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“Don’t think you’re the new Tadej Pogačar.”
Giulio’s teasing words from the previous days echo in his head as he crosses the finish, head hanging low.
“I’m aware,” Isaac mumbles.
Just because he’d done well in the Giro so far - limiting his time losses in the first eight stages, finishing second and taking the maglia rosa in Siena - didn’t mean he was going to win the race.
He’d hoped though. Especially as they had gotten closer towards the third week, still in pink. Especially after his stage win (in pink!) on stage 17. After yesterday, it had been just one more day of defending, following attacks by Carapaz - and Yates, apparently, he thinks wryly - and then he’d have done it. He would’ve been the third youngest winner of the Giro.
But no. At some point during the stage, he’d gotten so caught up in watching Carapaz that he didn’t respond when Yates went. His fatal mistake.
Giulio will tease him about it, he is sure. Stopping next to the fence, he turns to look for the white jersey of his friend. Before he even has a chance to find him, a clap on his back and a gentle nudge against his shoulder tell him that Giulio has found him instead.
“Hey, Torito,” his friend’s voice is soft, comforting. “You tried your hardest, it’s not your fault.”
Isaac looks up then, Giulio returning his gaze steadily, pride shining in his eyes.
“Guess I really am not a tiny Pogi, huh?”
Giulio hears the self loathing in Isaac’s voice. Refusing to let him wallow in his misery, he brings Isaac close for a hug. “You don’t have to be. Yet. Or ever. He’s one of a kind.”
He’d know. Giulio had tried his best last year during the Giro, that stage 16, to stay ahead of his idol. To no avail. But he’d gotten the glasses and maglia rosa of Tadej Pogačar.
Isaac makes a noise of distress, then huffs before muttering “I could’ve done it.”
“You don’t know that. Say you would’ve stayed together for another 5k, and they would’ve been repeatedly attacking you, could you have followed the decisive move then? What about 10k?”
“But-”
Giulio doesn’t let him finish. He pulls Isaac back, looking right at his face. His friend looks away. “Torito, look at me.”
Slowly, he turns back.
“Tadej Pogačar is one of a kind. That Tour he won when he was our age - a bit older even - he didn’t have to defend the yellow for ten stages prior. He was the attacker. You’ve done well. You did everything you could’ve. And you’re second! Second,” he pauses to shake Isaac’s shoulders to hopefully let it sink in. “Second in the GC of the Giro d’Italia. You’ve beaten everyone’s expectations. You weren’t supposed to even be the GC contestant for UAE. And look where you are now.”
Isaac opens his mouth to protest, then pauses, opens it again, and shuts it. He closes his eyes, allowing Giulio’s words to sink in. He can tell that upset feeling is still there - as it had every right to be! - but, he reasons, if someone had told him before the Giro he’d be finishing in Rome second in the GC, he would’ve laughed at them. What about Ayuso? He’d have asked.
“Torito, second.”
With just those two words, Isaac feels the disappointment shift to a feeling of pride. Giulio squeezes the back of his neck supportingly, and he lifts his gaze to meet his friend’s.
“I got second in the Giro.”
“That you did.”
Feeling a grin creeping onto his face, Isaac turns to the reporters crowding around them. He throws his arm across Giulio’s shoulders, knowing instinctively, as the cameras flash, that they are matching equally goofy grins.
“Only one man was stronger than you,” Giulio whispers.
“And only a couple were stronger than you. You finished in the top ten too,” Isaac reminds him.
Both of them had lost their leader, but they had managed to perform well themselves. At 21, they couldn’t complain.
“Thanks Giu.”
“We are getting dinner next week, right?”
“Of course. But it won’t be my treat,” Isaac turns his grin back to his friend.
Giulio shakes his head, a grin still present on his face as well. “Then if I win the Giro next year, you’re paying.”
“Wha- that’s not even- that’s not how it works!”
He knocks their helmets together, bouncing off harmlessly.
“Alright then, if you win the Giro next year, you’re paying.” Giulio retorts innocently.
“Yeah that sounds- WAIT!” Isaac manages to catch himself at the last moment. “Why you little!”
The two devolve into giggles, barely holding each other and their bikes upright.
He may not have won the Giro, but he showed the world his capabilities and had fun doing it.
He’s proud of himself, even if it still stings a bit for now.