When the door opened and Peter stepped inside, Leeloo smiled. She turned to look over her shoulder from where she sat and her smile softened - tender, with concern battering down the brightness that could have been.
It was her intention to let him come to her - it always seemed better when he did. But when he stopped, hesitating in the center of their living room, she slid to her feet and padded to him. With knowing fingers, she peeled his hands away from his arm, his waist, and instead placed them on her hip, on the back of her neck.
A word came from her, then - translated poorly to "Love" in English. It was more than that; it was a title as much as the emotion. It carried connotations of a strength in tiny things, as a spider's web held its strength. She didn't wait for him to pull her up against him; she stepped forward until her instep was against the outer curve of his foot. She said the word again, mixing its syllables with his name in a strange amalgamation of names.