There is in fact nothing Jing Yi wants more than to come up to Evie's apartment in this very moment. All other thoughts have been totally wiped out of his head. His hands are moving to the door without his permission and he is floating somewhat to the left of his body.

"It would be my pleasure." (Evie is letting him into her apartment, eeeeee~~)

After he's safely inside, the odd feeling goes away, and he is left with only his normal desire to be inside Evie's apartment.

Which, let's be honest, is still a lot of desire to be in Evie's apartment.

]Any weird floating feelings were probably just nerves. He likes Evie and she is letting him into her apartment and a bit of nerves related weirdness isn't, well, weird.

Would Jing Yi like to see some of the dresses Evie is working on?

He very much would like to!

And this one is influenced by this style, and this one is influenced by the work of so-and-so, and this one is her take on this house from Milan--

The dresses are getting noticeably skimpier as the fashion show continues.

Jing Yi is very carefully keeping his commentary about the artistry of the dresses and not what is under them. (Even if the fact she invited him in is probably not an accident? Probably? He shouldn't get his hopes up, because Evie is so good and he doesn't want to mess that up.)

Does he want to see the more intimate collection she's been working on.

...if she's willing, yes.

Does he mind if she changes in front of him. It is bothersome going back and forth to the bedroom.

He doesn't mind, as long as she's comfortable with it?

Wow look naked Evie isn't she phenomenally beautiful.

He is trying not to look directly out of politeness, but... wow. If he was more a visual artist, this is the sort of thing that would inspire one to paint a lot of Aphrodites.

Jing Yi feels a sudden impulse to kiss her.

... Look, she has invited him into her apartment. She has literally stripped in front of him. There's being careful, and there is completely failing to read subtext so obvious it's just text. He moves to kiss.

That night, Jing Yi discovers in great detail the merits of heterosexual sex. Evie is phenomenal. Evie is mind-blowing. He has never actually felt this good in his entire life.

If he reaches for any comparison, it's opium, but the way that Evie makes him feel is far better than opium.

He would be quite impressed, except for the fact that his brain is mostly "[sparkles] EVIE [sparkles]" at this point. Evie is wonderful and is spending time with him and he just has to hope that he measures up.

He is in fact entirely too distracted to ask about contraception, which is Definitely 100% Going To Be Absolutely Fine. 

Why would contraception come up. This seems like a really minor matter in the scheme of things, compared to Evie being right there.

Afterward, Jing Yi feels a faint, easily dismissed whisper of an impulse to tell Evie, "I love you." It's really tempting but-- he shouldn't move too fast.

In the morning Evie thinks he should have round two, and then maybe round three and four, but eventually grudgingly admits she has to go into work sometime before 2pm.

One of the nice things about being an out of work actor is that it is very easy to fit his schedule around other people's.

He goes back home-- notices Terrence's note. (Nice of Terrence to make sure he wasn't wondering where he was... and he probably should have done the same)-- and starts writing to Dr. Aarons.

Dear Dr. Aarons,

I have an update that may be of use to you with Roby's case. I'm aware you had trouble convincing his brother to support his release and fund his laudanum expenses. I happened to run into an old friend of Roby's-- Nigel Hugh Smith. Mr Smith has the funds to support Roby, and would be quite willing to, in the face of their old friendship.

Sincerely,

William Jing

It's been a little while since he last wrote to his father. Not so long that there isn't a chance the last one he sent isn't still in transit, or his father's reply is in transit. But he should probably keep him updated on what's happened to him, seeing as a lot has. ...and he does not want to stay out of contact with him for too long.

He starts off talking about the Roby case. His father cares that he's safe more than he cares that he's making money-- but he would see being paid for consulting to be more worthy than trying and failing to get parts in plays. He writes about how he was hired as a consultant to help tell whether Mr Roby was just eccentric or insane (his father is aware that he is Part of A Subculture, but details wouldn't help him explain.) And not only did he determine Mr Roby is Not Insane, he also may be able to help him get out of the asylum, thanks to getting in contact with an old friend of his.

He thinks for a second, and decides not to include the murders. (Honesty is a virtue, too much honesty gets some very concerned telegrams.)

...he does decide to mention Evie. His father would very much like him to be married and for there to be some grandchildren he could dote on from a distance. He mentions that he's met a nice English girl-- she works as a fashion designer, and is very talented. She has an eye for making fabric work. She seems interested in him, as well, and he is currently Courting Her Very Properly.

...and that's probably enough letter to be worth an international stamp.

The post office isn't that far away, and the weather is pleasant enough for a walk. As he makes his way there, he becomes increasingly aware that the letter is empty. Not literally, of course, it ended up being a few pages. But he talks around so things much that while it contains a lot of text, it doesn't contain a lot of true meaning. He had to skip the murders, Evie, he can't even explain how he knows Nigel or why anyone thought to hire him for the Roby case.

He posts it anyway.

And ignores any similarity to other letters he sent during less, ah, functional times in his life.

Meanwhile--

After an hour or so of asking around, Terrence is pointed in the direction of Rupert Adams, who used to hang around with Ben Best. He's writing in the library.

Excellent! After a few years in the history department, Terrence is friendly or at least acquainted with a lot of the people in it, and Rupert Adams is no exception. He's a friendly guy. Always down for a joke or a drink.

"Hey Rupert, do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course, what for?"

"I'm trying to get in touch with this fellow, Ben Best. Do you know him?"

"Yep. He was at the Royal Society for two years. He resigned in '26. No idea where he went since. Left for the continent, I think."

"Really? Any idea why?"

"No idea. Maybe he was researching something? He was always interested in old religions."

"Huh, interesting. There go my hopes of chatting with the man, I suppose. Do you happen to know where he worked? I have a copy of one of his books but otherwise I've had a hard time finding any of his work. I'm looking for anyone who might know about his recent projects. ...Or most recent before he left the country, perhaps."

"Before he was at the Royal Society, he studied at Oxford. Perhaps Professor Tolkien knows? Best studied under him."

"Huh! Isn't he a linguist or something? ... Well, fair enough, it all runs together. Thanks Rupert, you're a treasure. ... Actually, before I leave you to it, you wouldn't happen to know some gentleman named DeVille of Best's acquaintance, would you?"

Adams shakes his head. "No idea."

"Perish the thought, then. Good luck with your..." He looks at whatever Adams is working on and banters about it.

When he returns home, he writes a letter to Professor Tolkien:

Dear Professor Tolkien,

I am a historian at London University, under Professor David Kaplan...

I'm writing about a Ben Best who was or is a student of yours...

I'm interested in his work but moreover have some rather important communications regarding the well-being of a mutual friend...

Would you happen to know where I could reach him? Here is my contact info...

Sincerely,
Terrence Markham

And on the afternoon of November 5, Terrence receives a phone call requesting his presence at the office of Mr. Sano.