[11:03 PM – Williamsburg Diner – After Hours]
The diner was officially closed, but the lights were still on and the crew was still there, gathered around their usual booth like they were plotting a heist instead of a birthday.
The smell of grease and old coffee hung in the air, familiar and comforting. A "Closed" sign dangled crookedly in the window, half-lit by the flickering neon.
Earl leaned back in his seat with a toothpick in his mouth and a worn notepad in front of him.
Han paced nearby in a loop, chewing on his thumb.
Sophie was sitting in her usual self-proclaimed seat that only belongs to her, in a fur-trimmed robe, sipping white wine from a stolen to-go cup, legs crossed like a lounge singer in witness protection.
Oleg was crouched in front of a sketchpad, aggressively drawing something that looked suspiciously inappropriate.
"So," Earl said, tapping his pen, "Max's birthday is the day after tomorrow, and we ain't doing another sad cupcake-and-sarcasm combo. She won't admit it, but she deserves better this year."
Sophie raised her cup. "Agreed. That girl puts up with more crap than my Spanx on Thanksgiving. We go big or we go home."
Han frowned. "What does big mean? She has a rich boyfriend with big money. Also, I already went home. Then I came back. For this."
Oleg grinned from the floor. "I suggest a body-shaped cake. Of me. Life-size. Very sexy. She will scream. Probably in happiness."
Han gagged audibly. "Or vomit. That also starts with a V."
Sophie pointed her wine cup at Oleg. "No life-size cake. No nudity. No diseases. Keep it classy. This time."
"Fine," Oleg sighed, crumpling the paper. "Then maybe just a sexy singing telegram? I know a guy. Wears latex. Smells like regret."
Earl held up a hand. "Alright, enough. Let's keep it simple. Max's favorite things: food, booze, inappropriate jokes, and..."
Just then, the diner door creaked open.
All heads turned.
And there he was.
Alex. Clean-cut, blue dress shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Still carrying that "I just survived capitalism" energy from the office. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
"Evening," he said, casually.
Oleg's eyes lit up. "It's Mr. Money Tingles!"
Han quickly put on his business ass kissing smile, "Oh! Mr. Wilson. Please come inside." He quickly dragged a chair. "Please sit."
Sophie waved. "Hi, Alex. Miss me."
Alex smiled and gave a nod. "Evening, parental advisory crew. Hope I'm not interrupting."
Earl sat up straighter. "Not unless you're here to rob us. In which case, please aim for Han first."
Han pointed at himself, offended. "Why always me?!"
Alex walked over to the booth and set down a small black notebook. "Actually… I came for one reason. Max's birthday."
Everyone fell quiet.
Alex looked around. "I want to do something for her. Something real. Something she'll never expect."
Sophie slowly stood from the counter. "Wait... you're serious?"
Alex nodded. "Dead serious."
Earl let out a low whistle. "Damn. He got that look in his eyes."
Alex smiled faintly. "This will actually be my first time planning a birthday party… for a girlfriend or anyone. Ever."
Han squinted. "Wait, ever-ever? Like, never?"
Alex nodded. "Never. Not in this life or the last."
Sophie's eyes widened. "Oh, honey. You've been living in sin and sadness."
Alex looked around at them, sincere now. "I can buy her anything, like jewelry, spa trips, front-row seats to Beyoncé's future hologram, but I don't want to just throw money at her. I want her to feel... seen. And I figured, if anyone knows what Max would actually love? It's you guys."
Oleg stood dramatically. "I volunteer myself as a present. You may gift her my love. Wrapped in oil."
Alex gave Oleg that look, "Don't push your luck."
Sophie smacked his arm. "Keep it in your pants, Thirsty McNudeface."
Alex raised a brow. "I'm serious. I need ideas. Weird, funny, personal, unhinged... Max-style. I want her to walk into that party and feel like the world finally got her."
Earl leaned forward, tapping the edge of the table. "Alright. Let's build this from scratch. Max-style."
He looked at Han. "Venue?"
Han blinked. "You're asking me?"
Earl shrugged. "You run this place."
Han perked up. "Well… she once said she wanted to throw a party in a laundromat just to mess with people."
Alex paused. "That's… so stupid it might be brilliant."
Sophie clapped. "Ohhh! We can rent out that abandoned retro laundromat off Bedford! It's got neon signs, broken washers, graffiti... very Maxcore."
Rachel would've called it a violation of OSHA. Max would call it a mood.
Alex grinned. "Done. I'll secure it. I'll even get working machines just so we can toss glitter into spin cycles."
Oleg lit up. "Oooo! Can we put drinks in the dryers and make them spin like a roulette? Mystery cocktails!"
Han winced. "That violates several laws. I approve."
Sophie sipped. "We'll need a theme. Something trashy but classy. Like 'Apocalypse Prom' or 'Dumpster Royalty.'"
Earl chuckled. "What about: 90s prom theme?"
The table went silent.
Alex's smile grew. "Yes. That's it. Max in prom dress..." For a moment, he let his imagination run wild, imagining Max in a white prom dress. But he quickly shook off that thought. "That would be beautiful..."
Sophie was practically vibrating. "Oh my God, prom. I gotta prepare so many things. I have to hit the spa and manicure and all..."
Oleg nodded eagerly. "I will bring chains. For fashion. And emotional symbolism."
Han tilted his head. "Do I have to come?"
Everyone ignored him.
Earl grabbed his notepad. "Okay. Venue: Retro Laundromat. Theme: Prom. Dress code: semi-feral elegance."
Alex leaned back, already visualizing it. "I'll bring in a band. Something live, chaotic. Punk jazz. Or ska if we're feeling ironic. No. Wait! What about you, Earl? Max said you used to play in your days. You think you are up for another big show?"
Earl raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the spotlight to fall on him.
"You want me to play at Max's birthday?" he asked, tapping his pen like it owed him rent. "That was, what… two decades and one slipped disc ago."
Alex grinned. "I'm serious. She said you used to tear it up back in the day. Called you the 'smoothest jazz hands in Brooklyn.'"
Sophie gasped. "Oh my God, Earl and the Early Birds are coming back?! I always wanted to see the legend in action."
Oleg practically vibrated in his seat. "If there is a saxophone solo, I want sparks. Literal sparks. Like fireworks. Or nipple tassels."
Earl held up a hand. "Ain't nobody putting tassels on me unless they're made of mortgage payments."
Han blinked. "He played 'Bohemian Rhapsody' once, and two customers fainted. One from passion, one from Oleg's chilli."
Earl slowly sat up, cracking his knuckles like a boxer lacing up for one last fight. "I ain't touched a real stage in twenty years. My hands still remember. Question is… does the laundromat have a baby grand?"
Alex smirked. "It will."
Earl looked around the table. Everyone was watching. Expectant. Encouraging.
Then he sighed, slow and dramatic.
"…I'll do it. But only if we get the original crew back together. And I swear to God, if Tony shows up late again with that out-of-tune trumpet, I'm throwing him in a dryer."
Han wrote it down, nodding like a man who didn't know who Tony was but feared him deeply.
Alex smiled. "Done. You'll have a full setup, instruments, and a crowd. All you gotta do is bring the soul."
Earl smirked. "Soul's the one thing I don't leave home without."
"So, we are going to see the legend in action?" Sophie asked once again, just to be sure.
Earl leaned back, toothpick back in play. "Hell yeah. Let's give Max a prom night with real soul."
Sophie tossed her wine cup up in a toast. "To the Max Gala!"
Oleg clinked his coffee cup to hers. "To filthy glamour and painful glitter!"
Han mumbled, "To mild food poisoning and regret."
Alex stood, already pulling his phone out. "I'll lock down the venue, lighting, stage, and gear. You guys work your magic on decorations and Max-specific chaos."
Sophie raised a hand. "Oh! We need a photo booth. With props. Like feather boas, fake cigars, and signs that say things like 'Hot Mess' and 'I Regret Nothing.'"
Oleg added, "And crown for prom queen."
Han tilted his head. "Do we even vote?"
Sophie laughed. "We crown her by default. It's her party. No votes. Just violent coronation."
Earl nodded, scribbling. "Food?"
Alex tapped his chin. "I'll cater with stuff she'd never expect at prom. Gourmet sliders. Boozy mocktails. Maybe some twisted takes on food she likes. Oh, a candy and gummy station. She loves those gummy bears and sour sticks."
Han raised a hand cautiously. "Can we include tater tots? I like tater tots."
Alex nodded. "You got it, Han."
Han beamed like he just won a scholarship.
Sophie leaned in. "And what about the moment? You know, the moment. Every good prom needs one. The memory-maker."
Oleg raised a hand. "Striptease?"
"No," everyone said in unison.
Alex thought a moment, then smiled softly. "I'll write her something. Not a speech. Something personal. Something only she'll hear. As for everyone, there will be a slow romantic dance. So, don't forget your date partners and make sure to invite everyone. We got approx. 1 day and tonight to prep up."
Sophie melted. "Ohhhhhh, this man is dangerous. Slow romantic dance." She winked at Oleg. Then she quickly looked at Alex. "Oh, no worry. I'll invite my girls. It's going to be fun."
Earl let out a low whistle. "That's a prom night she'll never forget."
Alex closed his notebook. "That's the plan."
He stood to leave, then paused, glancing back at the crew, this absurd, loyal, chaotic group of misfits Max called family.
"Thanks, all of you," he said sincerely. "She may not show it, but Max loves the hell outta you."
Sophie smiled. "We know."
Oleg wiped a fake tear. "We are her emotional raccoons."
Han looked confused. "Why raccoons?"
Earl muttered, "Because we're loud, loyal, and we dig through trash with purpose."
Everyone chuckled.
"Alright then, I'll begin the prep. You guys do your side,"
Alex gave them one last nod and headed for the door, already texting Rachel the list of requests.
Sophie watched him go, then turned to the others. "Okay. Operation Dirty Prom is go."
Earl slammed his notepad shut. "Let's make some goddamn memories."
Oleg stood up, struck a pose, and shouted, "PROM OR DIE!"
Han quietly got up to follow them out, muttering, "Please not die. We don't want to deal with cops at Max's birthday. Please just prom."
The door to the diner swung shut behind them, the neon "Closed" sign still flickering like a drunk firefly.
Inside that booth, under the lights of a place that had seen better years, the blueprint for Max Black's ultimate birthday was born.
And it was going to be legendary.
...
[1:07 AM – Brooklyn] [Corner of Bedford & 9th]
The laundromat was still technically condemned.
Cracked windows, busted neon signage, spray paint that ranged from anarchist slogans to poorly drawn boobs. The "OPEN 24/7" sign hung upside down, daring someone to believe it.
Alex stood outside, phone to his ear, watching the slow crawl of two black SUVs pull up behind him. Four people stepped out, dressed in black uniforms with sleek toolboxes and laser measuring gear. His private renovation team. The kind that made miracles happen in the middle of the night with no permits, no paper trails, and very few questions.
"Yeah," he said into the phone, "I want everything done by tomorrow night."
Pause.
"No. Not clean. Transformed. I want retro-cool. Neon. Chrome. Working washers. And make sure the floors don't smell like feet and shame."
He looked toward the side building, quieter, wider, just as run-down. "And the building next door? Gut it. Make it prom-ready. I want chandeliers. Dancefloor. Moody uplighting. Install a stage in the back corner. We'll be doing live jazz. And yes, there will be glitter. Everywhere."
The team leader, a woman named Shay with a buzzcut and a clipboard that could kill a man, nodded once, already scanning the property like she was planning a heist.
"No problem, Mr. Wilson. This will be immaculate by tomorrow at 7 PM."
Alex nodded. "Perfect. Oh, and make sure to draw a graffiti of 'Happy Birthday Max' on that big wall."
Shay smirked. "Art. Got it."
As she turned to start giving orders, Alex took a step back, observing the corner that would host a chaos prom and a dumpster-glam revolution. Then, he pulled out his second phone and opened his contacts. Within the next twenty minutes, he'd made eight calls:
Rental company: Ordered ten authentic coin-operated washing machines and dryers. They'd be rewired to function as drink chillers, fog machines, and two secret glitter cannons. (Let's just say, he knows a guy who knows another guy.)
Lighting crew: Black lights, UV-reactive signage, disco ball in the adjacent building, and LED strips installed in every machine door.
Sound team: Two full audio rigs, one for the laundromat (banger playlist, speaker wall), one for the prom room (live instrument support + slow dance acoustics).
Instrument delivery: Baby grand piano, drum set, saxophones, amps, cables, mic stands. All vintage, all pristine.
Catering: Max's favorite sliders. Boozy milkshakes. Tater tots for Han. A candy station that looked like it was raided from Willy Wonka's nightmares.
Decor company: Prom 1994, but make it dirty chic. Folding chairs with red velvet covers. Shimmer curtains. Photo booth with a sequin backdrop and a neon sign that read: "MAXIMUM CHAOS."
Wardrobe backup: He didn't know if Max would dress up, so he ordered three dresses in different styles and sizes, just in case she showed up in jeans and still wanted her prom queen moment.
Everything will be stored in his private storage at the Titan HQ and will be moved after the renovation is done.
Then he texted Rachel:
Alex:
Laundromat and building next door secured. Full crew's already started. Prom theme confirmed. Photo booth, custom signage, candy bar, stage.
I need a crown. Black and silver. Think goth prom queen.
Also, check if Earl's trumpet guy, Tony, still has a criminal record. Just in case. And, thanks for everything, R.
Rachel (seen 1:11 AM, typing...)
A moment later, she replied:
Rachel:
Already on it. Crown ordered. Tony cleared last year. Apparently, he only stole the trumpet the one time. He's clean.
Do you want backup performers in case Earl's fingers cramp mid-ballad?
Alex:
Yes. Quiet backup. Shadow band in case of sax-related emergencies.
Rachel:
I love this for us.
Alex pocketed the phone, stepping into the now-open laundromat.
The buzz of industrial vacuum cleaners filled the space. Shay's team was already replacing broken tiles, repainting the back wall with a swirling pink-and-turquoise mural that said: "SPIN TO WIN."
One of the back washers was already repurposed with a plexiglass lid, ice glowing blue underneath, prepped to hold soda bottles and tiny shooters.
Alex stood in the center of the room, soaking it in.
This wasn't just a Max party.
This was her party. It had her DNA in every corner... chaotic, loud, strange, unapologetic.
'Well. Might as well get some sleep. Gotta few meetings to attend to tomorrow morning...'
....
[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]-
Support link: www.patr eon.com/UnknownMaster
[5 advance chs] + [13 chs of Two and a Half Men: Waking up as Charlie Harper] [All chs available for all tiers]
....
AN: That's it for this week. See ya all on Sunday.