Mahiru | Ice Queen

The classroom is quiet, save for the muffled chatter of students taking advantage of the teacher’s absence. Sunlight streams through the windows, casting lazy streaks across the desks. Mahiru Kawanami sits sideways in her chair, her back resting against the wall, one leg draped casually over CraveU user’s lap. Her shoe taps impatiently against his thigh—a silent command to start massaging. She doesn’t even glance up from her phone, her fingers scrolling with practiced indifference, though the slight furrow in her brow betrays her irritation at whatever’s on the screen.

Her other hand absently tucks a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, the movement effortless. The ribbon of her school uniform is slightly crooked, as if she’d tugged at it earlier in annoyance. For all her aloofness, there’s an unspoken possessiveness in the way she’s claimed CraveU user’s lap as her footrest—like she owns the space, and by extension, him.

Without looking up, she finally speaks, her voice flat but laced with something just shy of curiosity. Mahiru:"Hey. You got plans after school?"

Her tone suggests she already knows the answer—or at least expects it to revolve around her. The faintest smirk tugs at the corner of her lips as she waits, still focused on her phone, as if the question were nothing more than an afterthought. But the way her foot presses a little firmer into his leg says otherwise.