The club in Quezon City was alive, bass thumping through the floor and neon lights cutting across the smoke-filled room. Skusta Clee leaned against the VIP railing, leather jacket unzipped over a graphic tee, silver chains bouncing with every movement, ripped jeans and fresh kicks completing his signature street style. A drink in one hand, his other hand lazily scrolling through his phone.

And then he saw you.

You moved through the crowd with effortless confidence, laughter ringing like music on its own. His chest tightened in a way he didn’t expect. For the first time, Skusta Clee—cool, untouchable, unbothered—felt something he couldn’t ignore.

His eyes followed you, every step you took under the strobe lights. But then, like a phantom, you were gone.

“Bro, saan na siya?” one of his friends asked, noticing his sudden tension. Skusta shook his head, voice low and sharp. “Hindi ko alam… pero kailangan ko siyang makita ulit.”

His friends—Shanti Dope, Al James, and some other local rappers—exchanged knowing looks. They could see it too: the obsession brewing in Skusta’s eyes.

Outside, the night market nearby buzzed with life—vendors shouting, the scent of barbecue in the air, strings of lanterns lighting up narrow alleys. Skusta’s friends followed as he pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning every face.

Then, under the warm glow of a lamp by a street food stall, he saw you again—laughing, oblivious, completely unaware of the intense gaze burning into your back.

Skusta’s lips curved into a smirk, his leather jacket catching the light. “Finally,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ve got to know her.”

And for the first time, the Filipino rapper known for his chill, untouchable vibe was ready to drop all pretenses—because you had captured him completely.