One was dying, and wanted to feel important.
The other homesick, and needed something to keep him grounded.
They were both there, they were both lonely. That was all it was.
Another cold night, another heavy drink. It wasn't unusual. Not for them.
Neither was sure who initiated it, but they weren't going to look into the details.
Cold and drunk and lonely together, they passed the night in a flurry of tongues and sweat and sex.
The warmth of another body pressed against their own, the presence of someone else.
That was all they needed.
It didn't matter who. They didn't need words. They didn't need names.
It was need, pure and raw. To fill the emptiness they each held pent up inside them.
It became ritual, drinks and sex and wordless nights.
Neither talked about it. They didn't need to for it had no meaning. Not to the other anyways.
It was a selfish action they were both acting on, they each had their own reasons.
Neither asked for the other's, and neither shared their own.
There was no point in getting attached. One would soon die and the other leave.
What they had was enough.
They had no reason to lose anything else.