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The final day passes in a blur.
In the morning, Isaac wakes up from his short-lived nap after his flight to Rome, takes a shower, changes, eats breakfast, goes to the team bus, changes again, checks his bike - because he’s a perfectionist - and heads towards the start.
The stage gets underway, as does the procession that comes with it. Typical of a final stage in a Grand Tour. Something Isaac had, until last year in the Vuelta, only ever seen on TV. It’s a strange feeling, after the relative anonymity with which he had ridden and finished his first Grand Tour, to now be the centre of attention. Sure, he had gotten used to it over the past two weeks in pink, but the picture taking with his team as a jersey winner? Nothing could’ve prepared him for that.
Slowly, as all pictures are done and they advance upon Rome, tension starts to rise in the peloton. A few riders try to split off, but they’re called back. Again, a few go up the road. Before Isaac knows it, he hears the bell for the last lap across the circuit, and sees sprinters teams moving to the front to get into position. They’re racing across the road now, instead of the peaceful pace it had been just a few hours prior.
They ride under the banner of 5 kilometres to go, and he knows that it’s almost over. It’s a weird feeling, but he shakes it off. Just gotta stay focused a bit longer.
In the corner of his eye he sees two riders go down, but in the blur of bodies he can’t make out who, so all he can do is hope they’re okay.
Then, they roll across the finish behind the stage winner - Isaac hasn’t heard who it is yet - and the first thing he hears in his communication is a “Good job guys. Isaac, congrats on the white.”
“Thank you,” he replies automatically. He shivers, slightly cold despite the warm temperatures, as the realisation sinks in. Yesterday after the finish, he may technically have lost the pink but won the white, but it wasn’t until he just crossed the finish that he had officially won the white.
He comes to a stop beside his teammates, looking around until he spots bib number 7 approaching, a grin spreading across his face before he can help himself. “Hi,” Giulio puffs, accepting a bottle offered by his swannie and taking a gulp.
“Hey,” Isaac responds, clapping him on the back. “Out of breath from that, are ya?” he cannot help but tease.
“Like you aren’t,” his friend retorts, gesturing with his chin to Isaac’s rapidly rising and falling chest.
The Mexican shrugs, deciding not to comment on it and instead pulling Giulio into a hug, releasing his friend soon thereafter as one of his own soigneurs taps him on the shoulder.
“Gotta go, there’s a podium awaiting me.”
Giulio doesn't get a chance to respond as Isaac turns and gets guided through the crowd of cyclists, their staff, and reporters - which is too fancy of a word for most of them, he notices with a sigh. Paparazzi. Cameras get shoved in the faces of riders and he sees so many lights flashing that it may as well have been a thunderstorm.
He arrives near the podium, bathed in pale orange light as the sun starts to set over Rome. Isaac gets a few moments to take in the view, and then he’s gently pushed forwards to go up to the stage. He runs through the Young Rider podium ceremony on autopilot, still coming down from the high of the stage - to the point where he forgets to open the bottle of Prosecco and just walks off the podium with it. Oh well.
As he’s guided to the side for a moment, Isaac gratefully accepts a bottle from his swannie, drinking half and pouring the other half over his head. He gets a blissful couple of minutes to lean against a wall and close his eyes, trying to get his muscles to relax, but then he’s already called back upon to go back to the podium. For the top three.
It still feels unreal. He doesn’t know if the true impact of his performance here will ever sink in; getting to climb onto the podium with two riders he watched as a child, back in Mexico. The thought of the country in relation to cycling leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and he quickly shoves it aside.
As he steps onto the podium, Isaac sees his fans on the right, cheering for him. He gives them a smile, and is rewarded with louder cheers. He scans the rest of the crowd, the people-pleasing smile turning into a genuine one when he spots Giulio below, watching him with a fond smile of his own.
When he opens the bottle of Prosecco, Isaac makes sure to spray some of it in Giulio’s direction, just for fun. It pays off when he sees Giulio’s fake betrayed face, both of them grinning.
The ceremony finishes, and instead of taking the stairs back like he sees Carapaz do, Isaac decides to jump off the podium on the other side, greeting his fans, taking pictures, and handing out autographs.
An arm being slung over his shoulders has him jumping before he hears the familiar sound of Giulio’s voice. “Wanna meet up later tonight?”
Why don’t we just run away now? The words are tempting, and he’s really dreading the party and speech he’ll have back at the UAE hotel later. But he has appearances to keep up as well as a team to thank from the bottom of his heart - because he is so grateful to all of them, even Juan, who got on his bike after being stung by a bee to try and help him out.
So instead he gives the only other answer: “Of course.” Before he remembers to add, “After the party though.”
Giulio nods, squeezing the back of his neck, and Isaac is left alone, dragging himself away from his fans and returning to his team. His thoughts swirl, one louder than the other but they’re all swept away before he can really make sense of them.
The party itself, and the speech he gives, stumbling over his words, mercifully pass by quickly, and when Rafał gives him an opportunity to sneak away, he takes it gratefully, his older teammate wordlessly passing him his unopened bottle of Prosecco, clapping Isaac on the back as the youngster slips out of the hotel into the cool night air.
He slows down once he’s out of sight of the hotel, allowing himself a glance at the cloudless sky, stars twinkling everywhere he looks. As he walks in the direction of Giulio’s hotel, he takes deep, calming breaths, finally feeling his heart rate lower as his body begins to relax.
The walk goes by quietly and quickly, something Isaac is both grateful for and cursing. He's excited to see his best friend, but, he realises, as he stands in front of the building, his nerves are also on fire. He feels like a tightly coiled spring, like his body is waiting for a cue to jump into action. And that's stupid, because this is literally just Giulio.
He tries to control his breathing as he makes his way towards Giulio's room, the Italian having messaged him the number earlier.
Before he even has a chance to knock, the door opens, revealing Giulio with a bright grin on his face, one that widens into a smirk when he sees the surprise on Isaac's.
“Heard you comin’,” he offers as explanation. “Not many people walking around at this time.”
Not that he was waiting behind the door, listening for every possible noise to know if Isaac was going to show or if he had chickened out. Definitely not.
He gestures to the bottle of Prosecco. “We are not drinking all of that.”
Isaac huffs a laugh, a lopsided smile on his face. “Of course we're not.”
He finally has a moment to observe Giulio as his friend turns to let him into the room. He's dressed in simple sweats and a t-shirt, and while he should be used to it by now, seeing Giulio out of his usual lycra outfit is something Isaac finds himself having to adjust to every single time. He can see Giulio's hair is still slightly damp, so he's probably fresh out of the shower.
Unlike himself. Isaac had showered before the party with his team though, so it shouldn't be too bad.
When he enters the hotel room properly, a soft tune playing from Giulio's phone catches his attention, the sound mingling perfectly with the dim, cosy lighting throughout the room. Giulio has mostly closed the curtains, leaving a slight peek at the night sky from the couch Isaac plops down on.
He places the bottle of Prosecco on the table in front of the couch, relaxing back in his seat now that the initial greeting is over.
Giulio appears in his peripheral vision, and he lets his gaze follow his friend around as he crosses the room towards the couch, two wine glasses perched expertly between his fingers. Before Isaac has a chance to tease him over it, Giulio breaks the silence himself.
“Thought we'd both be too exhausted to watch any cycling,” he says, carefully beginning to unscrew the cork of the bottle.
With a small smile, Isaac remembers the times they had spent the evening in each other's apartments, watching old races (though can you really call them old if they're mostly from the past decade?) and chatting about nothing, about strategies, about which riders they grew up idolising.
For both of them, of course it was Pogačar, winning his first Tour when they were aged sixteen. But next to that, Isaac remembers the small smile Giulio had when he talked about Damiano Caruso - his countryman. He had talked about watching that Giro of 2021, seeing how Caruso bounced back from losing his leader in the early stages, then two of his most important mountain domestiques, especially Mohorič's horror crash in that descent, to take second in the GC.
In Isaac's case, it had been Alaphilippe, but also that same Slovenian, learning their descending tricks and watching the Milan-San Remo that Mohorič won using the dropper post.
Another cyclist he used to watch as a teen, struggling with his love for cycling and his physical health; Remco Evenepoel. How he recovered from his Il Lombardia crash, returning to the bike and winning the Vuelta not even two years later.
A fond memory bubbles to the surface, the two of them, at l'Avenir not too long ago, away from the others, racing to the finish. Giulio had outsprinted him that day for the stage victory, but Isaac had won the GC (and every other classification along the way).
“Remember l'Avenir?” He utters quietly, eyes closed and leaning his head against the backrest of the couch.
“What about it?” Giulio asks, the couch dipping down beside him as his friend sits down. Isaac reopens his eyes to find Giulio, accepting the outstretched wine glass with a smile and a slight dip of his head.
“Nothing in particular,” he replies, “I just think of that race fondly from time to time.”
“As do I,” his friend responds, face relaxed and open. Isaac is sure his own mirrors that expression, both of them too exhausted from the exertion of the past three weeks to keep their usual guard up.
Having run out of inspiration for something to talk about, Isaac turns to taking little sips of his Prosecco, holding up the glass to admire the colour. “This actually isn't too bad,” he mutters to himself.
Obviously, Giulio overhears him. “Of course it isn't,” he responds fiercely.
Isaac laughs then, a bright and joyous sound, one that makes Giulio feel warm inside.
“I know, I know,” Isaac wheezes when he calms down. “I'm sorry for ‘insulting’ your wine?”
That makes Giulio chuckle, turning into a proper laugh as Isaac yawns loudly, his eyes fluttering close for a moment before he forces them open.
The little bit of alcohol he's had doesn't really affect his senses much, just leaving a very faint buzzing sensation in his limbs. More importantly, it finally removes the barrier in his brain for anything social, leaving him more open and feeling bolder.
Exhaustion is starting to settle in properly now, the comfortable, safe hotel room and the presence of his best friend allowing him to relax completely.
He notices that Giulio is sitting close, close enough for him to-
Isaac drops his forehead on Giulio's shoulder, another yawn forcing its way past his lips.
As soon as he's done yawning, he notices his friend has tensed up.
Maybe I shouldn't have done that.
The fear settles in, and he's close to scooting away and apologising - afraid he has ruined their friendship (even though they definitely hug more often than this, but this feels more special, in the quiet of night in a hotel room) - when Giulio relaxes, running a hand through Isaac's hair.
“Tired?” he asks teasingly.
“Mmmm,” Isaac hums noncommittally.
He lifts his head again when Giulio gently puts his hand underneath his chin, blinking up at his friend sleepily.
“Stay there for a sec,” Giulio murmurs, and as Isaac nods, his chin is released and his friend shifts around, gently taking Isaac's wine glass and placing it on the table next to them along with his own. Then he turns until he's leaning against the arm rest.
Isaac watches him, nerves slowly reigniting as he starts twiddling his fingers.
A small smile and a huff of amusement from Giulio snap him out of it though, his friend grabbing his hand and gently pulling him forward.
“C'mere,” he says softly, barely above a whisper. As if he's afraid that if he talks too loud, they'll break the current tentative atmosphere.
And so, Isaac lets himself be pulled forward, trying to shut off his brain and just listening to his instincts. If it helps him in descents, why not now?
It takes a bit of hesitant, careful movements, but together they manage - as they always do - until Isaac is sitting in Giulio's lap, legs dangling off the edge of the couch.
The Italian returns his hand to Isaac's head, manoeuvring him until he's settled against Giulio's shoulder again, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and hearing his heartbeat drum steadily in his ear.
They sit like that for a moment, both semi-tense and adjusting, waiting with bated breath to see if it's truly okay, until Isaac shifts and yawns again, his exhaustion well and truly beginning to settle in.
In the quiet of a dark hotel room, at the end of what might have been the toughest three weeks of his sporting life, surrounded by the warmth of his best friend, he finally feels free to speak with no limitations.
“Thank you.”
They're the first words to leave his mouth. Of course they are. How many times has he thanked people in the past weeks? How many times has he thanked Giulio specifically?
No matter. He presses on, feeling a need to talk, to fill the quiet with sounds.
“It's strange, isn't it? To be riding alongside our idols now.”
He can feel Giulio nod, his friend inhaling as if to say something, then deciding against it.
So instead, Isaac continues.
“Back when…” he begins, faltering for a moment. “Back when I was a… a small, sick kid, watching cycling on TV… I wasn't even sure if I would make it to adulthood.”
He pauses to yawn, eyes fluttering closed while he does so. He struggles to open them again, fighting sleep.
Meanwhile, Giulio is quiet. He has heard fragments of Isaac's childhood before, aware he had been sick, but he doesn't know if he has heard just how bad it was.
Instead of offering words of comfort, he just hugs Isaac a bit tighter, resting his head in his friend's hair. He plants a small kiss in the mess of fuzz and curls.
If Isaac were to comment on it later, he'd easily be able to play it off. Besides, he's fairly sure Isaac won't say a thing, not one for confrontation and probably not sure if he had hallucinated it.
“But…” another yawn. “Thank you. I'm… so grateful to have a friend like you…”
Isaac trails off, and before Giulio can respond, he hears soft snores coming from the Mexican, his friend finally having fallen asleep.
Giulio exhales slowly, trying to let go of all the stress he has been carrying with him for the past, well, month. He relaxes into the arm rest, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. It's plain, a simple white colour, but now that it's truly getting dark, he can see a single glow in the dark- what, a rocket?, probably left by a kid staying in this room in the past.
Unbidden, a memory resurfaces.
Little Giulio, aged six, is on his first trip abroad. His parents had decided to go to Mexico for the summer. Right now, he's sticking his tongue out, brow furrowed in concentration as he sits on his father's shoulders. He reaches for the ceiling, a small cyclist sticker perched between his fingers. He manages to stick it to the top, a victorious cheer erupting from his throat before he can stop it.
The memory makes a smile come to his face. Would that sticker still be there, like this rocket is here? In Mexico, of all places. He ruffles the hair of his best friend softly.
A crazy thought crosses his head. “Did you leave that rocket here?” He whispers, then shakes his head at the ridiculousness of the thought. There is literally no way.
As he returns his gaze back to his best friend, a shiver runs down his spine, the chilly night air beginning to settle into his joints now that he is no longer moving. His eyes catch on a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and he remembers haphazardly throwing it there in the time between his return and Isaac's arrival.
Well, good thing I left it there, he thinks, grabbing it now and covering the two of them with it.
“It's strange, isn't it? To be riding alongside our idols now.”
Isaac's words re enter his mind, and he huffs a quiet laugh at them. Truthfully, it was weird. He had had a proper conversation with Caruso - Damiano, he reminds himself - just yesterday. They hadn't talked about anything special, but… he had grown up watching this cyclist, and to be able to chat normally with him now? Giulio shakes his head at the absurdity of it, a lopsided smile making its way onto his face.
It widens when he remembers.
You are one of my idols now. That's what Giulio had almost said.
Wow, that would've been embarrassing. Not that it wasn't the truth, but…
Still.
He closes his eyes, memories of the past three weeks flooding his mind. He had started the Giro almost anonymously, only a reporter or two remembering him from last year, when he still rode for a ProTeam. He hadn't been here to perform well himself, only in service of his leader.
Slowly though, people had started picking up that he was riding as well as Roglič. Maybe better, some of them had suggested. Giulio isn't sure about that one.
As for Isaac… he too had started as domestique, riding in service of Ayuso.
Until Siena. Isaac had been allowed to go for the stage by his team after he managed to break away. Giulio remembers Isaac's cry of frustration as he hugged him after the finish, his second place overshadowing the fact he'd gotten the pink.
The maglia rosa. Giulio had jokingly asked Isaac if he could have one, to continue his tradition of collecting UAE pink jerseys. Of course Isaac had given him one without a second thought. It's currently packed securely in his suitcase, ready to be taken home, back to San Marino.
And then both of them had ended up losing their leader, the classification falling to them. And what a job Isaac had done, blowing away everyone's expectations and then some. How close had he gotten to winning his first Giro - his second Grand Tour.
He opens his eyes to look at his friend now, asleep in his arms, and a fond smile draws across his face. Isaac looks so young - despite being less than a week younger than him - and vulnerable. Vulnerable, but not weak. Never weak.
Not even after stage 16, where Isaac had lost over a minute on the other GC guys. Giulio's biggest mistake, in hindsight, would be the fact that he stayed with Primož all the way throughout the first week. Had they known then that Primož was not going to finish, he could've ended up higher in the GC.
But, he shrugs (mentally), would fourth place have made such a big difference from sixth?
Overall, Giulio is happy with his performance - and hopes Isaac is with his own too.
While Isaac looks vulnerable right now, once he gets on his bike it's a whole nother story. He turns into an absolute force of nature, pushing at his pedals with such tremendous power. The way he rides is so achingly familiar to the style of Giulio's idol. Just a younger version. And while Giulio is hoping to pick up some tricks from Isaac during training rides together, he's aware that in years to come he'll likely be unable to follow his friend's wheel as he continues to get stronger, training and being part of the same team as Pogačar.
He ruffles Isaac's hair again, softly, smiling when it causes his friend to nuzzle into his neck, his breath warm against Giulio's skin. He leans back again and closes his eyes, exhaustion settling in very fast.
This Giro was good… ‘m so proud of us…
—
Isaac wakes up a few hours later, slowly regaining consciousness. He blinks a few times, unsure what woke him up.
Gradually, he becomes aware of his surroundings and the feeling in his body. It's dark in the room, and Isaac is laying on his stomach, half on top of Giulio, half cuddled against his side. His cheek is pressed against Giulio's shoulder, held in place by his friend's warm hand in his hair, while his own arm is slung across Giulio's other shoulder, over the armrest of the couch. Their legs are intertwined.
He's warm, comfy and content, and before he can figure out what woke him, he catches his eyes closing again, the sound of their shared heartbeat relaxing and comforting. Isaac doesn't bother trying to fight sleep, certain that if it was important, he would be awoken by it again.
Instead, he gently runs his hand through Giulio's hair a few times, being a bit less shy more bold now that his friend is asleep. His hand falls back into its position over the armrest as he drifts off again.
—
When Giulio wakes up, he's uncomfortably warm. The blanket he had grabbed after Isaac had drifted off is resting low around their waists, but the combined warmth of it and Isaac is overwhelming. His friend always radiates heat, be it after training or during winter - and apparently, even the middle of the night in a hotel room.
At some point throughout the night, Giulio had slid down the armrest. His head is still resting against it, but it causes his neck to be pushed into an awkward, definitely uncomfortable position - however, he doesn't care right now.
Because right now, he's got his arm wrapped around Isaac's torso, resting his hand against his friend's back. The other hand is subconsciously rubbing soft circles on the arm Isaac had thrown over his shoulder, and he can feel the rise and fall of Isaac's chest. His chin is resting in his friend's fluffy, curly hair, and he can still feel the soft buzz from the past week, despite trying to relax. His body has been trained, micromanaged, to be alert and ready to go as soon as he wakes up, which can be a blessing, one that has turned him into an early riser.
The buzz evens out and gets a happier, less adrenaline kick feel when he remembers last night. Watching Isaac on the podium, the sweet smile on his face when Giulio asked him to meet up later, the warm and gentle touches, and… well, whatever had ended them in this position.
It takes a moment for the realisation to sink in, but when it does, Giulio is more than pleased. He's content, the feeling running all the way from his head to his tippy toes and finally allowing the young rider to relax.
So, he gives Isaac another small, soft kiss, this time to his temple. “I'm so proud of you,” he whispers, voice quiet but so loud in the silent room. “You've done so well, so much better than anyone could've asked. You're amazing.”
Then, with a yawn and a very small movement - he doesn't want to wake up Isaac! - to move his neck into a slightly more sustainable location, Giulio can feel the soft embrace of sleep beckoning him again, the warmth no longer an issue.
—
It feels like just a few moments have passed before Giulio opens his eyes again, blinking away sleep. The blanket is now pulled up all the way onto his torso, and his head is resting on a pillow rather than the armrest of the couch. But he notices the missing link instantly - Isaac is gone.
He prides himself in being an early riser, but apparently this time his lack of sleep and his friend had gotten the better of him. Uncertainty settles in his stomach - Is Isaac even still around or did he sneak out back to the UAE hotel while Giulio was still asleep?
Slowly, he feels his limbs wake up enough for him to get up, starting to look around the room before a soft “good morning” from the other end of the room makes him turn his head instantly.
The sight of Isaac leaning against the wall near the window has him relaxing, he's still here! flashing through his head before taking a second, better look at his friend.
He looks well rested, although fidgety - like he's nervous. Giulio can't blame him, there's little butterflies swirling in his stomach too, last night's closeness putting them both on edge now that the cover of night has faded.
Isaac's face is half hidden in shadow, the light streaming into the room giving him a perfect hiding spot. The dawn has his hair turning golden-brown-
Giulio realises he's staring when Isaac laughs. “Morning,” Giulio responds, averting his gaze.
He's so pretty. The thought crosses Isaac's mind before he can stop it. The morning sun shines on his face, highlighting the freckles dusting Giulio's cheeks and making his brown eyes turn amber. It's the whole reason he had taken up the spot by the window here in the first place, although now that he thinks about it - is watching your best friend sleep… creepy?
He groans, bringing his hands to his face to rub at his eyes. Can I just stop thinking for a minute?
Instead, he just blurts the first thing that comes to mind: “Did- yesterday- you-”
Giulio turns back to him with an awkward chuckle. “Take your time, there's no rush.”
You're too damn considerate.
He doesn't speak his thoughts out loud - something he should do more often, he realises.
So, he takes a moment to recalibrate, before slowly trying again. “Yesterday - when you said we weren't drinking all the Prosecco, did you mean in one go or-”
The small smile on Giulio's face has Isaac trailing off. “Are you asking me whether I'm coming over again soon? After we get home?”
“N-no- well, yes- maybe? I mean you don't have to, if you don't want to.”
“Aw, has mister ‘I can blabber to the camera for three hours about cycling’ lost his tongue~?”
Isaac squints playfully at Giulio, who raises his hands in surrender, laughing, the tense atmosphere returning back to their usual comfort zone.
“I'm joking, gioia mia, I'm joking.”
Right after he finishes talking, Giulio notices his slip-up and absolutely wants the ground to swallow him.
‘My joy’, really? Sure, he'd thought about what nickname suited Isaac the most, but he hadn't been intending on using it.
Before Isaac can ask about the Italian, Giulio powers on. “When are you going home, anyway?”
Isaac shrugs, cocking his head sideways with a goopy grin. “Dunno. Probably tonight. Giro's over now,” he pauses, lips thinning into a straight line before he huffs, a small, wry smile making its way onto his face, “which is weird.”
“Yeah…” Giulio murmurs, the realisation sinking in. No more appearing at the start together, riding in the bunch and playing jokes and pranks as if they were on a training ride.
But, he reflects, they will have the quiet and comfort of their normal training routes back. No cameras, press conferences, and reporters overanalysing anything they do or say.
Meanwhile, Isaac is caught in an internal struggle. The responsible side wins the fight, knocking aside his desire to stay here, eat breakfast and curl back up together on the couch again. “I…” he begins reluctantly. “I should probably get back to my team.”
The sentence shreds the blanket that had fallen over them in the night, the harsh reality reappearing with a vengeance.
We can't stay here forever, even if we want to. We're not on the same team. There's a world out there, with expectations and colleagues, one that doesn't stop turning - for nothing and for no one.
The thoughts cut into Isaac like knives, almost shattering his resolve. But he doesn't give in - he can't.
“O-of course.” Giulio's voice is quieter, sadder, and more hesitant than it had been just a few minutes ago, and Isaac realises he needs to put a stop to the gloom before it overwhelms them.
“Hey hey, what are we getting all sad for - it's not the end of the world! Nor the end of our career. Not even the end of the season!” He's blabbering at this point, but it seems to work as the smile reappears on Giulio's face.
“You're right. Why hasn't UAE come looking for their star yet, anyway?”
Isaac huffs a laugh. “Our star is currently on a training camp.”
At this, Giulio rolls his eyes, waving a hand in Isaac's direction. “Their new star. The rising young'un.”
“I don't know,” the Mexican replies honestly, before a memory from the night before gives him an idea. “Rafał must've kept them at bay for now.”
“Why would he do that?” Giulio asks, eyebrows raising in surprise.
It causes Isaac to chuckle, quickly describing what happened last night. Giulio nods, the situation aligning with the image he already had of Pogačar's retainer.
He stretches his neck, letting out a soft whine when it causes his muscles to protest, a grimace making its way onto his face. Before he even has a chance to blink, Isaac is there, reaching out and massaging the muscles in Giulio's neck, arms leaning on Giulio's shoulders for support.
Isaac gives Giulio an apologetic grin. “Sorry, this is totally my fault,” he says quietly. Giulio gives him a lopsided smile in return.
“Not really. I could've picked a more comfortable location.” He hesitates, then powers on before he can think better of it. “It was worth it anyway. Got the best night's rest I've had this past month.”
“I'm glad,” Isaac responds, finishing and pulling his hands back, although he trails his right one past Giulio's cheek softly.
The gentle, tentative atmosphere is broken by Isaac's phone starting to ring. He sighs, turning around and glancing at the caller ID.
“Rafał,” he offers as explanation without even seeing the question on Giulio's face. Instead of answering, he lets the phone finish ringing before typing out a quick text.
‘Will be back soon. Thanks for covering for me.’
Then, with his back still turned, he whispers, “I guess it's really over…”
Giulio nods, even though Isaac can't see it. “It is,” he affirms quietly.
With another sigh, Isaac turns around and gives Giulio a small smile. “I gotta go.”
“That you do. We'll see each other tonight though, won't we?”
“Of course.” The thought makes the journey ahead easier, knowing that they won't be apart for too long.
Even so, Isaac lingers. He slides his phone into his pocket, grabbing his bottle of Prosecco and sauntering towards the door. Instead of just walking out, which would've been the easy, fast solution, he turns back around to face Giulio, who had walked with him to the door.
He can see the same reluctance in his friend's eyes, unwillingness to close the curtains on an unforgettable experience for both of them.
Isaac runs a hand down his face. He can do this - of course he can, he's used to spending days, weeks, away from Giulio. But last night is still fresh in his mind, and the relaxation, the comfort and warmth, the ease of it all, is making it hard to leave. He hasn't relaxed as well in what feels like a year.
So, he places his bottle down beside him on a little shelf, and pulls Giulio close for a hug. Without a moment's hesitation, Isaac can feel his friend's hands gripping his back tightly. They don't speak, they don't need to.
Soon enough the moment is over, and Isaac has to pull himself away when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He grabs the bottle, opens the door, and steps out into the hallway.
Giulio follows, standing at the entrance and watching his friend walk a few steps before he turns around once more.
“I'll see you soon, mi sol.” The sentence is accompanied by a wink, and then Isaac is off, almost skipping down the hallway.
—
The journey home is fast and hectic, as it always is when you're travelling with an entire team, most of whom live in different cities and countries, and before Isaac knows it, he's almost there.
His phone vibrates again, a text from Giulio popping onto the screen.
Already home, how long until you get here?
Isaac laughs and walks around the corner instead of answering. The apartment building looms in front of him, and as much as the sight of his home, after a long month away, lifts his spirits, nothing makes the smile on his face grow into a grin as much as the sight of his best friend.
Giulio is leaning against the wall near the main entrance, his head tilted upwards slightly as he studies the night sky. His phone rests in his hand, the screen still on, and as Isaac walks closer he can see it's open on a texting window.
Probably ours, he guesses. He debates sneaking up on his friend but decides against it. Instead, he unlocks his own phone, opens the notification from Giulio, and sends a quick ‘Hey.’
The notification sound on Giulio's phone has him snorting, instantly ruining his surprise as his friend glances at him instead.
But how could he not, when it's literally his own voice whining ‘Giuuuu.’
“Couldn't-”
“Is that-”
They start at the same time before instantly shutting up again. Isaac gestures for Giulio to go first, who flashes him a goofy grin. “Couldn't even say ‘hello’ yourself, no, you had to do it through text?”
Isaac shrugs, chuckling. “Why be normal when you can be unique?”
And then pretends he doesn't hear Giulio's muttered “And unique you definitely are.”
Instead he asks, “Do you use that notification in general or-”
The question has a blush rising to Giulio's cheeks, who quickly waves his hands. “No! No of course not! I- um…” he trails off, suddenly a lot quieter than before. “It's only for our chat - so I can hear when you're demanding something again.” He says the last part with a smile and a little peep of his tongue.
Isaac scoffs. “Well- alright then,” he responds, crossing his arms. “Am I really that annoying?” He means to ask the question teasingly, but he realises there's a layer of genuine curiosity underneath. Fear, perhaps. He doesn't want to be overbearing.
“Nah,” Giulio seems to understand his anxiety, and instead of teasing, he is now reassuring. “I don't think you could ever be. Maybe for others, but… not for me.”
They lapse into silence, but it's a comfortable one. Isaac walks over to stand beside Giulio, leaning against the wall and following his gaze to the sky. A cool wind blows past, but it's refreshing rather than cold. Isaac closes his eyes, inhaling deeply and feeling the tension drain out of his muscles.
It gives Isaac a moment to think. How much things had changed in the past year, year and a half. Sure, after the Tour de l'Avenir people had started paying attention to him, but he wouldn't have been the first cyclist to win there and have that be it. Getting no more wins after that, no prominence on the big screen, just a regular domestique.
How wrong had the critics been. His first WorldTour stage victory at the Tour Down Under in January last year had shown that he could improve, and was doing so at a fast pace. Then after watching Tadej win the Giro and the Tour, he was already allowed to participate in his first Grand Tour, La Vuelta. While he hadn't played a major role there, it had helped him learn the ropes of the sport at the highest level.
And then there was - well, the past month. Getting second in the GC, winning the Young Rider's classification, and taking home a stage victory? He still can't quite believe it. Can't wrap his head around his performance here, or how fast the past two years have gone. How rapidly he has been improving.
The quiet is broken by Isaac’s stomach rumbling loudly, and it causes Giulio to burst out laughing, the Italian bending over while Isaac just stares at him.
“Is it that funny?” He asks in the most deadpan voice he can manage, trying to keep his smile in check at the sight of his best friend.
“W-well-” Giulio chokes out, wheezing. “No- it's just-” he pauses as another fit of giggles erupts from his mouth. Isaac just watches him, amused but definitely confused.
Right when he thinks Giulio is calming down, his stomach rumbles again, albeit a bit quieter this time. It still catches in the sensitive ears of his friend though, and he lets out one more loud laugh before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath while he struggles to reform his face into a neutral state.
“Alright, alright, I'm sorry. It's been a long day,” Giulio begins. “It's just- we were standing here so quietly, thinking our thoughts, and then just-” he gestures with his hands, trying to find a word.
“Dino?” Isaac supplies.
“Yeah. Basically.”
Thinking about it, Isaac can't blame Giulio for his reaction. It was sudden.
Understanding it didn't fix the issue at hand though; apparently he hadn't eaten enough during dinner with some of his teammates earlier on their way back.
Giulio must've reached the same conclusion, because before Isaac can even say anything, his thoughts get cut off by a soft “Want to grab a bite?”
Isaac nods without hesitation, wanting nothing more. After a second though, a thought hits him. “If there’s any place even open at-” he checks his phone, “eleven in the night.”
Opposite of him, Giulio shrugs. “I dunno,” he says, returning his attention to his phone, which had been left forgotten in his hands. Unlocking the screen, his eyes flicker up to see Isaac staring at him. With a small lopsided smile, he gestures to Isaac’s luggage with his chin. “Go. I’ll look for a place while you put your stuff away.”
I’d almost forgotten about that. It’s not completely true - the weight of his bag slung over his shoulder is constant, but at some point he had gotten used to it. So Isaac nods, repositioning his bag to his other shoulder and grabbing his suitcase. On his way to the door he bumps his shoulder against Giulio’s, murmuring “I’ll see you in a sec.”
As he waits for the elevator, the familiar surroundings sink into his very being, a level of relaxation hitting him that he hadn't realised was missing. He had loved being on the Giro, every second of it had been amazing, from the beautiful views and cities all the way to spending weeks with his teammates and friends in the peloton. But, he reflects, nothing beats the feeling of home.
The elevator dings and the door slides open, and Isaac rolls his suitcase inside before pressing the ‘2’, watching as it lights up. He stretches as the doors close, and when he's done they reopen; this time on his floor.
He walks down the gallery, stopping in front of his own door. While he fumbles with his keys, he glances over the railing at Giulio down below. His friend is peering at his phone as he scrolls through pages. Isaac can't read them from here, but he's fairly certain Giulio is still looking for an open restaurant. He grimaces, this might not be as easy as it sounds. Then again, he reasons with himself, there's bound to be some place open at this time - even if it's a slightly less healthy option. What the team doesn't know won't hurt ‘em.
He opens the door to his apartment and is greeted by the sight of home. It's slightly messy, as it was when he left it, but it's his. The hallway with the bedroom on his left and the bathroom on his right, the bike poster Giulio has teased him about countless of times already. All the tiny knick-knacks scattered around his apartment, all the details that make it into his home.
Before he gets too distracted though, he quickly drops off his luggage, taking a few essentials out of his bag - a small snack and his phone charger, specifically, and heads back out, making sure to close the door behind him.
Isaac steps outside, just a minute later, to a very excited Giulio. “I've found a place!” He exclaims before Isaac can say anything. Without saying anything, the Mexican moves towards his friend, cocking his head back in a silent question.
“Look at this,” Giulio continues, practically shoving his phone in Isaac's face. He looks at the pictures, fairly impressed.
“That doesn't look too bad,” he replies, glancing at Giulio from the corner of his eye.
His friend nods along, swiping to show Isaac a few more pictures of the place. Okay, so it's mainly a fast food restaurant, but they've got some other options too - some of the local specialities, some pastas, even a simple salad.
He must've subconsciously made an impressed noise, because Giulio lets out a soft laugh next to him. “Pretty good, right?” The Italian says proudly, “and at walking distance too.”
“What devil did you sell your soul to for such a good deal?” Isaac asks jokingly, nudging Giulio with his shoulder.
“Ahhh…” his friend responds, pretending to think for a moment. “Multiple, probably. No way I would've ended up here otherwise.”
The statement has Isaac chuckling as Giulio pockets his phone, and the two fall in side-by-side as they walk down the road.
The walk to the restaurant is quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts as the familiar surroundings start to settle back in. Isaac can see Giulio's shoulders lowering and his back and arms relaxing, the Italian flexing his fingers a couple of times to let the tension drain out of them.
They arrive at the restaurant within minutes, the neon lights on the panel above the door bright in the darkness surrounding the building. Through the window, Isaac can see an elderly gentleman standing behind the counter, his eyes flicking to his watch every few seconds.
Isaac can relate. He's been there before - back before he could spend all his time riding his bike he'd had a part time job at a grocery store. Near closing time, he'd be unable to keep his eyes from the clock on the wall opposite of his register. It had been hell, to put it plainly.
Now, he approaches the door, holding it open for Giulio to enter first with a wink and a flourish, and he smirks at the hint of red dusting his friend's cheeks. As much as he loves riding his bike, nothing can beat the sheer joy of teasing his friends - as long as he knows they're okay with it.
Once he too steps inside, the gentleman behind the counter brightens, the potential of customers seemingly completely erasing his boredom. “Good evening!” He greets them cheerily.
They return the greetings politely, quickly turning their attention to the menu above the counter. Isaac's eyes are pulled to the burgers, the chicken, specifically. But no, he tells himself, he shouldn't.
Before he has a chance to look at the other options, Giulio swings an arm over his shoulders. “Two chicken burgers, one without onion, and two bottles of water, please,” he orders without breaking a sweat.
“Of course, coming right up!” The gentleman responds, a smile breaking out onto his face. “Feel free to pick any seat you would like, we have space,” he continues, laughing and gesturing at the empty restaurant.
Meanwhile, Isaac can't help but stare at Giulio. “Is this smart?” He hisses at his friend, who just gives him a look of fake annoyance, tugging Isaac through the restaurant with the arm still slung across his shoulders.
“Maybe if you don't want me to order something you so clearly desire, you shouldn't stare at it so obviously,” he replies. “Besides, what's one burger going to do? It's not like you always obediently stick to the food rules yourself.”
Instead of giving Isaac a chance to answer, Giulio plops down on a couch near the window, yanking on Isaac's arm to pull him down too.
Isaac lands awkwardly, sitting on the couch, yes, but because of the force Giulio applied he has crashed into his friend's shoulder, only just avoiding knocking their heads together.
“Careful,” Giulio says innocently, using just his fingertips to push Isaac's head away from his own. Although he has to stop himself from running his hand through Isaac's hair while he's there. He can't help that he's tempted - his friend's hair is so soft and fluffy. But they're in public, and it feels too affectionate for just two friends hanging out. The thought causes a slight twinge of discomfort and disappointment to flash through him, but Giulio refuses to linger on it.
He doesn't realise he's spaced out until Isaac is snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Giu.”
“Sorry, sorry, what were you saying?”
Isaac huffs, rolling his eyes in fake annoyance. “It's nothing - what got you distracted?”
You. “Mmm, not much.” He searches for an excuse. “I was thinking about the Giro. And… you said it yourself. It's weird that the Giro is over. But honestly, being back home nearly feels weirder. Almost as if…” he trails off, unable to finish the thought.
But Isaac knows what he was going to say.
Almost as if it never happened.
“Like it was just a dream,” Giulio whispers, barely audible. Isaac finds himself nodding, the summary all too accurate now that they're home. The usual surroundings of their training rides together are already settling in over the memories of unfamiliar roads in Italy, ridden in a full peloton.
But the bond, the shared memories, the trophy, the jerseys and the plushies tell a different story, and Isaac is sure that once he returns home to unpack properly and see his acquired souvenirs, it'll settle in for real.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “It's unreal. How did I get second?”
The grin that appears on Giulio's face says it all. “Because you're strong. Stronger than you think, biscottino.”
The unfamiliar word has Isaac quiet for a moment, and at that moment the door to the kitchen opens and the owner of the establishment returns with their orders.
He places the plates on the table in front of them, holding out the bottles of water that Giulio accepts for them both with an easy smile.
“Enjoy your meal, signori,” the gentleman says, giving them a kind smile before returning to his post behind the counter.
Isaac's eyes follow him as he ambles through the restaurant, the joy of serving customers clear in every step. When he returns his gaze to Giulio, he sees his friend staring at him. “What?” He asks, feeling a smile growing on his face.
“You looked like you were thinking something.”
“Just thinking that he seems really nice. And that it feels like he loves his job.”
The statement broadens Giulio's smile. “Well, that makes three of us.”
“Yep!” Isaac agrees, picking up his burger before quickly placing it down and switching their plates around.
Giulio laughs when he sees it, and the very slight disgusted frown on Isaac's mouth. “Did he get them wrong?” He asks teasingly, well aware of the answer.
“Well, duh.” There it is. And then he goes and rants about onions.
So Giulio leans his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand, picks up his burger with his other hand, and waits.
“I mean, who - no disrespect to you - but who even puts onions on burgers? It ruins the whole taste. And then fast food places can't even agree on whether it should be baked with the burger or raw, so no.”
When he sees the amusement in Giulio's eyes, Isaac huffs before bursting out laughing. “You saw that coming, didn't you?”
The imperceptible nod has Isaac snorting. “I'm too predictable. This is bad for future races.”
They eat in relative silence, both too hungry to interrupt their meal with idle chatter. Usually when they meet up for dinner like this they'll talk about their respective training or races, but seeing as they've spent the last three weeks together, there is no catching up that needs doing.
Isaac finishes his food first, shoving the last part of his burger into his mouth and devouring it in two bites. He then leans back against the couch, unscrewing his bottle cap and taking a long gulp.
“You eat too quickly.” The statement is half muffled by Giulio taking a bite from his half-remaining burger, his friend playfully glaring at Isaac over it. “You should savour it more, ‘t's good food.”
“There are more ways to appreciate good food, and besides, I was a bit too hungry,” Isaac retorts, the grin that feels like it's ever-present around Giulio creeping onto his face again.
His friend swallows his food, taking a sip from his bottle before gracing Isaac with a response. “We'll have to come back sometime then, I suppose.”
Isaac brightens at that. The owner seems really pleasant, the food really is good (he had noticed that, thank you very much!), and it's close to their home, not to mention - “It's easy to add in with a training ride, too.”
Giulio nods, the thought had occurred to him too. He finishes off the remainder of his burger, relishing the taste before gently nudging Isaac. “Should we head home?” He asks.
His friend's long, drawn-out sigh has him smirking, nudging him a bit harder. “It's past midnight by now. We have to get back to training soon enough.”
“I hate how everything you say always makes perfect, logical sense.” The mutter is one that might not have been meant for his ears, but Giulio can't help but chuckle.
“Well, someone has to be the sensible one.”
Isaac elbows him in the ribs for that, which is fair. Still, it finally makes the Mexican get up, the two of them picking up their plates and water bottles before making their way to the counter. “Thank you for the food, it was delicious,” Giulio tells the owner, handing him the plates when he extends his hands.
“I'm glad, signori. It's a joy to feed any customer, but especially ones that seem to enjoy it so thoroughly makes it worth it,” he laughs while placing the plates behind him, ready to take them into the kitchen.
He wouldn't have been such a bad boss to work under. The thought hits Giulio quietly but suddenly. If I didn't manage to get a WorldTour contract, this could've been a nice place to make money.
“Well, I definitely think we'll be returning here,” Giulio tells him, leaning his arm on Isaac's shoulder while he grabs his phone to pay. He shoots Isaac a mischievous side-eye, then grins and returns his attention to the gentleman in front of them, who is absolutely beaming.
“It would be my pleasure to serve you again, signori.”
Giulio smiles at him, paying their bill and thanking him again before they make their way outside. Once there, he stretches, letting out a long yawn in the process.
“Soo…” he begins, “why do you always let me do the talking? I don't think that gentleman has heard you say a single word.”
Isaac shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and giving Giulio a small smile. “You're better at being polite. I've never really learned that well, so I can be a bit insensitive sometimes, whereas you're… literally Italian so…” he trails off, giving another helpless shrug.
“It's in my blood, is what you're trying to say?”
“Yeah, basically that.”
They're quiet for a bit longer, before Giulio can tell by the way Isaac's steps falter that there's something on his mind. And so, he isn't even surprised when Isaac, without so much as a verbal clue, blurts, “What happened to me paying for dinner?”
The question causes Giulio to laugh, throwing his head back. Isaac can only stare and listen. It's a mesmerising sound, melodic and yet so powerful. Much like Giulio himself - a delicate soul, placed in a very strong body.
When the Italian finishes, he returns his grin to Isaac. “I felt it wasn't fair to ask, since you didn't win the Giro. And I was the one ordering the food.”
Before Isaac can decide whether to thank him or to tease him, Giulio's grin turns into a mischievous one. “But I didn't say anything about our planned dinner next week. You're still paying for that one.”
“Aw, you won't even throw me a bone, will you?” Isaac fake-pouts, laughing all the while.
Giulio cannot help the ‘why is he so cute?’ that flashes through his brain. He physically shakes his head to clear it, deciding that thought is a concern for later.
“Of course you wouldn't.” And of course Isaac misunderstands his headshake. Oh well.
A silence falls over them for only a few short moments before they already find themselves back at their apartment building. Giulio lets out a big yawn, blinking in rapid succession to try and fight the sleepiness, while on his left it's Isaac's turn to stretch, the Mexican lifting his arms above his head and grabbing his elbows in turn.
“Whew, what a day it's been,” Isaac says, grabbing his keys and easily distinguishing the main door's. He opens it and steps aside to let Giulio enter, following right behind as they make their way to the stairs.
Only once they're halfway up to the second floor does Giulio answer him. “It has been.” His voice is soft, perhaps a bit melancholic.
It makes Isaac realise that their night is almost over, and they'll both return to the quiet of their own apartments - and more importantly, away from each other.
Before he has time to dwell on it, they're already at Giulio's door, and the Italian makes quick work of unlocking and opening it. He doesn't instantly step inside though, lingering hesitantly in the hallway.
Isaac can't blame him. The way his mind and body relax so easily around his best friend are reason enough to want to stay here. And when he closes his eyes, he can still feel the warmth of their sleepy previous night. How comfortable it had been to sleep in Giulio's arms.
He goes to open his eyes, but finds that it's a bigger struggle than he had anticipated, the exhaustion well and truly back. Before he can try again, he hears a muttered curse and feels a pair of arms wrap around him. Giulio's head lands on his shoulder, and Isaac instinctively returns the embrace, one arm resting on his friend's lower back, the other one draped over his shoulders as he rests his cheek on Giulio's head.
“I hate this.” It's muttered so softly that Isaac almost doesn't catch it. He hums questioningly, curious. “I hate that I feel like- I-”
When Giulio pauses, conflicted on what he wants to say, Isaac tries to fill in the blanks for him. “Like you're going to fall apart if I'm not around?” At Giulio's small nod, Isaac lets out a soft, relieved chuckle. “Because I feel the same,” he says.
“You do?” Giulio's voice is still soft, but filled with something else - relief? Hope? He shifts his head so that instead of his forehead, it's his chin that rests on Isaac's shoulder. Isaac finally cracks open an eye to meet the gaze of his best friend. He nods.
“I do. And it feels stupid. Because…” Now it's his turn to struggle with his words. “We… We were fine before the Giro, so why now?”
“I think…” Giulio begins, then squints thoughtfully, “I think it might be because of the Giro and everything we went through together. The mountains, the flat stages, the crashes,” Isaac's mind instantly flashes back to Giulio's barrier crash on stage 19, “the ups and the downs.”
And how far they had fallen down, after first reigning supreme and making jokes about the post-Giro winners dinner, to the Finestre stage… and everything that entailed.
“That's bound to make you closer, no? And also more vulnerable for a while, mentally and emotionally.”
“You're too smart,” Isaac replies, a small smile on his lips.
Giulio instantly protests, the smile on his face matching Isaac's. “I'm not smart, I just think too much.”
“Okay, that's fair,” Isaac laughs, burying his own face in his friend's shoulder. He sighs, thinking about Giulio's words. They made sense. I don't want to let you go. He's careful not to speak his thoughts out loud, not wanting to make this harder than it already is.
So instead, he just hugs Giulio that bit tighter before pulling away. He forces the grin back onto his face. “It's just a night, isn't it? We'll see each other for training again tomorrow.”
“Yeah, of course we will,” Giulio smiles back. Isaac knows he should step back, but instead he just leans forward once more, gently touching their foreheads together.
“See ya tomorrow,” he whispers.
Giulio's smile returns to being genuine then. “Good night Isaac,” he whispers back.
“Good night Giu.”
Then, the moment is over and Giulio is pulling away, turning around briskly and entering his apartment. He offers just a tiny wave over his shoulder before he closes the door.
Isaac stands there for a moment, quietly. He turns around to look out over the nightly view of the city, allowing his emotions and nerves to relax. A cold breeze whisking past has him adjusting his plans as he shivers - first go inside, then calm down his rapidly beating heart.
He turns back around, a soft smile forcing its way onto his face at the sight of Giulio's door, and it widens when he reaches his own. Home.
—
Giulio exhales shakily once he closes the door, leaning back against it for a moment. “Dammit,” he mutters, running his hands down his face. If he hadn't been such a coward, he could've… could've what, exactly? What is it that he wants, that he feels, when it's about Isaac del Toro?
In hindsight, he feels guilt wash over him at his action of fleeing into his apartment and ruining the fragile moment, but he realises now that he was scared. Because he doesn't know what he wants. Where he wants this to go.
He can still feel the warmth of the hug, it lingers around him as a protective layer, chasing away any and all bad thoughts. And as he stands there, he can feel his eyes close, drowsiness taking over his body and making him feel sluggish.
If he feels the need to, he can apologise for basically ditching Isaac outside tomorrow, but for now, he really just needs to get some sleep.
And figure out what Isaac means to him, exactly.
—
Isaac opens the door to his apartment to exactly the same view as it had been before, his suitcase still standing abandoned right in the hallway. He turns and closes the door quietly, with more care than he usually might have, because he's definitely aware of the time of night.
Leaving his suitcase and the rest of his apartment as it is for tonight, he quickly walks over to his bedroom, collapsing onto his bed with a sigh and a groan. He's exhausted, mentally and physically.
But a stupid grin creeps onto his face again, remembering the events of the past, what, thirty-ish hours? His ultimate defeat in the Giro is still fresh on his mind, but the pain of it has been soothed by everything that has happened since.
The sheer joy he gets from being around Giulio, racing with him, laughing and cracking jokes, but also their softer moments, like the hug they had shared just outside the door.
Now, in the quiet of his bedroom, Isaac doesn't know what he feels for Giulio, exactly. But that's okay - they'll figure it out. Of course they will. They always do.
Because they're them. Together, they can do anything.