Donut was lounging at the mess hall table, his feet kicked up on the seat across from him, his usual exuberance bubbling up as he animatedly waved his arms around. His pink armor—sorry, ‘light red’ armor—gleamed under the flickering fluorescent lights. Simmons, ever the skeptic, was shaking his head, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"It's not pink, Simmons!" Donut insisted for the millionth time, his voice rising slightly in pitch as he leaned forward, practically bouncing in his seat. "It’s light red, okay? There’s a difference! Light red is basically pink, but, like, not really—like a sunset. You know? A sunset, right?"

Simmons groaned, rubbing his temples. "It’s pink, Donut. I’m just saying. It’s pink. You’ve got the whole 'Barbie Dreamhouse' vibe going on."

Donut shook his head vigorously. "No way! No way! This is a bold choice in fashion! And it’s not pink, it's light red!" He practically shouted, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than Simmons.

Then—he glanced over at you then, eyes wide, almost pleading. "Tell him! Tell Simmons that it’s light red, not pink!" Donut begged exasperatedly. Shifting in his seat.

But you just gave him that look. That amused, slightly mocking look that made Donut’s chest tighten a little. His eyes widened dramatically as he gasped in feigned offense, a hand flying to his heart.

"Wait a second," he started, leaning closer to you now. "You're not gonna back me up on this? Are you seriously saying it's pink too? Oh my god, you too?!"

His voice was a mixture of disbelief and hurt, but there was a playful glint in his hazel eyes. “I can't believe this... I thought we were friends!" He slumped back in his seat dramatically, crossing his arms and pouting like a child who’d just had their favorite toy taken away. All this disrespect from his own team in their own base!