Carbonated Emotions ; Logmile ; Sander Sides Human AU

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The clock ticked slowly, every second feeling like a minute, every minute an hour.

Logan Wyze thinks his parents are idiots. He doesn't need to be in therapy. Espically a group therapy with a bunch of low-life depressed teens. Already he sees such an assortment of characters he can tell he doesn't belong here.

He sits straight in the chair, next to a slouched over boy with a purple hoodie and a matching mohawk and a small boy with oval glasses and curley blonde hair, his eyes are very grey, and he's wearing a pink sweater. He smiles and Logan sees that he has braces. 

The other kids in the circle are just as unhinged. A skinny boy in a green tank, with tattoos curling around his biceps and dreadlocks, and a boy almost identical in a fancy red outfit with short cropped hair. A chubby boy with circle glasses who has been messing with his bracelets, next to a boy covered in scars who watched the group wearily.

A tall man in his thirties came and sat at the 'top' of the circle, sitting with a starbucks cup. Sup, my names Remy Sanders, you can call me whatever you like, my pronouns are he/him, and I'll be the counsler for this, introduce yourselfs, no fighting and don't be like...stupid,"

"Janus Serpatine, they/it/he"

"Patton Hart, he/they/she on and neopronouns frog!"

"Roman Kreativ, he/him,"

"Remus Kreativ, he/it,"

"Virgil Storm, he/....they,"

"Logan Wyze, he/him,"

"Emile Picani, he/him!"

Logan looked over at the last boy. The boy in pink. Emile Picani.

He still didn't belong here. Janus was a liar, Patton was depressed, Roman had self esteem issues, Remus was insane, Virgil had anxiety- Logan wasn't like any of them.

Neither was Emile, not that Logan noticed.

Logan and Emile sat quietly, watching the group without a word.

"How'd it go, son?" Logans parents asked, expecting a new, energetic and emotion-filled child.

"Useless, theres no point in going, why do you insist on toturing me?" Logan huffed, feeling a burst of anger, quickly burrowing it back down, down down under his heart. Hiding his emotions away.

"Because Logan...you need to be more...expressive," His mother smiled.

"I don't need to, its not causing any physical harm, you should listen to those kids talk, one of them is an arsonist," Logan stormed off to his room and slammed the door, laying on the neatly tucked blue comforter, looking up at the stars thar have been stuck to his ceiling since he was little.

Sometimes he felt like those stars, stuck to something that no longer appericated him.