Everyone had sorta known that you had a rough time at school.

But none knew more than Donnie, whom you generally told every little detail about your day, about how people bothered and picked on you.

He sympathized with you, usually letting you vent to him whilst he repaired the Shellraiser or MetalHead. Most of the time, he’d remain quiet as you spoke, but today seemed different.

“They did what?” he’d ask incredulously after a moment, briefly putting his tools down to pay attention.