Tyler's laughter still echoed faintly from behind the counter, his grin stretching wider than it should have.
"Guess I won't be bored of this café anymore," he muttered, shaking his head.
Toji stood, calm and deliberate, dusting off the sleeve of his dark shirt as if wiping away the air. He made his way toward the counter, the sharp rhythm of his boots tapping through the quiet space. The atmosphere had shifted—too still, too aware. Even the light outside felt different, drawn thin through the café's fogged glass.
He placed a few crisp bills on the counter.
"For the three coffees," he said smoothly, his tone effortless. His eyes slid toward Wednesday, who stood behind him, her expression as composed as ever—though something unreadable stirred behind it.
"And the quad," Toji added.
Tyler blinked, halfway through cleaning a mug. "You're paying for hers too?"
Toji didn't answer. He just gave a small, polite smile
Wednesday looked at him, the faintest flicker of something behind her stoicism. She wanted to ask why. Why pay for her drink, when he never did anything without intent? But she held her tongue. To ask would be to reveal that she cared—and she refused to offer him that satisfaction.
The silence that followed was broken by a heavy thud and the low groan of one of the bullies, now being dragged upright by Sheriff Galpin. The older man's face was unreadable, his gaze cutting between the unconscious boys and the tall stranger standing near the counter.
Galpin frowned as he noticed the kid with the mangled hand. His eyes darted to Toji. "Did you break his hand?"
Toji looked at him, calm as still water.
"Of course not," he said, voice polite but razor-edged. "Why would I make this pathetic man even more pathetic than he already is?"
A hush followed. Tyler froze mid-motion, caught between wanting to laugh and not wanting to die.
Image:
The sheriff didn't buy it. His hand rested on his belt, his tone firm. "You expect me to believe that?"
Before Toji could speak, another voice cut cleanly through the tension.
"If you don't believe him," Wednesday said, tone cool and surgical, "you can check the cameras."
She paused deliberately. Her gaze never left the sheriff.
"This barista saw it too."
Galpin turned toward his son. "That true, Tyler?"
Tyler nodded quickly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, Dad. Those guys started it. The big guy didn't even move. One of them punched him and he's the one who broke his hand."
The sheriff opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. He looked at the the limp bullies, and finally at Toji, who stood like a man waiting for a train—patient, bored, utterly unbothered.
"That's not humanly possible," Galpin muttered. Then his gaze slid to Wednesday, her Nevermore uniform catching the café's dim light, and something in his face changed. Wariness. Recognition.
"You two," he said slowly, "you're outcasts."
Toji nodded once, courteous. "Of course we are."
Galpin's jaw tightened. It was as if that alone explained everything. "Then what are you doing here?"
Toji tilted his head, eyes briefly flicking to the b
coffee machine, the counter, the empty cups. "What could we want in a coffee shop?" he said lightly. "I wonder."
Tyler had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. The sheriff's irritation was a living thing in the air.
"You need to come to the station with me," Galpin said finally, voice cold.
Toji didn't miss a beat. "I would," he replied evenly, "but I'm not in the mood today."
The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "You just broke a boy's hand."
"In self-defense," Toji answered smoothly without missing a beat, not even blinking. "Besides, you don't want the media knowing that the Heir Frump was arrested after thugs attacked him—and the thugs walked free."
The name landed heavy, cold. Galpin froze, realization dawning across his face. His shoulders eased slightly, though his pride didn't. "This is the first and last time," he said stiffly.
He turned, glancing once more at Wednesday, as though trying to place her, as if some faint memory hovered just out of reach. But before he could ask, Toji stepped closer, gently taking Wednesday's hand.
"Well," Toji said lightly, "it's getting late. We should be going."
Wednesday wanted to pull her hand free, to deny him the gesture, but his hand was warm—too warm—and it caught her off guard. There was strength in it, yes, but also something else. She couldn't place it. The sensation lingered, and she crushed the thought as soon as it formed.
Toji lifted his hand in a casual wave toward Tyler. "See you this weekend."
"Yeah," Tyler said, still grinning, "see ya."
The Ducati outside purred to life with a mechanical growl, the sound vibrating through the café walls. Toji swung his leg over, settling easily into the seat.
Wednesday stood there for a heartbeat, watching him.
"You can walk home," Toji said, glancing back, voice almost teasing. "I'm not holding you hostage."
But instead of replying, Wednesday moved—one decisive step, then another. She placed a boot on the peg of the bike and swung her leg over, sitting behind him. Her cold hand rested lightly against muscled chest. His body was solid, like one would expect steel to be but also soft
For a fraction of a second, she felt his breath shift, almost as if he'd been caught off guard. Then, just as quickly, he recovered.
Without another word, the bike roared forward, slicing into the misted evening.
Behind them, the café's bell jingled once and fell silent.
---
Give me stones give me power because this is what l desire
If you don't understand any thing just ask