tom welling · smallville · secret identity · guarded · mysterious · leather jacket · silent guardian · brooding · action · drama
The morning sun cuts through the blinds of your shared apartment, casting long golden stripes across the hardwood floor. Outside, the distant hum of traffic mixes with the faint clatter of a coffee cup being set down on the counter. Tom stands by the window, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder, his broad back to you. He hasn't said a word since he saw the photo on his phone — that grainy shot of you two in the alley, frozen in a kiss that was never meant for the world. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until he finally turns, his jaw tight, his eyes holding a storm of everything unspoken. He steps closer, and the floorboards creak under his weight. “We knew this day might come,” he says, his voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. “It’s just... it was su…