Cher's house had an aesthetic Ethan could only describe as organized chaos. Art deco lamps coexisted with vintage record players. A neon sign reading "You Are the Moment" hung above the fireplace. Even the snacks were curated—individual popcorn bags with handwritten names in glitter ink, because of course they were.
"You labeled our popcorn," Maya said, squinting at her sparkly bag. "That's terrifyingly adorable."
Cher beamed. "Presentation matters. You want cinnamon sugar or jalapeño lime?"
"Cinnamon," Maya said. "Definitely cinnamon."
"I want both," Shawn announced, already elbow-deep in his bag.
Gus held his popcorn cautiously, like it might explode. "Why is mine gold?"
"It's edible glitter," Cher said. "It adds joy."
"It adds confusion," Gus replied, but he didn't put it down.
They were piled onto a sprawling sectional that looked more like a cloud than a piece of furniture. Blankets everywhere. At least six throw pillows per person. A projector screen was pulled down across one wall, and the lights were dimmed just enough to set the mood without tripping anyone.
Ethan sat on the far left, Maya beside him. Shawn was sprawled across a beanbag, and Gus perched on the edge of an ottoman with a clipboard. Cher had claimed the center of the couch like a queen in her court, her phone in hand and a giant faux-fur blanket draped over her shoulders.
Jane arrived last, of course. She slipped through the door with a tote bag and a suspiciously large thermos. "It's just hot chocolate," she said before anyone could ask.
"Sure it is," Shawn muttered.
"Double feature tonight," Cher announced. "We're starting with something classic and ending with something chaotic."
"Define chaotic," Gus said.
"You'll see."
The first movie was a feel-good 90s rom-com. Ethan didn't even catch the title. He spent the first ten minutes listening to the group's commentary more than the film. Shawn kept mimicking dramatic lines in falsetto. Gus tried to predict plot twists before they happened and kept score in his planner. Jane passed out mugs of hot chocolate that tasted suspiciously like espresso.
Ethan felt himself settling. His shoulders dropped. He even laughed—out loud—when Shawn tried to replicate a dance sequence and accidentally kicked over a pillow tower.
Maya leaned closer. "You okay?"
"Weirdly, yeah."
She smiled, and that was that.
By the second movie—a low-budget sci-fi disaster film from the 80s with more fog machines than dialogue—they were fully in chaos mode. Cher had insisted on costume accessories. Ethan now wore a foil crown. Maya had a cape made from a throw blanket. Jane declined accessories but accepted control of the remote.
"Ten bucks says the robot's the villain," Gus whispered.
"The robot is the hero," Cher hissed. "Open your mind."
Shawn tossed a popcorn kernel in the air and missed. "I'm just waiting for the part where they reveal the moon's actually a spaceship."
"Spoilers," Jane deadpanned.
"Wait, is it?"
Jane didn't answer.
The movie was gloriously bad. Ethan couldn't stop grinning. Not because it was funny—but because they were.
At one point, during a dramatic standoff between two overly emotional scientists, Maya rested her head on Ethan's shoulder.
He didn't move.
Not for the rest of the movie.
---
After the credits rolled and the projector light dimmed, Cher stood up and stretched. "Okay, confession time. Rate the night."
"Ten out of seven," Shawn said.
"Five stars," Jane said. "Out of five. Not ten. I'm not that generous."
"Six sparkles," Gus added, closing his planner. "I quantified the fun."
Maya didn't say anything. She just gave Ethan a look, one that said she knew this night meant more than he let on.
Cher turned to Ethan. "Well?"
Ethan glanced around. The mess of snacks. The bad sci-fi. The laughter still hanging in the room.
"This," he said slowly, "was perfect."
"Group selfie," Cher declared.
Phones were gathered. Poses were struck. Shawn accidentally photobombed twice. Ethan didn't smile with teeth, but the corners of his mouth curved up, and his eyes were bright.
Later, as they packed up and began to say their goodbyes, Cher pulled Ethan aside.
"You're doing better," she said.
He nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."
"You should write a song about tonight. Something fun."
Ethan considered that. "I might."
"Good. And title it after me."
"No."
She smirked. "Had to try."
He left with a heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
And later that night, when the house was quiet and the only light came from his laptop screen, Ethan opened a new project file. No lyrics yet. No structure. Just a working title:
"Northwind: Movie Night."
And a smile that stayed even after the screen went dark.