"Ryan!" Brendon yelled, skipping across the room, a boyish gleam in his eye.
"What." Ryan said, voice monotone.
Brendon ran his fingers through Ryan's greasy roots. "I have good news,"
Ryan looked up, intrigued. "And that is..?"
"I am officially more greasy than you."
Ryan's face scrunched up. "That's not good news! I'm the greasy king,"
Brendon smiled devilishly. "I stole your crown."
Ryan stood up from his spot on the practice room floor, towering a whole 2 inches above Brendon.
"Well, give it back."
Brendon froze. "Wh- what."
"Give me back my crown." Ryan insisted.
"Well," Brendon started, tapping his index finger together. "I am unable to do that."
Ryan smiled, but only a little bit (because he was being serious). "And why is that?"
Brendon crossed his arms. "Because it's not real."
Ryan's face dropped with disbelief. "What?"
"You heard him," Spencer butted in, already sick of the strange conversation happening in front of his drum set. "The crown's not real. Face it Ryan, you'll never have as greasy hair as Brendon."
Ryan's mouth closed and opened again, trying to form any sort of noise. He looked between Spencer and Brendon. "We'll see about that," He said, before storming out of the room.
Brendon looked at Spencer before busting out laughing, clutching his stomach.
___
The next day Ryan opened the door to the practice room, smugness written over his expression. It looked like he had dumped a vat of Vaseline over his head.
"Ryan," Brent (because this was Peak Greasy Hair Era) sighed, looking him up and down. "What bet did you lose against Brendon this time?"
"There was no bet!" Ryan looked almost angry that Brent would assume such a thing. "Brendon threatened me."
"I did none of the sort!" Brendon pointed a finger at Ryan, just walking into the room. "I was just stating a simple fact!"
Brendons hair looked like he hadn't washed it in 3 weeks, which he probably hasn't.
Spencer couldn't believe what he was witnessing. "So," He tried to think about what the fuck was going on. "You two are competing over who.. has greasier hair??"
Ryan shook his head, greasy hair staying put. "No, it's more like Brendon threatened my principles and I had to stand for what's right. You were there, Spence, cmon."
"Sorry, I just needed to take it all in." Spencer shrugged.
"I have never threatened you of anything! Stop painting me for a crime I didn't do!" Brendon stood in an upside down V, his index finger was once again crudely pointed towards Ryan.
Spencer and Brent still couldn't believe what they were hearing and shared a look. Knowing Brendon and Ryan, they were sure the two weren't going to back down from whatever challenge they had put up.
"You stole my throne! That is not an unjust crime!"
"That's not even a crime!"
Spencer started the drum pattern to Esteban and Brent played along with his bass, the sweet sounds of Brendon and Ryan bickering in the background.
___
A week had gone past when Ryan heard a soft knock on his bedroom door.
"Who is it?" He called.
"Brendon." A squeaky voice traveled through the wood.
"Come in," Ryan set his pencil atop his notebook of lyrics, giving his full attention to the boy who walked through the door.
"I have," Brendon gulped loud, putting on a show. "A confession."
Ryan leaned back in his seat. "I like where this is going."
Brendon cleared his throat. "George Ross The Third-"
"I told you to stop calling me that."
Brendon glared at Ryan after the interruption before continuing. "You are the newly named Grease Queen."
Ryan furrowed his brows. "Who's the Grease King, then?"
Brendon rolled his eyes. "Me, dumbass."
Ryan giggled. And then chuckled. And then let out a full, gut wrenching , chest heaving laugh. "Thank you, my beautiful greasy rat boyfriend."
Brendon smiled. "🐀 ."
Ryan got scared.
