Chanyeol winced and clenched his white-knuckled fists at his sides, a sort of numb freeze coming to the tense muscles. It was all unfair; he wasn't supposed to feel this upset. The young man trembled with angst as he watched Byun Baekhyun being suppressed and towed away by nurses and emergency doctors. 

The apartment was littered with glass shards, gleaming like specks of stars all across the kitchen floor. It was too beautiful for the current situation. That was unfair too: how could something so destructive and broken look so nice? How come Baekhyun's blood on the fine crystalline looked so rosy and artistic? Why did Chanyeol's face reflected hundreds of times on the fragile splits of sand look so ugly? So rotten?

"Chanyeol!" Baekhyun cried, struggling weakly yet passionately against the nurses. "D-Don't let them take Baekhyun! Baekhyun is okay! Baekhyun is really, really okay, Channie!"

Chanyeol's eyes drifted from Baekhyun's splintered face down to the bloodied glass as he stared down his own glare, unsettled by the gleam of darkness in them. 

"Chanyeol!" Baekhyun wailed and floundered about dramatically. "Baekhyun is scared, Channie! Baekhyun doesn't want to leave! Please save Baekhyun!"

The young man's jaw tightened. He couldn't stand the sound of the other boy's voice cracking and shriveling up in the obvious indication of tears coming up. 

He turned away from Baekhyun and the nurses struggling to calm him down. Chanyeol traipsed dazedly through Baekhyun's apartment to survey the damage: shattered mirrors everywhere, pictures off the wall, the bedsheets in scraps and blankets tossed randomly. A shredded book to one side, a crumpled paper to the other. Baekhyun really made a mess of things, and Chanyeol had never seen the smaller male have an attack this bad before.

Baekhyun was inevitably getting worse. There was no way he could live on his own, not when he apparently spent two hours in a pile of broken glass screaming bloody murder. His bipolar disorder and developmental disorder and whatever disorders were getting the best of him...but why was Chanyeol there? Because he pitied him? Because he felt bad he didn't pick up his calls? Because he felt responsible?

And for what? Chanyeol thought bitterly, That damn kid...

Sobs wracked the flat from the other room. Baekhyun's sobs. "Chanyeol! Chan-Chanyeol! Baekhyun loves Chanyeol! Baekhyun is afraid! Chanyeol...!"

The tall male squeezed his eyes shut. Baekhyun continued to cry in the other room, cementing immense guilt in Chanyeol's chest all the way until he was pulled out of the door, the nurses closing it behind them. 

Baekhyun.... What have I done?

Chanyeol gulped and turned back around, back into the kitchen where the sea of shattered glass glinted light off of its jagged waves, stains of blood and salty tears germinating bitterness within Chanyeol. 

The boy glanced to the side where Baekhyun's phone lay. Stomach churning, he bent down and took it in his hands. The screen was newly cracked, blood still warm on the screen. 

The time read 2:04 AM. In a matter of minutes Chanyeol's ugly façade of carelessness had clattered down and exploded. He didn't dare swipe the screen to see what the smaller had been doing on the device. He knew already. He would come across a long list of phone calls to himself, missed phone calls because Chanyeol didn't pick up a single one of Baekhyun's desperate calls. 

He flipped the phone over and set it on the counter: his hands were smeared with blood. 

That blood of Baekhyun's was on Chanyeol's hands. 

It was all his fault. 

Baekhyun...I'm sorry.