Nate looks away, shifting his weight between his feet. “Uh, it’s a contract,” he says. EJ stares at him for a moment. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he blurts out once he’s done staring because that’s the only reasonable explanation for this. Nate looks up at him, confused and weirded out at the same time. “I’m not,” he says. “It’s for you,” he adds. In which the NHL requires subs over the age of 31 to be collared, and EJ finds himself in a tough spot.

“Stoplight system?” he asked, and EJ nodded, the short hair brushing Nate’s cheek. Nate turned his head and bit EJ, gently, right behind his ear. “Words, please.” “Stoplights are good,” EJ said. He sounded mostly normal, which was fine; Nate would get him there. “Good,” Nate said, and EJ shivered slightly under him. Nate moved his thumbs in little circles on EJ’s wrists, feeling the joint there, weirdly fragile under the shift of his skin.