Six-thirty.

Six-thirty in the way-too-early-morning.

Unable to ignore the rafter-rattling snoring of his new roommate one second longer, Mike Nesmith hauled himself out of his warm bed. Clad in only his pajama bottoms, he wound his way through the maze of boxes that contained Micky's treasures, making his way out of the bedroom and down the spiral stairs. Navigating skillfully despite the fact the he had only one eye half-open, he headed for the couch, determined to salvage at least a few hours of sleep before the others woke up.

"Good morning, Michael."

The quiet greeting stopped Mike in his tracks. "Peter? What in God's name are you doin' up at this hour?" Sitting at the ugly but sturdy kitchen table, a mug of steaming tea before him, the blond was showered, clean-shaven and fully dressed; he'd obviously been awake for a while. "Don't tell me the kid snores too?"

Laughing, Peter shook his head. "No, I almost always wake up this early." He cast a curious glance at the rumpled Texan. "But you like you could use a few more hours of sleep, if you ask me.

"Don't remind me," Mike begged, huge yawn splitting his face. "You didn't happen to make any coffee?" he asked hopefully.

"No, just tea. Would you like some?"

Dropping heavily onto the couch, Mike pulled the colorful afghan off the back, wrapping it around his bare shoulders to ward off the morning chill. "Never mind, man. Maybe I'll just catch a little more sleep right here..." Closing his eyes, he snuggled back into the corner of the couch, propping his bare feet comfortably on the coffee table.

Surprisingly, he didn't fall asleep right away. Instead he listened passively while Peter went though his morning routine. He wasn't loud by any means, but the small sounds couldn't be muffled; the soft clank of dishes, the rush of water through the ancient pipes as Peter rinsed out his mug, the scrape of a chair across the hardwood floor--all combined to keep Mike from his slumber.

Even more surprising, Mike didn't really mind. It was almost soothing, in a way, knowing someone was there. He'd lived alone for so long now he'd forgotten how comforting it could be to have another presence near. Opening his eyes, he gazed quietly out the bay window, enjoying the show as sunrise painted the sky in a palette of pastels.

He was still caught up in the scene when Peter noticed him. "I'm sorry, Mike," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to keep you up."

Mike waved off the apology. "Don't worry about it." He tucked his cold feet underneath him. "This isn't so bad...kinda quiet and peaceful, actually."

Nodding, Peter took the other end of the couch. To be honest, he was still a little intimidated by the guitarist. He'd never met anyone quite so forceful and determined before. "Yeah, I think that's why I like it so much. Peace and quiet were sort of hard to come by at home."

"Loud family?"

"BIG family," Peter corrected. "I've got two younger brothers and a younger sister. Once they woke up in the morning it was never quiet. He smiled shyly at Mike. "Lucky for me they all like mornings about as much as you do."

"So how come you were so eager for all of us to share this place?" Mike asked curiously. "Seems to me you'd want some time alone."

"Not really," the blond confessed. "I've never lived alone, and I sure can't afford to, not right now." He gave a tiny shrug. "I don't think I'd like it, anyway."

"You'd want to try it if you had to listen to Dolenz sawin' logs all night," Mike grumbled, glaring up at the balcony. "I swear I can hear him all the way down here! And the mess--he brought enough junk for ten people. You can barely get out of the bedroom without fallin' over something!"

"You wanted the upstairs bedroom," Peter replied innocently. He felt rather bad that he'd failed to warn Mike of Micky's...unusual style of housekeeping. "We could always trade if you like, but I warn you, Davy talks in his sleep." His cheeks reddened as he recalled the litany of pick-up lines and endearments the Englisman had mumbled throughout the night.

"And listen to him rehash his last ten dates?" Mike snorted. "No thanks. I'll work somethin' out." With another yawn, the dark eyes drifted closed, signalling the end of the conversation. Soon the only sound was his light, even breathing. He never knew when Peter left, closing the front door silently behind him.

"Mike?" Micky's light tenor wormed it's way into his subconscious just as the scent of coffee began to tease his nostrils. Managing to open his eyes more easily this time, Mike smiled in satisfaction - judging by the bright sunshine sparkling on the waves, it was at least ten or eleven. In his opinion it was a much more reasonable time to wake up.

"This is more like it," he murmurred, unwinding the afghan as he stood and stretched languidly. Tossing the wooly cover on the couch, he immediately made for the kitchen, drawn by the enticing aroma emanating from the bubbling coffeepot.

"Hey Mike, what were you doing sleeping on the couch?" Micky asked as Mike poured a cup of the hot brew. "Something wrong with your bed?"

Only the fact that you were doin' your imitation of a buzz saw in the bed three feet away, Mike thought to himself. Still, he made a promise to himself that he'd at least try to make this work, so he held his tongue. Besides, the morning hadn't been all bad. "The bed's fine--I just fell asleep down here is all,"

"That's cool," Micky replied as he trotted up the stairs. "I'm gonna go upstairs and start unpacking those boxes. Peter and Davy are out on the beach if you're interested." He paused on the landing. "Oh, and Peter said to give that to you." He pointed at a small bag lying unnoticed on the end table. "He said you'd know what to do with them, whatever that means." Whistling, Micky disappeared into the bedroom.

Curiosity piqued, Mike picked up the bag, opening the top and peering in. Tilting it, he spilled the contents into his palm, body convulsing with laughter when he realized what Peter had given him.

It was a set of earplugs.