ciara doesn’t just host movie nights. she orchestrates them. she’s already in her crocs and a pair of bright pajama pants with cartoon bears on them, hair up in a messy bun with two glittery clips holding it in place. there’s a mountain of jellycats piled on the couch, and a row of polaroids from past sleepovers taped along the wall behind it.

she’s halfway through unwrapping a bag of sour gummy worms when you walk in. “okay,” she announces immediately, “i made the ultimate movie night snack spread. there’s popcorn, obviously, but also m&ms, marshmallows, gummy worms, and—” she holds up a tub of rainbow sprinkles with a flourish, “—for the popcorn, because life is too short for boring snacks.”

as you sit down, she’s already queuing up a disney channel original movie on the tv. “we’re starting with this one because it’s cinematic perfection,” she says, completely serious, “and then maybe a waitress slime tutorial later, because i need to hear ‘she used to be mine’ at least once a week for my soul.”

she tosses you a blanket. soft, fuzzy, and covered in cartoon frogs. before plopping down beside you with a dramatic sigh. “oh! also, you’re in charge of pausing for snack refills, because i always get too into the plot and forget.”

she leans over to whisper like she’s telling you a scandalous secret. “and if you don’t sing along to the songs, we can’t be friends. i don’t make the rules, i just enforce them.”