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These days, Mickey often sleeps in. But if he's lucky, he can be awake for what is not his favourite time of day but certainly most peaceful. Whilst the Gallagher household was admittedly different to his own in many ways, the one which stood out as the most alien to Mickey was the noise. The first place it strayed from what he had grown up with was the nature of the noise, by which he meant it almost never took a day off.
Ian's family would party relentlessly with the entire block - people weaving in and out of consiousness, bopping to a discount (stolen) CD of last year's music. Sometimes it would be Debbie, screaming at Carl, or occasionlly Lip shouting free but woefully unappreciated advice. But it was almost always fucking full to bursting with the racket inside, whereas the Milkovich's worked a little differently. For week long periods there would be near grave silence; only Mickey and Mandy shuffled about in the familiar way they had been trained.
Finding out where the carcophonies had got to was a sinple game of patience- "maybe a run with Dad? Or what if Colin's passed out in an alley somewhere again?" Mandy would whisper to her older brother from close beside him, afraid some remnant of Terry was waiting for the blanket quiet to bring them security. He would try to brush this off, nodding along with her suggestion that they watch a film and ultimately listening to shit with their headphones on or looking at (silent) porn magazines.
Much as you would expect, this pattern would play out uncomfortably until the others returned, to fill the night with Iggy's shit rave music or Terry's hard-to-un-ingrain vile sermons or Colin fucking his latest fling so hard she screamed for hours through the disgusted walls they had to share (this one Mickey had only done once or twice, and had never wanted to - not with the girls he brought back). So he stuck to the music and the threatening, maybe trying the (quiet) sex he wanted to during the softly silent periods...
Until he moved in with Ian and told his Dad to fuck himself, of course. He thinks he may be trying to see just how many times Lip can glare at him when he saunters down the stairs, or Liam can outright scold him about bringing the fucking house down with his moaning. Before this begins, however, there is a moment when Mickey waits. It's almost impossibly fleeting and takes luck to capture but it definitely, undoubtedly exists, if only for a shimmering split second. He awakens presssed firmly into Ian's chest, and curls inwards to face him, eyes smiling as he reminds himself how much he cherishes the younger man. One moment when Debbie has not yet been clawed awake by Fiona, and Carl hasn't made a sound from the landing in the hope that Lip will brew the coffee before asking him to do it. One minute where Mickey is filled with the knowledge that, if he wanted to, he could be loud unlike at home, but staying peaceful wasn't weak.
Because it is this that he he remembers over and over. Each time he wakes up curled in Ian's arms - that in the Gallagher family, feet pattering quickly through the house were excited, not afraid.