Resignation of Bien

Ungodly Hour

Bien swiped his keycard and pushed open the door. Moonlight spilled into his room, casting shadows across the familiar furnishings—a bed centered against one wall, a cluttered study table in the corner flanked by bookshelves from PaperKat Books, and to the right, the bathroom he ignored while dragging his feet.

Throwing his bag aside, he collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. After a moment's pause, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and powered it on. As he scrolled through social media, an advertisement caught his eye—a job opening for editors at a company called Bad Egg Productions.

"What kind of name is that? Bad Egg?" Bien muttered aloud, his thoughts drifting momentarily. He recalled someone, prompting him to check his blocked contacts. Only one name appeared—Christian Anthony Royce.

"How's he doing, I wonder?"

Bien hesitated, thumb hovering over the unblock button. Just then, a notification dropped down from the top of his screen. It was a message from his mom. His phone rang simultaneously, and Bien answered.

"Hey, Mom," he greeted wearily.

"I sent you a text. Did you read it?" Mom bypassed pleasantries.

"I was just about to," Bien replied, exhaling audibly.

In the background, clinking dishes and running water echoed faintly. Mom took a moment before continuing. "Okay, read it. I want to tell you something."

Bien laughed. "Mom, we're already on a call. You can tell me now."

"Oh... right," she said as Bien heard her close the dish cabinet. "Your father, bless that hard-headed fool, refuses to go to the doctor's appointment again."

Bien understood without asking. He knew his father probably didn't want to be a burden. Dad wasn't earning anymore unlike before; he couldn't when his body deteriorated because of his diabetes. Since no one in the family earned more, they struggled to make ends meet. It bothered Bien that he wasn't any help even if he wanted to. He felt powerless.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," he said, ending the conversation to avoid further discussion. He told his mom how tiresome the day was and that he needed to rest. He ended the call and threw his phone somewhere onto the bed.

Silence settled. Then, he picked up his phone and dialed Matthew.

"It's late here," Matthew answered promptly.

Bien raised an eyebrow, refraining from commenting on the proximity of their homes. After a pause, Matthew spoke again.

"Why are you calling at this ungodly hour?"

"It's just past ten," Bien countered.

Matthew chuckled. "Killjoy. Can't I use a phrase just because I want to?" A metal rang in Matthew's background. "What's up? Why are you calling in this not ungodly hour?"

Bien explained the situation, as if they were in a staff briefing, and asked if he had any gigs for him.

"No gigs, my friend," Matthew replied. "But what about a full-time editing job? You're good."

Bien stretched his free arm, feeling its stiffness. "I'm not ready to leave radio yet."

"Right, right. Being your dream job and all. Well, that's all I got for now. I'll let you know as soon as I have something."

They ended the call. Bien sighed, throwing his phone aside once more. He continued his brooding over things under the quietude of the evening. The sound of heavy traffic, though muffled by the distance, and dog barks from around the neighborhood penetrated the silence, but the white noise wasn't so bad.

His phone beeped.

"What now?" he groaned, picking it up to find a message from Anna. According to her, a company called Bad Egg Productions needed an editor and she found Bien "fitting" for the role.

"Really?" Bien scoffed. "You're recruiting someone in this ungodly hour?" Bien rolled his eyes and threw away his phone. A bit further than the last time. "Bad eggs indeed! Unprofessional."

Bien chuckled. He used Matthew's phrase and he suddenly felt a sense of fulfillment.

"What am I doing?" he said to himself as he clicked his tongue and jumped out of bed, grabbing a towel as he went straight to the bathroom. As he turned on the switch, he found himself in front of the mirror.

Surely I'll get a promotion after all I did for Sing, he thought. By then I won't be needing gigs anymore.

Bien fist-bumped with himself in the mirror. "You got this."

His shower took longer than usual with all the things that happened. He did assure himself in front of the mirror, but it just wasn't enough. As he returned to his bed to finally call it a day, he noticed his phone emitting a green light; an indicator that someone sent him a message. He picked it up and swore that if it was Anna from Bad Egg Productions, he would go to their office and throw eggs at their front door.

But it wasn't Anna from Bad Egg Productions but Mr. George, the marketing head who recently resigned from Sing. Bien tapped the message and furrowed his eyebrows, puzzled by the one-liner message.

Trust no one...?