I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a work back, but I don’t quite catch it. - Catching Fire.

(Source: mellarkia)