An original piece drabble I spewed out just a bit ago. Kind of blame it on my fiancee and their choice of music. Also for our discussion of our terrible luck. Yeah. XD So, uh, thoughts?

'He never sleeps because he's got bad luck.'

The record player spins, the melody long since stopped, the needle long worn out. On the dingy bed sits the one with the ragged hair, nails digging into scalp with a strength known only to the desperate.

Another night's gone by as the one beside them counts the rings around their eyes.

She, or perhaps it was a he, who could say? Their form was disheveled and clothes hung baggy against their paler than white skin. It didn't matter to them anymore as they stood numbly and made their way across the room to pick up their forgotten coffee mug; the brew long gone cold.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. The mug crumbled against the grip, liquid splashing, staining like bitter frost, ceramic slicing deep against frail skin.

This didn't matter. Such was life, or so they told themself. Things went from bad to worse, as usual. There was nothing left inside but to move on. The one to the side watched, a frown gracing their flawless face.

Moments passed, and soon they stood, crossing the threshold with a gracefulness that only Angels could possess. A towel wrapped itself around their hand. Slowly, dull eyes rose to glance from white and red littered stains to the worried look of a friend they once knew.

A sigh escaped past broken lips. "Don't try, you'll get cursed, too."

Hair was flicked back over a shoulder as the other sighed in return. "I know, but I can't help myself. You're so beautiful when you're in pain..."

The silence returned and soon the scenery changed as night rose once again, finding them lying against the wall underneath the bed as once more, the record spun and the needle played the long-worn tune that made sure the day would find them in their respective place: hands clutching against hair while the other counted the rings around their eyes...