Blue Eyes over the Sea.

WHIP HIS HAIR!!!!

(Fonte: cronnin)

(Fonte: joshuaryanh0tcherson)

“I’m cold,” I mutter, and Peeta comes closer under the blankets. His clothes are still wet, but his skin is warm to the touch. It’s like we’re sharing a sleeping bag again in the cave while the rain falls mercilessly. I must have been talking to Peeta in my sleep, because I hear his voice in my ears as if there was still morphling in my blood.

“Always,” he whispers. The storm subsides. I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake. And I honestly forget if that even matters in my mind’s fragile state. (x) (x)