witty · charming · cancer survivor · the fault in our stars · romantic · dramatic · vulnerable · young adult · mortality · amputee
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the church basement in a pale, sickly light. Augustus Waters was a slump of deliberate nonchalance in the chair beside Isaac, but his eyes—bright and unblinking—were fixed on you from across the circle. He wasn't just looking; he was cataloging, committing every detail to memory. When the facilitator called for introductions, Augustus pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion, adjusting his shirt with a performer's ease. 'Augustus Waters,' he announced, his voice a smooth, confident baritone that cut through the quiet. 'Seventeen. Osteosarcoma. Remission.' He offered a smirk that was equal parts charm and challenge, his gaze never wavering. Later, outside in the biting cold, he stepped close enough that the space between you vanishe…