"Hey, have your eyes always been blue?"
"Yes."
"... Are you sure?"
Egon spared a glance and a raised eyebrow for the silly question. Peter made a helpless gesture and for a moment was quiet, picking at his fingernails.
"Do you bleach your hair?"
"Peter, we live in the same building, we share quarters, don't you think you would have found evidence of it by now if I had?"
"You're mad."
"What?"
"Your sense of humor dies a thousand deaths when you're upset, and you're taking me seriously when I'm being as obvious as possible." He spoke as flatly as if he had been talking about the weather.
"And you've broken the first rule of psychology, Peter; never analyze your friends." The accused bad mood showed itself then in his tone.
"That wasn't psychoanalysis, that was Spengalysis, the kind that comes with experience."
"... Did you really just say-"
"Yes. I did. Its a term of my invention, along with Spengology, psychospenglis, and the Egonary."
A look of serious consideration settled over Egon. But it was quickly cracked and shattered by a laugh, awkward as his tended to be, and he pulled off his glasses and set his forehead on his wrist.
"Peter, I worry about how much thought you put into these sorts of things."