He watched her.
A smile crept into the corner of his lips, a small admittance. He found her surprisingly enchanting, this awkward woman who had been so quiet at first. The quips came like rain. Sometimes they clamored a little too loudly, a bit off key. But the muttered, stifled ones spoke the mostly deeply of brilliance -- a mind that observed much more than it let on.
Then there was the laughter.
The first he heard was a chuckle -- a breathy, politely amused two-beat laugh with a smile that was bit back.
The second was a disbelieving gasp, followed by a "no!' or some other generic exclamation, usually expressed with a hand on the other person's arm and a wry, disbelieving look. It wasn't even a laugh and yet it radiated like one, goading the speaker on to higher levels of amusement.
Third, a gulping loud laugh that erupted, rallying others in.
Fourth, a mildly villainous collection of short, sharp sounds coming from a closed mouth and a morality that knew better than to laugh.
Then there was a second, gulping loud laugh. Was it a giggle? Sometimes it cackled. It was full.
He liked the sixth. One eyebrow raised, a hand covering a controlled smile. Her shoulders shook as their eyes met. Words had been whispered just for her; this laugh was just for him.
Her giggle slayed him, awakening an impulse of protection over this silly, lively creature.
He knew in that moment that he may never know all of her ever-evolving noises of joy, but they were true and free and this woman, incandescent. He'd spend the rest of his life beckoning the different laughs to abide a while, happily.
