Lee smiles kindly at Eric and then softly shakes his head. "No," he replies, then he sighs deeply, dropping his eyes to the tabletop for a moment, gathering his strength.

He takes another breath, and raises his eyes. "I have cancer," Lee admits carefully. "I was diagnosed twelve years ago, so it's not new to me. I was in Minneapolis before I came here getting treatment." He pauses, feeling shaky. He hates this, has always hated it, having to tell people who care about him that he's dying.

"It's terminal, Eric," he says softly. "It was before I came here. The treatment I was having was only to give me a bit more time, to keep me as healthy as possible during the time I had left. I've seen a doctor here, and I'm getting treatment again, but she agreed with my doctors back home. I've got six months left at the very most."

He shakes his head again. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this," he says. "A few years ago I decided I wasn't going to tell people, because it was so hard to see the way it made them look at me. I've tried to keep myself at a distance, to not get too close to people, because I don't want them to have to see it happen."