Disclaimer: if such a universe where two Nicholas Hoults are around at the same time exists, sue me.

Despite his calculations and analysis of the probability of the situation, Hank McCoy drove headfirst into the game in which the odds were set against him.

(And, if anything at all, Tony Stonem was the least predictable specimen he had come across, also reason #102 why the two avoided each other's ways as they did. Hank hated surprises and unplanned events that ruined his organized routines, which, as heaven would set it, seemed to be Tony's specialty.)

Plus, when had he ever messed around in his twin brother's love life?

His failures on the tests set by the subject of friends were the equivalent of a one-way ticket out of the social world. Girls he would rather save himself to not bother with. He remembered adjusting his glasses while balancing books on his knee, next to his locker. A giggle heard within earshot, he looked up from How Fiction Works to lock eyes with a sweet-faced blonde. Her green eyes, tinged with gray, seemed to smile at him. He racked his brain in that short second to find a nice comeback to say to her. This was his chance. And while she wasn't looking right at him, she was standing there, near him. This close.

Now, what was her name?

God, that short skirt looked right on her. Those gorgeous, long legs…

But he was still at a loss of what to call her. He barely managed to return a smile when shyness (because the last time he had ever properly held a conversation with a girl—which lasted a good two minutes—was back in elementary school) tripped his awkward nerves, and he fumbled with his books, causing them to fall into a disordered array on the floor.

The girl was about to lean down and help him (he noticed) pick up the books when two girls came, their arms around the girl next to him. An alarm went off in his head then, and he realized the blonde was Raven Darkholme, the most popular girl in school (standing next to him! Him, the geeky scientist!), and the other two her loyal followers (as it crossed his attention in most teen, chick-flicks that he once watched in order to 'analyze the female mind,' three was something of a number determining members of a girls' group) Angel Salvadore and Emma Frost.

Angel and Emma carefully led their group leader away from him, probably asking her as they whispered in her ears, what she was doing with one unsuspecting Hank McCoy, but Raven half-turned and gave him a little wave.

By the time he recovered enough to wave back, the trio were lost in the throngs of high schoolers.

What she was doing next to his locker and why she had the sweetness to care (waving after him, come on!) were the problems he couldn't conduct experiments to find solutions to.

And that was the closest encounter he had with the opposite gender since high school came into his life.

Or, in other words, before Tony waltzed along.

He had had to deal with awkward morning afters. Girls, ginger hair tousled, pieces of macaroni (He had no idea which kind of parties Tony attended) weaved in blonde strands, dressed in their underwear, pushing themselves up from the pillow on their living room couch, an unconscious Tony, wearing just his jeans, sprawled beneath them.

Where am I? they would ask, images of last night's drunken shenanigans blurring in their eyes, as they tried to smooth their hair.

He would smile at them but offer them no answers (there's another one, his head would say, before he could stop himself) and help them up before slapping Tony lightly on his cheeks. Wake up, Tone, he would say, It's morning now.

And Tony's eyelids would flicker open, a faint, delirious smile on his face, as his arm snake around the girl on top of him and pull her into a long kiss (It didn't take long before voyeurism turned into one of his pet-hates). They would have continued, if he didn't alert them to his (obvious) presence there and tell them to get ready for Mom's entrance.

Tony partied every Saturday night. Mom had customers come in to look at her curtain designs every Sunday morning. Fate apparently hated his guts.

The couple would get up from the couch, equally dizzy, and staggered over to Tony's room to 'prepare themselves,' (Tony always told the girl in question that.). He would sigh (something stopped them from making it to the bedroom during the night every single time) and clean up the space before the clock strike eight. When he heard the sound of the door slamming shut, he would yell after them to 'keep it down.' There was one time he forgot to, and now he couldn't shake the scathing memory away.

That was the minimum of the attachments that came along with the Tony package. There were unimaginable worst case scenarios (that he thought he would only had to plan for attack strategies) including the one in which a too-drunk girl with short black hair mistook him for Tony coming out of his bedroom—for he wasn't wearing his glasses at the time—and slapped him (the real Tony came out following that. He always had the perfect timing. Hank had caressed his burning cheek, shot Tony a warning glare, and went on his way.) He couldn't count the times he was watching National Geographic on TV and Tony with his girl (the new girl of the week) stumbled into the living room, not bothering to close to the door behind them since their hands were busy working each other's clothes as their lips were occupied in kisses. Though both of them would manage to move to some other place, Hank would close his eyes and reopen them. Having those kind of noises as distractions once or twice was fine, but countless times were testing his patience a little too much.

After a while, he chose to neglect the name of the girls, instead calling them as they were, "Tony's lady," which seemed to please some of them and caused confusion in others. He didn't care. He was just the third person spectator, an unfortunate, forced eavesdropper and voyeur on NC-17 love scenes staged in his house's areas that he never asked to watch.

The glimpses into Tony's fragmented love life (or was it just a string of one-night stands?) proved too complicated for him, Tony himself too tricky to decipher.

He promised himself he would stay on the peaceful sidelines and tried to get along with it until university.

Yet this particular morning (it could have been a normal morning), about a week after 'the incident,' when Tony could have easily refused to answer or change the topic (another talent of his), Hank went with his practiced question.

"Are you dating Alex Summers?"

Tony looked up from his bowl, his cheeks comically puffed out as he munched on his cereal. A playful smirk crossed his face. "Come again?"

Hank put his spoon down on the table. "I asked if you were dating one Alex Summers," he repeated, trying his best to sound casual. (It was easier with a blood relative around.)

Because he didn't care about this. Not one bit.

Tony grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I guess," he said, "Alex's great. Great talker, great kisser, great fu—"

Hank put up a hand, "That's enough," face turning several shades of red, "I get the idea."

His twin brother shrugged, nonchalant. "I thought you wanted to talk about him."

That dart hit him in the chest. Hank stammered, "Uh…well, yeah."

"Why?" At this point Tony had gotten up, put his bowl in the sink, and was leaning against the counter, scanning the look on Hank's face. The scientist just happened to be one of those honest, readable people whose view of life was a straight road. "You've never been interested."

Hank focused his attention on the colorful Fruit Loops floating on the milk. "He's…my best friend." It was full ten seconds before the sentence came out of his lips in its entirety.

Tony nodded. "And?"

Those irritating short questions were asking too much of him. The brunette glanced at Tony. "God, don't you get it?" After one sentence was out, the other followed, like a wild stream rushing out of a broken dam. "I thought you were…you know, into girls."

"Aren't you yourself?" the playboy asked, his voice teasing, as he sat down on his chair opposite Hank, who remained silent. "I'm just doing what you do, experimenting," he said, his fingers drumming on the table, "Except with people."

Hank stared at him. "What?"

Tony tilted his head. "I wanted to try something new."

He backed away from his brother, about to get up from his chair. "Alex is not a hobby, Tony. You're not taking up canoeing." Why that sport crossed his mind he didn't know. It seemed out of place enough for this discussion that wasn't going anywhere.

A corner of Tony's lips curled up. "I've been canoeing," he said.

Hank sighed. He knew Tony was going to take his path. He didn't actually wanted to deal with it. "What about Emma, or isn't she your current girlfriend?"

A sudden pointed look appeared on Tony's face, his eyes, dripping with hostility, aimed at Hank's like daggers to his heart. "She's been canoeing," he replied, quickly. It seemed to Hank Tony couldn't care less if the girl was handicapped.

Hank calmed his frights (as to think of what Tony would do next was beyond him) and met Tony's eyes, which by then had returned to normal, an ocean after a night of violent storms.

"Tony," he uttered, pleading and implying the seriousness with which he regarded the situation and which he suspected his brother didn't.

A smile. "Come on, it's just fun, don't be a killjoy!" he said, slapping Hank on the shoulder.

Hank almost breathed a sigh of relief, as he mumbled under his breath, "It's my friend…"

"As a matter of fact," Tony said, getting up once more and walking out of the room, his volume loud enough so that Hank could hear him as he was walking, "Your birthday's coming up soon, so I thought I'd get you a present."

Typical Tony. Changing the topic when the other person involved was caught unaware.

He returned back with a small, gift-wrapped box in his hands. He handed the box to Hank, who was still seated in his chair. "Open it."

The scientist unwrapped the box as a grin broke out on his face, chuckles escaping his lips. "What is this, I thought—"

His sentence was cut short when he realized what the box's content was. "Contact lenses? Come on, last year's Playboy could have been—"

But Tony grabbed the box from him and held it up before his eyes. "You know how subatomic particles don't obey physical la—"

Hank's laughs interrupted Tony's speech. "Stop it with the scientific get-up, Tone," he said, "We all know who's God here. There's no chance, no chaos, no coincidence. You're playing God," he grinned up at the twin, "You're setting the rules. It's not unpredictable. You're deciding what's going happen. The fun is you. And you know how Einstein was said to have…"

"—I know, I know, Hank, God does not play dice," Tony continued, annoyed, throwing the box from one hand to the other, "How many times have you tried that comeback on me?"

Hank whistled. "How many times have you tried that speech on me? Probably wowed your friends. Too bad I know better."

"Yeah," the playboy said, "Anyway, the point of this," he placed the box on the table, close to Hank's reach, "Is so you could have a little fun."

Hank ran a hand through his hair. "You're my twin brother, Tony," he responded, "But honest to God, I have no idea what you're on about most of the time."

Tony's smile told Hank he was falling into a trap he did not sign up for. "Go out with Alex," he said, "for one night. Be me. Isn't that what you want?"

Hank got up from the table. To say surprise was on his face would have been an understatement.

"Well," Tony moved so that he was standing opposite Hank, "You asked me the question yourself."

Hank bit his lip. "You're out of your mind."

Tony's mouth shaped into an indifferent 'O,' as he put in the box in Hank's hand, "Oh, he wouldn't know. When was the last time you went out with him, seventh grade?" Tony had tuned his voice to that chilling, seductive persuasion tone.

Hank gripped the box in his hand. "He's your boyfriend."

"Whom you love," Tony continued, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in the situation, "Think of it as my gift to you."

He started walking out of the room, turning back to say, "And I'll need to borrow some of your clothes, brother."

A/N: Ahhh...meself got carried away again!

Alex will definitely make an appearance next chapter :D

Thank you to everyone of you, my precious

Loves,

Your ever humble fanfic writer :)