Title: Bloody Tears

Featuring: Shinsuke Nakamura/Hiroshi Tanahashi

Disclaimer: Slash ahoy!

Summary: He just didn't understand why someone would cry for him; he couldn't comprehend why anyone would care.

A/N: So, chronologically, will take place before Shinsuke and Tanahashi's first one-on-one match in 2005. Also, before they were a tag team in 2004. I'll place this around 2003, after a particularly bloody match involving the fledgling King of Strong Style (still a Young Lion at this time). I don't know much about their past, and I know I'll be making some things up, but...artistic license, right? Ha. Enjoy!

He could barely see what was in front of him, between the blood dripping into his eyes, and the growing ache in his head where he had been kicked repeatedly.

Still, somehow, though, he saw it.

Or, rather, saw him.

He was there, standing as still as a statue, yet glowing with that same damn light that always seemed to surround him.

Shinsuke Nakamura moved to throw a small nod to Hiroshi Tanahashi—whether in acknowledgment to his fellow rookie, or defiance of their elders who seemed hell-bent on breaking them, he wasn't yet certain.

But that's when he saw it. Them.

Shimmering tears had gathered around the edges of Tanahashi's warm dark brown eyes, his expression both pained and proud at the same time as he gazed at his fellow Young Lion.

It threw Shinsuke for a loop, and made him pause in mid-step on his way to the showers.

Neither man spoke for a long moment, the accidental stare down confusing everyone who happened to pass by. But the two men were in a world of their own.

"Nakamura-san," Tanahashi began; or, at least, tried to begin, before his voice broke with one of the many sobs he had swallowed while watching the match. He cleared his throat a bit too roughly and tried again.

"I'm sorry, Nakamura-san."

It was the only thing that he could think to say, turning his face away from the man he watched from afar, a man whose destiny he knew would one day be intertwined with his own.

A man who was working himself to death and getting beaten up for it.

A man whose pain somehow flowed into him, whose joys made his heart feel warm as well.

Though he willed it not to happen, Hiroshi Tanahashi felt hot tears sliding down his face.

Shinsuke, still stunned, saw the tears as they dripped from Tana's strong jaw and onto the floor, glittering in the faint hallway light as they fell.

"Why...? Why are you crying?" Nakamura asked slowly, feeling as though he was in a dream. It was all so surreal.

Tanahashi turned to look at him once more. He was in pain. "You didn't deserve that," he said softly. "You didn't deserve what they did to you. What they're doing to you." He wrapped his arms around himself carefully.

"I swear to you, Shinsuke, one day, I'll...!"

Tana's voice trailed off as his reason kicked in.

Why the hell, his mind whispered to him, would Shinsuke care about you feel? Do you think he needs, or wants, your useless promises? It's not like Nakamura even needs your help...right?

Shinsuke smiled during the silence—a small, unsure smile. His interactions with Hiroshi had been very minimal so far, but he had a feeling that the more he got to know him, the more he'd like him...even though he was annoying earnest all the time.

'I still don't understand why he'd cry for me, though.'

"Thank you."

The words left Shinsuke's lips before he could fully process why he'd uttered them.

And besides all that, seeing Tanahashi's tears was effecting him deeply, for some strange reasons...

Attempting to escape the situation, Shinsuke turned on his heel and walked just a little bit faster to the locker room area to shower and change.

He was grateful to not hear footsteps following him.

And, yet, as he went to remove the blood with a small towel, Shinsuke couldn't help but catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

'I'm a mess,' he laughed to himself, shaking his head (which only made him feel dizzy).

However, just as he started to wipe his face, Nakamura noticed two clear tracks in the blood mask he wore, trailing down from his eyes. Clean lines through his crimson mask.

And when he lifted his hand to wipe those damn marks away, his fingers came away covered in bright red tears.