This fic is my male version of Catharsis by repressedjudy, I hope they don't mind!!

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"Guys don't cry," he whispered. "If that's the case, what have I been doing for the last 30 minutes?"

He blinks as another rush of tears cascade down his cheeks. He doesn't bother drying them or rubbing them away, like most guys do. In some ways, he's relishing in the tears. He likes the way they taste, the warm feeling they bring as they trickle down his cheeks, even the blurry, burning flood they create when they pool up in his blue eyes.

"I've never heard of a guy crying for 30 minutes, and enjoying it. I'm royally fucked up."

*60 minutes earlier*

He'd gotten so angry he nearly broke his knuckles after punching a metal pole. Not his finest moment. His girlfriend and he had the worst argument, and he felt they were breaking up. What were they arguing about? None other than crying. She told him she'd never seen him cry and that it was unhealthy. He told her not everybody cries at the drop of a hat like her whiny ass.

She left in anger, he punched the pole. After going through the conversation in his mind, he started to realize she was right. He was hurt, so why did he punch a pole instead of feel the pain? He couldn't remember the last time he cried. So he set off on a mission. "I need to cry ASAP," he told himself.

He tried scrolling through photos, nothing. Thinking of his old dog, nothing. He thought about his deceased mom, still nothing. The fact that he couldn't cry made him feel tearful, but still nothing came out.

That's when he started Googling movies that make men cry. Titanic? No. Shawshank Redemption? No. Marley and Me? Bingo.

He settled in on the couch and put on the movie. He grabbed a box of tissues and held them in his hands, trying to invite the tears to come. Halfway through the movie, and while his heart ached, he didn't cry. Even at the ending, tears swam in his eyes, but he couldn't seem to let go.

Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes. The credits of the movie begin to roll and his thoughts turn to his girlfriend. His heart wrenched in a twist, and he felt tightness in his throat. An ache came into his chest, rattling around like a pinball ready to burst out. He grabbed a tissue and dried his eyes, despite the fact that there were no tears to dry.

He walked to his hallway mirror to stare himself in the eyes. He was surprised to see they were pink and shining. He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. He started rubbing his own shoulders, in a way to comfort himself in a way no one had ever comforted him. That's the thought that broke the dam.

Tears sprung to his eyes, rapidly filling them up. He almost smiled, relishing in the emotional relief. He held a tissue under his eye waiting for the first tear to fall. Nothing. He thought of her, how he wished he had been in touch with his emotions earlier before he lost her.

Drip. A tear rushed down his cheek. His thoughts were flooded with memories of them together. Another tear slowly slid down his cheek. His breath hitched, and he felt a sob rise in his throat. He needed this to go faster. He shut his eyes, trying to squeeze tears out. 3 tear tracks forged their ways down both cheeks. He stood there, almost smiling to himself. The tickle of his tears felt somehow sweet, comforting.

The sob rattled harder in his chest, and he had no choice but to release it. The depth of his sob startled him, as he opened his eyes to find his eyes steadily leaking tears. He held the tissue to his nose, his lips contorting as he began to sob deeply. What started as a few tears and a tiny sob turned into a mess of tears that took no time streaming and a deluge of rapid-fire sobs.

His tears fascinated him. The shine, the pain they held, and somehow he'd been taught that they were dangerous and risky and not manly enough. But as he confronted them head-on, he saw nothing but beauty, even through the pain they carried.

So he cried. He cried about his mom, he cried about his childhood, he cried about the bullies he'd had in school, he cried about his lost friends and now his girlfriend. He cried about not having cried.

He reached up and placed his hands over his mouth, pressing his fingers in on the inner corners of his eyes. He slowly shut his eyes, pausing to feel them escape, to squeeze more out. Tears seeped through his fingers, they dropped onto his chest. Quiet sobs wracked his body as he held his eyes closed and leaned into his emotions deeper and deeper. The pain made him feel he was going to drown, and somehow he was okay with it.

It seems once he realized he was okay with drowning, an entirely new level of crying unleashed. His silent sobs grew louder, and deeper, shaking his body. His tears felt nearly suffocating. He reached for a tissue and attempted to dry his cheeks. There were too many tears to even catch up. He held one tissue in each hand and pressed them under his eyes.

He was careful to leave space to feel them flow. But within seconds, the tissues were soggy. The tear streaks below the tissues began to dry. Sobs still continuing, he stared into his eyes and pulled the tissues away, studying the paths they took down his cheeks, onto his chin.

Some landed on his lips, others followed his nose. Others streamed on the outside of his cheeks. He never wanted to stop crying. He felt at peace, in his element. Even the sadness felt inviting, like a warm blanket over him. He wanted more sadness. He wanted deeper pain. He pulled out his phone and began searching the internet for sad stories.

He read stories about babies dying, stories about partners having to part ways for war, stories about betrayal and heartbreak and pain, and he relished in it. Every sad story deepening his sorrow, making his tears flow faster, until eventually he looked up to see his face contorted, his lips curled, and he was wailing. Deep cries of despair.

"This doesn't feel good anymore." He tried to stop crying but the more he tried to stop, the deeper his sobs grew. He was resigned to crying through the night. He got up, with tears soaking through his shirt, and dropping down his chest and took a shower. The water felt good on his hot face, mingling with the tears. Somehow the echoes of his sobs in the bathroom made him cry harder. He felt alone.

He sat down in the shower stream in the corner of the tub and wept. He covered his mouth and shut his eyes, crying deeply. After a few moments, he felt relief. He got out, his sobs slowly down to a mere hiccup. He didn't bother drying his face, he knew it was nothing but tears anyway. He put on a comfortable shirt and brushed his teeth, studying the tears still rapidly rushing down his cheeks. 3 tracks on each cheek had turned to 5.

He took a deep breath, shut his eyes to squeeze out the tears, and dried his cheeks. By now, his eyes were red and puffy. No matter.

He sat on his bed. The wails calmed to a soothing hiccup back and forth. His sobs like a gentle pur of a car. He resolved to crying through the night. It had been nearly 5 hours since he began to cry, and he had no intentions of stopping. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back, pulled out a tissue, shut his eyes, and felt the tears flow. Maybe one day his girlfriend, or ex if that's what she wanted, would see the tears and appreciate them the way he enjoyed shedding them. For now, though, he leaned into his sorrow and let the tears out.

Last edited by Cryophilia (November 27, 2022 10:45 am)