Bunking with responsible people was the only reason that Clint actually slept with clothes. Responsible people did not enjoy semi-naked disasters in the kitchen at all hours— go figure.
It was also the reason Clint took out the aids when he did sleep; he definitely didn't have the same sleeping pattern as any version of Steve Rogers, and he did not appreciate his two hour nap in the middle of the afternoon being interrupted by something like— checks notes— making lunch? There was a time and place, but apparently Clint's opinion was not the overall majority and he got no say.
It did make people waking him up harder, thus the sleeping in shorts and a shirt, instead of just falling into bed practically naked. Which, to be fair, had never been working for him anyway.
"Mmm whass'at?" Noise didn't exactly carry through to his hearing so well, vibrations on the other hand, sure, they worked enough, and being an Avenger as long as he had been, you got used to houses shaking and beds rumbling, because when Tony Stark got on a building kick in the basement of Stark Mansion, you just had to deal with blasters going off under you. Except he was in a beach shake on a little island now, not Avenger's mansion, not even his building, so that meant...
That meant rolling out of bed, tripping twice over something—shoes, a book (how did that get there?)— before pressing his forehead to the door frame as he pulled the door open, away from his face, thank you very much.
"Katie, what are you yellin' about?" It was... some time during the day, surely... Where was the fire?