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Having a partner from another country came with its own quirks and challenges. One of these was the inevitable language barrier, which could never get solved. The situation could be improved, though, if each partner mastered the other's language. And well, Shane had tried that. He was still trying to learn Russian to understand Ilya better, but combining language learning with a hockey career, promotional shoots, and married life was not an easy task. There were not enough hours in his days for any more activities, and he would not take time off from his sexual life with said partner for the sake of learning. So, Shane slipped through and settled for basic grammar, greetings, swear words, and household items Ilya couldn't remember English names of. Practical stuff.
Despite Shane's lack of proficiency, Ilya did not stop talking Russian to him whenever he felt like it. Shane didn't mind: it could be immersive learning, or whatever people call it. Maybe it would help in the long run — Shane planned to learn to speak fluently, sooner or later.
Today it happened when Shane was making a smoothie for himself in the kitchen while Ilya was coming out of the bedroom, still groggy. Ilya tended to sleep in, which Shane had no issues with — he got half an hour in the morning for himself. It helped him get through his usual routine without disturbance, even if the said disturbance was pleasant.
He was focusing too much on his routine, almost overlooking his husband appearing from behind and dropping the random Russian word at his back.
"СолнцеSun [solntse], have you seen my slippers?" Ilya asked as he wrapped his hands around Shane's waist. Shane flinched from surprise before he melted into the touch. They could certainly cuddle more in the mornings if not for Shane's early morning habits. Perhaps he should stay longer in bed for that.
"You left them next to the couch," Shane replied without looking around. He didn't need to.
Ilya replied with a low "hmm", acknowledging the information but not moving towards his slippers. He was too lost in Shane's warmth.
Shane did not mind him staying either. He was leaning back, lost in the moment, when the realisation came: Shane didn't catch everything Ilya said to him.
He frowned, thinking hard, "What was that? Son-seh?"
"It's pronounced more like 'son-tseh'," Ilya corrected. "And you know this word."
"I don't," Shane scowled. Even though he was not the most diligent language learner, he approached Russian as a game he had to win. He did not enjoy losing the game by not understanding. It made him uneasy and frustrated.
"You do, солнышкоLittle sun (diminutive) [solnyshko]," Ilya said, kissing Shane's temple to soothe him. This helped to calm Shane's frustration, but did not support his thinking. Ilya did not elaborate on the Russian words further, just patiently waited until the gears clicked into place in Shane's head. Ilya was a very patient teacher, and it worked well with Shane. Hugs and kisses also supported his learning.
"Are you trying to say that these two words are connected?" Shane realised in a bit.
Ilya was proud of Shane. He smiled happily before nuzzling into Shane's neck and replying with a short "Yep".
He then added the explanation: "Солнце [solntse] is a sun, but солнышко [solnyshko] is a little cute sun."
Shane took some time to process the new information, making mental notes for the future. Although neck kisses distracted his thought process a bit, he still managed to acknowledge what Ilya said, or implied.
"Are you saying that I am not cute anymore?" Shane visibly sulked at the realisation. He made sure to turn in Ilya's arms, so his husband could stop distracting him and get a hint of his disappointment. It worked, somewhat. Ilya looked Shane in the eyes before saying anything.
"Not the point," Ilya replied and leaned to kiss Shane's cute, angry pout away. Not the response Shane expected, but he could not be performatively angry for longer while getting invested in the sloppy morning kisses. They continued long enough for Shane to not even remember what he was 'angry' at, or what he was doing in the first place. The smoothie was left forgotten, half-blended.
—
Living with a partner came with its own quirks and challenges – mostly quirks. Shane truly enjoyed the benefits of living with Ilya: regular sex, constant entertainment, and spending every waking minute with his best friend (not counting Hayden). Married life reminded Shane of an endless cottage summer, a vacation played on a loop, which made it extremely sweet and warm.
Yet, there were other, less sweet but still great benefits on the list. The ones which brought the experience of living together back down to earth. Ilya, for example, could be useful for mundane tasks. Help with one of them was needed today.
"Could you pick up some oat milk on the way? I think we're almost out."
Shane liked to go buy groceries (alone and together) and to make detailed lists for meal prep for the week. However, he also enjoyed staying at home on days when he didn't need to go anywhere, like today. These days did not happen very often, so he cherished moments of being by himself and took advantage of Ilya's 'acts of service' love language.
Ilya did not care about the advantage being taken of him anyway. He was going for a run; stopping by the store was not an issue. It was never an issue when the tasks concerned Shane and their family.
"Хорошо, любовь мояAlright, my love. (The word order is reversed in Russian, literally: ..., love my) [Horosho, lyubov moya]," Ilya replied, already by the door. He would have left right after this response if it hadn't been for Shane, whose face had turned into his thinking-too-hard expression. This usually meant that Shane did not understand what Ilya said and that questions were incoming.
Ilya loved answering any questions coming from Shane. He could take a minute longer.
"You said 'love my'? Why is the word order different?" A very technical question from a very technical systematic person. Shane liked to understand grammar, each little detail of it. Studying grammar on his own, however, was another story.
"Because Russian!" Ilya chuckled at the phrase, which came up too often as an explanation of grammar nuances. He also winked and added, "We do whatever we want." More of a flirt.
"Oh, I am well aware of that," Shane said, then smiled and rolled his eyes, teasingly. This explanation came up every other time Russian grammar was questioned, so it had almost become an inside joke. It didn't help his understanding of 'why', but there was nothing he could do about it. The Russian language worked this way, apparently. Flexible word order was the norm.
Shane knew that a better lesson wouldn't happen today; Ilya was already out of the house. Well, Shane might have to revisit this topic after he gets his oat milk. Or use other benefits on the married life list.
—
Some days came with more challenges instead. It would be all fun, love and giggles, but they were not on a cottage vacation anymore. Living together meant adapting to, and tolerating, each other's lifestyles.
And Shane was happy to do all of these, within certain limits. Finding a used mug on the toilet seat cover was reaching beyond that. Shane was tired after the training, he needed to use the toilet, and he had been removing dirty mugs from all around the house every single day. Enough was enough.
He grabbed the mug furiously, almost spilling the leftover tea from it and walked directly into the living room, looking ready to pour the remaining liquid over Ilya's head. He reconsidered it when he saw Ilya wrapped in a blanket on the couch, looking cosy and too peaceful to start a proper fight. But Shane Hollander was not the one to back off.
He placed the mug on the coffee table in front of the couch with a loud thud before talking to Ilya in a strict voice. He sounded like his mum, or at least he wanted to sound this way. He hoped that would work in his favour. Ilya was scared of Yuna sometimes.
"Ilya, if you don't stop leaving your dirty mugs all over the house, I swear, I will divorce you."
Okay, maybe this was harsh. Shane wouldn't divorce him for wrongly placed mugs. He wouldn't divorce Ilya for anything. But spiralling over a wrong word used wouldn't help the current situation. He stayed annoyed, determined to prove his case.
Ilya didn't look too upset about the statement and wasn't even scared. He lifted one eyebrow, taking in the angry look on Shane's face, ignoring the mug on the table completely. Ilya was looking rather amused. Perhaps Shane didn't master his mom's scary voice yet. He could look scarier if he crossed his arms on his chest and furrowed his eyebrows, so he did.
"Кто это тут такой страшный и злой?Who is so scary and angry here? [Kto eto tut takoi strashnyi i zloi?]" Ilya said teasingly, using a cute, high-pitched tone, obviously enjoying the argument more than he should.
Shane ignored the whole comment; he did not understand it anyway. His intimidation technique did not work at all, so he huffed in frustration. The anger didn't fully subside, but it was hard to stay angry for long when Ilya did not engage in the fight.
"Мой маленький разъяренный щеночекMy little furious puppy (diminutive) [Moi malenkiy raz'yarennyi shchenochek]," Ilya continued, sounding even softer.
"No. Stop," Shane said firmly and closed his eyes. Anger was quickly evaporating from his body. "You cannot use your dog-voice on me. I am not Anya."
"Well, you are not," Ilya chuckled. "You are her little angry brother."
Shane was losing this fight. And as much as he loved winning, he loved his husband more.
Shane had forgotten what he had come for. He approached Ilya, grabbed the edge of the blanket to get under it. The fight was over without flames.
"What did you call me again? Shane-o-chek? How did you make this from my name?" Anger completely vanished.
Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane, bringing him closer and resting his own head on Shane's shoulder. He looked content with his win.
"Not your name. Щеночек [Shchenochek] is a little puppy. Just like you!"
"I like that," Shane paused, taking the information in. Every day with Ilya was a new, beneficial learning experience. Let it be Russian For Dummies or how to get rid of anger in 30 seconds.
"Still does not mean you can talk to me in a dog-voice."
"It worked, though," Ilya said, too pleased with himself.
"It would work better if I knew what you said to me," Shane countered.
"Not the point," Ilya replied, leaning for a kiss. "I will do better with mugs next time."
Shane let it slide, forgetting the Russian phrases altogether. At least the mug situation was a winning point on Shane's scoreboard. A win is a win.
—
Life was more peaceful at the weekends; a well-deserved break after a full week of training. And as much as Shane liked hockey and sticking to the strict schedule, he also liked having free time to do things he liked. One of these was to take their dog for long walks in the afternoon, not rushing to be anywhere. Spending time with Anya was definitely one of his favourites.
Ilya made fun of Shane all the time, showing him videos of "dads who didn't want a pet, but fell in love with it anyway", which was true in Shane's case. Although he could never see himself as a dog dad, he quickly became one.
He took his fatherhood very seriously too, making sure Anya got the best food with the highest meat content available on the market, or that Anya was stimulated enough so she would let them sleep at night. He maybe focused too much on getting his dog daughter stimulated. It was already three hours of running around the courtyard, playing fetch across the garden.
The first hour was needed, the second was optional, the third was absolutely unasked for. Ilya was getting impatient. He would rather have his loved ones back home, snuggled up together on the couch.
"Веснушка, Анечка, заходите домой!Freckle, Anechka (diminutive), come home! [Vesnushka, Anechka, zahodite domoi!]" he shouted from the door, leaning on the frame and crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Thankfully, that worked from the first try. Both Shane and Anya turned their heads towards the sound, forgetting what they were doing a second ago. Anya raced towards the door immediately, recognising the familiar word and perhaps expecting a treat for her good behaviour. Shane did not expect a treat, but he walked towards the door anyway.
"Can't believe you use dog commands on me again," Shane said with annoyance in his voice.
"What commands?" Ilya sounded confused instead.
"'Domoi' means to come home, right? The command you taught Anya for when she is outside."
Ilya smiled too widely in disbelief. He then chuckled at the furrow forming between Shane's eyebrows. "Shane, as much as I love to tease you, I used proper human language. I said 'Come home' in a proper human sentence."
"Fine." Shane wasn't too convinced, but the lack of Russian knowledge did not help his case. He had to believe whatever Ilya said to him. Gladly, Ilya rarely messed with translations and mostly gave proper explanations. "What did you call me, by the way?"
"A freckle," Ilya replied simply, leaning toward Shane and dragging him by the wrist indoors — fondness overflowing him when Shane's freckled nose scrunched at the sound of the word.
"You are obsessed."
Maybe Ilya was obsessed, but Shane would be a liar to say that he did not enjoy it. He happily went indoors to do the other things he liked doing in his free time.
—
Sometimes life was definitely not peaceful. Especially when Ilya crashed after the training with a sore throat and a fever. The fever of 37.5 degrees did not kill adult men, but made them feel as if they were dying. So after a thorough examination by his personal nurse slash husband, Ilya was sent to bed to prevent that.
They were not ill very often, and usually managed to fight off illness before it hit them full force. However, they were not immune to any of the challenges that life could bring them. Shane took this particular challenge as any other: with a structured list of actionable items. Anya was fed, the food was heated up, the kitchen was cleaned. He also managed to message the coach about Ilya's future absence and ask their agent to postpone the media call. He then methodically went through making ginger tea, finding medicine, and bringing the cold towel for Ilya's forehead to complete the care checklist. Next task: take care of Ilya.
In the room, Ilya was covered from head to toe, looking like a kicked puppy. His voice sounded rough. His eyes were watery. It was amazing what a sickness can do to a big, muscular man who was running around on a cold rink just a few hours ago. Once he noticed Shane, he also became sappier than usual. Shane could hear it in his rough but cute voice.
"Shane, the love of my life, смысл моего существованияThe meaning of my existence [smysl moyego sushchestvovaniya], I don't think I have long to live—" He added the sniff at the end for dramatic effect.
Shane rolled his eyes at this.
"It's just a fever, Ilya. Don't be dramatic." He placed a tray with water, tea, and medicine on the bedside table. Shane had tasks to complete; Ilya wouldn't stop him from them with his unrecognisable Russian mumbling.
"But my head hurts," Ilya whined.
Shane furrowed his eyebrows with worry and raised his hand to check Ilya's forehead. Still warmer than usual, but not hot enough to be concerning. The wet towel would do, which Shane placed on the place it belonged. Ilya hissed at the cold fabric touch, but relaxed when Shane gently placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Doesn't hurt enough for you to be dramatic and use big words." Shane sounded sarcastic, but a hint of softness could be heard in his voice. He spoke more softly when Ilya looked small — it was difficult to continue bickering.
"What was it again? I only understood 'mine'."
"Смысл моего существования [Smysl moyego sushchestvovaniya] – the meaning of my existence," Ilya explained, moving closer to Shane, who placed himself on the edge of the bed. Even being sick, he would not stop answering Shane's questions.
"Oh my god!" Shane sighed, although softness definitely overpowered him. Overpowered so much that Shane threw his hand around Ilya's broad body, attempting a half hug. He might regret it later when he catches the same bug, but not right now.
Ilya wanted a full hug, so he grabbed Shane's wrist and pulled him over himself. They took a while to settle into the bed in a cuddle, but once the perfect position was achieved, Ilya relaxed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep soon — good for his recovery. With that, Shane's care checklist was complete. Mission accomplished for the day.
Shane relaxed too: shoulders falling and breath slowing down. He felt the previously unnoticed tension leaving his body. He worried a lot about Ilya even when he did not show it, unconsciously clenching his jaw and raising his shoulders, tensing up. The worry made him exhausted — or was it the practice they had earlier? He deserved some rest too.
"You are the meaning of my existence as well," Shane whispered before falling asleep, snuggled with Ilya. A short nap wouldn't hurt him — for recovery.
—
Married life with Ilya was everything Shane ever wanted. With all its benefits, quirks, advantages, challenges, difficulties, and issues. More than he ever wanted hockey game wins or Stanley Cups — those things got dull after a while.
The life with Ilya did not get dull. All the moments they spent, the touches they shared, the kisses they tasted. The fights and sicknesses. All the words they said, some of which were misunderstood. All the words that didn't require understanding.
He loved it all.
If anyone had ever asked Shane to name his favourite moments in life, shopping for groceries with Ilya would have been in his top five. They always spent a ridiculous amount of time in the store buying all the protein yoghurts and choosing the perfect pasta shape. Even with the pre-made list organised by grocery section, they could take an hour to go through it. All because Ilya enjoyed going on detours and side quests.
Today it happened as well: Shane lost Ilya in one of the aisles. He wasn't too worried because he still needed to weigh the vegetables before putting them in the cart. Eventually, though, he had to go find his husband.
So after he was done with this task, Shane strolled around the store, peeking at every aisle. He saw Ilya at the end of the store, next to chocolate bars, which were definitely not on the list. Shane did not need to argue about it, though. If Ilya planned to have an unhealthy diet and overcompensate with extensive cardio at the rink and outside of it, Shane wouldn't mind. He might benefit from it too.
Shane approached Ilya from the side, but Ilya was too focused on the labels to notice Shane waving at him. Shane decided that a verbal cue would be more effective in this situation.
"I almost lost you, mishka," Shane said, stopping the cart on the right of Ilya.
Ilya slowly raised his head towards the sound, looking more confused than ever. He then shook his head and shrugged in defensive uneasiness.
"What did you call me? My name is Ilya." This came out almost rude. He then fully processed that it was Shane who talked to him, and eased into a more neutral and calm expression.
Shane turned red at the question. He hated making mistakes in his life; that's part of the reason why he barely spoke Russian back to Ilya or why his learning was stagnating. He felt losing every time he messed something up.
"I thought it's meant…a little bear," Shane said in a small voice, then added, "That's what I googled yesterday."
Shane looked absolutely defeated.
"Oh— That's what you me—" Ilya's face shifted from surprise and confusion to something warm. He hurried to throw his arm over Shane's shoulders to comfort him. "Yes, yes, it does, I can be your мишка [mishka], it's cute!"
"Did I say it wrong?" Shane asked, leaning into the touch, not fully at ease.
"No, no! It was very good!"
Shane still didn't believe him entirely; he focused on assessing the chocolate in Ilya's hands instead. It ended up in the cart after that. Yet he didn't feel brave enough to talk.
"There is this name, Михаил, Миша [Mikhail, Misha]," Ilya continued his explanation. "It can also be Мишка [Mishka], if used in a cute form."
Shane visibly relaxed in his arms. Now it made more sense to Shane, as much as Russian ever could.
"Like you can call me Илюшка [Ilyushka]." The explanation didn't stop. Shane mouthed the nickname, repeating it while Ilya proceeded with his rambling. "Although that's a bit childish."
"You thought I used the wrong name?" Shane asked, to confirm his understanding.
"Yes. Did not realise you meant bear!"
"I would never forget the name of my husband," Shane huffed in disbelief. "So, what should I call you in Russian? I wanted to learn something cute. For you."
"I like мишка [mishka]. Sounds cute coming from you. Use it." Ilya nudged Shane's head with his own. He stayed there, resting his forehead on Shane's temple, and added softly, "I will be more prepared next time."
Shane smiled at this. 'Mishka', he mouthed to himself.
Language learning was hard, and maybe he would never grasp how Ilya understands the world through his mother tongue. Maybe their years of miscommunication would never turn into the perfect streak of open conversations and seamless understanding. The barrier would never get solved. The game would never be won.
It didn't matter to Shane, though, because Ilya was everything Shane had ever wanted. He was ready to be immersed in his world without regrets.