BLLK BOYS AS HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH TYPES!
a/n: half of these aren’t even crush types but oh well. lemme know which one u can relate to 😏
characters: i. sae, s. ryusei, m. reo, k. tabito, i. rin, i. yoichi, s. nagi, o. aiku, b. meguru and y. kenyu
Everybody has their senior.
For some, it’s their older siblings, clubmates, tutors, acquaintances. For you…well, it’s obvious.
He wasn’t sweet or approachable, nor was he there to hold anyone’s hand or hand out advice. No, this man was cold, confident, untouchable, and he knew it.
The kind of senior who walked through classrooms and grabbed everyone’s attention without even knowing, head high, shoulders relaxed, not a smile at the world.
People knew him within the first week of freshman year. Some admired, others feared him.
You saw him in different ways—passing by during club activities, showing up at school events, or gliding into parties you somehow ended up at as well. Parties where his gaze caught yours for a second and then moved on. Those fleeting moments that made your chest tighten without warning, which to him were probably weren’t even worth noticing.
Fierce spirit, insane moves and a punch that could drop anyone stupid enough to provoke him.
You learned early not to cross him.
Everyone did, especially after he beat up a senior for insulting his eyeliner, which was awfully perfect, by the way. The story spread fast, exaggerated with every retelling, until Shidou Ryusei became less of a student and more of a legend.
His classmate, background character, sitting last row, right next to the empty desk he was assigned to but almost never used. On the rare days he showed up, he’d sprawl into the chair like he owned the room, legs stretched out, grin sharp and dangerous.
Barely even exchanged looks.
You didn’t really know him, only seeing tiny pieces. Still, something about him drew you in.
Maybe it was admiration, perhaps curiosity…or maybe you just liked watching chaos from a safe distance.
Just like the book tropes you pretended not to like, you had your own academic rival.
The name was Mikage Reo—heir, millionaire, handsome and somehow disgustingly talented at everything he touched. Not that you were lacking—you were good, really good. Which made it even worse when you kept landing in second place.
Especially because Reo never rubbed it in. He didn’t need to. He had a habit of leaning just a little too close when grades were handed back, eyes flicking to yours before the paper even touched his desk. “Close one,” he’d remark, like it wasn’t a calculated strike.
Sometimes he’d ask questions he already knew the answer to, just to hear you explain it—head tilted, smile lazy, clearly enjoying how worked up you got at his intense, judgmental gaze. Every reaction from you felt intentional on his part.
And he never even denied it. Reo would just stand there with that stupid grin and those knowing looks, like he was perfectly aware of the tension crackling between you—waiting to see who would fall first.
You know what the worst thing in high school is?
Projects where partners are assigned by some stupid online wheel, spinning your fate like it’s a joke.
You’ve never been a fan. Too many things can go wrong like getting stuck with someone who doesn’t give a flying fig or worse…a notorious ghoster who never replies and somehow still expects credit.
So imagine your shock as the wheel slowly lands on Karasu Tabito, your stomach immediately doing a small, inconvenient flip.
You’d noticed him before. Everyone had. It wasn’t a big deal—just a small, unimportant crush you kept tucked away. He was sharp, athletic, always one step ahead in class. The kind of person who looked like he had his life together, down to the way his hair never seemed out of place.
The kind of guy who always seemed a little out of reach…until fate decided to spin the wheel your way.
Living in a village had its perks—you knew every street like the back of your hand, every neighbor and their family tree, and the air actually smelled like something alive. But to be frank…life was boring.
The occasional drama barely left a mark.
That’s exactly when Isagi Yoichi transferred.
At first, he was just another new face. Bright smile, awkward energy, soccer player, friendly. Normal, easy to like. You noticed him, sure, but it was harmless. Just curiosity.
But over time, he started showing up in your days more than anyone else. The way he laughed at small things, how he asked questions in class, how he somehow made even a normal day feel lighter. Little details, barely noticeable at first.
Then one afternoon, he offered to walk you home. You said yes without thinking.
The walk was quiet at first, easy. He talked about school, soccer, small plans. And then…his dreams.
Big ones. Really big ones.
He spoke about them with so much sincerity, so much hope, that you couldn’t help but listen closely. By the time you reached your street, the sun was low, painting the village in gold. You noticed how close your shoulders had brushed, how his laughter lingered in your ears, how your chest felt tighter than usual.
You didn’t even notice the moment it started, but something about him…his energy, his hope, his laugh was slowly wrapping around you, sinking in, making ordinary days feel just a little extraordinary.
You always needed to find a fine shyt when you came to school—somebody you didn’t have classes with, never talked to, someone who was just really, really fcking fine when you passed them in the hallways.
Your target and eye candy from the first few weeks of high school. You spotted him standing by the lockers, and honestly…how could anyone not notice him? He moved through the chaos of the crowd without a single hair out of place, and those dark turquoise eyes of his—sharp, calm, unbothered—somehow made even the worst classes a little more bearable.
You saw him on certain days, passing by your classroom, maneuvering through the sea of students, leaning near the lockers, talking with someone. He had this effortless aura, like nothing in school could touch him, and maybe that’s why it was impossible not to watch.
Sometimes, it was just glances.
Sometimes, brief contact when your shoulders brushed on the stairs.
Small things, barely noticeable, but enough to make your chest do something weird. Enough to make you start looking forward to seeing him, even if it was only for a few seconds.
With every new school year came a new deskmate. Your homeroom teacher would scribble everyone’s names onto stupid little slips of paper, drop them into a jar, shake it, then pull them out one by one to decide where everyone sat for the next semester.
You’d had a crush on Seishiro Nagi for a while now.
Nothing worth mentioning, just one of those silly little crush things. The kind you barely acknowledged, thinking of it as passing boring time.
Freshman year, you sat two rows behind him. Sophomore year, you sat right in front of him, blocking his view of the board—not that he actually ever paid attention. Always close enough to notice him, never close enough for it to matter.
Then junior year happened.
Somehow, you ended up with him as your deskmate. At first, it felt the same. Casual, easy to ignore. He slept through lessons, gave you space, answered questions without batting an eyelash. The perfect deskmate. You told yourself that was all it was.
But sitting next to him every day changed things. The crush stopped being background noise and started demanding your attention. You noticed the way his snow-white hair fell into his eyes, the soft sounds he made when he slept, how warm his arm felt when it brushed yours. Moments that used to mean nothing suddenly lingered.
He was usually too busy gaming or talking about soccer with his best friend.
Ah yes. The inevitable trope.
Liking Oliver Aiku meant watching more than participating. You knew him best from the benches, legs tucked in, cheering with everyone else while pretending you weren’t watching him specifically. Captain of the school soccer team, star athlete, always laughing like the world bent easily around him. From there, he looked untouchable.
In class, it wasn’t much different. You shared the same room, the same air, but not the same attention. He was popular, charming without trying, an effortless flirt.
You existed somewhere in the background, a familiar face he might recognize but never really notice. And still, you admired him. From the sidelines, from the crowd, from the quiet moments when he passed your desk or brushed by in the hallway. Little things you weren’t supposed to hold onto.
Aiku was the kind of crush that lived comfortably at a distance—one you carried quietly, from the benches to the classroom, knowing it was safer that way.
Every school has that trio.
The tallest one everyone agrees is the most handsome. The quiet, nerdy one. And then there’s your favorite—the goofball.
Class clown, loud laugh, zero shame. Always smiling like he had his own little sun following him around. His energy was infectious in the worst way, because once you noticed him, you couldn’t not.
His grin made your chest ache, his laughter stuck with you long after class ended, and whenever he leaned a little too close, your heart thumped embarrassingly loud. He didn’t even have to try. Just existing near you was enough.
And somehow, in all that chaos and laughter, you realized he wasn’t just funny anymore.
He was your favorite part of the day.
Being the class president’s assistant sounds impressive on paper.
In reality, it meant staying after class, organizing paperwork, sitting through meetings you barely spoke in, and spending an unreasonable amount of time next to Yukimiya Kenyu.
He took the role seriously. Too seriously.
Always thanking you, always apologizing when things ran long, always making sure you weren’t overwhelmed. He’d slide papers toward you neatly, lean just close enough to point things out, his voice low and calm like he wasn’t aware of the effect he had on other people.
“Are you okay with this?” he’d ask, earnest every time. “Let me know if it’s too much.” or “I really appreciate your help.”
It should’ve been nothin but professional mutualism.
Yet he remembered things like your schedule, which tasks you preferred, the way you liked your notes organized. Sometimes he’d bring you a drink without asking, already knowing what you liked. Sometimes he’d smile at you during meetings, small and private, like the two of you were sharing a secret.
You told yourself not to read into it.
He was kind to everyone. That’s just who he was. Still, when the room emptied and it was just the two of you, when he loosened his tie and sighed softly, thanking you again like it actually meant something—you felt it. That quiet, awful warmth in your chest.
Being his assistant wasn’t the problem.
Being close enough to see how gentle he was, how sincere, how easy it was to fall for him…now that was the real danger.
