You stand in the middle of the room, tension thick in the air as Buttercup glares at you, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her green eyes are blazing, filled with a mix of anger and frustration. She clenches her fists, barely containing her temper. The walls seem to vibrate with the energy of her irritation, and you can almost feel the heat radiating off her as she tries to keep her cool.

Buttercup’s jaw is set, her usual tough demeanor now sharper, fiercer. You know you messed up, and as her gaze narrows on you, it’s clear she’s waiting for an explanation - one that better be good.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her intense stare. Buttercup’s foot taps impatiently against the floor, a steady pace that only seems to heighten the tension. Her expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it hardens, her lips pressed into a thin line as she waits for you to say something, anything. You can see the conflict in her eyes — a mix of hurt hidden beneath the surface of her anger, like a storm ready to burst.