, almost fluid.
"May I?" he said softly, voice low but carrying that unmistakable weight of command, his eyes locking on hers.
Wednesday's brow arched, a subtle challenge glinting in her dark eyes. "Excuse me?"
He inclined his head toward the coffee. "Your coffee. I'd like a taste."
There was no hesitation in his posture, no awkwardness. Just that calm, quiet confidence that unnerved her more than any threat could.
She paused, measuring him, noting the exact way his fingers curled around the cup when he took it from her, gentle yet precise. She didn't step back. Part of her curiosity demanded she let him.if that was even curiosity...
Toji lifted the cup, bringing it to his lips, inhaling the aroma first, letting it linger. A slow sip followed, his eyes never leaving hers. The coffee steamed against his face, a faint curl of warmth along the edges of his jaw as he tasted it — quiet, unhurried, savoring.
Wednesday's heart betrayed her, skipping a beat she refused to acknowledge. She tried to maintain composure, but the faintest heat had crept to her cheeks, unnoticed by everyone but herself.
He set the cup down exactly where he found it, not a drop spilled, not a single motion wasted. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod followed, as if to say, acceptable.
Tyler, behind the counter, had gone still, unsure whether to intervene or stay frozen in awe of this man impeccable Rizz.
Wednesday's eyes followed him, noting the careful precision in every motion, the silent claim of presence he wielded without arrogance.
Toji's smirk lingered, subtle, playful, unreadable. Then, as quietly as he arrived, he stepped back, letting her take the cup again. The air between them was taut, a thread of tension, curiosity, and something unnamed stretching just beneath the surface.
She lifted the cup to her lips again, trying to steady her pulse, but she could feel it — the echo of his calm, the faint trace of something more than the coffee he had just tasted.
And for a heartbeat, the café felt smaller, the world slower, as if he had bent the moment around himself.
---
Wednesday inner thoughts
She lifted the cup again, mechanically, deliberately, as if following some ingrained protocol. Her eyes remained fixed on the surface of the coffee, observing the slight ripple from where his lips had been. She told herself it meant nothing. It was just coffee. He is just a man.
Nothing else matters.
But her pulse betrayed her. Subtly. A rhythm she had ignored for years in other situations now refused to be silenced. She was trained to suppress distraction, to categorize observation, to dissect the world coldly — yet the faint heat creeping along her cheeks defied every rule she had set.
Irrelevant. Insignificant. Do not acknowledge.
Her mind ran through the facts. He had tasted the coffee. It was a simple act. Yet, in that simplicity, something lodged itself — a fractional awareness she could neither analyze nor dismiss. Something she was compelled to notice, even as she tried to maintain detachment.
It is illogical to feel anything. Observation only. Remove this anomaly.
And yet, every measure of discipline she exerted was met with resistance. The memory of his calm, measured movement. The faint curl of that smirk. The precision of his actions. The quiet weight in the air around him.
I will not acknowledge this. I will not…
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup. She wanted to set it down. She wanted to leave. She wanted to reclaim control. But she could not — not fully. A fragment of something, buried beneath her training, lingered.
A feeling she could not name. A pull she could not explain.
And for a brief, infuriating moment, she had to admit it: she had noticed.
---
Give me stones give me power because this is what l desire