milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Autor has his feet up on the couch today, taking notes on Schak's German translation of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

A medical textbook is on his lap, with detailed entries about dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins earmarked. Dog-eared copies of The Princess Bride, Pride and Prejudice, and The Great Gatsby form a stack on the floor against the couch. On the stack is a plate of dumplings, cold and untouched.

Unfortunately, none of it seems to help with his ultimate goal: falling out of love. There's a dearth of classics that teach what he wants to know. Love drives all the great stories, Rae had said, and Autor finds that her words are true, even though he doesn't think his great story is written that way.

There's still a blush on his face. The Rubaiyat is a bit mushy.

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"If you aren't going to eat those, I will." It's not a threat, it's a friendly greeting! "Or one of Teja's cats will steal them, maybe. Hello, Autor, what's the subject of study today?"

Autor turns to Bossuet with a smile. "You're welcome to them, though I suspect they're cold. I'd forgotten I even had them," the flustered boy says. "And, er, chemicals, as well, as, you know, blind devotion to another person. And other stuff."

These last words come out in a rush.

"Love and chemistry? Not such a bad combination..." Bossuet looks over at the plate of dumplings. Hmm. "I could bring you a fresh plate, if you'd like. --But why the sudden course of study? Is there an examination coming soon?"

"Ah, don't worry, I don't mind cold dumplings," Autor says. At the question--and it is a rather incisive one, isn't it?--he glances away, fiddling with the hem of his blazer. "I, ah, have been studying. For reasons. Pretty good reasons, of which curiosity is one, and my having realized that I don't know much about love, either. I'm finding that I'm not fond of its effects. Is all."

Oh, dear. Bossuet suppresses a smile, and reminds himself that Autor doesn't have Courfeyrac's or Grantaire's cultivated resistance to teasing.

He picks up one of the dumplings, taking Autor's initial invitation at face value, and studies it before popping it in his mouth. "--Mm. It can be a painful condition, that's true. And it's not a bad thing to study."

Autor picks up a dumpling himself, but turns it over and over in his hands rather than eating it. "Study is all I know. I'm... finding that the specific knowledge I'm after has been all but ignored in the literature."

He smiles at Bossuet, a little shyly. "Ah, but here I am rambling."

"No, no, don't apologize for rambling. Or I shall start feeling that I have to, as well." He selects another dumpling and eats it thoughtfully. "The literature about love is quite extensive and varied, though it may not all be legal to publish. May I ask more about your studies, as a fellow-student--or is that tedious of me?"

Autor clears his throat, wondering how he'll word this. "Mainly I'm trying to find out what love is," he begins, rubbing the back of his burning neck with his free hand, the other occupied with an uneaten dumpling. "To do that I'm trying to pin point its chemical composition--dopamine, endorphins, and so on--and whether it's possible to control it. How quickly people fall in love, how to fall out of it, and so on."

"Love has a chemical composition?" His bafflement shows on his face. "I've known chemists in love, but I never knew it was something they could make up in their workshops. --As for the rest, there are a thousand witty things written on the subject of falling in and out of love, and if any one of them was wholly correct people wouldn't have to keep writing about it."

Autor cracks a smile. "I don't know if it does, but I know now that these chemicals contribute to feelings of happiness, contentment, and the giddy, pleasant lassitude that involves butterflies in the stomach," the boy says, still shy. "And that's very true. I've not had much success on finding material about falling out of it. Do you have a suggestion on how best to do that? For curiosity's sake."

"Alcohol does most of that...." He scratches his beard. All right, enough teasing. "Meeting someone else seems to be the shortest route to falling out of love. But it's no guarantee."

Autor wrinkles his nose. "I think I'm finished with alcohol for a while. I am a most affectionate drunk and that probably wouldn't help," he admits. "So, meeting someone else. That makes sense. And what if you want to remain friends with the original person? Hypothetically."

"I've never had much difficulty with that myself. Remaining friends, I mean; I'm on good terms with most of my past attachments. But it may be a matter of temperament." Hmmm. "What sort of friendship do you want?"

"That's a good question," Autor says, and his hands still on the dumpling while he considers that. "I suppose, hypothetically, that I just want to make he--um, them--happy. I want to put their welfare above my own. And a friendship where I can make puns and they can shove yogurt in my face and we both can laugh about it would be lovely. Affection without... that kind of love."

"That is the very best sort of friendship." He's not joking! It is! The very thought produces a rather stupidly fond smile, for a moment, before Lesgle clears his throat. "Hmm. In all honesty, nearly all the girls I've had relations with promptly found another fellow, and if he wasn't already a friend of mine--which, nine times out of ten, he was--he soon became one, and it ended in good humor all around. But I suppose it wouldn't do to suggest introducing her to someone else...? No, no, probably not."

Autor draws a breath through his nose. The suggestion to introduce her to someone else produces such a visceral reaction of no that he can barely contain it. He's realizing for the first time how possessive he is, especially with people and things that aren't his to begin with.

"I don't think that would work," he says evenly, closing his eyes. "If she wanted to find someone else herself, that's understandable. But to introduce her to--the jealousy would consume me." Then he opens them. "Hypothetically."

Lesgle nods. "That's the very devil," he says--entirely sympathetically. "And quite understandable," he hurries to add. He knows his usual approach doesn't work for most people. "Hypothetically, of course. What do the chemistry books say?"

The boy relaxes. Chemistry is certainly easier to talk about than his feelings. "Dopamine--short for dihydroxyphenethylamine, try saying that five times fast--is a chemical released in the brain based on reward behaviors and motivation. Or addictive drugs. It affects mood, hand-eye coordination, and attention--among other things, including mate selection."

He furrows his brow. "Endorphins, on the other hand, are the happy-making chemicals released by dopamine. They act as natural pain killers and promote a general sense of well-being. They're involved with attachment."

The boy purses his lips. "Then there's the blasted phenylethylamine--responsible for making you fall in love--and norepinephrine, which makes your heart pound and your palms sweat. There's oxytocin--the 'cuddle hormone'--and testosterone, too... Ah, I'm sorry! I should be discussing this with Joly, who might find it much more interesting."

"Do tell Joly, because he'll be fascinated and have much more intelligent questions about it all, but it's astonishing stuff. How does the...the phen...how does that make you fall in love?"

Autor shakes his head. "I suppose it's not responsible for love precisely, but phenylethylamine releases dopamine in the brain, which then releases everything else in a chain reaction. It gives you that warm, relaxed feeling of being in love, as well as enough energy to stay up all night," he says. "PEA is also found in chocolate, so there's that."

"I knew I liked chocolate," he mutters. Learn something new every day. Then again, people have also been convinced about miasmas, humors, magnetism... Lesgle clears his throat with a twinge of guilt at that last thought. "What sets off the, the PEA?"

Autor blinks. "You know? I've no idea. Clearly I need to do more reading. I suspect it's being in the presence of someone you're falling in love with--their scent, and pheromones, and the like," he says, blushing a bit as he can almost smell artificial strawberry. "But thank you for listening to my ramble."

"But that's just a circular argument, then, isn't it? This chemical makes you fall in love; falling in love produces this chemical; we've come back to a mystery." He grins sympathetically. "I'm sorry; not much of a font of wisdom here, am I."

The boy cracks a smile. "I'm not either, so you're in good company. I'm sorry I couldn't explain he process better. Still, it was kind of you to ask, though I don't know what either of us will do with the information."

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