Fic: Lust in Translation, Part 2 (Chapters 4-7)
***
4.
***
"Oh, hey, mom."
"Sorry I couldn't call earlier, but with work and the time difference-"
"No problem. I got your text."
"Yes. I hear you've finally found someone to put up with you!"
"Yeah..." Johnny sighed forlornly.
"I'm only kidding you, Johnny. You all right?"
She probably expected him to make some kind of joke, but he was all out of humour with the situation right now. Even innuendo and bad puns had deserted him.
"I'm just kinda tired, and kinda... yeah."
"But you and that nice Swiss boy, you're still good? I'm surprised you didn't tell me you had a boyfriend."
I didn't even know until after the fact, thought Johnny. "It was all sort of... sudden. But we're together, yeah."
"I always liked Stéphane."
Johnny smiled. Stéphane was probably the ultimate mother-approved boyfriend. Especially since they weren't even sleeping together.
"Me too. But... don't get too, you know..."
"You two have a fight or something?"
Cazzo, how to explain?
"Not exactly. Don't worry. Listen, I should get to sleep now. Early start tomorrow."
"What time is it there?"
"Quarter to one."
"Oh my, I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Couldn't sleep anyway." Stupid Stéphane, getting in his thoughts and keeping him awake. "Love you."
"Love you, Johnny. Night."
*
The next day they had to get up inhumanely early to catch another train, this time to the land of chocolate and clocks. At breakfast Johnny was bleary-eyed and Joubert's face was something along the lines of 'mon Dieu!', but if Stéphane had seemed bouncy before, now he was doing a flawless impression of Tigger on speed.
"Smile, Johnny!"
"I can't smile before seven in the morning. It's physically impossible. My mouth just won't bend that way."
"But we're going to the greatest country in the world!" Was Stéphane actually jittering? Mamma mia.
"You just like skating there because you're a little attention whore." That came out a little bitchier than he'd intended, but Johnny was tired and grumpy. He yawned for the fiftieth time that morning.
"And Johnny Weir is known for hating attention," replied Stéphane, merrily chomping on his bread roll.
He maybe had a point. Johnny preferred to think he was just very appreciative of his fans. And TV cameras.
"What do you think of Switzerland, then?"
Johnny shrugged. "Neutral."
It was never too early for bad jokes.
*
He didn't feel neutral for long. The whole Swiss population seemed to recognise and love Stéphane - the moment they got off the train they were accosted by fans. Since they loved Stéphane and he was dating Johnny, they loved Johnny too, and he had to sign about ten autographs before he even got to the ticket barrier.
Joubert had slunk off unnoticed somehow. Lucky French bastard.
Outside the hotel, fans were taking endless pictures of the two of them. A couple of them were waving their hands between Johnny and Stéphane somewhat embarrassedly and saying something or other in warped German. Johnny strained his ears.
"Vielliecht könnten Sie küssen?" Ah. Oh, they were shameless.
"You don't have to," Stéphane whispered to him. He was ever the gentleman.
"No, I don't mind," said Johnny, and surprisingly enough he really didn't. He leaned over to give Stéphane a peck on the lips, and a dozen camera flashes went off.
(That photo would be uploaded in 3... 2... 1... And there it was, the sound of a hundred fangirls swooning simultaneously.)
They entered their hotel to cries of "Danke, danke, wir lieben Sie!" which was, well, quite sweet really. Johnny was half-sure he heard a "Schwanzebra!" in there as well. He couldn't help but smile; he could get used to this.
Except he wasn't going to get used to this. He was going to tell Stéphane about the big misunderstanding. And that he was definitely, absolutely not a virgin. (Maybe he'd say that he used to have a promise ring, but then he lost it behind the sofa. Or not, since Stéphane probably wouldn't get that that was a joke.) He was going to explain how he'd been playing along in order to save Stéphane's feelings and how it was all very noble and self-sacrificing really.
And then Stéphane would never speak to him again.
Gesundheit.
…He needed to learn some German swear words, pronto.
*
"I'm so tired," declared Johnny after their performance that evening. He flopped down on Stéphane's bed and splayed out his arms.
Stéphane took off his shirt and pants. Johnny pretended to avert his eyes before realising he really didn't have to. He was probably allowed to perv on his own boyfriend. And they said honesty was the best policy. Chances were they were lying at the time.
"Tired?" asked Stéphane. He probably didn't understand the meaning of the word. He rummaged in his clothes drawer.
"Yeah, exhausted. Like I could sleep for a week."
Stéphane turned around. That really was a spectacular view. "Never mind, we travel for a few hours in the morning, then have the rest of the morning and afternoon off."
"Yes, thank goodness."
Stéphane pulled an old t-shirt over his head, to Johnny's disappointment. "But you are not sleeping."
"Aren't I?"
"No. I know the area, so I'll take you to the best places." He noticed Johnny's pouty face. "You can't just sleep the whole afternoon."
"I wasn't just going to sleep."
That earned him an eyebrow raise.
"...I was also going to moisturise."
Stéphane shook his head and went back to finding pyjamas.
Suddenly, Johnny perked up and perched on the edge of the bed with his arms round his knees. "Are you going to take me shopping?"
"Perhaps."
"I'm almost out of scented candles and you know how much I hate-"
"When the hotel rooms smell funny."
Johnny smiled. "Exactly." It was funny how Stéphane knew all these silly things about him. "And you, know, maybe I could pick you out some clothes or something. I mean, I like your clothes, but maybe something with a bit more... pizzazz." He made 'pizzazz' hands for Stéphane's benefit.
"Like I am your Barbie doll?"
Johnny laughed gleefully. "Maybe I could do your hair as well."
"Oh no. You do not touch the hair."
He seemed extremely serious about that. Johnny didn't think it wise to argue.
*
"Oh, I forget," said Stéphane when they were on the coach the next day, as he played on his laptop. "Have you seen Evan's Twitter?"
"…No."
"It is very amusing." He fiddled about for a minute, then turned the screen towards Johnny. "First read this one. From the day after press conference in France."
Yes everyone, heard about Weir and Lambyelle. Happy for them. Two guys in love it's sweet.
Johnny laughed. "Oh, he's a bright spark."
Stéphane leaned over. "Then… this one."
Yeah, knew it was something weird and foreign. Anyway, you all see La Gaga last night? A lot of her.
Johnny felt kind of insulted on Stéphane's behalf. And Gaga's, for that matter. "His razor-sharp wit, it's killing me." He kept reading.
Feel bad for her but daaayuum.
Johnny cracked up again. "Oh man, if Evan's straight then I'm a vir-" Oh shit. "…verging on becoming a spokesman for Prop 8."
Stéphane didn't seem to notice anything amiss, Gott sei Dank.
Evan wasn't the only one to have heard about the two of them. Over the past few days Johnny had kept getting congratulations from everyone he knew. Apparently the video of him proclaiming his love in French already had a hundred thousand hits on YouTube. He was half-tempted to watch it in order to work out exactly what he'd said, but he'd probably die of second-hand embarrassment for his past self before he'd got past the ten-second mark.
In many ways, that video was similar to Stéphane's cat-costume video, in that it was probably a lot more bearable if you watched it with the sound off. Maybe one day, as with that one, the two of them would watch the press conference video together and laugh at Johnny's disastrous French in a weird sort of bonding session.
But signs pointed to no.
*
[Translation: Cazzo - ...generic swear word
Vielliecht könnten Sie küssen? - Perhaps you could kiss?
Danke, danke, wir lieben Sie! - Thank you, thank you, we love you!]
***
5.
***
Johnny hadn't thought about it before, but their day off was kind of like their first date. Once he'd faffed around for ages getting ready (and Stéphane had watched him, somewhat fond and somewhat exasperated), they took the bus up to a quaint little Swiss village that seemed untouched by civilisation. Stéphane didn't even get swarmed by fans there. Maybe they didn't have these fancy "television" things yet.
There were even cobbled streets. They had lunch in a floral-print-heavy café with a ludicrously scenic view of picture-perfect rolling hills.
"We have to get some dessert," said Johnny. "Now I'm retired, I want to get fat."
"I don't think you could get fat if you tried." Stéphane poked his stomach.
"Hey! I'll show you. You'd better still love me when I'm 300 pounds."
Stéphane grinned. "Ooh, I don't know about that..."
Johnny fluttered his eyelashes. "There'll just be more of me to love."
"Maybe you are right." Stéphane leaned over to kiss his cheek.
They went and bought ice-creams for dessert, and sat out on the hill with their cones. It was like being a kid again, thought Johnny, except with an accidental boyfriend for company. He reached over to take Stéphane's flake.
"Johnny, give it back."
Johnny crumbled it to bits over the top of Stéphane's ice-cream. "There you go," he said. "Zebra stripes. Much better."
Goodness, when did he become so sickeningly cutesy?
Stéphane took Johnny's flake, tried to snap it and accidentally crumbled it all over the grass.
"Oops. I was going to make a swan."
"How?"
"With a beak and an eye..." Stéphane looked quite upset. "Sorry."
"It's okay, I'll steal some of yours." Johnny took a lick of Stéphane's flake-covered ice-cream, and naturally got some on his nose, and then naturally Stéphane had to lick it off, and then naturally they were rolling around on the grass tickling each other and trying not to get ice-cream on themselves.
Naturally, they didn't succeed.
Johnny lay on his back next to Stéphane, panting and laughing breathlessly. "You'd better pay for this shirt, Lambiel. It's ruined."
Stéphane shot him his best butter-wouldn't-melt face. It was well-practised. "But I paid for the ice-cream. And you ruined it. It won't taste very good at all now."
"Not with all that grass and dirt in it, no." He got up, buttoning his jacket to hide the stain. "And now we're going shopping, right?" He grinned.
Stéphane sighed wearily. "Oh, I suppose so." He took Johnny's hand to pull himself up, and gave him a quick kiss.
"This is fun," said Johnny truthfully. It was good to relax and mess around with him.
"Yes, it is. Perhaps when our tour is over, you can show me the best places in New York."
...And Stéphane had to go and ruin everything by bringing him crashing back to a reality full of commitment and embarrassment and lies and fake virginity.
*
After dinner at the hotel that evening, Johnny pulled the covers on his bed open and collapsed onto the mattress. The bedflop was becoming his signature move.
They'd got the bus again and gone into the town centre. Clothes shopping with Stéphane had been... interesting. ("Johnny, does my bum look big in this?" "Honey, it looks delicious.") They hadn't bought anything in the end, but it was fun trying on outfits and having Stéphane look him up and down all adoringly even in the most hideous get-ups.
They'd found some candles for Johnny (eventually) and Stéphane had bought some more chocolate, of course. Then they'd wandered into a cosmetics store with testers and Johnny had got lipstick and eyeliner all over his hands in more shades than a Dulux wall chart; at that point Stéphane had decided they were calling it a day.
"Stéphane?" called Johnny from the bed.
"Yes?" Stéphane came over and looked down at him with his head tilted to one side like a curious and infatuated sparrow.
"I know it's like eight thirty and this is kind of pathetic, but I think I might have to go to sleep now. I don't think I could move if I wanted to."
"Not even if I tickle you?"
"Oh, you wouldn't be so cruel."
"You sound so sure of that."
Johnny gave a little moan and rolled over onto his side. "Not if you love me you won't."
"Emotional blackmail, is it then?"
Now how was it Stéphane could manage to say things like 'emotional blackmail' and Johnny couldn't muster an 'I love it' in French without screwing it up?
Not to mention, him being familiar with the phrase didn't exactly augur well.
Johnny felt Stéphane curl up behind him, pull the covers over the two of them and wrap his arms around him.
He hadn't ever given it much thought before, but Stéphane always smelt completely divine. Not of anything in particular, just a lovely, clean, manly smell that made Johnny want to close his eyes and go 'Mmm'. So he did.
"Perhaps I stay with you tonight?" whispered Stéphane in his ear.
Johnny didn't quite have the willpower required to say no, but he couldn't quite say yes, either. He felt like he kept getting dragged deeper into the whole pretence, like he was sinking slowly into warm, sexy Swiss quicksand. "I… I don't think…"
He heard Stéphane chuckle quietly. "Don't fret, mon amour; your honour is safe with me." He pulled Johnny closer and pressed soft kisses to his neck. "Oh, comme je t'aime…"
"Stay with me," Johnny said suddenly. He sounded needier than he'd wanted to.
"I will, Johnny, always."
There were so, so many things wrong with all this, but Johnny couldn't help it - he wriggled around in Stéphane's arms and for a moment just gazed unfocusedly into his eyes.
"Always?" he asked sleepily.
"Always."
That shouldn't have made him smile, and certainly not so dopily.
*
Johnny woke and for a few moments just basked in the immense warmth and comfort… of Stéphane's arms. Ah. Yes. He didn't tend to make the best decisions when extremely sleep-deprived, and cuddling up with Stéphane for the night was the latest in a long, continuous line of very bad decisions.
Damn, but it was comfortable though. Sinfully fucking comfortable. And Stéphane smelled good. Seriously, who smelt that great first thing in the morning? Maybe Stéphane wasn't quite human, like he was actually some kind of fairy, or maybe a pixie or someth-
"You are awake?"
He felt awake, but on the other hand he had just been seriously considering the possibility that his boyfriend was secretly some sort of mythological creature, so maybe not.
A unicorn, perhaps?
"No," was his verdict on the 'awake' front.
Stéphane kissed the top of his head. "We have to get up soon."
Johnny nuzzled his head into Stéphane's neck. Opening his eyes again would be way too much effort. "Mmm… No."
"Do you know any other words?"
Johnny considered. "Nein. Niet. Iie. Fuck no."
Stéphane just laughed and dragged him out of bed.
Quel horreur.
***
6.
***
Tomáš Verner was joining them for the second half of the tour, which meant more rehearsals for the group numbers and a lot more standing around on the ice, wondering when they were going to get to the rehearsing. Brian had quite the 'Soupir!' expression. Johnny did get kind of bored hanging around with nothing in particular to do. Velice nudný.
That being about the extent of his Czech (apart from the perennially practical 'Ahoj, jsem svobodný', which wasn't even true now he was with Stéphane) he and Tomáš spoke in Russian most of the time, just because they could. Also, it made Stéphane look at the two of them all suspiciously, which Johnny shouldn't have enjoyed but did immensely.
Of course, Stéphane enacted his revenge by only speaking with Tomáš in German, and hugging and touching him all the time. And Tomáš grinned at him. Okay, so Stéphane was always hugging and touching people in a completely non-ulterior way, and yeah, Tomáš was a cheerful guy, but it was worse when Johnny couldn't understand what it was they were whispering to each other and giggling over.
Damn multilingual Europeans. Johnny didn't think he'd see the day when he'd wish he could be touring with Evan instead.
On the other hand, at least he was pretty convinced Tomáš was straight.
*
Despite the disorganisation, the show went well that evening. Johnny and Stéphane even got to show off their throw-triple-salchow, to prodigious applause. Johnny found himself smiling like an idiot once again as they all took their bows.
This time there was definitely a "Zèbrecygne!" in there somewhere. Maybe they were like the new Brangelina, he mused as he skated off the ice hand-in-hand with Stéphane. Except, you know, with less scary facial hair and fewer painful video game adaptions.
(If Stéphane ever decided to grow a goatee, Johnny would have to disown him on principle. There was making a statement and then there was just being ridiculous.)
Stéphane was hugging everyone afterwards, as always. He gave Johnny a kiss on the cheek as he threw his arms around him, and Brian a good heterosexual thump on the back. He reached over to hug Tomáš and whispered something-or-other in his ear in German.
Wie unhöflich. Johnny narrowed his eyes.
Johnny hugged Tomáš as well and gave him a "Ty molodyets! Blahopřeji!". Stéphane didn't appear to be fazed by his passive-aggressive Slavic languages. Huh. Well then. He patted Tomáš on the shoulder, batted his eyelashes and babbled in Russian some more.
Tomáš was bemused. Stéphane started to look kind of miffed. Not that it should really have mattered, but Stéphane's irritation was strangely satisfying. Johnny smiled blithely at him. See how annoying it is?
If anyone had ever doubted that learning to speak Russian was a productive way to spend one's time, they clearly weren't doing it right. All you had to do was find a pretty, blond, Russian-speaking boy to flirt with (gay, straight, either one would do), and then, easy as that, you had your nice polite Swiss boyfriend pushing you up roughly against your hotel room wall and kissing you senseless, in case you forgot who it was you belonged to.
All in all, worth the effort. Johnny would advise anyone to take up a second language.
*
Johnny waved to Tomáš as they got on the coach early the next morning. "Privet, milyi!"
Tomáš still seemed a bit nonplussed, but they were heading to Germany and Johnny needed to get a headstart before Stéphane started in with all the "Mm, ja, Tomáš, sehr interessant...".
Brian looked a bit 'Et pas moi?' so Johnny blew him a kiss. He was in a great mood, even if they were leaving pre-dawn - it probably came of Stéphane deciding last night that groping Johnny's ass and grinding up against him didn't impinge on his chastity, not really.
Having got Johnny all hot and bothered and flustered and breathless, Stéphane had given him a sweet little kiss and said goodnight in the most incongruously innocent way.
Johnny had taken a long shower after Stéphane left. A really good long shower.
He and Stéphane went to sit in the back seats of the coach, so they could make out like sexually-deprived teenagers. Whatever - Johnny was young at heart.
"Wait," said Stéphane, pulling away in the middle of a kiss. "The bus is moving. I must wave bye-bye to Switzerland." He waved out of the window at the hills passing by, though it was still dark outside. "A bientôt!"
Johnny would rather have made out and snuggled some more, but it appeared he was currently being usurped in his boyfriend's attentions by invisible countryside. Now that stung.
*
They had a spare hour in the late afternoon, so they all went for a wander around Munich after leaving their luggage at the hotel. Johnny was in sunglasses and a nice fur-trimmed jacket; just because it was 65 degrees outside didn't mean you shouldn't look your best, even if it did induce Stéphane to exclaim "Just looking at you is making me hot!" and all the skaters around them to burst out laughing. At least someone else was saying embarrassing shit for once.
Stéphane took Johnny's hand as they walked around the park, and they got Brian to take photos of them beside the waterfall, which was all very cute and romantic.
Then they went sightseeing, and suddenly Stéphane was all "Oh, Tomáš, was meinst du zu der Kirche?" and "Oh, Tomáš, guck, was für ein schönes Glockenspiel!"
Johnny was all for equality and justice, and so it was only fair that once they got back he push Stéphane down on the hotel room floor and kiss him senseless.
Of course, once they were down there, all tangled up together, and Stéphane was making these wonderful little moaning noises, and just as Johnny started wondering if maybe he'd be up for dirty talk in Italian - in his crazy Swiss accent it'd be doubly hot - Stéphane had to go and object with some trivial nonsense about a 'skating show'.
*
[Translation: Soupir - Le sigh
Velice nudný - Very dull
Ahoj, jsem svobodný - Hi there, I'm single
Wie unhöflich - How rude
Ty molodyets! - Good job!
Blahopřeji! - Well done!
Privet, milyi! - Hey, darling!
Was meinst du zu der Kirche? - What do you think of the church?
Guck, was für ein schönes Glockenspiel! - Look, what a beautiful glockenspiel! (There's a famous one on the front of the town hall; I haven't just gone crazy)]
***
7.
***
The next day was more relaxed - there was another press conference, but by now everyone seemed to have accepted Johnny and Stéphane's relationship as an established fact of the universe, so there weren't any awkward questions, just a lot of camera-flashes and awed staring.
Half-way through, while Joubert was rambling on in an incredibly French fashion, as he was wont to, Stéphane took Johnny's hand and squeezed it under the table, which made him smile. Of course, one of the sneakier fans would probably be taking a picture, and by tomorrow said picture would have been scrutinised and analysed from every possible perspective, but you had to accept these things.
Then they went to talk to the fans. Johnny had memorised a 'Natürlich liebe ich Deutschland' for the locals, and there was the ever-useful 'Nihon ga dai-suki desu! Asoko ni iru toki, itsumo tanoshimasu' for all the Japanese fans (they were everywhere - if they organised themselves and concentrated their efforts on grander schemes than mere figure-skater-stalking Johnny was pretty sure they could have taken over the world).
"Und woher kommen Sie?" he asked yet another teenage girl in his dodgy German accent.
She stared at him for a moment, as if wondering whether he was just a bizarre German Johnny Weir lookalike.
"Where are you from?" he tried.
"Oh. Wales."
Okay, that was easier. "I love Wales," he said automatically. "And..." What was Welsh? Dragons? Leeks? "...Welsh things. You know, I've always felt a kind of affinity with the British," he said as he signed a photo for her (goodness, he had a terrible haircut back then).
Brian shot him an 'Ils sont fous, ces Américains!' look from beside him.
"Really?" The girl didn't look as though she believed him.
"Yeah, you know, since you drive on the other side of the road."
He heard Stéphane groan. And he'd thought that was one of his better jokes.
*
After the performance they had to travel on the overnight train to get to Belgium. At least this time Johnny and Stéphane had a compartment to themselves, and Joubert had someone to talk to while they sat around being lovey-dovey with each other.
Stéphane was 'missing Switzerland' after two days. Johnny thought he was simply looking for an excuse to curl up in his arms, which he could probably forgive him for.
"You're definitely more of a cat than a zebra," said Johnny, yawning and stroking Stéphane's hair.
Stéphane sighed dramatically. "They have cats in Switzerland..."
"...And most other places."
"But my cats are in Switzerland." He buried his head in Johnny's chest.
"You know, Belgium's perfectly nice too."
"Eh, it is so-so."
Johnny rolled his eyes. Homesick Stéphane was kind of wearing. "I bet you're just pissed they make better chocolate there."
Even if Johnny hadn't been 'saving himself', there was no way in hell he would have been getting any that night.
*
When he woke up the next morning, however, Stéphane was smiling at him. It was a warm, enchanted smile, the kind that Stéphane always had when he was giving one of his little speeches about how he and his fellow skaters were one big happy family, how the audience inspired him and gave him magical skating powers, how his fans were a ray of sparkly sunshine in a whole world of fucking sunshine and sparkles, and beauty and energy and atmosphere and destiny or whatever other crazy/endearing hippie shit he waxed lyrical about. (Johnny's mind had a tendency to wander during those speeches.)
Johnny blinked up at him. "Were you just watching me sleep? I hear that's creepy."
"I thought you were awake. Is that still creepy?"
"Hell if I know." He reached over to pull Stéphane down onto his cramped bed. "Not enough for me to care."
More cuddling ensued. It kind of reminded Johnny of that time on the train in Russia, when Stéphane kept trying to climb into bed with him with increasingly flimsy excuses ("My sister, she snores... My mattress is lumpy... There's a horrible draught in my carriage... There is a crack - I think the ceiling may fall in...") and Brian's face was all 'Ugh, tant fatigué...'. Johnny couldn't understand why Stéphane had to be so damned relentless about it, but let him crawl in eventually anyway because he was too tired to keep protesting and besides, Stéphane-hugs were just that much better than anyone-else-hugs. In fairness, once he had given in and let Stéphane practically lie on top of him, he had slept surprisingly well that night.
"Mmm…" said Johnny as they snuggled up together. Stéphane still smelt of unicorn.
Stéphane kissed his forehead. "I agree."
*
There were more rehearsals that afternoon, since someone hadn't quite got the group dance right last evening.
(Not to name names, but Johnny was 99% sure it was Joubert.)
Johnny and Stéphane had practised their pairs skating for a while to pass the time. Johnny liked the way they so easily fell into step with each other. He also liked the way Stéphane's hand rested so snugly on his hip, and the way their fingers curled together as he took his other hand, and the way you could practically hear everyone around them trying to suppress an 'Awww'.
Then Johnny had gone to get a drink, and when he came back Stéphane was practising clockwise jumps again, landing two-footed most of the time. Johnny watched from across the ice and laughed, or clapped when he landed them half-properly.
Then Stéphane somehow managed to trip over his feet, getting one blade caught in the other - quite spectacular, really - and fell heavily onto his side.
"Stéphane?" Johnny called out. For a second his breath had caught and he'd swear something had dug at his heart.
There was a girlish squeal emanating from Stéphane's direction. "Je suis très maladroit aujourd'hui!" He flailed about melodramatically on the ice, with that silly cheerful grin of his. "But whatever you may say, I fall with great style!"
Johnny laughed - well, truthfully more of a giggle. He was kind of tempted to go lie down and roll around with Stéphane, or drag him to his feet and squeeze him tight for being so stupidly precious and, well, just for being Sté-
...Oh.
Oh.
"Merde," Johnny murmured out loud to himself, "je suis tombé dans l'amour."
There was a pointed cough from somewhere down beside him. He hadn't known that the flower girl was even there.
"Vous voulez dire que vous êtes tombé amoureux?"
She was a cute little kid with ribbons in her hair. Johnny could forgive her for correcting him. He reached down to scoop her up into his arms. "Oui, mais… déjà maintenant, je ne saurais pas… et je ne sais pas quoi en faire..."
She giggled. "Vous êtes très niais!"
"Oui, ma petite... je sais."
*
[Translation: Natürlich liebe ich Deutschland - Of course I love Germany
Nihon ga dai-suki desu! - I love Japan!
Asoko ni iru toki, itsumo tanoshimasu - I always enjoy myself when I go there
Ils sont fous, ces Américains! - These Americans are crazy!
Je suis très maladroit aujourd'hui! - I'm very clumsy today!
Merde, je suis tombé dans l'amour - Shit, I've fallen in love
Vous voulez dire que vous êtes tombé amoureux? - You mean that you've fallen in love? (b/c Johnny said it incorrectly)
Oui, mais… déjà maintenant, je ne saurais pas - Yes, but... before now I didn't know
Et je ne sais pas quoi en faire - And I don't know what to do about it
Vous êtes très niais! - You are very silly!
Oui, ma petite... je sais - Yes, my little one... I know]
*
Part 3
*