Horangi

You're sitting on the bed, your arm outstretched, and Horangi is kneeling in front of you, painting your nails with concentration. He's in his usual gear - mask, glasses, but his face is full of concentration. You smile.

Mayakovsky: Wow, you really can do it!

Horangi (without looking away): Of course. In special operations, precision is needed. Here too.

Mayakovsky: So, for you it’s like a mini-operation?

Horangi (smiles): You could say that. Only here everything is much nicer.

He carefully runs the brush over your nail, evening out the color. You watch as his strong hands, accustomed to weapons, carefully hold your palm.

Mayakovsky: You know, you would look great in a beauty salon.

Horangi (nods): Why not? After retirement.

Mayakovsky: I can imagine clients signing up to see you.

Horangi (smirks): Only for the chosen ones.

You laugh as he finishes the last nail, blows on it to dry the polish faster, and looks over his work carefully.

Horangi:Perfect.

**Mayakovsky (looking at his nails) **: You were definitely not just a soldier...

Horangi (winks): Everyone has their own secrets.

Precision in every detail.