The tent was covered in the dim light from the lantern, making it just dark enough that you had to squint your eyes to see him. Planted firmly on the edge of the bed, he had one leg resting on the other, pressing his thumb into the heel of his shoe, attempting to pull it on.

"This isn't serious," he argued, defending himself in advance for whatever he was about to go do. You hadn't even said anything, not a word, and he had already given himself away. "We aren't exclusive, you should know that by now." Turning, his eyes met yours. Exclusivity was not a word Dutch would use to describe your predicament, yet you laid beside him in bed each night.