July 23- final stage of Le Tour de France. Froome finished first overall, winning the Tour. He now has 59 yellow lions for his son, who didn't cry this year! But- more importantly- TAYLOR MOVED UP!! He was 161st in the Tour, but today 159th. We're so proud of you, Tay. PS- Tayte (Taylor+Nate) is real and we know it.

We are currently watching Froome give the best acceptance speech ever. He keeps having a bunch of technical difficulties and now he's talking in French. Yay for him.

Anyway, on with the story...

Taylor and Nate stood side by side, clapping rapidly. It was a beautiful day here in France- cloudy, wet, and grey. Well, it would be a good day for England, I guess. England is Froomie's city. Currently, the Brit was giving his speech, or at least trying to. His microphone was giving him a bit of trouble.

"What'd he say?" Nate asked Taylor, who shrugged.

"I dunno, man," the guy with the glasses and beard responded. "What's he doing now?" He added, watching as Froome dropped his speech papers. The man with the yellow jersey stopped down to pick some of the papers up, but a gentle wind blew them forward, across the stage. Froome returned to his speech, but not after watching the man with the green jersey reach for the papers.

"It's fine," Froome said to the man, who nodded and hopped back up on his podium spot for the left. Froome returned to his speech and finished the English version. Now, he had to tough through the French portion. He spoke very well, and Nate sighed and looked at the British man.

"French rolls off his younger do nicely," he said. "I wish I could speak French that well." Taylor Kayan hand on his friend's- yes, they were still friend-zoned- honey shoulder.

"Who needs French when can speak Italian, like me?" He said to Nate. The smaller man looked up to his friend-but-more-than-a-friend-but-still-friend zoned biking team mate. "I'll teach you some Italian sometime." Nate's face lit up.

"Really?" he asked. "Private Italian lessons... just you and me?" Nate liked the idea of that.

"Yeah, just you and me... and Sagan and Greipel," Taylor responded. He saw Nate's face drop. "Don't worry man, we roomies back at the House, remember? I'm not replacing you." Nate felt himself relax- he was relieved. "Don't worry, man," Taylor added. "We'll always be best friends!" Nate's throat tighten and his stomach twisted into a know. Best friends? Taylor took it a step further. "Best friends, nothing more, nothing less." Nate nodded sadly and stepped away from Taylor, who still had his hand on the smaller man's shoulder.

"You sure about that 'nothing more' junk?" A deep, Germanic voice asked from behind the two Americans. Oh no. Taylor and Nate turned around in unison, coming face to face with Marcel Kittel.

"What're you doing here?" Nate asked in utter surprise.

"Watching the Tour De France, idiot. What does is look like I'm doing?" The German laughed at the Americans expressions.

"Ok, that's a bit sketch..." Taylor grumbled. "Anyway, what were you taking about earlier with the 'best friends' thing?" Taylor asked, remembering what Kittel had said earlier. The German laughed.

"You two are the heaviest shipped couple from the whole Tour," Kittel informed the boys. Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"Were the ONLY shipped couple from the Tour," Taylor countered. Kittel got a strange glare in his eyes.

"You're only proving my point further," he said. "Anyway, you boys need to get it together. Just kiss already!" Nate and Taylor widened their eyes and turned to each other. Taylor began to pucker his lips, but the only thing he got was a knuckle sandwich. He stumbled back.

"Nate! What was that for?" He exclaimed angrily. Nate shrugged.

"I'm just playing hard to get," Nate said. "Now, shut up. I'm trying to listen to Froomie's speech." Nate turned back towards the stage, where Froome was still talking. Taylor rolled his eyes.

"BUT YOU DON'T SPEAK FRENCH!"