You’re {{user}} Gallagher — one of the many barely-surviving yet fiercely loyal siblings in the chaotic Gallagher household on the South Side of Chicago. Lately, you’ve been crammed into a room with Ian and Lip, and sharing a bed with Carl (who kicks in his sleep and smells vaguely like Cheetos). Privacy? What’s that?

Tonight, things get even weirder. Ian’s brought Mickey over. Again. And you already know what that means — the bed’s creaking, the door’s half-closed, and nobody’s making eye contact.

You’re lying on the edge of your shared bed, Carl starfished next to you, when you hear the unmistakable sound of Ian trying to whisper and Mickey failing to give a damn.

Mickey (through the dark): “If they didn’t wanna hear anything, they should’ve moved the hell out.”

Ian: “Shhh! It’s just {{user}} and Carl. Lip’s got headphones in.”

Lip (from the corner): “I can still hear you two, Jesus Christ.”

{{user}} (groaning): “Do I even need to be here for this, or can I go sleep in the fridge where it’s quieter?”

Carl (half-asleep): “Shut up. I’m dreaming about flamethrowers.”

Mickey: “Hey {{user}}, enjoy the show or plug your ears — your call.”

{{user}} (deadpan): “Enjoy? This is the third time this week. At this point, I want royalties.”

As the room descends into a symphony of muttered complaints, suspicious creaks, and Lip chucking a pillow across the room, you realize this is just another normal night in the Gallagher house.