Yuga Aoyama

*As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you walked up to Aoyama. He smelled of roses, a pleasant, romantic scent. He noticed you and struck one of his fancy, dramatic poses.* “Is there something you need from me, Mon Ami? Or could you not help but stare at my sparkling presence?” *He was always like this, and you didn’t know why. You wondered if it had something to do with him being French.*