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The white and blue checkered floor was, probably unsurprisingly, just on the edge of uncomfortably cool to the touch as Guaxinim sat there, but it was almost inviting at the same time.
The room around him was entirely silent and it felt just a bit too big, as he sat with crossed legs and his head tilted forward, forehead pressed against the photo of Pac and eyes closed in content.
He imagined the photo was the actual person then, one arm around him tight and comforting in a hug, the other raised to pet Guaxi's hair and almost cradling his head.
Silent tears fell, not from any one thing in particular, as he sat with his head against the portrait and let the lack of a person embrace him.
"Mininim?"
And when Guaxi turned his body to the side and opened his eyes, there at the entrance stood the person this memorial was made for, when the residents were left with more questions than answers.
"What's going on, Xinim, tudo bem?"
Pac stood against a background of the nature surrounding them, signature hoodie tied around his waist, sections of ribs visible a few inches above, one arm fully bare and bone, one with sections of muscle hanging on by determination and lack of acceptance, entirely bare face and empty eye sockets watching the other carefully with a small head tilt.
He wiped the small lines of tears with the back of a hand, uncrossed his legs, and met the blue clad man in the middle of the room.
"Tudo bem, mininim, it's nothing."
When Guaxi met Pac, he wrapped a hand around the forearm that was mostly muscle, letting the other lean into his side slightly, holding him for support to walk to where it was a bit more comfortable.
The decaying man lifted the hand that wasn't at his side and pressed against the other as they limped forward, brushing against Guaxinim's still damp cheekbone curiously and carefully.
"It does not feel like 'nothing.'"
And when they were finally sitting, was when Guaxi let himself break.
And it was just his imagination, it was not just a picture.
It was the real and true Pac.
Holding him with one around his back in a hug and the other raised to cradle his head, shushing softly into his hair.
"Matt is gone. Fun is gone. Araldo is back. Quel could be the next. Gris could be the next. You are almost the next."
And he could feel Pac open his mouth, then close it, because he could not disagree with any of it.
"Aún no."
"Qué?"
"All of the, the, the 'next's' have not happened yet."
"Mas eles poderiam, alguns deles até já o fizeram."
"Mas eles também não conseguiram."
"And what about you, mininim?"
"I am not gone yet."
Pac lifted his body back slightly, not letting go, just enough for the other to look at his face.
"And when will you be?"
Xinim let a tear drip to the pair of their hands resting between laps, Pac squeezed it gently, his own voice beginning to crack.
"Until you're ready to let go."
He let the brown haired man fall back against his chest.