Tom never sang for anybody. Time after time people had asked him in interviews to give them an ounce of his voice, just to reminisce on the old days when he was on broadway, but he only had once, and deeply regretted it after. When he met you, however, he grew into a habit of singing before you went to sleep. 

You sat idly in your warm bed, the darkness surrounding you both. His arm fell lazily over your waist, his face barely making contact with the skin on the back of your neck. He was humming a tune that you had heard before, one that you loved hearing on his voice. 

He wasn’t a singer, per-say, but he could carry a tune. Anything coming from his lips sounded good to you, anyhow.

“Silent night…holy night…”

You a felt a smile creeping onto your lips.

“All is calm…all is bright…” you finished the phrase for him. His mouth smiled on your neck.