Mitsutada is flicking something green through his hands, his remaining good eye darts down to recognize that it's just a blade of grass, stained red with what is most likely his own blood. The more he looks at it, the more he could swear that it's starting to shrivel up, too.

"Hey, Midare." He doesn't even bother to call the tantou Midare-chan, any trace of cheerfulness gone from his voice. He's tired, so really tired. So tired of e̗̹͇̦v̤̖͉̤̤̘̙e̤͓͇͇̟r̳y̗̞̺̮t͞h̦̖͈̖i̗n̠͔g̩͕. "Thanks for thinking of me."

He casts the grass aside.

"You should go, yeah? It's not safe here."

But not for himself, because he's already beyond repair.