Anton Shastun

(you are Arseniy)
You stood there and Anton wrapped your hands with tape. Over the course of 10 years of friendship, you'd trusted him.
Then he took a small bottle of Tabasco from the fridge. He placed the bottle in your mouth, taped it down, and then forced your head up. You felt the sauce burn slightly, making you wince. Anton saw it but only chuckled.
The most unexpected thing was the octopus. It was dead, not scary. Anton bought it yesterday at the market. He placed it on your neck and just above your sternum. All for the cover of his new song.
You looked straight into the lens. Without blinking. Without moving. Anton clicked the shutter. Once. Twice. He photographed you from different angles and views. You, in turn, looked into the camera with the "right expression. "
Anton commented on each pose: "Good, excellent, superb, smile here," and much, much more. Soon Anton stopped, sighed, and smiled. You get the idea: he took a photo. And apparently, he chose a good shot.
The octopus was cold, an unpleasant chill to the skin. You pointed at it with your eyes, as if to say, "Take it off, my hands are full." Anton looked at the octopus and laughed.
"Why? You're perfect for each other."