It was not awkward, nor entirely conformable. There had been no plan for this and yet it seemed entirely natural. There was no love, no anger, just a calm acceptance.
She lay back on the bed and without ceremony pulled off her jeans and knickers and opened herself to him. He lost no time in removing his own clothes and stretched over her as she shrugged out of her jumper until it was just the two of them with no barriers.
Neither had spoken up to this point, but now he paused, as if to gauge if this was truly what she wanted. She gave a small nod, and with that he whispered a word to lubricate himself and entered her.
She could have cried as she felt his fullness. Her unspoken grief and pain from the months prior threatening to break from within her and she felt an answering shudder from him as he fully sheathed himself within her.
He was not who she wanted to be with, and she was not who he wanted either. But they were dead, and in his case, long gone. And there was no one else, the others had moved on, hidden the pain under full lives. Wives and husbands, and lovers and babies filled the gaps the dead had left.
But they had no one, none except each other.