"He's not entirely wrong," She said. He glared at her, but I giggled at the phrasing. "You need to look confident in your interview, like you know it was meant for you and you're perfect for it."

My smile disappeared instantly. "Yeah, but it's not an interview," I said, slightly shakily. "It's a test. It's not an interview."

He turned his head to look at me in puzzlement. "Yeah, but you'll have an interview when you pass the test."

"You mean if I pass the test," I corrected.

He blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, if you pass the test? Of course you're gonna pass the test.”

I shook my head violently. “You don't know that. There are dozens of applicants. Most of them are probably far more qualified than I am. It's just as likely I won't pass it.”

“Of course you'll pass—” He started, but she cut him off.

“You're scared of passing, aren't you? Because then you might have hope?” She asked softly in sudden realisation. I let my gaze as I nodded. He let out a soft sigh next to me and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. 

“I can't have hope,” I whispered. “I can't want this.”

“There's no need to,” He said softly, before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “It's alright, love. Let's take it one step at a time.”

How typical it is for me to understand that deep down I don't want to pass the test almost as much as I want to pass it only once I start writing it out?

Ah, yes, if there's one thing this fucked up life taught me it's that at least if I don't desperately want it it doesn't shatter me to a million pieces when I inevitably fail. Yay.