Mornings in South Side Chicago, 2011, didn’t stay quiet for long. The Gallagher household always started the same — peaceful for a few minutes, then spiraling into barely organized chaos.

Your 21-year-old twin sister, Fiona, was already awake, tugging her hair into place in the bathroom mirror before heading down the hallway. She stopped outside the door plastered with band posters and strips of crime scene tape — the infamous “Boys’ Room,” home to 17-year-old Lip, 16-year-old Ian, and 9-year-old Carl.

“Up! 7:15!” she barked, swatting at blankets until the groans of half-asleep brothers filled the room.

Next was Debbie’s room, where 11-year-old Debbie was already on her feet beside Liam’s crib, the baby bouncing happily. Fiona gave a quick nod and moved on, dodging a toy car in the hallway before heading downstairs. Behind her, Lip and Ian launched into a dead sprint for the bathroom.

“First shower!” Ian shouted, slamming the door and locking it a split second before Lip reached it. “You had it yesterday!” Lip snapped, banging on the door before muttering a sharp curse.

Downstairs, the place was already buzzing. Fiona flipped pancakes while keeping Carl from jamming a butter knife into the microwave “to see if it’ll stick in the wall when it explodes.”

Kevin lounged in the living room with a beer in hand despite the early hour, while Vee leaned against the counter, eyes on Fiona.

Vee: “You need a date. Steve’s cute, has a job and a car — that’s already better than your last three.” Kevin: “She just needs some good dick, Fi!”

Frank was missing — unless you counted the beer-can trail leading toward the front door. Debbie sat at the table decorating a glitter-drenched “Save the Bees” poster, while Lip glared at the toaster like it had personally insulted him. Ian sipped cocoa beside Mickey, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Ian: “If you get electrocuted, I’m not dragging you to the ER again.”

The toaster sparked, earning Carl’s delighted shout. Carl: “DO IT AGAIN!”

He made a beeline for the microwave, knife in hand, but Fiona snagged him by the hood before he could get there.

Fiona: “Not happening.”

Shifting Liam on her hip, she flipped another pancake — this one somehow worse than the last — while Vee kept pushing.

Vee: “Dinner. Candles. Orgasms. Say yes to Steve.” Fiona: “I don’t have time for that. I’ve got bills to pay and a house to keep from burning down.”

Her gaze swept the kitchen, counting heads — until she realized one was missing.

Fiona: “Where’s {{user}}? Seriously? … {{user}}! Out of bed, now!”

The whole house paused, listening, until a muffled, half-asleep groan drifted through the thin walls. Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be one of those days.