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The Russian boy was the first one to start calling Jiro by his name.
He understood that he was the new face in the crew - it wasn't the first time he'd been one, so he knew it would take some time for anyone to get used to his presence, much less make him the first person they called for help. Jiro was happy, for lack of a better word, when it happened, because it meant the rest would follow suit. The fact that it was Sokol made Jiro a little happier than normal though, maybe because Kento would've been around the same age as Sokol by now. If he ignored the accent, it could be him, but that was a long shot, and Jiro didn't have the type of personality for wishful thinking like that.
Then not even a few weeks later, in the middle of a firefight, that same Russian boy was the first one to give him a nickname.
"Hey, dedushka, get over here!"
Jiro didn't budge from his cover spot behind a low wall, assuming Sokol was just calling someone else. He looked up from reloading his gun, alarmed, as he suddenly heard running footsteps coming towards him. Quickly, he shoved the new clip into his uzi, prepared to pepper whoever it was with bullets. He was therefore rightly irritated when it was Sokol who abruptly came around the wall, out of breath as he plopped down next to him.
"Dedushka, are you okay? Didn't you hear me?"
Jiro couldn't see Sokol's face behind his mask, but his voice sounded plenty concerned.
"I hear you," The yakuza said slowly in English, then muttered something somewhat inaudible about not understanding, knowing Sokol couldn't translate anyhow.
Sokol straightened up into a crouch, preparing to run back out. He poked Jiro in the arm almost accusingly as he started to speak.
"I thought cloaker got you. Next time get moving when I call you, okay? Now c'mon, let's get the hell out of here!"
---
Afterwards, back at the safehouse, Sokol busied himself with taking a look at the drills they'd used, probably to find out why they'd jammed so many times in the job they'd done. Jiro had nothing else better to do, so curiosity made him follow Sokol to the basement, watching quietly as he tinkered with them.
"Dedushka, want to bet if we had motors from your country, drill wouldn't jam as fast?" Sokol commented with a short laugh, "Maybe work faster too."
There it was again. Jiro repeated the word, unsure. "Ye...dushuka?"
Sokol looked up from the drill, looking surprised for a moment. "You are dedushka, not me."
Jiro frowned slightly, then nodded in an effort to convey that, yes, he knew that, obviously. "Kore wa do- ...what does it mean?" He said, stopping halfway through and trudging through his limited English for once. His father had mostly spoken Japanese save for whenever other American soldiers were in the house, and though he'd learned to understand much of it, he'd only ever picked up a few phrases that he could speak. He'd have to learn it somehow, now that he wasn't in Osaka anymore.
"Ohhhh," said Sokol, and Jiro could almost visualize a lightbulb going off above his head. "that's why you didn't move when I called you."
Jiro scowled in response, and Sokol gave him a sheepish look. "But is common word, simple to recognize, right? People pick up Russian words like 'papa' or 'blyat' or 'pechka,' easy?"
Jiro's scowl only deepened. Sokol held his hands up in front of him, an almost comical pout on his face. "Don't look at me like that! ...It means 'grandpa.'"
There was a long silence before the yakuza raised a brow, pointing at himself. He didn't think he was that old. Then again, he hadn't had a good look at himself since he'd gotten out of prison. Maybe he did look that old.
Sokol nodded eagerly, expression brightening. "I can call you that, right?"
Jiro gave a lazy shrug. It wasn't like it bothered him that much. It was actually a little endearing, if not somewhat odd. He liked it.
---
Two months later, Jiro decided to give Sokol a nickname of his own.
He'd been with the crew for long enough that most of them were used to him by now. The Russian boy was still by far the closest one to him, and his nickname of "dedushka" had also evolved into just "Gramps," which Jiro liked considerably less than the Russian word. It was one thing if the others couldn't understand it, but once it was in English, which all of them spoke, he had a feeling it might stick, and he didn't really want everyone in the crew shouting his age at him. Lucky for Jiro, no one else but Sokol used it. For now, at least.
He was guarding a doorway during a lull in the police assault, catching sight of Sokol from the corner of his eye.
"Oi, mago."
Jiro called quietly, and Sokol turned to look at him, knowing he probably wore a confused look on his face.
"Nago?" He repeated, his accent putting an odd enunciation on the syllables.
Jiro pointed at himself as he spoke, trying his best to match Sokol's original pronunciation of the word. "Yedushuka. Ojichan." Then he pointed at Sokol, who followed the movement and pointed at himself as well. "Mago. ...'Grandson.'"
He could only imagine Sokol's grin behind his mask as the Russian gave a bark of laughter, peering around the corner of the doorway. He turned back to Jiro, checking the safety on his gun before he could dash out to deal with the approaching assault.
"Okay, Gramps. Then let's see what you and your grandson can do about these cops."