"Like I told you, I'm less concerned with my forehead and more concerned with my pants. And not the fact that they keep falling down or anything, either," Adam said, feeling more than a little cranky about things right then.
Adam crossed his arms and stared right back at Bryar. Bryar glaring at him was somehow less intimidating than it should have been. Of course, Adam would've fled if he'd been actually seventeen. If Bryar's robes hadn't been so ridiculously overlarge. Kind of like Adam's own. "I'm not asking for experimental treatments. I am asking you to knock me out. Simple. Then tomorrow I'm out of here and I'll go explain to Meesh why I'm suddenly a ... a ... teenage freak. Oh God, how old will I even be tomorrow? I'm going to turn into a zygote. Bryar, you have to figure out how to stop this." Thinking about it made him a little light-headed. He kind of wanted to die.