“You’re home late,” Jongin remarked as she fell through the threshold of their loft apartment at 10pm that night, barely taking his eyes of the stack of papers and blueprints on his lap. 

“It’s ten.” She rolled her eyes, visibly frustrated by the day’s undertakings. She let the strap of her leather satchel, plump with files, slip from her shoulders. Her lipstick was visible only on the outer reaches of , and her eyeliner left charcoal patches beneath her lower lashes. She had been out drinking alone. It had been embarrassing, as it is, that she had hoped for something she had no chance of getting, much less drag a colleague out for a drink, or even her friend. She hadn't been promoted. Instead, a random person out of completely nowhere had entered the office, and her boss had introduced that random person as the new Head Therapist. She had thought, after all these years of toiling, coffee-ridden OTs and hard work with her patients, there would be some sign of progress. But here she was – still Assistant Head Therapist, a title that barely fit the seeming prestige. Definitely, she acknowledged, her hard work wasn’t for a promotion. She loved her job, and found a renewed degree of gratification when she could help a patient with his or her progress, but a promotion was an added bonus – a material recognition for her work. 

Moreover, her colleagues and juniors had been relentless. They had been vouching for her to be Head Therapist, and had risen her hopes by so much that when she didn’t get the promotion – amidst useless looks of sympathy and uncomfortable shoulder-tapping – she had even wanted to cry. But it was nonsense – it was just a promotion, she told herself. Just one of those things that pass you by. 

Jongin set his papers down on the coffee table and walked towards her. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

He took her in his arms, and was relieved when she let him wrap his arms around her. When she had troubles or frustrations, she usually wanted to be alone. “Come on. Tell me about it. I’m listening.”

She looked at him. He was actually really listening to her. “It’s just that. I didn’t get a promotion at work, again.” She shrugged. “And someone else they’ve just brought into the facility got it.”

“So you’re not happy because of a promotion?” He asked. “That made you drink?”

She sensed the accidental slip of derision in his voice, and tensed up. “It’s important to me.”

“It’s not fair to you, though.” He shook his head. “If you feel you’re not being treated fairly, just quit. You don’t have to work so hard. You don’t even have to work, you know that. I can pay for everything.”

She looked at him sharply, astonished at his nonchalant attitude and complete lack of understanding. “My job isn’t even about money.” She was exhausted, and the alcohol had rinsed off all the hurt and unhappiness in her – leaving only a surge of embitterment, and Jongin’s words had added a new dimension to her emotions – one of rising anger. “Besides, don't you think if I just quit right now, it would be highly irresponsible – not to mention immature?”

“But you’re unhappy.” He said. She recognized the tone in his voice. It was the same as all those useless applications in their loft she secretly hated – all those superfluous, high-tech things, like clicking a button next to the couch and suddenly you could choose the different options for your sitting room’s “mood” and “atmosphere”. It was all so mechanical and inauthentic, but it was a part of his job – he was the boss in a company that designed lofts. Of course they had to live in one, and even though she didn't really liked this series of apartments, she knew his job was important to him, and she respected his conviction.

Clearly, he had a different opinion on hers. The tone in his voice – like he had switched on his “comforting boyfriend” mode, and the atmosphere was “I need to reason with my unreasonable and sour girlfriend”. It was insulting, to say the least – and contemptuous.

“So? If I quit every time I was unhappy, I wouldn’t have a job. Why do you think I’ve lasted so long? It's because no matter the promotion, I love my job.”

“But you were upset over not getting the promotion.”

That’s not the point! She wanted to scream, but stopped herself from doing so. I