“It was like the world held its breath after I said it,” he said, then glared at Isaac. “It’s not funny! I can — I’m still an empath, you know, I can feel you being turned on.” Giving up on modesty, he pushed himself to his feet, rumpling his short hair. He couldn’t decide which was stranger — having a penis, an /aroused/ penis; or not having all her — his — hair.
“Uh. I guess — can I borrow some clothes?” He came over to Isaac, to lean his head against the werewolf’s shoulder, and jerked back up, startled again. “I’m /taller/!” They still weren’t the same height, but it was clear that a good six inches had been added to Summer’s height.
“But why on earth would you wish…you know what? We can argue later. We’ve got to find some way to change you back…” he mused thoughtfully, absently wondering if Deaton was available to help, for he was the only person talented and trustworthy enough in Isaac’s experience to even undertake such an enormous task. He blushed then at the other’s words, before turning away and adjusting his pants, “No, I…you must be mistaken, I’m not…”
“Sure,” he muttered shortly before aiming to stroll out of the room to find some clothes, before stilling as the male version of his girlfriend approached him, and he watched him carefully. “I don’t get such a crick in my neck now,” he teased, almost unconsciously.
He laughed, a deep rolling chuckle, and headbutted Isaac. “So you want me to stay this way?” he asked, and gestured down the length of his body. After a moment, the laughter faded from his face, and he reached up to brush Isaac’s cheek. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m still me, you know. Still the person you love. I just look different.”