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They sit outside because neither of them feels like going back in yet, even though it’s January and Spain is doing that thing where the air gets deceptively cold as soon as the sun disappears, like it’s punishing you for assuming it would stay friendly all evening.
The bench is one of those wooden ones that looks permanent but probably isn’t, pushed up against a low wall, the hotel lights behind them too bright, the training camp quiet in that exhausted way that only exists after dinner when everyone’s already mentally horizontal.
Victor stretches his legs out, ankles crossed. “Tomorrow’s endurance again, right?”
“Yeah,” Matteo says. “Long. Like, annoyingly long.”
Victor snorts. “As opposed to the fun kind of long.”
“There is a fun kind,” Matteo says immediately. “Sometimes.”
Victor turns his head a little. “You’re lying to yourself.”
“Okay, yeah, maybe. But still. I don’t mind it. It’s January. That’s what it’s for.”
Victor hums, considering that. “January is for suffering quietly so July doesn’t kill you.”
“That should be on a shirt.”
“Team-issued,” Victor says. “We all get one.”
Matteo laughs, leans back on his hands, looking up at the dark sky. “It’s weird though.”
“What is?”
“This year. I don’t know. It feels… clearer.”
Victor waits. He’s good at that.
“Like,” Matteo continues, rolling his shoulders, “roles-wise. You know? No guessing. No pretending we don’t know what’s coming.”
Victor nods. “Yeah. That part is nice.”
“Right? I like that.” Matteo glances at him. “I really like that.”
They sit with that for a moment, the distant clatter of someone dropping cutlery inside, a laugh floating out and dissolving before it reaches them.
“So,” Victor says. “Superdomestiques.”
Matteo grins. “Sounds kind of fake, doesn’t it.”
“Sounds like marketing.”
“Yeah. Like they’re going to sell us as action figures.”
Victor chuckles. “What would yours do?”
“Mine?” Matteo thinks. “Probably just… pull. Like, endlessly. No special tricks. Just vibes.”
“Just vibes,” Victor repeats. “Dangerous.”
“What about you.”
“Mine would come with braidable hair,” Victor says. “Long and beautiful.”
“I believe that.”
Victor bumps his knee lightly against Matteo’s. “But yeah. It’s fine. I mean, we’ve both done it before. Just… more of it now.”
“Yeah,” Matteo says. “And for a whole season.”
“That’s usually how seasons work.”
“No, I mean-” Matteo waves a hand. “You know what I mean. Like, really committing to it.”
Victor tilts his head. “You weren’t committed before?”
“I was,” Matteo says quickly. “Obviously. I just - this feels different.”
“How?”
Matteo shrugs. “Clearer. More focused.”
Victor smiles faintly. “You’re very intense in January.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Victor says. “You always do this. Training camp hits and suddenly everything is The Vision.”
“Okay, but this time it actually is.”
“Mhm.”
Matteo laughs again, but he doesn’t deny it. He picks at the seam of his jacket, then says, “I just think it’s cool, you know. To really go all-in.”
“On the team.”
“Yeah. On the team.” He pauses, then adds, casually, “On Jonas.”
Victor doesn’t react. It’s an easy thing to say. Normal. Expected, even.
“He’s in a good place,” Victor says. “You can tell.”
“Yeah,” Matteo says immediately. “You can. He’s - yeah.”
The enthusiasm is unremarkable, still well within acceptable teammate parameters.
“I mean,” Matteo continues, “he’s always been good, obviously, but right now it just feels like… I don’t know. Like he knows exactly what he wants to do.”
Victor nods. “Confidence helps.”
“It does,” Matteo says. “And it helps us too. Like, knowing what you’re riding for.”
Victor glances at him. “You always knew.”
“Yeah, but now it’s clearer. It’s not abstract. It’s not ‘the leader’ or ‘the GC guy.’ It’s Jonas.”
Victor leans back, looking up at the hotel windows. “I guess that makes it easier, in a way.”
“Exactly,” Matteo says. “Like, when you’re hurting, it helps if you can picture something specific.”
Victor smiles slightly. “Is that what you picture.”
Matteo turns his head. “What.”
“Something specific.”
Matteo thinks for half a second. “I mean - yeah. Kind of.”
Victor raises an eyebrow, amused. “You’re very honest.”
“What,” Matteo says. “Don’t you.”
“Sometimes.”
“See.”
They fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that doesn’t need filling but often gets filled anyway.
“I just think he deserves it,” Matteo says after a bit.
“Deserves what.”
“Everything,” Matteo says, a little too easily. Then he laughs, like he’s aware that sounds like a lot. “I mean - success. A good season. Support.”
Victor nods. “Fair.”
“And I like being part of that,” Matteo adds. “Like, actually part of it. Not just… there.”
“You are part of it,” Victor says.
“I know,” Matteo says. “I just - yeah.”
Victor pulls his jacket tighter. “You’re not cold?”
Matteo shrugs. “A bit. It’s fine.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is if you don’t think about it too much.”
Victor snorts. “You’re very bad at not thinking about things.”
Matteo grins, then sighs, the sound longer than it needs to be, like he’s been saving it. “I was looking at the race calendar earlier.”
“Ah,” Victor says. “Dangerous activity.”
“Yeah, well.” Matteo scratches at his jaw. “It’s just… weird.”
Victor waits. Again.
“I mean, I knew it already,” Matteo says. “Obviously. We all did. But seeing it laid out like that-”
“Like what?”
“Like,” Matteo gestures vaguely in front of him, like the calendar is floating there. “There’s a lot of races without him.”
Victor blinks. “Without who?”
Matteo looks at him. “Jonas.”
“Yeah,” Victor says slowly. “That’s always the case for most of us.”
“I know,” Matteo says. “I’m not stupid. It’s just - this year it feels different.”
“How.”
Matteo shifts on the bench, his knee bouncing now. “Because the Tour is… the Tour. And that’s where I’m riding with him. And everything else is just… not that.”
Victor watches the movement of Matteo’s leg for a second before answering. “You’ll still be racing.”
“Yeah,” Matteo says. “But not with him.”
Victor lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “You make it sound like a tragedy.”
“It’s not,” Matteo says immediately. “I’m not saying that. I’m just-”
“You’re just.”
“I’m just noticing I have little time with him this year,” Matteo insists. “That’s all.”
Victor hums. “You’ll survive some races without Jonas Vingegaard.”
Matteo laughs, a little too sharp. “I know that.”
“Do you.”
“Yes.”
“You sound convinced.”
“I am,” Matteo says, then pauses. “I mean. I think.”
Victor tilts his head. “You know I’m basically with him all year, right.”
“Yeah,” Matteo says, too quickly. “I know.”
“That’s not a complaint,” Victor adds, lightly. “Just a fact.”
“No, I know,” Matteo says again, and now he’s smiling, but it’s the kind that comes half a second late. “That’s great. For you.”
Victor raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“Yeah,” Matteo says. “Of course. You and him - like, it makes sense. You’re perfect for that.”
“That sounds suspiciously like flattery.”
“It’s just true,” Matteo says. “You’re steady. You’re calm. You don’t panic. Jonas likes that.”
Victor looks at him. “You think Jonas doesn’t like you.”
Matteo scoffs. “No. That’s not - no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Because that’s what it sounded like.”
Matteo frowns, considering that. “I just mean- you get more time with him. Like, naturally.”
Victor watches his face carefully now, the way Matteo’s eyes keep flicking away when he talks, like he’s checking something in the dark.
“That’s just how the schedule works,” Victor says. “It’s not personal.”
“I know,” Matteo says. “I’m not jealous.”
Victor doesn’t say anything.
“I’m really not,” Matteo adds. “It’s fine. It’s actually good. Because it means when I am there, it matters more.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it.”
“Right?” Matteo perks up a little. “Like, I don’t want to be around him all the time. That would be - too much.”
Victor coughs, the sound suspiciously like he’s swallowing a laugh. “Would it.”
“Yes,” Matteo says, firmly. “I’d get annoying.”
Victor bites his lip. “You’re already annoying.”
“Wow.”
“I’m kidding,” Victor says. “Mostly.”
Matteo nudges him with his elbow, then settles again, quieter now. “It’s just… the Tour is everything, you know.”
Victor nods. “For him, especially.”
“For all of us,” Matteo says. “But for him - yeah.”
He stares out into the darkness beyond the hotel lights, where the training camp dissolves into nothing.
“I want to be really good there,” he says.
“You will be.”
“I mean, like-” Matteo hesitates, searching for the right words. “I want him to feel it. That I’m there. That I’m useful.”
“You are useful,” Victor says. “Objectively.”
Matteo laughs softly. “Yeah, but that’s not-”
He trails off.
Victor fills the silence gently. “You want him to notice.”
Matteo looks at him, startled, then relaxes. “I mean. Sure. Who wouldn’t.”
“Most people don't really care about that,” Victor says. “But okay.”
Matteo rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Victor says, and he means it, even if he’s not sure he likes how familiar the tone feels.
They sit like that for a moment, until Matteo suddenly brightens.
“Oh,” he says. “Sepp’s going to be with him basically the whole year too.”
Victor nods. “Yeah. Sepp’s Sepp.”
“That’s so cool,” Matteo says. “I love that for him.”
“You sound genuine.”
“I am,” Matteo says. “Sepp’s great. And he’s so good with Jonas. Like, they have that thing.”
“That thing.”
“Yeah,” Matteo says. “That unspoken thing. You know.”
Victor does know. He also knows that Matteo’s voice has gone softer.
“It’s good,” Matteo continues. “Because Jonas deserves that. People who just… get it. Who don’t make it harder.”
Victor glances at him. “And you.”
“And me,” Matteo says, nodding. “Exactly.”
There it is. Small. Slipped in. Almost nothing.
Victor shifts, uncrossing his ankles. “You’re talking about this like it’s a calling.”
Matteo laughs. “It’s not that deep.”
Victor looks at him.
“Okay,” Matteo says. “Maybe it is a little.”
Victor smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re very intense.”
“Only about important things.”
“And Jonas.”
Matteo grins. “And Jonas.”
They lapse into silence again, broken only when someone walks past them toward the doors, nodding a greeting, normal, harmless, grounding.
Victor exhales slowly. “You’ll have races without him,” he says, not unkindly. “And they’ll still matter.”
“I know,” Matteo says. “I’ll do them properly.”
“But.”
“But,” Matteo admits. “They’ll feel like waiting.”
“For what?”
Matteo doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is light, almost joking.
“For July.”
Victor nods, because that’s the reasonable interpretation, and because anything else would require a different kind of conversation.
The cold has properly set in, creeping up through the soles of his shoes, settling into his calves, and when he shifts again, Matteo doesn’t notice.
That’s new.
“You okay?” Victor asks.
Matteo nods immediately. Too fast. “Yeah. Why.”
“You’ve been staring at the same spot for a while.”
“Oh,” Matteo says, glancing out into the dark like he’s surprised it’s still there. “Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Victor says, lightly.
Matteo huffs a laugh. It dies halfway through.
Victor studies him openly now. There’s no pretense left to drop. Matteo’s knee is bouncing again, faster this time, his hands clasped together like he’s afraid they might drift away if he lets go.
“What were you thinking about,” Victor asks.
Matteo shrugs. “Stuff.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
“I know.” Matteo runs a hand through his hair, then lets it fall back into place, restless. “I was thinking about… later.”
Victor’s mouth tightens. “Later when?”
“Later later,” Matteo says. “Like-” He gestures vaguely, the same motion as before, but wider now, messier. “After.”
“After the season.”
“After Jonas.”
The name lands heavy between them.
Victor doesn’t look away. “What do you mean, after Jonas?”
Matteo blinks. “I mean… you know. He’s not going to do this forever.”
“No one is,” Victor says carefully.
“Yeah, but,” Matteo says, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. “He’ll be one of the first. You can tell.”
Victor’s stomach twists. “That’s not something we know.”
“You feel it though,” Matteo insists. “He’s already - people talk about it. Interviews, questions. It’s always there. Like they’re waiting.”
Victor exhales slowly. “That doesn’t mean it’s soon.”
“It does to me,” Matteo says.
Victor side-eyes him hard now. No hiding it. “Why.”
Matteo opens his mouth, then closes it again. For the first time all evening, he looks unsure of the next sentence.
“I just-” He swallows. “I don’t like thinking about it.”
“That’s normal.”
“No,” Matteo says. “I mean - I don’t like that there is an after.”
Victor straightens slightly. “Matteo.”
“What,” Matteo says, defensive. “You’re telling me you’ve never thought about it?”
“I’ve thought about my own retirement,” Victor says. “Yes.”
“No, not that.” Matteo shakes his head, frustrated. “Not us. Him.”
Victor goes very still.
“And then what,” Matteo continues, words tumbling now, picking up speed like they’ve been waiting for this opening. “Like - what is this if he’s not here. What are we doing.”
Victor frowns. “Racing.”
“For who,” Matteo asks, genuinely baffled.
“For whoever is leading,” Victor says.
Matteo laughs. It’s sharp. Unpleasant. “That’s not the same.”
“No,” Victor agrees quietly. “It isn’t.”
Matteo rubs his face with both hands, dragging them down slowly like he’s trying to wake himself up. “I don’t think I’d be good at it.”
“At what.”
“At-” He gestures helplessly. “At caring the same way.”
Victor watches him. “You don’t think you can care about anyone else.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounds like.”
Matteo looks at him, eyes bright in the low light, a little wild now. “Because it’s true.”
Victor’s jaw tightens. “Matteo.”
“No, listen,” Matteo says quickly, leaning closer, voice dropping like this is a secret he’s been holding onto all night. “It’s not that I wouldn’t try. I would. I always do. But it wouldn’t be-”
“What?”
“It wouldn’t be this,” Matteo says. “This makes sense. This feels right.”
Victor swallows. “You’re talking like-”
“Like what.”
“Like you disappear when he does.”
Matteo goes very quiet.
For a second, Victor thinks he’s finally gone too far, that this is where Matteo laughs it off, tells him he’s being dramatic, pulls them both back onto safer ground.
Instead, Matteo nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “That.”
The word sits there, exposed.
“There’s life after cycling,” Victor says, because someone has to say it.
Matteo looks at him like he’s said something cruel. “Is there?”
“Yes,” Victor says, firmer. “Of course there is.”
Matteo shakes his head slowly. “Not for me.”
Victor stares. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” Matteo says, and he sounds almost relieved to admit it. “I know it is. But that’s how it feels.”
He laughs weakly. “Like - okay. Imagine he retires. Imagine it’s done. And then what. I wake up and he’s not… there.”
“Jonas won’t vanish,” Victor says. “He’ll still exist.”
“That’s worse,” Matteo says immediately.
Victor blinks. “How is that worse.”
“Because then he’s just - out there. Somewhere. And I’m… what. Riding for someone else. Doing the same thing, but without-” He stops, breath hitching, frustrated with himself. “Without him.”
Victor’s voice is tight now. “You’re not meant to build your whole life around one person.”
Matteo laughs again, too loud, too sudden. “Well. That ship sailed.”
Victor doesn’t laugh back.
“You think I don’t know this is insane,” Matteo says. “I do. I hear myself. It’s just-”
“It’s just what.”
“I don’t know who I am if I’m not useful to him,” Matteo says, quietly now. Stripped of the jokes. “I don’t know what the point is.”
The cold bites harder suddenly, or maybe Victor just notices it now, creeping up his spine.
“That’s a lot to put on one guy,” Victor says.
“I know,” Matteo says. “Poor Jonas.”
That almost makes Victor laugh. Almost.
“You’re scaring me,” Victor admits.
Matteo looks up at him, startled. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Matteo rubs at his chest absently. “Sorry.”
Victor shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Just- listen to yourself.”
“I am listening,” Matteo says. “That’s the problem.”
They sit there in silence, thicker than before, no longer comfortable, no longer companionable. Matteo keeps staring into the dark like he’s trying to see a future there and failing.
“There has to be something after,” Victor says, softer now. “Even if it’s not clear yet.”
Matteo doesn’t answer.
“Matteo.”
He finally looks at Victor, eyes a little too earnest. “I don’t want there to be.”
Victor’s breath catches.
“Because this,” Matteo says, gesturing vaguely between them, the camp, the season, everything. “This is it. This is the best version of me. And it only exists like this.”
“With Jonas,” Victor says.
Matteo nods. “With Jonas.”
The name again. Louder now, somehow.
Victor leans back, pressing his hands into the cold wood of the bench, grounding himself. He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s no joke that fits here. No redirection that doesn’t feel like a lie.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Chooses carefully. “I think you haven’t thought through what you’re saying.”
Matteo laughs again, louder this time. “Okay, wow. I didn’t realize this was an intervention.”
“It’s not,” Victor says. “It’s concern.”
“That’s worse,” Matteo says. “Now I feel insane.”
Victor studies him, and for the first time, he doesn’t try to soften his expression. “You feel insane because you sound insane.”
Matteo goes quiet.
The night stretches between them, heavier now, the bench suddenly too small.
“I just don’t see myself caring as much,” Matteo says finally, quieter. “Not without him.”
Victor exhales slowly. “You’ll care about something else.”
“Like what.”
“I don’t know,” Victor says. “Winning. Yourself. Your life.”
Matteo grimaces. “That sounds… lonely.”
Victor laughs, sharp. “Says the man tying his entire emotional future to one cyclist.”
Matteo smiles weakly. “You make it sound unhealthy.”
Victor doesn’t answer.
“Hey,” Matteo says, nudging him. “I’m joking. Mostly.”
Victor looks at the nudge. Then at Matteo. “You’re not.”
Matteo’s smile falters, then steadies. “I just know what I want.”
“And that’s him,” Victor says.
“That’s riding for him,” Matteo corrects quickly. “Don’t make it weird.”
Victor stares at him for a long moment. Then he stands up.
“I think you should go to bed,” he says. “You’re tired.”
Matteo looks up at him. “You’re mad.”
“I’m unsettled,” Victor says. “There’s a difference.”
Matteo laughs, but it doesn’t land. “You worry too much.”
Victor looks down at him, really looks, and for the first time that night, he doesn’t try to joke.
“You’re allowed to imagine a future that doesn’t orbit him,” he says.
Matteo shrugs. “Why would I want to.”
Victor doesn’t reply.
He turns toward the hotel, leaving Matteo on the bench, and walks away with the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that the laughter has slipped too far behind them to catch up again.