Disclaimer: if this is happening in my head, why on earth is it not real? (HP, yep)

"So this is it."

His eyes met Alex's. The blonde managed a shaky smile, his eyes betraying the calm exterior. Well, what are the chances. The school's king heartbroken—perhaps only possible when Tony was manipulating pieces of the chess game himself. Alex shifted his weight on the steps leading to his house's back door. Hank fumbled with his T-shirt's hem nervously. Night was falling upon them, and he thought he'd better think up some excuses to retire to his world of miserable solitude.

But those words. This is it, and he wished this wasn't the end. The definite defining factor of their relationship. The farthest. The destination of a journey he had barely started, since that day when the track pulled up in front of his house.

So he returned Alex's smile. "This is it," he repeated softly, "For tonight, I guess."

He brushed invisible specks of dust off his T-shirt. There was an audible hum in Alex's throat, formation of words that Hank would never hear.

A short "thanks," from Alex and Hank was sure heat rushed up to his cheeks despite the cold of the night.

Damn it, McCoy. Exert some self-control.

"N-no problem" he replied, "Well, I mean, our houses are right next to each other and I was—"

Alex's short, cheerful laugh surprised him. "Really, Spock," (Hank full-on blushed at the nickname this time), "I meant, you know, for what you did tonight."

Hank's lips went dry. His face burned. "Oh," was all he could say.

Alex smiled again, as he reached a hand over to pat Hank's shoulder. "You're the best," he said, turning on his heel to leave, "Good night."

Hank found it useless to resist beaming back at those words. He nodded. "'Night, Alex."

Alex's hand was on the doorknob when his words lingered on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath.

"Alex…I…"

The blonde looked back at him, a curious expression crossed his face. "Yes?"

"I…"… Say it. Say it.

Why must it be so difficult?

After what happened these past couple of days, I don't think I have much of a heart to say this to him.

But….

Oh.

Oh my God.

So that's what he's been missing. He feasted his eyes on a half-naked Alex, who was leaning casually against the window frame, facing him.

He had to slap himself on the chin to shut his gaping mouth up.

Tony would never lose his head like this. Focus.

He sat still on Alex's bed, his hands hung rigid to his side like some superfluous appendage.

Awkward.

But there was no reason to be. He's Tony Stonem, in physical and behavioral (almost) appearances now, and the Hank McCoy he usually was would not have scored himself a chance for an evening alone with his crush.

If his life indeed was mere chapters of a story, events and characters whom he met a combination of words flowing from a writer's pen, Hank wished he could have rewritten his first few hours in Tony Stonem's shoes.

His morning within the school grounds as its royal playboy did not go well.

A couple of 'cool' guys who took it upon themselves to taunt him on a daily basis passed him by, slapping him on the back. Blush colored girls' faces as they coyly pretended to avoid his eyes, hugging their folders to their chests.

A new pair of contact lenses, a change of outfit, and he was the school's new reality show.

Then there was the challenge of navigating through the hallways, following Tony's footsteps through the use of his schedule. Hank had planned his routes and calculated the estimated time for each of them and thought himself prepared. What he fail to arm himself with was the knowledge of Tony's friends—Chris, Maxxie, Anwar, the lot. He knew their names, but was quite at a loss as how to respond to their greetings. The fact that he'd never smoked a joint in his life was a minor problem. His keeping up to the believability of his role was the challenge.

Christ, Tony. How can it be possible that I hate you more than I already do? Why did I agree to this?

….

Calm down. It's only for a day. A Day. And at the end of all this, I could still go back to take care of my business, leave Tony to take care of his and of course there's the prospects of…

"Tony!" a familiar voice called his name across the hall. Hank turned around, searching for a face, only to be enveloped in a loose hug. He looked down and sighted blonde hair.

Alex.

Oh, God. When was the last time they hugged each other like this? It felt right. His arms.

But his body was tense, unused to the arms around him. The embrace lasted seconds, but Hank felt time to have stretched to minutes.

Alex slowly released Hank from his grip, sensing Hank's rigidity. He glanced up at the taller boy and smiled. "Hey, what's the matter?"

He's too nice for a jock who isn't dumb, thought Hank bitterly. Too nice. What's he doing with a guy like Tony?

"Tony?" Alex's voice again, a little worried at his blank face.

Oh. Better get back.

He coughed. "Uh, nothing, nothing, Alex—" (Captain Kirk…) "—let's just get going."

The blonde nodded. "Yeah. Or I'll be late for class." He gave Hank a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. The scientist's body temperature shot up from its frozen state to an explosive boiling point. He was pretty sure he heard someone whistle, "Get a room!" His mouth hung open a little like an idiot, and he managed to resume Tony's signature sneer just in time when Alex turned back and motioned him to follow. "Come on, isn't my French class on the way to your Psych?"

(Alex's taking French? Alex freaking Summers is studying the language of love? Alex is practicing how to fluently pronouce the sexy sounds of those words?)

He blinked, an uncharacteristically hesitant "Okay," uttered, and rushed to follow Alex. The blonde was standing there, waiting for him.

Where the fuck is Alex's French class? Wherethefuckis—

But then Alex's fingers became entwined in his, and his brain lost its ability to compute.

Tony indirectly forced him into his poorly conjured plan by rising up earlier than he did (For the first time he regretted having such an organized lifestyle, as compared to Tony's fuck-it-this-is-me, erratic schedule), and calling him on his (Really. The guy had the nerve to also switch up their cell phones "just to make it more realistic," as he later put it) cell to inform a groggy Hank that he's already showed up at school as him.

No chance for him to show up as a double Hank. Their school was small enough that if Tony made a display of himself in the Hank disguise in the right places, it was settled.

Hank groaned and staggered over to Tony's room. His outfit for the day was laid out on the neatly made bed (neatfreak!), on top of the clothes a note written in Tony's handwriting.

Hey.

Wear this. And have fun, Tony.

Cheers, Your brother.

Tony's messenger bag lay on the floor, inches from the bed. Hank knew his queue.

"Fun" was the word he came least close to the minute he stepped into his Honors English class. Tony, glasses galore (he could, despite Hank's scorn for him, rock the nerd look), held up a hand and shyly waved at him. He adjusted Tony's messenger bag on his shoulder and pretended to ignore the greeting from 'himself.'

Just as well.

It was eerily bizarre. When it came the time to, they could probably stage a double act, twin-brothers show. He had unintentionally did a Tony action because of his annoyance for Tony's perfect imitation of a Hank (aka his) action.

Maybe Tony really was his Dark Side of a doppelganger.

He sat himself down on the chair, nowhere close to 'Hank,' and prepared for the lesson. At least it was a schoolday, he thought, as he took out a notebook and turned to the first blank page. A weekend and it would have been a disaster. He knew he'd lose it.

But by the end of the day (excruciating seven hours later), Hank learned it needn't be a weekday to screw him up.

He walked out of his last class, exhausted, when he was cornered by one Alex Summers. He was pushed up against one of the lockers, and Alex's lips pressed against his before he could utter an unnecessary protest.

The contact. The taste. And he felt his acting throughout the whole day was worth it. Alex's body against his. Hand in his hair.

He made a mental note to remember the sensation when Alex gently detached himself.

"Gotta go," he grinned, "Football practice."

Hank mumbled something that hopefully resembled a disjointed "yes," aloud. Alex's next sentence melted his thoughts.

"See you later, yeah?"

The blonde shot a playful punch at him and strode off.

Oh God.

He even had Tony's British accent down pat. Hank unconsciously touched a finger to his lips. How cute is that? The late-er?

Hell, McCoy, bloody hell. You're fucked.

Another note awaited him on top of Tony's shirt drawers when he went into the room afterschool to change.

Hello.

Going to Alex's?

If you're wondering, yes, that kiss by the lockers is our signal that his mum's off for the night and I can come over. Don't have to explain what we do, do I?

Hank licked his lips. Signals. How could Tony's dating routines be more complicated than it already was?

He blushed at the incoming mental images.

Don't change. I never do.

Finally he got to the point.

He'll be there roughly at seven. Give him some time to cool down and he's all yours.

Filthy bastard of a brother, though.

Don't screw it up. This is your chance to get a little more experienced, mate.

Tony.

PS. Oh, and get back here. Don't stay over.

Hank gave the note a quick read-through once more before tearing the paper to pieces.

No, Tony, I'm not taking any chances.

Which explained his presence in the blonde's bedroom at an odd hour of the night as opposed to his usual, more comfortable station by his own bedroom window.

"Tony."

Hank gave a small, startled jump. Alex raised an eyebrow, approaching Hank on the bed. His features softened as he stroked Hank's hair. "Seriously, you ok today?"

I'm not myself. Hank wanted to blurt out. And not just in the figurative sense. Plus having my best friend and crush who is half-naked and hot facing me within touching distance in his own bedroom where I haven't entered in years is working my heart overtime to regulate its beats.

"No," he said softly, taking Alex's hand in his, "I'm fine."

What the hell. Since he was in the Tony disguise, his actions couldn't possibly come back to haunt him. And Alex was rightfully his boyfriend. Now. Even just for one night.

He leaned in and sought for the lips he missed. Alex responded with an enthusiasm no less than his, arms around him as they tumbled back onto the bed.

Alex laughed. He managed a smile. Inside he was burning. He stared down at the blonde beneath him. "I love you," a breathless whisper, but a confession freed at last.

Alex pulled him close, lips next to his ears. "Love you too, Tony."

The word stabbed him right in the heart. Tony. So that's the way it's going to be. Just Tony. And never him. Never Hank. He gulped back his retorts and ran his thoughts desperately to kill the silence.

A night. Make it count.

The last sound he wanted to hear in the morning was the vibration of his cell.

Hank raised his head from the soft pillow (he's back in his sanctuary now, thank God), and blindly grabbed the silver object on the nightstand next to his bed within his arm's reach.

He forced his eyes open, tapped on the button, and read:

Had fun last night,

See you at school today,

-'Chelle

The name. He sprang from his bed and pushed his closet doors open, hastily slipping on his clothes.

The cell dropped onto the floor.

He was going to kill Tony.

Strapped his watch on his arm. Checked the time. All right. The only wrong was the plot-line of his life.

Just who the fuck was 'Chelle?

He was sitting on the bench in the school's courtyard, waiting for Tony. He had his glasses back on now, a little more empowered in his own clothes, his second skin. Suddenly traces of his remaining confidence shattered when a brunette's curvy ass landed on his lap. Her arms snaked around his neck.

Blood shot up his face.

Her mischievous green eyes cast down at his. She pursed her lips as she said sweetly, voice coated in a thick British accent, "Hi there, Tony."

Oh fuck. Here comes the consequences. He should have trusted himself about Tony. He was right.

It wasn't a deal without Tony having benefited from it one way or the other.

His hands hung limp by his sides, sight diverted to the school's entrance. "Um…sorry…do I know you?"

The girl dropped her arms, a hand tilting his face to look up at her, "Tony!" she retorted, hurt, "Do I have to remind you what we did last night or were you simply to drunk to care?"

Last night. Could this possibly be…

She brushed her curly brunette locks back over her shoulder to reveal a mark on her neck.

(supposedly caused by his teeth)

Damn. Tony.

While he was busy wrestling against his thoughts, the brunette had reached her hand down, dangerously close to a certain area of his trousers.

Shit. He swatted her hand away and stammered, "Wh—what are you doing?"

Her lips took the liberty of mapping his neck with each word. "Trying. To. Remind. You."

His life had the perfect timing. Tony and Alex, hand in hand, happened to walk by. Alex waved at him cheerfully, while Tony gave him a thumbs-up and a wink. They're fine and in love and he's here all flustered, longing for Alex to instead take this girl's place.

Never had he felt a more conflicted mix of desire, envy, and hatred. Everything was a badly jumbled ball of mess that he couldn't bother to sort. The girl still had her face buried in the crook of his neck. Saved. From a revelation and shock of her life, that one.

He pushed her off, careful to be gentle as he could. "I'm sorry," he said, his tone sincere, "I'm not Tony."

She slid off him and straightened her short skirt, shooting him a glare. "Wanker."

He watch her storm off, thinking...Wait a minute. Wanker. Obviously British.

Tony.

He finally crossed paths with said suspect and criminal on his way to English. For once, he was able to appreciate the fact that they were in the same class.

He grabbed Tony and dragged him over to a deserted hallway.

"Whoa, whoa," Tony held up his hands, "Calm down, Hank. What're you getting so worked up for?"

"You know what, Tony," he said, loosening his grip on the twin brother.

Tony shrugged, foot kicking a stray piece of paper on the floor. "What, tell me, then?"

He almost sighed, but resorted to grabbing Tony's shirt collar and pushing him against the lockers instead.

"Who's the girl?"

He wanted to praise Tony for his shamelessly innocent expression. The Brit rolled his eyes and pretended to think, "Your girlfriend?"

Hank let go of Tony, exasperated, "Tone."

The playboy chucked, "Michelle. Old girlfriend from Bristol. Said she was going to come 'round—"

"—and you swapped lives with me for one night so you could meet her and still date Alex?" the words came through gritted teeth.

Tony clapped once, twice. "Bravo," he grinned. "I call it a win-win situation. I gave you a birthday present and then a girlfriend, you should be on top of the world," he slapped Hank on the back. "Speaking of which, last night, were you on to—"

"Tony!" Hank said sharply, a fist hitting one of the lockers, "God. It's you, isn't it? All about you. Selfish bastard. Your universe and shit. Fix this."

Tony pushed Hank away from him. "Girls aren't exactly robots, this is going to take time."

Hank shook his head. "Yeah, like the way you've treated them told me."

Tony stared at him for a moment, before spinning on his heels. "Whatever, see you, huh, Hank?"

Hank shouted after him. "Wanker!" The curse word echoed off the walls.

Tony stopped short, his back to Hank, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

Where did the little nerd learn that word from?

"You all right?"

Strange. It was him checking on Alex this time. They were out for a walk around the neighborhood. Alex had showed up at his door (miracle) and asked if he 'wanted to take a stroll outside" (leave it to the prom prince for his posh language). Hank guessed Tony didn't come 'round, but he knew better than to ask.

"No," Alex uttered, his eyes downcast.

Hank bent over to check on the blonde and jostled him when he discovered that Alex was trying hard as he could to hold back laughter. "I'm never better," he grinned.

The scientist laughed along with him.

They were walking along the town's main streets. Hank had on his plan, stay-at-home outfit—sweatpants and his crappy white T-shirt Alex used to remind him to transform into a cleaning cloth. Alex wore a similar white T-shirt and his worn out jeans that Hank used to insist he donate to charity already. Alex simply replied, "But it feels good, relaxed. Like I have no care in the world."

And maybe he did feel that way at the present, judging from the carefree expression on his face. Alex chuckled, "Remind me why haven't we done this again?"

Hank cocked an eye at him. "Since you've become the Varsity football team captain and the dream date of half the girls in our school?" he slashed the air with his hand, miming the action of a sword. "You're booked solid every weekend. And poor Hank is trapped at his desk, cursed to compose lame poetry forevermore."

Alex elbowed him. "Oh, enough already with the self-pity! I, for one, don't pity you."

"Really," Hank's face hovered before Alex's, suppressing his smile, "Not one bit?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"But you think we should definitely do this again?"

"Hell yes."

They shared a long laugh, shoulders heaving. Neither had enjoyed such a refreshing break from their usual, customary masks put on for social display.

"God, I'm sorry, okay?" Alex sighed. "Things got mixed up, tangled, I was…just swept in with the crowd."

Hank shrugged. "Right, right," he muttered, "I understand." And though he pretended seriousness, he actually did.

But he couldn't resist thinking this could be the way it ought to be. Just him and Alex. Friends, best friends who understood each other's humor, knew of each other's dreams and favorite songs. Maybe he was worth the place where he thought Alex belonged.

Just Maybe.

It was like watching a tragic movie scene in which the sounds were blocked out.

All he remembered were the sounds of fists hitting flesh, Tony's and Alex's twisted faces, and having to hold Alex back until he calmed down enough to walk home with him.

"It's over," he said, "IT'S OVER!" The blonde threw his hands up at his yell, somewhat liberated from an invisible bond.

"What are you talking about?" Hank asked, hand squeezing Alex's shoulder. "It's been weeks."

Alex's lips curved into a grim frown. "You don't know Tony," and when Hank was about to open his mouth to protest, "I meant Tony as a boyfriend."

The street lamps highlighted the shadowy figure they walked past to be a tangled mess of Tony and Michelle.

Alex had turned Tony around then, demanding for an explanation. "Tony, what is this?"

The playboy whispered something to his old girlfriend containing the word, "old friend," and she entered a nearby bar.

That was when it started and ended.

Alex stood in front of him, and this time the words evaporated from his tongue.

"Yes?" he repeated, puzzled.

Hank kicked himself for wasting Alex's time. He shouldn't be doing this right now.

"Alex…I…"

Lights went on inside the Summers household. A loud voice called out, "Alexander! Is that you? Get in here! Why do you have to be home so late? Do you hear me?"

Alex visibly cringed at the mention of his full name. His mother had the mercy not to spare him the embarrassment. Hank decided the moment was ruined.

The blonde gestured towards the house. "You know, moms, sorry," he rolled his eyes, "''Night again."

And he stepped into the house.

Hank was left standing in front of the door. The three words he unintentionally omitted from the conversation stood out in his mind.

I love you.

If only he could say that—voice out his thoughts the way he wanted. Cease this silly nonsense, this nonexistent rift between best friends.

I love you. Because you belong with me.

A/N: The epitome of cliches, this story is.

But I love everything too much, and thanks to for reviving it back.

As always, I cannot thank each and everyone of you enough,

Your ever humble fanfic writer :)