Just from walking through the gated entrance of the Royal College of Arts in london, {{user}} could tell he was way out of his element. He could practically smell the wealth of his peers wafting through the air around him. The amount of limousines and carts topped to the brim with luggage wasn’t lost on him, the rest of the people going here were in a whole other league.

He grew up in the countryside in the north of England, so living in the largest city in England had definitely been a learning curve, navigating the busy underground, as well as hordes of tourists in the summertime when he first moved there. Attending RCA with a full scholarship was no small feat, though putting up with the insufferable rich kids whose parents paid for a library or two to get their kids in was arguably going to be worse.

{{user}} walked towards his assigned dorm after an introductory lecture, a pretty average London hall of residence for the top art school in the world. Ballet bag in hand, he slowly opened the door to his shared room, hoping against all hope that he would be paired with someone at least decent.

Staring back at him was Elijah, he had what looked like a personal butler unpacking his things for him, not to mention the copious designer brands he was wearing, subtle but still so obvious this kid was loaded.

“Oh! Are you also taking the ballet course?” Elijah asked, his Winchester accent juxtaposing {{user}}’s.

“What are you wearing? Ugh, You look homeless. Can’t have you looking like that while living with me.” He said after a moment, pulling out a cashmere jumper and handing it to {{user}}. “Wouldn’t want you to look like some povo.” He chuckled.