NHL IMAGINES [SLOW UPDATES]

Artemi Panarin

"He asked if you liked having me as your new translator."  You ask Artemi in his native language, Russian. 

He looks like he is in deep thought, he nods at the interviewer, "Yes, I learn lots." He answers in his -still broken but improving English.

"How?" The man behind the microphone asks. 

"When I know that I taught him something, I refuse to say it in Russian." You answer for him, and then repeat your answer in Russian for Artemi.

"Face." He says to the guy, "Helps to see face I know."

The guy lets the next person ask their question, "How are you feeling after Arizona took Viktor?" 

Artemi looks at you funny, "You practice Russian, you said wrong." He throws you a cocky smirk, he finally gets to correct you for something, and you land a punch on his shoulder. 

When he finally replies to the interviewer, you translate it, "He was very sad and shocked, he tried to be positive, and he tried to understand that it would be good for him."

"We wanted you to know that he scored goal today."

"He scored a goal." You repeat in English and you could see his eyes brighten up.  

"He did? Nice." He tries his best in his broken English.

Slowly the interviews were cut short, and Artemi was talking adamantly to you in Russian. He goes on about how he misses Viktor, but he is happy that he can let his talent shine with the Coyotes. 

"I learn you right Russian." He points to my mouth, "You say wrong Russian."

"My Russian is perfectly fine, I haven't talked in the language for more than five years, you're lucky it isn't worse."  You answer him in full blown Russian so he wouldn't have an excuse that he didn't understand you.

"I joke, Y/N, joke." He tries to peck your cheek but you push his face away while trying to hold back your laughter. "Come on." He whines trying to get at least one kiss out of you. He tries to poke your sides, and ultimately he wins.

He kisses your lips lightly, pulling you up and out of the locker room. "I show you something." He says pulling me through the hallways of the United Center.

When he finally finds what he was looking for he stops in front of the merchandise shop, and gestures for one of the workers to open the door for him. He pulls you to stop in front the rack of jerseys. Your eyes scan over them instinctively, a rack for each the most demanded player and then a new number is up there. 

Number 72.

"They added my jersey today!" He points up at them with happiness. And then he has pure concentration on his face as he flips through them, "What is your size?"

"Small." You answer him and his eyes flit over the sizes for the letter 'S'.

He finds the red fabric in your size and drags you to the cashier, 

"You wear this to my games."