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It’s a fairly quiet evening in the middle of the season when the Centaurs find themselves with a blissful few days off and Shane and Ilya decide to host a quiet gathering at their house. Not everyone joins them but a fair few do, including their partners. People are spread across the large open plan space enjoying quiet conversation, someone has a video game on the TV and a few of the younger players are gathered playing that. Troy and Ilya are leaning against the kitchen island, deep in conversation about who knows what. Harris is sitting on the floor playing quietly with Anya while listening in on a conversation with Cassie and Lisa.
Shane has taken himself off to the side, content to sit quietly by himself for a little while and just observe. These are some of his favourite events, where he can just be himself, and no one expects him to be anything but himself. He lets out a deep breath and sinks deeper into the chair he’s sat himself in.
His quiet moment was interrupted when Boodram called out from where he was standing looking at a bookcase.
“Woah, whose books are these? There's gotta be like 100 different languages on here”
“Oh, that’s Shane’s bookshelf. You know he’s the only one boring enough to read. Pretty sure they are all about hockey.” Ilya called back from the kitchen, barely looking up from his conversation with Troy.
Shane blushed. It was true, that was his bookshelf, most of the books were about hockey, and there was quite a few different languages on there.
“Seriously though, how many of these can you actually read? No way you speak all these languages Hollsy.” Bood seemed more confused by the language part than the seriously large number of hockey books.
Shane pushed his way out of the chair and wandered over to his shelf. Running his eyes over them he was a little surprised to see for himself how diverse the languages were.
“Erm, all of them?” He said it like a question. Not really sure how else to reply.
Bood's eyes widened. “No way. And you can actually read this. Not use google translate or whatever?”
“Yeah, I can speak a little too...” Shane's voice got smaller as he admitted to it.
“My tomato, is very smart.” Ilya appears behind Shane, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder so he can look at the bookcase too. Shane watches him out of the corner of his eye.
“He speaks many languages, four I think, no?” He asks looking back at Shane.
“There’s more than that on here!” Book exclaims, gesturing slightly wildly at the shelf.
At this point their interaction has gained the attention of most of the rest of the party. Shane feels himself start to shrink in on himself with so many people looking at him. Ilya notices and gives him a reassuring squeeze and kisses his nose. It doesn’t quite make him feel less seen but definitely reminds him that the people here are genuinely curious and wouldn't judge him.
“How many languages do you speak?” Ilya asks with such affection that Shane can’t help but answer.
It takes him a few seconds to really consider it. Do they mean fluently, or conversationally, or good enough to read the books if he’s got a dictionary nearby?
“Seven, I think. Two fluently, two conversationally, and three I sound like a toddler in.”
“WHAT” “Since when?” “Holy shit” People were all talking over each other and Shane struggled to really hear any of it. But what he did here was Ilya's loud booming laugh paired with one of his widest smiles.
“Of course you do. My husband is a genius. Smartest man in hockey.” Ilya just looked so proud, and it made Shane feel a little proud of himself too. He’s always tried to downplay this part of himself but he’s always loved learning languages, figuring out the patterns and the grammar, seeing the similarities and differences between how different languages work. He might have used hockey as the excuse to learn but honestly he’d probably have done it anyway.
“So what languages can you speak?”
1. English
English is Shane's first language. The language both of his parents shared between them and was spoken at home. It was the language he was best able to get his feelings across in. It was like a comfortable blanket, well worn and cosy. He knew what to expect with English.
It could also be very confusing and complicated. All the words had different roots, and for every rule that existed there were a hundred exceptions. And there wasn’t even one version of English.
Early into his NHL career when Shane had only just been travelling regularly to the US he had realised that there was a difference. He’s just been leaving the rink after a morning skate when he realised he was missing something. He was able to find a member of the rink staff that looked like they might be able to help.
“Sorry, have you seen a toque around here anywhere?” He asked quietly.
“A what?”
“A toque?” It came out more like a question. Shane wasn’t sure how he’s managed to confuse the guy with such a simple request.
“What’s a toque?” The man still sounded confused.
"You know, a hat you wear in the cold. Folded rim. Mine is blue.” Shane awkward mimed putting on a hat, still feeling absolutely baffled.
“Oh, a beanie. Yea, I think I saw one down on the bench when I was cleaning up down there. Let me grab it for you.”
“Oh thanks.” Shane nodded. “I can get it. Thank you for your help.” Shane was still baffled.
A beanie. And he didn’t know what a toque was. America really was a strange country. So similar in many ways to their northern neighbour and yet it sometimes felt so very different.
Don’t even get Shane started on the time he’s bumped into an Australian when on a rare night out with the team. That really did feel like a different language. Could have been because the guy was drunk though.
2. French
French was Shane’s second language. His dad and paternal family were from Montreal, some of them true Quebecois. He had a love hate relationship with that side of himself, and as such with French itself.
His dads family hadn’t been too impressed with him when he chose to marry Yuna. Even less so when they realised they were raising Shane with English as his first language, they felt like it was a betrayal. They didn’t speak much any more.
Wanting him to have some connection to his roots, his parents had enrolled him in a bilingual school, meaning that he quickly became fluent. This left him perfectly positioned when he was drafted to Montreal. The team, the press and the people loved that he spoke it so well, and not just french but true français québécois.
He remembers his first press conference in Montreal after being drafted, just before the season began. He was a little overwhelmed by all the noise and flashing lights, but eventually he was being asked questions, to begin with they were all in English and then Shane picked up an accent.
“Would you prefer to speak in French?” He asked the reporter, whose English was impeccable mind you. But the rooms seemed to quiet significantly.
“You speak French?” The reporter looked momentarily stunned.
Shane simply nodded, indicating for them to continue with their questions.
“My first question was going to be about how you were settling into the city, particularly with it being so french but I see I don’t need to worry.” The reporter chuckled.
“My Dad is from Montreal, and my Mom is a massive Voyageurs fan so I’m very used to the city. It’s been nice to get back into using my French again. I hope my accent isn’t too bad, it’s been a while since I had to use it this much.” The reporters in the room softened slightly. And the story line was clear, Shane was one of them. Shane understood French, Shane understood Montreal.
3. Japanese
Shane knew he was half Japanese, but he didn’t always feel like it. He grew up in a very white area, with a white name, playing a white sport. It was easy to forget about that half of his heritage.
Generally Yuna didn’t have any issues with this, she just wanted Shane to be as happy as possible and it didn’t really impact him on a day to day basis. But she did want to share some of these things with Shane. Her parents had immigrated to Canada when she was a baby, she had no siblings and her parents had died before Shane was born. So, in order to keep herself connected to them she taught him Japanese. Not heavily, not with purpose, but she would talk to him when he was young. She sang songs she remembers her mother singing to her, she taught him how to cook a few dishes.
Japanese was a weird one to Shane, he never really considered he could speak it. It was just there, on the periphery, something he shared with just his Mom.
But then one day he was out with Rose, and she wanted to go to a fancy Hibachi restaurant. Shane was happy to join her, he knew he could find some food that fit in his diet.
The restaurant was fairly busy but they managed to find a small section at the back, with only a few seats near the chef. Rose was practically vibrating with excitement as she watched the chef. He started narrating what he was doing, and then naming some of the things he was making in Japanese. Shane felt almost startled to realise he understood what he was saying.
“And then we flip” The chef said in Japanese, while concentrating on some extravagant moves with his spatula.
“What does that mean?” Rose asked, she was always so engaged with the people she interacted with. Shane sometimes felt jealous when she was like that, but more often was grateful that she said more than enough for the both of them.
“And then we flip” Shane answered automatically. Rose stared at him, mouth open a little in shock.
“You understood that?”
“Well yeah. My Moms Japanese and she taught me some growing up.”
Rose continued to look shocked. The chef had also taken notice and was smiling softly.
“You speak Japanese?” Shane nodded. “Your mother must be very dedicated to teach you in Canada. No one here speaks. Where are you from?”
“That’s one way to put it.” he laughed, thinking about how dedicated Yuna could be when she set her mind to something. “She was born in Tokyo, but her parents moved them to Canada when she was a baby”
Rose was so excited, literally bouncing in her seat.
“That’s so hot Shane.” She grasped at his bicep and looked up at him.
Shane wasn’t so sure about that, but it was nice to speak Japanese a little. He should use it more when he called his Mom.
4. Swedish
Swedish was an accident. After a few years with Montreal they got a new rookie, and he was so young and looked so scared. Shane was immediately drawn to him, remembering how overwhelmed he had felt when he first joined the team. Nils was fresh faced and clearly still learning English, he reminded Shane of how Ilya had spoken the first time they met.
Nils was quickly taken under Shane's wing, he didn’t let the guys teasing go too far, and never made him feel stupid for not understanding something in English. Shane asked him to teach him a little Swedish, just because he was curious. He picked it up fairly easily, and then before he realised it he was buying Swedish language books, and practicing his pronunciation in hotel rooms. Nils is always happy to help correct him, and the smile the guy had when Shane was able to speak to him, made him feel not so far from home.
Many years later, Nils had been traded to another team and life had moved on. Shane thought he had forgotten everything he had learnt, until one particularly brutal game. Toronto was not known for being the nicest team on the league. Shane was bent down at the face off when a new face skated up to join him, and muttered under his breath.
“I can’t believe they let people like you play.” Shane paused, not sure if he had heard him right.
“What did you just say?” He asked back, in what he was sure was very broken Swedish.
Apparently it was good enough that this asshole understood what he meant. His eyes widened slightly in shock before hardening.
“You know.” And then he squinted his eyes and pulled them back. Shane immediately understood the racist gesture, he’s been on the other side of it a few times growing up but never on the ice.
“You racist pig!” He dropped his stick and gloves in a move very rarely seen of Shane and punched him squarely in his jaw before skating back out of the way.
The guy tried to come for him but his teammates were already on him, knowing that if Shane had dropped gloves it must have been worth it.
Hayden skated over, after he’s had his go at the guy. “What did he say? It didn’t sound like English to me.”
“It wasn’t. But it wasn’t what he said, it was the gesture he made. I hope the league takes action.” But he knew they wouldn’t. They’d say it was a misunderstanding and sweep it under the rug. Shane skated himself over to the penalty box.
5. Spanish
So Spanish was really an accident. Shane lived on a very strict diet, but he had a weakness. Taquitos. He would finish practice sometimes, about once a month, and have a massive craving that he just couldn't shift. So after leaving the rink he’s make his way over to the food truck that sat 5 minutes from the rink, and every time he’d order the same thing. After a while the Mexican owners started to recognise him.
“Senor Shane.” The owner would shout at soon as he saw him coming.
He’d been coming a few years and had gotten very comfortable with the staff, and begun picking up a few bits of the language. It turns out it shares a lot of similarities to French, or at least Shane thought it did. Over time he asked the owner to teach him a little bit, and he began ordering in Spanish.
“Evening Miguel. How has business been today?” Shane greeted warmly.
“Good boss, starting to get a bit cold out here, won’t be long until the snow starts and we have to get the shovels out. Your usual?”
“You know it. If you need help with the shovelling let me know. I’m usually heading down to the rink when you are opening.” He loved helping out in his community. And sometimes his moments at the truck could feel like the only times he felt like just Shane, no pressure.
He picked up his food and stuffed a sizable tip in the tip jar while Miguel's back was turned, he’d never get away with it otherwise.
6. Finnish
He picked up Finnish for the books. There were so many Finnish Hall of Famers that had released autobiographies, and while most of these have been translated into English, Shane couldn’t help but want to read it in the author's native tongue. And so he learnt to read it.
After a while Shane got more curious, and started to co-read and listen to the audio books, just out of curiosity of course. And then, when he couldn’t sleep late at night, he’d turn on a Liiga game, just to get an idea of their playing style, for hockey study of course. And if he happened to cheer a little more for Kärpät than the other teams he didn’t look too hard, especially at the fact that the colours reminded him of another team based out in Boston.
He never really considered that Finnish was a language he could understand, and definitely not one he could speak. But then one day Shane was struck dumb, something that never happened to him. Aleksi Mäkinen walked through the door, the up and coming Kärpät right winger, whose career Shane had been watching closely since he first joined the Finnish team. He hadn’t seen any news of him moving to the MLH, but here he was walking into the locker room, wearing Voyageurs kit, with their head coach.
“Right listen up guys.” Coach shouted over the general noise of the locker room. “Aleksi here has just transferred over from Liiga in Finland. He’s a solid right winger and we are looking to see where he fits in the team. Be nice and make him comfortable. He’s a long way from home.”
The team all waved, or gave some general noise of greeting. Shane stood up and presented his hand for a handshake, it was his job as captain to get everyone settled.
“Nice to meet you Aleksi. Can’t wait to see what you can do with us. Especially after seeing you in that game against Tappara.”
Aleksi’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting Shane to have watched him play before. And to have noticed him in that game, Kärpät had lost but Alek thought it was a really good game for him personally.
“You saw that?” He questioned. Defaulting to his native language even though he was comfortable with his English.
“Yes.” Shane answered “Tappara are a tough team but you played amazingly. Your team really struggled in defence, not offence.” Aleksi looked even more shocked that before, which confused Shane more before he realised he’s answered in Finnish. Apparently he’s absorbed more than he thought.
“You speak Finnish?”
“Um, apparently? I just watch Liiga games when I can’t sleep. Apparently I’ve picked it up?”
“We will be friends then. And dominate the first line when the opposite team can’t understand the plays we are calling.” Shane laughed at Aleksi and clapped him lightly on the shoulder with a smile. This was his kinda of player, always looking to find the advantages.
7. Russian
Shane tried very hard not to learn Russian. But a certain player made it extra hard. He didn’t want to look too hard at why he had this craving to learn. Told himself it was because of the books. There were a lot of Russian players in the history of the MLH and just like with Finnish, Shane wanted to read in their native language.
It was a couple of years into their, well Shane wasn’t sure what to call it, when Ilya first muttered something under his breath in Russian. Shane ached to know what it was, but also knew it wasn’t for him to know. So he stayed strong and refused to look up anything.
Over the years these quiet moments got more frequent. Shane especially enjoyed them in the moments after, in the quiet few moments both of them gave each other to hold and be held, under the guise of catching their breaths but in reality just to stay in the bubble they created. Shane would feel Ilya's lips move over his forehead, not knowing what he was saying but feeling the emotion in it, an emotion he wasn’t ready to name, but that he himself felt.
After a while Shane cracked a little, deciding that he did really want to read those books. And that cyrillic was an entirely different alphabet so it would be hard work to learn, and that Ilya only ever spoke to him, never wrote anything down, so it would be safe to learn to read it. And then he was having fun so he learnt to write it too.
It was in a random hotel stairway, somewhere in Canada when Shane realised it might be time. He listened intently as Ilya poured his heart out to him in a language he could read but not speak, as he felt every emotion.
“I wish I could understand you.” He whispered quietly.
“Yes, so do I.” Ilya replied, the emotion still heavy.
And that was all the permission he needed. The floodgates were open, and Shane was determined that Ilya would always be able to communicate to Shane in whatever language he needed.
The real issue was when did he tell him he had begun to understand. It felt like a lot for two people with no labels between each other, even if he knew there was something more between them. He didn’t want to lie to Ilya, to hide and let Ilya private thoughts become public to him.
Eventually Ilya was in Shane's cottage, in his safe space. Shane hadn’t hidden his Russian books, hadn’t hid any of himself for once. But it never came up. With the freedom to be honest with each other the quiet words in Russian had become quiet words in English, whispering endearments into his hair, telling him how safe he felt, how much he cared, how at home he felt. Shane knew he loved Ilya, and knew Ilya loved him, they just hadn’t said it yet.
Then on a quiet morning, Ilya leaned over Shane, foreheads pushed together and pure affection in his eyes.
“I love you.” Ilya whispered in Russian, their breaths mixing. “I mean, I..”
Shane interrupted him “I love you too.”
Ilya froze, panicking but the affection in his eyes.
“You speak Russian?”
“I learnt to speak it after you called from Russia. I wanted you to be able to speak to me however you needed to.”
Ilya kissed him deeply, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I love you. I love you so much.”