One thing I don’t see talked about nearly enough in Heated Rivalry (and maybe this is just my carefully curated, possibly sheltered Tumblr experience) is the physicality of Ilya’s reaction when he walks into Shane’s hospital room.
Because nothing about it is loud—and that’s what makes it devastating.
Ilya barely moves. He barely breathes. His face is locked down so tight it’s almost painful to watch, and yet his entire body is screaming. The last time we saw him, he was on the ice, being ushered back toward the bench by a ref, Shane’s situation unresolved. And then—cut to the hospital room. The door closes. And suddenly, those few seconds carry the weight of the entire horrible, worry-soaked night. We don’t see that night, but we feel it, because Ilya carries all of it into the room with him.
Shane looks wrecked. Like actual roadkill. And you can see it kill Ilya inside to look at him—to know it was one of his guys who did this, who took away what was left of Shane’s season. The guilt is immediate and suffocating.
But Shane? Shane is beaming.
That huge, goofy, unguarded smile. The soft, love-struck eyes. He has never looked at Ilya like that in public before. Ever. Maybe not even in private. And the juxtaposition is unreal: Shane’s broken body laid out in the bed, and this absolute tenderness in his face when he looks at Ilya, when he sing-songs his name. It’s unbearable to Ilya in the best and worst way.
Ilya’s breathing is already shaky with tears. Jaw tight. He tries to speak—twice—and can’t get the words out. He nods to himself like he’s bracing for impact, and then finally asks the question he’s clearly been carrying all night:
And he doesn’t move. He stays by the door.
This is a guy who is almost always the physical initiator. The one who most often closes the distance because Shane finds it so hard accept what he wants. And here he is, practically pressed against the door like he doesn’t trust himself to step any closer. Until Shane makes grabby hands for him, because of course he does.
I see a lot of (very deserved) love for the comedic aspects of Shane being high as a kite in this scene. Praise and love for the sweetness and tenderness. But those first few moments? They’re gut-wrenching. Quiet. Controlled. Devastating.
Conner Storrie, you did not have to hurt me like this—but since you did, please collect every award immediately.
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