Accents usually appeared when someone was tired or drinking...their passion and enthusiasm revealed by the tunes from their throat and then some long ago versions of pronunciations arrived and a word would come out with a specific regional sound.
Hers came out when she was tired...or stressed...the vowels lengthened...the words stretched and slowed...her southerness spilled out of her in those moments and in those moments he felt like he was knowing who she was long before they ever met.
It was particularly noticeable when she rarely but occasionally called him "fool"...he knew it was just a reaction, almost muscle-memory but it came out easily and in her southern roots it came out "fewwwwl" and he loved it despite its disparagement.
It melted his mind when she said certain words...like butter on toast.
Or when she wore her hair up.
Or dispensed with a bra.
But mostly it was the sweet night tone of her voice...when tired it dropped an octave...when animated or debating a particular topic it rose. Somehow.
Her voice was her barometer, taking measurements and indicating...it was dove-quiet in the mornings, early, her body still waking...almost child-like.
She was one of the very few people who mastered the word "Hi"...she said it as a greeting in the morning, like a stranger meeting somebody for the first time...she murmured it after making love when they drew close, blinking in the afterwards, in the quiet, the sudden deep quiet after the sweet interactions...she would whisper it, softly, delicately...innocently.
Somewhere butter bubbled in a pan...her impact on him.
He hadn't really heard her voice in anger...sometimes troubled, sometimes stressed due to something she cared painfully for...and sometimes she cried...but she rarely let him hear her voice tinged with madness or rage.
He wondered if her accent came out in those moments...but he was fine with being called a "fool"...
Particularly if he was just hers.
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