Nicholas had been his friend and personal doctor ever since he moved to Chicago. Usually a visit with him ended with a jovial liquid lunch. Today, Nicholas looked somber as he brought in the results from the biopsy. 

"It's malignant," Nicholas said, simply. "We could go through rounds of chemo but it's so far advanced that... "

"How long?"

"Six months."

"Shit."

"This is never easy to say but... you should get your affairs in order."

"I've tried. Believe me, I've tried."

"Are you and... ?"

"That bridge is burned."

"Are you seeing anyone now?"

"No," he said, taking mental stock of everyone in his life that would actually stand by him through this. "I've got no one."

"Well, you've got me," Nicholas said, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I'm here for you no matter what."

"Thanks," he said, taking Nicholas' hand. "Could you give me a minute?"

"Of course," Nicholas said, quietly exiting the room.  Six months. He shouldn't be suffering through chemo. He should be going out with a fucking bang. Shirtless with a cocktail on some Mediterranean island surrounded by shirtless young men. Not like some ghost of himself. Not dying alone. But he needed the funds to do it.

"Steve," he said desperately to an unreceptive voicemail. "It's Bruce. Any chance you'd reconsider buying back the property?"

###