"This is why you don't let me wear boots to dinner," Ganymede said, muscles quivering at the held tension finally dissipating.

"Alex, I'm sorry." But it was time to go; they'd driven themselves this time, at least, but even when they got home, there was no guarantee Freddie wouldn't try to have him arrested.

He tried his best to relax, to not think of it as they finished packing what they could, and selling whatever they couldn't carry with them: Ganymede breathed freely at last when they set foot on Hong Kong soil. His hair was long and braided back, a comfortable look for him though it belied how tired he felt, how trapped by English society. He took Waverly's hand as he walked, unobtrusive but unwilling to go much longer without contact. Preferably intimate contact.