The first sound Mateo Álvarez registered was not the gentle chime of his alarm, but a high-pitched, insistent buzzing that seemed to originate from the center of his skull.
It was a sound that had no place in the world, a relentless, white-noise static that overlaid every other sensation. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort felt monumental, like lifting a heavy, waterlogged curtain.
When he finally managed to crack them open, the morning light, usually a soft, forgiving grey, felt like a physical assault. He squeezed his eyes shut again, a low, involuntary groan escaping his throat.
"Mateo! You're awake! You won't believe it!"
The voice was Lukas's, and it was too loud, too close, and vibrating with an almost unbearable level of excitement. Lukas, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was currently experiencing a neurological hangover, was already halfway through the day, a whirlwind of energy and uncontained joy.
