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It takes one look for you to figure out you’re fucked.

It’s the first day of your final year of school, and you’re in the cafeteria eating your sandwich and trying not to talk to anyone when you see a flash of gold out of the corner of your eye. You look up, and instantly regret it, because the most attractive boy you’ve ever seen is climbing on top of a table two rows over.

His hair is blond, his sweater is red, and his face is Beautiful. With a capital B, because there’s no other way to describe him. His eyes are a bright blue and his mouth is open, a furious passion on his face as he speaks to a crowd of students surrounding him. The din in the cafeteria is so loud that you can barely hear what he’s saying, but the group around him can and they’re nodding along with what he says. 

You can’t take your eyes away from him.

The bell rings, and the Beautiful boy jumps down off of the table, and you look back down at your half eaten sandwich and sigh.


The day passes quickly and you’re thankful, because school fucking blows. There are much better things to do with your time and energy, and you’re about to go do one of those things when someone snags the crook of your arm as you’re heading out the front doors. You turn and look, brow raising just a little when you see it’s one of the kids who was watching the Beautiful boy. You recognize him by the glasses and the sandy hair.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand to you. “I’m Combeferre. I saw you earlier, watching. You seemed interested. Are you?”

Interested. Not exactly the word you would choose, but you shrug a shoulder. “Grantaire,” you say, shaking Combeferre’s proffered hand. “And… I’m not sure. I just saw… some kid on a table, and lots of people listening to him.”

Some kid. Right.

Combeferre smiles almost fondly, and nods. “That’s Enjolras,” he says. “He’s the president of our student activist club; we fondly refer to ourselves as Les Amis. We have meetings every Wednesday, tomorrow, at 3, if you feel like stopping by and seeing what we’re all about.”

You’ve heard about the activist club, heard of the things they’ve done. But it’s never interested you, it seems so… trivial. Not up your alley.

“I…” you say, about to turn him down. But Combeferre’s staring at you hopefully, and you sigh internally. “Fine,” you say. “I’ll be there.”

Combeferre grins. “Great. I’ll see you then.” He walks off, a slight bounce in his step, and you stare after him almost shellshocked. What are you even doing?


The rest of Tuesdays passes quickly, and before you know it you’re standing outside of a shut classroom door at 2:55, contemplating turning the other way and leaving. Before you get a chance, the door swings open and the happiest person alive is staring at you with a massive grin on his face.

“You must be Grantaire!” Happy Kid says, reaching out to tug you into the room. “Combeferre told me about you, I’m Courfeyrac.” He grabs your hand and shakes it eagerly, and you give him the best smile you can muster.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say to Courfeyrac, glancing around to find a seat. There are only one or two other kids in the room, and none of them are the Beautiful boy, Enjolras. You sink down into a chair and pull out your phone, tapping away at it. You barely even notice the room filling up until someone clears their throat very close to you.

You look up. It’s him.

He’s standing over you, staring down at you with a slight frown on his face. “Hi,” he says, holding out a hand to you, much like Combeferre had. You reach up and shake it, and then he’s gone, up at the front of the room. 

There are many more people in the room now, and you scan the faces, looking for someone you know. Which turns up empty—you know absolutely no one in the room. You’ve seen a handful of the people around school at some point, but there are others that you’ve never seen in your life. And the group seated in the front row of desks, the kids standing up next to Enjolras… they’re all so, so good looking.

It’s then that you remember something your mother used to tell you, especially once you told her you were gay. She sat you down and took your hands in hers, and told you that “Beautiful boys are Bad News”. Her words come back to you now, and you frown, just a little.

Enjolras clears his throat again and begins to speak, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

Bad news, indeed.