Dopamine—pleasure, reward, motivation.
Serotonin—mood regulation.
Oxytocin—love and connection.
Endorphins—comfort in the midst of pain.
Kagome had learned about the "happy hormones" in her growing interest in psychology. But knowing their roles and experiencing them firsthand were two entirely different things.
It was chemical. That had to be the explanation.
How else could she describe the way her body reacted to Inuyasha? When his amber gaze softened, as if he was looking at her and only her, it was like the sun broke through the clouds. Her heart would race, warmth blooming in her chest as serotonin soothed her lingering worries. Sometimes, the sensation was so overwhelming that she had to look away, biting her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
But not all the chemicals worked in harmony. When she saw him with Kikyo, dopamine surged with frustration and envy, urging her to lash out, to scream that it wasn't fair. That she deserved to be seen, to be chosen. But serotonin would intervene, reminding her that giving in to those feelings wouldn't change anything. It was a constant battle—her emotions pulling her one way, her reason tugging her another.
And then there was the sound of his voice.
He had so many ways of saying her name, each with a tone so distinct that Kagome had learned to decode them. The sharp bark of irritation when she pushed him too far. The low growl of protectiveness when danger loomed. The hesitant murmur of gratitude when she patched him up after a fight. And, on rare occasions, the soft, almost tender way he said it when they were alone.
It was that softness that undid her.
When he used that tone, her pulse quickened, and a sweet ache spread through her chest, as if her heart itself were reaching for him. Oxytocin, she thought. The so-called "love hormone." It didn't matter how much she told herself to stay grounded. In those moments, she felt herself falling, her connection to him tightening in ways she couldn't control.
But it wasn't just love. There was comfort too.
After a battle, when her body ached and her mind replayed the horrors they'd faced, Inuyasha would sit beside her, his presence steady and unwavering. He didn't need to say anything; just being near him was enough. The endorphins would kick in then, dulling the physical pain and softening the sharp edges of her fear.
Kagome sighed, her hand curling around the notebook where she'd scribbled down the hormone chart earlier that day. It was strange, she thought, how something so intangible—love, trust, connection—could be traced back to biology. But then again, it didn't make what she felt any less real.
She glanced toward the forest, where Inuyasha was likely perched in a tree, keeping watch. The thought of him out there, protecting them all, sent another wave of warmth through her. It didn't matter if it was chemical. What mattered was him.