I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 88: Premiere Night
Jon's Perspective
Jon didn't expect much when he handed over his assignment for class—a sleek USB drive tucked into a small black envelope labeled in neat white lettering: Inside the Closet Empire: A Documentary.
His teacher raised an eyebrow as she took it from him, fingers hesitating just slightly on the label. "A documentary, Jon?" she asked, her tone hovering somewhere between surprise and faint amusement.
"I'm a visual learner," Jon replied with an easy shrug, like this wasn't a big deal—like he hadn't spent days editing, and re-editing.
The teacher gave him a smirk. "I'll watch it at home. If it's better than Marcus's video essay about his goldfish's love life, you'll at least get a B."
Jon nodded, already walking away.
He didn't care much about the grade. That part was just background noise. The real win? He'd had the time of his life putting this together.
That evening, something special happened in the Pritchett backyard. It wasn't just a gathering. Jon had turned it into an event.
He'd gone full-on premiere mode—like Sundance had suddenly come to suburbia.
A makeshift red carpet made from one of Jay's old golf towels ran across the lawn, ending at the patio wall where Jon had painstakingly hung a white screen for projection. Twinkling string lights draped across the fence cast a cozy glow. Buckets of popcorn were placed neatly near folding chairs. Jay's brand-new projector—still with that new tech smell—was angled just right.
Phil arrived first, naturally. He stepped into the yard like he was being papped by the press, wearing a blazer over a t-shirt and sunglasses he absolutely didn't need at sunset. "Is there a Q&A after the screening?" he asked, striking a pose. "Because I have thoughts about the cinematography."
Claire trailed behind, arms folded tightly, suspicion in her eyes. "If this documentary includes my dad making that weird noise when he eats chips," she warned, "I will sue."
Then came Gloria, gliding in like she'd just walked off a red carpet at Cannes. Her hair was perfect. Her dress shimmered. "Do I look okay for the camera, mi amor?" she asked Jon.
Jon grinned. "You might actually outshine the documentary."
She lit up, clearly pleased.
Cam and Mitch showed up carrying a bottle of wine like critics arriving at an indie festival.
"We figured it might be fun to drink while we watch Jon's brave attempt at cinema," Cam announced, swirling his wine like it was a vintage from Bordeaux. "I brought a notepad. For critiques."
Mitch added dryly, "We'll try to keep him quiet."
Jon stood up front, his cat Ghost perched obediently on his shoulder like a furry accessory to the evening's presentation.
He raised one hand, mock-serious. "Ladies and gentlemen… this is the story of a man—" Jay groaned. "—and his closets."
The projector flickered to life.
And the film began.
At first, laughter carried through the yard. The documentary didn't start serious—it started with charm.
Employee interviews popped up between shots of custom-built shelves and Jay barking about wood grain alignment.
One employee swore Jay once chased off a rival salesman using only a retractable measuring tape.
"That never happened!" Jay shouted from his chair.
But Gloria was already nodding. "Yes it did, papi! I was there! You said, 'This is metric steel, baby!' and then—whap!" She mimed the motion gleefully.
Another employee claimed Jay once installed a walk-in closet for a chihuahua because a celebrity client insisted, "Muffin deserves couture."
Jay groaned into his hands. "We did not do that job—"
"Yes we did," Gloria said again, without missing a beat.
Phil leaned over to Jon, whispering through a grin, "This has Oscar potential. Or at least a People's Choice Award."
Jon only smiled.
He hadn't even played the best part yet.
As the credits began to roll, Jon stepped forward again. The screen faded to black—but then faded in again.
He'd saved the next part. Kept it quiet. This was the part he edited out of the documentary. The part just for family, a part no one expected.
Soft music played. The tone shifted.
This wasn't about closets anymore.
A new interview appeared—an employee talking about how, years ago, Jay had slipped him an envelope with cash and a handwritten note: "Take care of your kid. Don't worry about this week."
The man's voice cracked slightly. "He didn't want anyone to know. Said it wasn't part of the job."
Another spoke about the warehouse's so-called "Nap Shelf," where tired employees would crash during lunch. "Jay knows. Pretends he doesn't. And that makes all the difference."
One by one, stories unfolded—quiet acts of loyalty, small gestures that they hadn't heard about, until now.
One employee said Jay walked him through his divorce, never judging, just showing up.
Another said Jay taught him what it meant to show up every day and mean it.
The screen cut to a shot of Jay's hand on a blueprint. Calloused. Steady. Silent.
Then the final cue: a soft, elegant swell of music.
Unexpected. Beautiful.
Silence followed. The kind of silence that doesn't demand a response—just asks for a moment.
Claire cleared her throat, her voice suspiciously thin. "Well… it was... fine. I guess."
Phil sniffled and dabbed at his eyes. "It was perfect."
Cam, already weeping, exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me this was going to be a character study?!"
Mitch, patting his shoulder gently, said, "You cry when commercials show dads tying their kids' shoes."
"Because it's beautiful, Mitchell!"
Jay grumbled, covering his emotion the only way he knew how. "What the hell was that sappy music at the end?"
Jon shrugged. "It's called emotional resonance."
Jay muttered under his breath, "Whatever happened to good old rock?"
Gloria leaned against him, smiling with affection. "You see, mi amor? You're not just a grumpy man with fancy wood."
Later that night, long after the last guest left and the folding chairs stood abandoned like ghosts of applause…
A few quiet days passed.
Inside Jay's office, the lights were low. The evening sun barely reached through the blinds.
If anyone walked by the window, they might have thought he was just going through files.
But he wasn't.
The monitor on his desk played the documentary again—quietly, steadily. Jay leaned back in his chair, watching. His fingers hovered near the keyboard, but didn't move.
His eyes lingered on the scenes. The words. The people.
The memories.
No one was around to see it—but Jay smiled. Not a smirk. Not a grunt disguised as approval.
A real, proud smile.
And for once, he didn't try to hide it.