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It slips out without ceremony.
They’re both half distracted, Shane flipping through his phone on the couch while his head is nuzzled against Ilya’s shoulder as he scrolls through Netflix movies.
“Have you seen this movie,” Ilya says, then adds, absentmindedly, “Kotik?”
Shane pauses and lifts his hand to look at Ilya.
“…Sorry, what?”
Ilya doesn’t look back. “This movie. Have you seen it?”
“No, the other thing,” Shane says. “You called me… what?”
Ilya blinks, like he’s just realised he spoke out loud. “Kotik.”
Shane frowns. Not offended — just genuinely confused. He’s been practicing Russian, he listens to a Russian language podcast on his longer bus trips. But he has never heard that word before.
He waits for Ilya to explain but he just stares at him blankly.
Shane quickly brings up Google and speaks into his microphone “Ko-tik” he says in a very bad Russian accent.
Ilya smiles at him sweetly.
“…Little cat?”
Ilya brings a flat hand up and rocks it side to side to say “Kind of.”
“That’s what the dictionary says.”
“Yes, but English dictionaries are… bad at feelings,” Ilya says, waving a hand. “It does not translate well.”
Shane turns toward him fully now. “Then what does it mean?”
Ilya thinks for a second, searching for the right words.
“It is… affectionate. Like… baby. Or cutie. Or—” he shrugs, “—someone you like very much.”
Shane squints. “So why not just say baby?”
Ilya looks at him like Shane has just suggested replacing poetry with IKEA instructions.
“Because it is not the same.”
“How?” Shane asks. “Baby is affectionate. Cutie is affectionate. Both are perfectly functional words.”
“Yes, but kotik is—” Ilya hesitates. “It is warmer. Softer. It is about closeness.”
Shane tilts his head. “Baby is also about closeness.”
Ilya sighs. “Baby sounds… generic.”
“Generic?” Shane repeats.
“Yes. Kotik sounds like you.”
That makes Shane stop.
“…Oh,” he says.
Then Shane says, carefully, “Okay, but from my perspective, you just randomly called me a cat.”
Ilya nods. “This is why I usually do not explain.”
Shane laughs quietly, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Still,” Ilya says, softer now, “is it bad?”
Shane considers it. Then he shrugs, leaning back against him.
“No. Just confusing.”
Ilya smiles to himself. “Good.”
A minute later, Shane says, casual, “You can keep it. Just— maybe don’t say it around other people.”
Ilya hums in agreement.
But later that night, half-asleep, Shane feels Ilya’s arm tighten around him and hears, murmured against his hair,
“Sleep, kotik.”
Shane doesn’t argue then.
Some things don’t need to make sense to work.