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Dopamine: which helps activate the brain's pleasure centres.
Adrenaline: which heightens senses.
Serotonin: which sends signals in your body.
Oxytocin: which increases relaxation and trust.
It started with oxytocin: although I was so young then that I wouldn't know that word and it's meaning if it kicked me up the arse. Science and chemicals seemed so far in the future to me that they were practically on a par with space bunnies and floating cars. It wasn't as if science was really important in our neighbourhood anyway; everybody was so dedicated to God that the level of butt-hurt whenever anyone mentioned evolution was enough to cause actual physical butt pain. Literal feelings of discomfort in the poop cave. It was like getting constantly fucked by Jesus. We had our own little universe, Phil and I, away from all of the Sunday best and prayers before bed time. We were just nerdy little kids, darting around the local wilderness with floaty capes and plastic swords. Everything was a fantasy back then; we were knights slaying fire-breathing dragons, we were pirates burying our treasure, we were Flame Dan and The Amazing Phil, superheroes that could fix everything that went wrong. Unlimited powers, and unlimited juice boxes. The wonder years: we were unstoppable and inseparable, and we didn't know the meaning of the word 'change'.
One: Oxytocin
"Phil, quick! Up the ladder, they're co- phILLL-" We both erupted into fits of hectic giggles as Phil tumbled into me, tripping over the last rung of the ladder and collapsing into the tree-house. Leaning past him, I pulled the trap-door shut with a little click. Phil was still chuckling, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes crinkling at the corners, his face repeating all of the steps I'd seen so many times before. I couldn't wipe the grin off of my face, barely even trying as I switched on the fairy lights and unzipped our sleeping bags. "I'm so happy that your Dad let us sleep in the tree-house!" Phil said breathlessly, diving into his sleeping bag head first, his giggles muffled by the material and his bum wiggling in the air. "I thought he'd say no for sure," I agreed, sliding into my own sleeping bag properly and zipping it up halfway. Phil peeked at me over the fabric he was clutching in his hand, still face first in his sleeping bag. "Are you tired already? What about the killer Pandas?! They're still out there, you know..." "I know," I sighed, "But we have the charm around the tree-house, remember? They'll burn if they come near!" "That's right!" Phil remembered eagerly, laying down on his tummy and shuffling both his body and sleeping bag a little closer to me. He twisted around so that he was lying on his side, and pulled the quilt bit up over him to his shoulders. Then, he rested one hand between the pillow and his cheek, and used the other one to tug gently at my hair. Just a few seconds ago, he'd been hyper beyond control, and now his eyes were sleepy and droopy, and when he spoke it was softly. "Hey, Dan?" "Yeah?" "What do you think will happen when we get big? Will we still be friends?" I didn't want to think about getting bigger and older. I liked things the way they were now, just Phil and I living in our world, together forever. "Yeah," I murmured, smiling directly into Phil's wide blue eyes, "I think we'll still be friends. I think, no matter what, we'll still be friends." "Do you know what I think?" Phil giggled quietly to himself and tugged at my hair again. "What?" "I think," he said, "that we will be friends even when the world is ending. And there'll be space dolphins eating all the trees and Linda the alien will be eating everyone's guts, and we'll still be together and we won't ever forget anything ever. That's what I think. Well, that's what I want. I don't want to forget anything ever, and I also don't want Linda the alien to eat my guts, but still-" "That sounded pretty," I interrupted, because it did. Hearing Phil ramble on about his dreams was the prettiest thing I had ever heard. He made gut-eating aliens and tree-eating space dolphins sound pretty. I didn't want to forget anything either. Especially stuff like this: dark nights in tree-houses, running from killer pandas and talking sleepily about the future.
Next came adrenaline; it came flooding in with our pre-teen years, the killer pandas turned into sinister ghosts and Slender Man haunted our nightmares. We were wild kids; rolling around in the mud and scraping our knees and jumping into the sea. I felt it whenever he was around, the adrenaline tearing through my veins like scissors through paper, cutting out and shaping the foundations of our friendship. We didn't spend one day with each other without going on at least one real adventure: we would power through the woods, leaping from trees, swinging from branches; we would play jump-frog on the beach, not the best of games for two gangly kids, but we had more fun than ever when we were giggling breathlessly and feeling the adrenaline.
Two: Adrenaline
"Its okay, Phil! I'm right here, I've got your hand, see?" His hand was a little clammy and trembly, and so was the rest of him as we stood on the edge of the tiny cliff that jutted out over the sea. Phil had watched me jump off here a million times, politely declining each time. It was one of the only things he was unwilling to do; but today he wanted to feel brave. He definitely didn't seem it though, lips quivering anxiously and foot tapping against the rocks. "Yeah, I know. Hi." "Hi," I giggled a little bit and squeezed his hand gently. Phil glanced over the edge of the cliff, his auburn-y hair hanging in his face; he needed a hair cut. We were both due hair cuts soon: every few months my mum would take us both to the local tiny hair dressers, and we would get similar trims. It was like an accidental tradition. For now, though, we had to deal with flicking our hair from our foreheads constantly despite the wind's valiant efforts to flatten it out. Phil did that now, sighing in annoyance and rolling his eyes at me. I smiled at him sympathetically and nudged his leg with mine. "Are you ready? We can't just stand here all day, you know." "I know, I know. Okay. Just...don't let go of my hand, ok?" "Got it." I looked at Phil and Phil looked at me and then we were jumping, not for a second taking our eyes off each other. It came as a shock when the wind left the void around our bodies and was replaced by water, cold and crashing. We spluttered and clung to each other, our hands still determinedly clasped despite the elements working against us. "That wasn't so bad was it?" Phil was laughing, water dripping from his hair and off his nose, bobbing around in the water and thrashing his legs. "It was fun!" He giggled, his eyes impossibly crinkled. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry, and I could feel my hair getting even curlier around my ears. Phil reached up and pulled at one of the ringlets carefully, still laughing. Without thinking, I leaned forward and pecked his arm, getting a little taste of salt water. Phil laughed even harder. "What was that for?" He asked breathlessly, smile so wide it hurt to look at. "I don't know!" I answered, giving into the adrenaline and laughing along with him.
Serotonin was sudden, it was sickly, and it was confusing as fuck. Whether the signals had been building up for our 14 years as friends, or whether they were a sudden result of puberty and hormones, they made Phil's eyes magical and his smile blinding. He became a walking, breathing sun ray, providing me with endless amounts of warmth and light. Our neighbourhood wasn't a group of quiet, respectful Christians that were devoted to both their religion and the humanity of others; the majority of it was, in the kindest wording possible, a bunch of Bible bashers. And that's not me being disrespectful to religion or anything of the sort; whilst I don't necessarily believe in a specific God, I have endless amounts of respect for those who do. But we were raised to believe that a man is born a man and shall stay a man, and therefore superior to a woman; that women belong in the background whilst men are strong and invincible; and most of all, it was drummed into us that guys liked girls and girls liked guys. I definitely am not claiming that all Christians and other religious people are like the majority of the ones in my town were; you see, I am accepting of other people's beliefs and preferences. In short, most of my neighbourhood wasn't. It definitely wasn't everyone, either; my family was lovely when I told them at the age of fourteen that I was questioning my sexuality a little bit. I didn't tell them that Phil Lester was at the root of it, though.
Three: Serotonin
It was quiet, deathly quiet; the only real sound was Phil, kicking the leaves as he walked along next to me, head down and hands in pockets. It was Thursday afternoon, and we were walking home from school. Phil would say goodbye first, and then I would carry on alone. We didn't hang out straight after school any more: we both had homework and revision we'd have to do, so we'd go to our separate houses and then later on in the evening we would meet up in our old tree-house. It was hard to keep a balance between spending time with my beautiful best friend and concentrating on the technical side to life, but I was somehow managing it so far. "Did you tell them?" Phil asked, looking up at me properly for the first time since we left school. "Your parents? About what you were thinking?" The second I'd started to develop feelings for a boy, my initial instinct had been to tell Phil; obviously missing out the important detail of the fact that he was the boy. He'd expectedly been supportive and comforting; advising me to speak to my parents now and get it out of the way. I knew my parents would probably accept me no matter how I labelled myself, but the possibility of rejection was a terrifying prospect that made my brain just break down every time I tried to think about it. "Yeah," I admitted, "I said I don't know what my sexuality is, but I know I'm not straight. They said it was fine, as long as they still get grandchildren." Phil grinned wildly, that same grin with his tongue sticking out and his eyes crinkling at the edges. That same grin that felt like coming home. It was a comfort to see. He seemed relieved that I'd been accepted, somehow more relieved than me. "I'm always here for you, you know," Phil muttered, still smiling, but softer now. The planes in his face smoothing out and his eyes melting into pools of blue-ish green that looked endlessly gentle. He was just impossibly cute: Phil Lester wasn't a teen magazine front cover dream boat, but he was absolutely adorable. Maybe the fact that I had had the chance to grow up with him and memorise every little detail about him made me a little biased. But he was just so damn cute. "Thank you," I said, painfully aware of my red face, "Same to you. Always here." Nothing would ever be able to drag me away.
Dopamine arrived in our sixteenth year; it arrived with the exchange of words that I'd been longing to hear for the past two years. It arrived with lots and lots of kissing, wrapped up in each other's warmth. It arrived with wild, desperate heart beats and endless amounts of love. But everything was so bitter-sweet. This, here, kissing in the privacy and shield of indoors, would never be enough. We'd never keep it a secret; but we had to. If we didn't, Phil's Dad would kick him out for sure, everyone at school would hate us: everything would go wrong. It made my heart break, but I didn't want to turn away. I didn't want it to end, and neither did Phil.
Four: Dopamine
He was pale: paler than your average teenage boy, at least. He had been a billion times paler since he started dying his hair, but I wasn't complaining. I loved his black hair on him; it made his eyes bluer and tongue pinker and his fringe framed his face so nicely. We still got matching haircuts, even as young adults. Phil's entire body was pale; his chest and torso especially. Pale and covered with little moles and beauty spots that drove me wild. I examined them whilst we lay tangled up, tracing my hands all over them. I could feel him inhaling and exhaling, could feel his heart thumping, could feel that he was alive, he was here, with me. "What are we going to do?" Phil's voice was barely a whisper, a ghost of a noise that sounded so in love and so, so hopeless. "We should go. Leave this blue neighbourhood. Get somewhere else." We couldn't. "We can't." I knew we couldn't. We were just starting our final exams, we couldn't just go. Not yet, anyway. "Then I guess we have to stick it out." We both sighed. I felt it, in the pit of my stomach. I felt bliss and I felt dread and I felt just about every feeling that existed, all in the pit of my stomach. It was like a bloody emotion gang bang in my abdomen. I had him now; I wasn't sure how long for, but he was here, breathing, alive, mine. Well, no - Phil was his own person entirely, he didn't belong to me. I didn't feel right to call him mine, like he was my possession to own. He wasn't. He was Phil, and he was much, much more than could be objectified, that much was true.
I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone. I wonder if there's a chemical that can justify being willing to throw yourself into the pits of hell just to kiss someone. I wonder if anything can explain it. I don't think it can. Sure, people will spout a load of bullshit about chemical reactions and destiny, but it's different. It's real, so real that it hurts. If you describe it with science, you take away the element of magic, and if you explain it with fate, you take away the element of reality. There needs to be a balance. Hell, there is a balance if its real. Phil Lester makes me want to spend the rest of my life living in sin. He drives me wild.