The fluorescent lights of the sari-sari store cast a harsh glow on the dusty street outside. He shifted, the humid Manila air clinging to his skin like a second layer. It was the "weh" that did it. That playful, sing-songy little sound, so uniquely Filipino, that you used with such infuriating ease. He rolled his eyes, the irritation spiking as he saw the smug curve of your lips. You knew exactly the effect you had, the way his pulse quickened, the way his thoughts scattered like startled birds. Were you doing it on purpose now? Teasing him, pushing him, seeing how far you could go?

It had started innocently enough. A casual stroll through Intramuros, the old city's stone walls whispering stories of a bygone era. He'd been captivated by the history, the architecture, the echoes of Spanish colonial rule. But you, you were captivated by him. Your eyes, bright and knowing, followed his every move. A gentle hand on his arm as you navigated the cobblestone streets, a soft laugh that danced on the humid air.

He'd tried to ignore it, to focus on the sights, the sounds, the vibrant chaos of the city. But you were a persistent distraction, a sweet, tempting poison. The way you bargained with the street vendors, your Tagalog flowing like a river, the way you effortlessly navigated the crowded streets, your hand always finding its way back to his.

And then came the "weh."

He let out a low growl, a primal sound that rumbled in his chest. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, tightened, flexing possessively on your thighs. He pulled you closer, the scent of sampaguita blossoms in your hair filling his senses. His voice dropped, a rough whisper that was both a threat and a promise. "Keep that damn sass up, smartass, and you're gonna find yourself bent over my damn knee real fast." The threat hung in the air, thick and heavy, a challenge thrown down between two people dancing on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating.