Alexandergumuchian Stories

Alex finds out that Matt likes him in certain types of clothes. Specifically, Matt's clothes.

Matt receives a Christmas present just before he leaves to go spend it with his mother in Minnesota. Only problem is - he doesn't know who it's from, till he does.

A major streaming service greenlights a prestigious, high-budget music documentary series called The Duet Divide, designed to contrast two wildly different artists: the disciplined, polished pop icon, Sabrina Carpenter, and the self-proclaimed king of chaos, Alex Gumuchian (bbno$). They are forced to co-star and travel together for a month, generating constant public-facing content while constantly battling over creative control and authenticity.

He braced himself for a morning of mostly dry presentations and corporate jargon. He definitely wasn't prepared for Alexander 'Gummy' Gumuchian.

"Name's Matt, but people call me - well, used to call me Gravy, I guess." "Cool." Alex just wants to sob, go into the History wing and curl up in a coffin or behind a display case and weep. "I'm the museum nightguard, Alex." "Alex. Nice to meet you, big guy." Matt's smile doesn't fade, but Alex can see it dim a little, his eyebrows creasing like they used to when he was thinking a little too hard about something. "My best friend was called Alex."

To be fair, Alex was expecting this guy that his manager wanted to meet was going to be some overpaid grade A asshole who just wanted some usable clout. He wasn't expecting blonde hair, blue eyes and black lipstick.

Then, he felt it. Three distinct taps against his wrist, next to his belt. Looking down at his arm, Matt felt his long legs go all gooey, seeing it light up pink, his favorite color. The color he assigned to Alex, because he was his favorite person. (Or, Alex and Matt have Bond Bracelets.)

"So, question-" Ari's voice was deceptively casual, her legs crossed primly as she surveyed the scene. "Did you, by any chance, bite other kids at school?"

He reached for the most nearby marker, something that was like forest green or whatever weird names they named colors nowadays, when suddenly - an idea hit him that made him put his mug down in fear of dropping it, grin returning full force as the idea turned in his head before it settled and made his mind up.

He remembers that they were dancing. That's the last memory he has of him, permanently stained to his eyelids. Permanently lost in the flow of time.

Matt knows his cheeks are pink, but given he's practically holding Alex up as he fondles him under his button up, eyes looking up at him like he's the night sky, he's not exactly in a position to complain.

It's true that Matt makes sure that Alex is thoroughly entertained when he comes over to his house - this time, however, all Alex can see is black silk and red satin, the window dangerously close to not taking his weight as he watches Matt and Ari inside.

Nothing. Still nothing. No texts, no email, no ridiculous voice note in Alex's signature playful drawl. That worries him, like /really/ worries him.

My 2025 Inktober attempt, featuring my current brainrot and OTP that you've all heard of and read by now (Defend myself? Never.)

When Matt looks at him in a way that suggests that he doesn't want him to leave LA, Alex feels some strange feeling all the way up to when he's standing at the airport he can't shake.

Matt's caught the plague (it's just the flu) and Alex wants to take care of him.

Pink. That's all Matt can see is fucking pink. He thought the view was nice from the rented yacht they had parked in the nearby marina, but this was so much nicer.

For a fleeting moment, there was recognition, a flicker of something... was it guilt? Surprise? Before Alex could decipher it, Matt's face smoothed out into a practised, almost too-wide smile. He's determined to wipe it off Matt's face.

He's almost expecting to be pounced on as soon as he even cracks the door open, force of habit and all that - but instead of being crash tackled to the ground, nothing comes. Huh. That's a little weird.

In all fairness, Matt thought he was over that phase of his life. Turns out all that therapy really wasn't that helpful as he's currently straddling Alex on the ground, lips locked and eyes wide, realizing exactly what the fuck he is doing. Oh god, Alex is going to *hate* him.