[ Midorima lets out a puff of air. It's not a mirthful laugh by any means, and there's a pained and bitter tone to it that's probably deeper than any hurt that he's let Takao see before. When Takao says that, it's.. difficult. ]

He was terminal, so it was that sort of attitude to an extreme that landed him in the hospital often. There's a good chance the last time I spoke with him was really..

[ He has to stop talking for a moment. This is harder than losing someone else would be, because it's very possible that Eichi could die back home at any point and Midorima would not get to say goodbye in a much more permanent way. There's no promise that he's out there somewhere, and it hurts so much more than he wants it to. Midorima falls quiet after that. His throat feels like it's closing up. This is the first time he's tried to say it out loud. He stops making up the futon and pushes up his glasses, holding his hand there as he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. ]