“Jesus Christ, Blake, what are you _doing?_”  Blake looked down, and examined the situation.
“I can explain!  This… is exactly what it looks like.”
“Oh my God, Blake.  Put your fucking pants on, we’re going to have a little talk with your father.”  He reached down and pet the nose of the family’s pet dragon.
“Sorry, boy. We’ll have to finish this later.”
“No, no you won’t.  _Pants._”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“… And this little shit is balls-deep in Bailey when I open the door to see if he was done with his homework and tell him about dinner.”
“Blake…” His father squeezed out the name, sounding pained. “Why would you…” Blake shrugged.
“Puberty. Besides, I’m not going to get some girl knocked up this way.” He paused, considering a moment while his parents absorbed the unexpectedly blunt reply. _It might be working…_ he thinks, considering for a brief moment whether he should deploy his last rhetorical weapon. “Anyway, it doesn’t really matter any more, I’m legal now. I can’t get in trouble for having sex now.”
“By _two days!_” his father blurts.
“No, Chuck… you know what _else_ he’s legal for, now…” she says, eyes narrowing, a thin smile forming.
_I may have fucked up,_ thinks Blake.
“The Bodyshoppe won’t fix minors, right?”
_I think I fucked up._
“You’re not a minor any more, now.”
_I definitely fucked up._
“Get in the car, Blake.”
“You know, you can’t actually make me do that.”
“We don’t have to house you any more, either.”  He blanches.  “Besides, it’s not forever.  You can have them back when you graduate from college.”
_Oh fuck._
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After a stone-silent car ride in which everyone pointedly refused to so much as look at one another, Blake is sweating bullets as they lead him into the Bodyshoppe’s lobby. It’s not the first time he’s been here, but it’s the first time he’s been here _like this._ He wonders if this is how Bailey felt, knowing exactly why he was there, and trying to keep a straight face. 
_I wonder what they’ll do if I panic,_ he thinks. _That… would probably also be overplaying my hand. Again._ He swallows, and looks around, taking in the details of the place anew, from a somewhat more … quadrupedal perspective. _Bailey, I know you’re weird, but I never knew you as a **person,** or asked you why you thought this was a good idea… Shit I wish I asked you why you did this to yourself._
“Blake?”
“Huh?”
“I was just telling the clerk that you’d been admiring Bailey’s undercarriage so much recently that you’d asked us if you could have the same thing today.” His mother smiled sweetly.
Blake blushed furiously. _Bitch._
“Um… yes, I was interested in… getting fixed,” he stammered out, reluctance doing a good impression for embarrassment.
The clerk, who he is suddenly noticing in very great detail, is not human. Not completely, anyway, having opted to sidegrade herself across the evolutionary continuum. Feline, with the spots of a cheetah, but she had replaced all of the orange of a proper big cat with pink in equal measure; this extended to her magenta eyes.
“We offer several approaches to hormone management in altered males, ranging from the affordable, to the truly economical. I recommend -“
“Hormone management?” his mother asked.
“Oh, yes. Postpubertal humans tend to suffer when altered at such an age; puberty causes permanent epigenetic changes…” (His mother stares, wide-eyed, realizing she may have moved too quickly) “…which cause symptoms such as obesity, lethargy, and osteoporosis if not correctly managed. Fortunately, simple hormone-replacement therapy is adequate, and on our most economical plan, can be as little as five fifty per week.”  
His mother nodded.
“What does that require?”
“A hormone-management implant known as an artificial endocrine system-“
“That seems a little too invasive.”
“Our least invasive approach is weekly injections. You can economize by buying in bulk.  This plan usually costs about forty to fifty-five dollars a week.”
She blanched.  “What was that you said about postpubertal humans? That seems awfully specific.”
The pink cheetah nodded. “Young children, altered before puberty, experience a different developmental path with few complications, and even live up to twelve years longer than their unaltered peers. Unfortunately, that’s not currently available as an elective procedure, and your son is too old. Another option is a transgenic modification. Elves, for example, tolerate desexing extremely well at any point in their life.”
“And how much is this… elf-ification going to cost?”
“If you’re primarily concerned about cost, we have a seasonal promotion at the moment.”
Blake looked at his father, who steadfastly refused to meet his gaze, appearing to study a piece of literature on the counter that he wasn’t actually close enough to read. He looked to Bailey, who met his gaze with a baffled, wide-eyed look.
“What kind of promotion?”
“A charity drive, with all profits to charity.”
“Please, tell me more.”
“Tell me, have you heard of The Reindeer Option?”
Bailey’s eyes widened. *He* had.
“No. Please, tell me more.”