they don’t make loyalty like they used to

Shane stares down at the paperwork in front of him. It's a yearly hassle – filling out documents, adding signatures to new addendums to contracts or policies. Updating health information, address, emergency contacts.

Disclosing any relationships which may affect his work.

That section has never been completely blank. Shane's not the type for close relationships, but he's obviously trained with other players and been trained by people who are now coaches on other teams during his earlier years. One of his distant cousins on his father's side works in PR for Toronto, though he hasn't met her since he was seven.

Swallowing down the panic threatening to close his airway, Shane grips the pen in his sweaty hand and prints out Ilya's name neatly in two different sections. Once, under business relationships, citing him as a co-founder of a charity, and once under personal relationships. That section requires no further elaboration, really, according to the Voyageurs’ rules.

His hand shakes when he pulls it away, but thankfully the pen doesn't leave behind any extra ink. 

Quickly, as if to hide Ilya and all he means to Shane, Shane turns to the next page of the thick pile of paperwork. Next to him, J.J. yawns as he lazily looks through his packet. Someone across the conference room rises to ask a question from one of the HR people scattered around the room. Their chair scuffles across the floor and Shane shivers at the grating sound.

He feels guilty, burying his connection to his boyfriend and flipping past it like it holds no weight, but this is what they agreed to with Ilya and Yuna – protecting their backs, even if only by a technicality, since no one expects a personal relationship with another player to be romantic in nature. Just friendly.

Lots of guys in the League have friends, Shane reminds himself.

He swallows drily and continues reading and filling out the next section.

Years later, when he's facing down angry Voyageurs management, Shane's glad for the choices they made.

"You've failed to disclose a personal, intimate relationship with another player!" Coach Theriault booms, loud enough that Shane's lawyer flinches a bit. He himself is used to the noise, and Farah and his mother don't back down an inch. Shane isn’t even sure why his Coach is included in this meeting. "A rival one!"

His face is tight with anger and disgust. It should make Shane feel small and ashamed, but he only feels tired. Around the conference table, several representatives from the Voyageurs nod along seriously.

"You do know, Mr. Hollander, that failing to disclose relationships with members of rival organizations that may impact your work can lead to an internal investigation, hefty fines and termination of contract," the Voyageurs' lawyer says stiffly. "So here's what–"

"I did disclose it."

Shane's voice is quiet, but sharp. A captain's voice. It cuts through the muttering and demands attention.

"What?" Theriault snorts. "Don't you think we would have dealt with this earlier, if so?"

Dealt with it.

Shane feels a simmer of anger overtake the tiredness, but he tries to channel Ilya's unaffected, aloof confidence. 

"I just didn't disclose it personally to you," Shane says calmly, meeting Theriault's gaze. "There was no need to. According to policy all personal relationships need to be filed with HR at the beginning of a new season. And I did."

His coach is sputtering and the rest of the men in the room, lawyers included, look like they're trying to grasp the situation at hand.

"You claim you have filed it?" The Voyageurs' lawyer asks firmly, and Shane nods.

"Check the HR records back to autumn 2017. And my mother can vouch for the fact that summer 2017 is when Ilya Rozanov and I officially entered a relationship."

"Go get the files," someone hisses, and an intern hurries off, looking stressed. Tension fills the room, and Shane almost wants to giggle, as some kind of nervous reflex. He presses it down. His fingertips are numb, and anxiety makes him want to retreat, curve his shoulders inwards. He refuses, because he's done nothing wrong.

"Are you really saying you are accusing my client of being in breach of contract by not disclosing personal relationships, when you have not even checked the records?" Farah's voice is sharp and scolding. Shane's lawyer nods along empathetically.

There's no answer, but Shane didn't expect one. Instead the Voyageurs' lawyer narrows his eyes and goes on the offense.

"There have been, ah, rumours, that this relationship started before 2017."

"So we are listening to teenage girls on the internet dissecting old video clips, now?" Farah snorts, but Shane holds up his hand. They've discussed this already, know it's a small risk but they'll take it. Just in case any evidence from before 2017 surfaces.

"Ilya and I did engage in some activity that was purely sexual in nature a few times before 2017," he says, even though forcing himself to utter those words makes his pulse flutter crazily. He feels exposed, bare. "But I asked around back then, both teammates and HR – specifically Mrs. Cavanaugh, if I remember correctly – and everyone I spoke to said that filing personal relationships for occasional hookups was excessive."

The lawyer leans forward, a hungry look on his face, like he smells victory, but Shane continues. He practiced this speech in the mirror several times, down to every lift of his eyebrows and tilt of his head. Ilya rewarded his meticulousness with increasingly outrageous advice and pointers. And a thorough blowjob.

"If that is wrong, however, you have a lot of work in front of you.” Shane purses his lips like he’s truly worried about the Voyageurs’ internal affairs. “I, personally, can help you along with a list of perhaps forty current or former Voyageurs players who have engaged in occasional sexual activity with women holding different positions in other teams, all from management to assistants to admins." Leaning back casually in a move that Ilya scripted, that Shane watched him perform and now tries to copy, Shane crosses his arms and looks directly at the GM for the first time, a challenging smirk on his face. "The boys like to brag in the room, you know? About bagging women who are forbidden. I could help you along, publish a complete list of what I know." Publicly, Shane implies. Threatens. "The optics wouldn't be great but," he shrugs carelessly, "fair is fair I suppose."

Your move, Shane thinks at the GM, who looks a little pale.

If they fine him for fucking Ilya, they can't avoid fining others for the same breach of contract, and Shane will force them into an annoying, ugly legal process. Unless they want to target just him and Ilya, in which case Shane's legal team is ready to make a case about homophobic, illegal discrimination.

There's tense glances exchanged among the Voyageurs representatives, until they come to a consensus. The GM shakes his head subtly and their lawyer takes a deep breath. Backs down. "That won't be necessary," he responds. "As long as the HR paperwork has been filed correctly since 2017."

"It has," Shane repeats, and leans back in his chair. 

They wait in silence until the intern is back with his files. 

Shane feels almost smug when they flip to the correct sections, and – lo and behold! – find Ilya's name neatly printed in Shane's own hand on them all. This time, he isn't hiding the fact that Ilya is his, that his name is written on Shane's paperwork. Instead, he relishes in seeing the faces of stuffy old men when they realize what's been under their noses the whole time.

His hands still shake, tucked into his armpits as he gives the Voyageurs legal team the proverbial middle finger, but only Shane will ever know that.