Tetsuro chuckles, trying to mask his nerves. Sweat has started to form on his neck. “Sorry,” he says after a pause, “what are you talking about?”

He doesn’t know why he’s lying, doesn’t know why he can’t just tell you what happened. That another woman kissed him and he kissed her back and then—Tetsuro is sick at the thought. But you’ll hate him. He needs you, if you break up with him, he’ll be lost. “Babe,” he says, scrambling to think of a lie.