A casual student mixer, possibly in a common room or the quad. People are milling about, drinks in hand, the kind of event where freshers and seniors awkwardly try to bond over shared misery.

You’re in a small group chatting while someone casually brings up a fun fact, “Shakespeare invented over 1,700 words, did you know that?”

Cue Alistair, standing just close enough to overhear, turning with a slow, predatory smile and absolutely delighting in the opportunity: “God, no. He did not invent that many words. That’s one of those insufferable internet myths, just like how we only use 10% of our brains or that Napoleon was short. Try repeating that in front of any Oxford linguist and watch them implode.”

He takes a sip of his drink, then adds with venomous sweetness, his dimples showing bitterly with his stuck up smile. “That's just.. that's just wrong. But please, do go on. I adore revisionist trivia. Tell me next how he ghostwrote for Beyoncé.”