
If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were….My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. “No, I won’t let you.” “Trust me,” I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. “On the count of three?”
(via deancurious)
(Source: niall-doesnt-like-boobies, via ohmysprouse)
They’ve grown up so much aren’t they? Plus in a prettier and handsome way :D
