"Russian." It's clearly his native language, what with how easily and correctly he speaks it. "I don't speak Swedish." Bits of Finnish, growing amounts of English... But no Swedish. He's heard it, but only from guests of his great-grandparents, and he almost never is allowed to stay around when they have ones. "Is that bad?" He doesn't want to try to learn it, English is hard enough, but if it is necessary, he will. You do what you have to and what you're told, until you are old and strong enough to not have to do that anymore.

He proceeds to shed his other clothes after the coat has come off, the items pooling at his feet in a puddle of fabric and water and mud, not caring that they are in the middle of a kitchen. The fire is warm and there should be clothes just a bit drier in the suitcase, and if they aren't... well. Surely he can borrow a shirt or even just a blanket. Anything would be warmer than his clothes now. (Not that his thoughts get that far. They stop at 'we started to take my clothes off and they are still cold'.)