The city blurred past him — streaks of gray and white, horns, wind, and noise all melding into one unbroken hum.
Toji didn't hear any of it.
The Ducati roared beneath him, its engine vibrating through his bones, but even that couldn't drown out his thoughts. His body moved on instinct — weaving between cars, cutting through gaps that shouldn't exist, scraping between mirrors with millimeters to spare.
He wasn't riding; he was chasing silence.
Every throttle pull was a heartbeat he didn't want to feel. Every near miss, a moment where he could've ended things if he wanted to — and yet, he didn't.
Not today.
He could still hear Weems' voice echoing through his head.
> "Shoko wouldn't be happy if she knew you were avoiding something that could help you."
That name — that damn name.
Toji's grip tightened on the throttle until the gloves creaked. His jaw flexed beneath the helmet, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. He should've expected Weems to dig her fingers where they didn't belong. She was that kind of woman — unyielding, too clever for her own good. Reminded him of someone else.
He hated that.
He hated even more that Wednesday had heard it.
Now the girl would have questions. She always did. And he wasn't in the mood to feed her curiosity.
The Ducati screamed down the empty stretch of road, but even at 240 km/h, it felt too slow. Too quiet. Like the world couldn't move fast enough to keep up with the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.
When the first raindrop hit his visor, he slowed. He needed to breathe — and maybe something to burn away the leftover taste of irritation.
He turned down a side street — narrow, cobblestoned, half-hidden between old buildings. The kind of place where people whispered instead of spoke. The smell of roasted coffee slipped through the drizzle, warm and grounding.
He parked his bike in front of a small café — The Drip Stop.
Rustic brick walls, soft jazz humming from inside, and a few tables scattered near the windows.
Toji swung a leg over, removed his helmet, and ran a hand through his hair. His reflection in the glass door stared back — the same calm, detached eyes that had unnerved more people than he could count.
He stepped in.
The first thing he noticed wasn't the smell of roasted beans or the warmth of the lights.
It was the barista.
Not because she was pretty — but because he wasn't a she at all.
Tyler.
The Hyde.
A small smirk found its way onto Toji's face — unintended, faint. He'd been coming to this café for a few days now, mostly for the silence, never expecting him to be here.
Still, he walked up to the counter like it was nothing.
"Triple espresso. No sweetener," Toji said casually.
Tyler blinked. "Wait— that Ducati outside… that's yours, right?"
Toji gave a small nod. "Yeah."
"Damn," Tyler said, whistling low. "Those things cost a fortune. What model?"
"Ducatti Panigale V4. Twenty-twenty-four."
Tyler's grin widened. "Man, that's insane. I'd kill to ride something like that."
Toji chuckled under his breath. "All good things in life come at a price."
There was a pause — a flicker of curiosity, the kind that always led to trouble. Then Toji added, "You wanna take a ride on it sometime?"
Tyler froze. "Seriously?"
"Sure," Toji said. "You know how to ride?"
Tyler scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. "Uh… not exactly.Closest lo
I've been to a bike is my mom's suv."
A shame," Toji murmured. "Tell you what — weekend's coming. You free?"
Tyler frowned, thinking. "Yeah, I'm free. But, uh, I don't think I can handle that beast."
"I've got others," Toji said, tone casual. "Some that don't bite as hard."
That earned him a genuine smile. "Deal. Saturday?"
Toji nodded. "Saturday."
Tyler brightened. "You're serious? Yeah, man — I'm free weekends!" Then his eyes went wide. "Oh, crap, your order— I forgot!"
Toji waved him off. "Relax. Happens to the best of us."
Tyler scrambled behind the counter to start the espresso. "Triple, no sugar, right? Damn, that's gonna be bitter as hell."
"I'm used to bitterness," Toji said with a quiet smile.
Tyler laughed at that, handing him the steaming cup a minute later. "Guess it fits you."
Toji gave a small nod, his eyes unreadable. "Maybe it does."
He moved to a corner table by the window — the kind that faced the rain — and sat down, the espresso steaming faintly beside him. The city stretched out in front of him, blurred and distant, a world he didn't quite belong to anymore.Toji leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the coffee. The warmth spread down his throat but did little to thaw the cold inside.
The window reflected him again — rain tapping softly against the glass, turning the city into a watercolor blur. His reflection didn't blink. It never did.
He thought about Weems' voice. About that name.
About her.
And, for a moment, something heavy settled behind his ribs — a weight he didn't want to name.
He took another sip, slow this time. The bitterness felt right — honest, unpretentious.
The kind of taste that didn't lie.
A shadow flickered in the glass — someone standing across the street, watching. Just a silhouette, blurred by rain and distance. But Toji felt it — the instinct, the old one that never dulled.
He didn't move. He just watched, eyes calm, breathing even.
When the figure turned away, he exhaled, setting the cup down.
> Always being watched, he thought. Guess I should be flattered.
He stayed there for a while longer — maybe ten, maybe twenty minutes. The café filled and emptied again. Tyler called out orders, laughter rose and fell, and the rain outside softened into mist.
He stared into the dark coffee, his reflection rippling with each drip from the ceiling. For a second, the silence was comfortable — heavy, familiar.
Then, the bell above the café door chimed again.
He didn't look up at first, but the rhythm of the footsteps — measured, deliberate, unmistakable — told him exactly who had entered.
Wednesday Addams.