Homeless Love

There was never such a thing as being indestructible.

Which came as a shock to Igor when he was flat-out fired from the small garage he had been working for for the last three years.

Everything just kinda crashed and burned since then.

Despite being physically good-looking he wasn't the stereotype popular guy and he soon found that his lone wolf ways weren't so rewarding when he desperately needed help. The few contacts he had were outside the city and his parents had returned to Russia since their retirement - there was pretty much nowhere to go once his savings dried up and he was no longer able to pay for his rent. He had tried desperately to look for work and still did when he was forced to move out to a cheap motel and then -at first briefly but then continuously- under no roof.

Truth was, Igor was a hard-working engineer and mechanic. But crisis had hit hard the little establishments which hired under-qualified workers like him, and bigger companies quickly discarded his applications for lack of diplomas. Igor's hope died after an admirable amount of time - but by then he had very little hope left to count on anyway.

Homeless life was the only way forwards. Choosing isolation, at first a choice and luxury, was now unavoidable and a divine burden. He took to scavenging the city among the trash in search of food. He could play no instrument and going down on his knees burnt his pride far too much to be an option. Once, he even stole from a shop. Not a proud moment, and definitely one of the scariest, but it had to be done. For his survival.

The other homeless people first tried to welcome him, but he rejected their friendliness as he refused to believe his condition as similar to them. He became a reclusive among the hopeless.

Days turned into a routine: scavenge, eat, walk, walk, scavenge, sleep. He lost weight; his face became tan from the constant sun exposure, the remaining clothes on his back became disfigured and discoloured. The soles of his shoes were worn out and were starting to peel off. He even abandoned the effort of shaving, and his pale brown hair was becoming longer. His ribs and limbs were often bruised from the random attacks he got from aggressive drunks, but at least he grew indifferent to shouted insults -and worst of all, feeling invisible among entire crowds of people. Things got a little better when he befriended a stray dog - a cliché, sure- and all it took was his measly dinner. Tobias didn't judge him, and Tobias certainly didn't ignore him. Together they would walk side by side for miles every day, and share whatever food and whatever spare coins they found and could buy with.

Days were so endless that Igor was sure he had been homeless for entire decades. There was no escaping the inevitability of despair. No way of escaping this condition. This curse.

He was pacing the streets of when he noticed her. A graceful brunette - dressed all in black with those fashionable ankle-boots with a heel which she was doing a good job running in. He noticed the heavy burden of colourful folders she was hugging to her chest desperately just before he noticed the serious concentration on her face. She was attractive, but it wasn't the first thing he noticed about her - that was only later.

What Igor did notice was her bag drop to the floor from the grip in her hand, and what he also noticed was that she did not stop to pick it up. In fact, she hadn't noticed it fall.

His first though was to make a grab for it and hope she had money inside. He would buy a decent meal with it, and definitely a bottle of water - his brisk walking had made his mouth dry. If he was very lucky, there would be enough money for new shoes. Or he could use it for a visit to the vet for Tobias. But if Igor was one thing, it was honest.

He picked up the fake leather bag, and scanned the crowds for her. He could make out the top of her head, bobbing among the sea of other heads. "Come on, Tobias" He muttered, and dutifully the black dog followed him with a trot, the two waving in and out in a snake line among the pedestrians.

He caught up to her as the traffic lights turned green. His hand flashed out to squeeze her upper arm, stilling her just as the sea of people began crossing to the other side.

Her head whipped round, brown hair flowing sharply around her shoulders, her expression frozen with surprise.

The first thing he noticed of her was the petite nose and the intense brown eyes, and the strong but slender eyebrows which made her very characteristic. His knowledge of celebrities limited, he figured she kinda looked like Mila Kunis but taller and with more graceful and less grudge-y features. He was surprised by her prettiness, and as a result he was conscious of his own scruffy sunburnt looks.

Back when he had a home and a job, he could have held a little humble pride. Not any more.

"Your bag," He offered, before she could ask. He held it out to her, wishing he had had the chance to scrub his hands first. God, he probably smelled. Igor felt uncomfortable.

The girl inhaled sharply with surprise, and the next second her expression was one of fear and gratitude combined. Fear for having lost the item and not realized, he hoped, not because of him.

"Ohmygawd," She immediately gushed, "ohmyGOD you're such a sweetheart I hadn't even noticed otherwise! I have everything inside, I would have been so screwed otherwise - seriously, I owe you my life, basically." She shifted the bulk of books and slid the handbag arm up to her shoulder.

Igor shrugged like it was no big deal, mostly surprised by the outburst of gratitude directed at him and the enthusiasm that had broken her serious and black-clad façade.

The girl paused, rearranging her bag on her shoulder whilst assessing him. A beep from behind announced that the traffic lights had turned red. He hoped that would distract her from noticing his obvious status: homeless. The soft look of sympathy and recognition made it almost painful for him to watch her. Worst of all, he could feel her hesitancy in addressing him with a conversation.

"You're not American are you?" He found himself saying, just to say something. He didn't want to make small talk, he just wanted to leave, but he couldn't just turn around and walk whilst she held that look of hesitant keenness - could he? "You have a slight accent. No offence, if..."

She waved his apology away. "Not at all. I'm Italian. And English. Mostly Italian though." She grinned at her own poor explanation. Her smile came easily, he noticed.

"You studying here?" He supplied.

"Yes I do." The brunette nodded. "I've always wanted to come down here. And you? I hear a slight accent as well. Polish?"

"Russian parents." He corrected.

"Ah," She grinned still. "Where from?"

"Ulyanovsk." Not that she would know where that was.

"Where's that?"

Igor smiled. "East of Moscow. Lenin was born there."

A murmur of approval left her lips. "I studied Lenin back in school! Everything about him and Stalin! We could be relatives here." She joked and actually went ahead and punched his arm.

The gesture was so unexpected that it actually made his heart pound faster. It was so familiar, so accepting. She wasn't disgusted by him? "Wait wait," She exclaimed, "I've got one: priviet!"

Igor wasn't used to smiling so often, he felt his cheeks muscles a little tense. "Priviet," He replied to the salute, the Russian rolling off his tongue in deep tones that came natural.

Unexpectedly, she let out a small squeal. "That's so good!" She exclaimed, "You do it so well!"

For the first time in months, Igor actually laughed. Her enthusiasm was rare and contagious.

She grinned at him and their exchange, and finally tucked her wavy hair behind her ear. "I have an hour until my class starts again. You wanna join me for a lunch?" She tactfully suggested.

His stomach felt hollow with hunger, so all he managed was a cheerful nod. He was inspired now, by her positivity. Her show of humanness was so humbling and endearing, he didn't want to lose this miraculous human contact.

"I'm Igor." He said, holding out his hand without feeling as self-conscious as he would have felt before.

"And I'm Valentina."

--